#journey beyond the grave

[basicallyanotherwitchesthing]

John Macklin - Journey Beyond the Grave - Ace - 1970

[sleepy-edits]

[haru-chi]

(I don't read their manga so all I'm gonna say is purely my theories and assumptions or maybe wishful thinking on my part to suit my taste, so I'd be really grateful if manga readers don't spoil anything for me be it I hit the nail or not)

in this anime the story really starts from Himmel's death and the impact his death left on Frieren more than she actually thought resulting in her being left with deep regret. His death left no impression on me at first tbh. I mean we don't know anything about him enough to care, Heiter's death was more impactful at least to me ...

but then the more I watch the more I realize the core of this story as much as it's Frieren's journey to understand human's emotions so not to repeat the same mistake twice as much as it's about getting to know Himmel's with her so it's gonna be the death that breaks you down later on kind of way.

I thought it was cleaver that we were put in the same boat as her, we actually know nothing about him like her, so through this journey we're also gonna get to know the "real" Himmel with her.

the more she'll learn about human's emotions the more she'll understand alot of things she might've brash it away cuz she either never pay attention or don't get the real meaning of his words/actions like the fact that he actually LOVED her :)

something else that got me thinking is this ..

at the end of his funeral, she was left staring to this ring for a while ... so LISTEN TO ME .. what if this ring here is a gift from him to her ...

what if it was from the time he confesses his love to her or even worse he proposed to her but she either didn't get what he actually meant or declined or something between those lines aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa STOP ME FROM DIGGING DEEPER OMG

so, through this journey she'll learn the true meaning of those words and feelings the more she learns about human's emotions .. and the worse part what if she realized she was in love with him too by the end of the story but never understand her own feelings ????

she said she's gathering new magics cuz he was praising her whenever she learned something new, also the ghost she saw was Himmel's ghost not her teacher as she was expecting so that proves she actually care about him more than she herself realize ><

this gonna be very tragic, yet I wants this to be the core of the story since I'm just weak for those kinds of stories AND I'M ALREADY CRYING EVEN THOUGH I DON'T KNOW IF I'M RIGHT OR NOT YET I GET EMOTIONAL SEEING THEM TOGETHER YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND !!!!

I don't know how and why my mind decided to go wild with those ideas that now I see the anime and its story differently than what I signed up for at first ... WHY AM I IN LOVE WITH A DEAD MAN YET AGAIN !!!!! I THOUGHT I SURIVIVED WHEN HE DEAD BEFORE I DEVOLOP ANY EMOTIONS FOR HIM YET HERE I AM IN THIS HELL BECAUSE OF HIM AND FRIEREN !!!!! T^T

Did I hit the nail ?? did I ?? please say I did so that I can be happy this shaping up to be my kind of tragic story .. but then I don't wanna know or hear any spoilers ... I'm tempted to jump to the manga to see if I'm right or not but I must resist till the anime end at least ><

[being-somewhere-else]

Master, I miss you - Sousou No Frieren Fanart

[hkcomplex]

There is a fairly significant bit of wordplay in Frieren that will escape the notice of most English-speaking viewers, but I quite like it so I’ll explain it here. The title of the series in Japanese is 葬送のフリーレン (Sousou no Furiiren). “Furiiren” is of course Frieren; “sousou” means “funeral rites” or “attending a funeral”, but can literally be translated as “sending to the grave”. Since the story opens with Frieren watching her old adventuring pals growing old and passing away, we’re naturally led to the simple interpretation of the title: she’s attending her friends’ funerals.

(The full official English title is Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End, because literal translations rarely make catchy titles.)

Later, as Frieren is fighting Aura, Lügner explains that Frieren is the most prolific demon-killer in history. In the English translations I’ve seen, this earns her the nickname “Frieren the Slayer”. But in the original Japanese, this nickname is 葬送のフリーレン: “Sousou no Furiiren”, the title of the series.

In this context, this line (and the title, too) could be more literally interpreted as “Frieren, who sends you to your grave”. It also means the line is a little more impactful in Japanese — you’re supposed to point at the screen and yell “hey that’s the name of the show!!”

There’s really just no way to preserve wordplay like this through translation so I can’t fault the translators at all for not trying, but it’s a fun thing that’s worth pointing out nonetheless. I just love that this was clearly something the author was setting up from the very beginning.

[ceilidho]

soap developing an unhealthy attachment to his therapist post his brush with death after being shot at point blank range. he was reluctant to see a therapist at first because he didn't like what it said about him that he was being more or less strong armed into seeing a shrink (like no one trusts him anymore; they don't think his head's on straight since being shot), but as time goes on, he grows to cherish the relationship he's cultivated with his therapist because,

well,

she understands him. she listens to him. where everyone else seems to want him to just hurry up and get better (the nightmares, the mid-sentence brain fog, the erratic mood swings, the silent brooding when he can't find the words, aphasia on the tip of his tongue, the constant, constant headaches and auditory hallucinations that he can't seem to kick), she doesn't put any pressure on him to heal right away. she works with him and his medical team; gives him the space to process what happened to him, and has a seemingly bottomless wealth of patience for him.

he can talk for hours in her presence. it's a shame their time together is limited to an hour and a half every week. the dulcet sound of her voice is such a comfort to him. it's a shame she politely but firmly rejects his advances when he finally asks her out, tells him that it wouldn't even be appropriate for them to be friends outside of his sessions. that it would in some way hinder his healing journey. which pisses him off because Soap has progressed in leaps and bounds since those early days when he used to stumble over his words sitting on the couch across from her, head in his hands when the language felt beyond his grasp, a fine tremor still running through his hands that he's since managed to contain,

and

his head is throbbing again. a sharp pain above his eye that pulsates like a drum in his head and -

he thinks about her constantly. in and out of sessions. she's a frequent topic of conversation when the brass finally lets him back out in the field, Makarov finally dealt with (resting six feet deep in an unmarked grave). he ignores the looks oscillating between concern and worry that Price gives him. ignores the way Ghost barks at him to quit bothering the bird in the tight skirt and fuck someone that won't get him discharged. ignores the way Gaz pulls him to the side to ask if maybe he needs to see another therapist, y'know, mate...get some distance.

they act like this is something new. an abberation and not his very nature. like he hasn't always been the type to lock onto a scent like a hunting dog. a sniper by training. he sits and he watches and he waits; waits for the right moment that he alone knows.

it comes to him on an inauspicious day, when he's leaving the training facilities and spots his sweet thing rummaging around in the boot of her car, her ass beckoning him forward like a siren's call. now, now, now, the little itch in his head says, the voice that knows when the time is right. it's a sense acquired through conscious and unconscious observation, letting it all filter into his frontal cortex until he knows without knowing that the parking lot is empty apart from the two of them and the men at the base gates half a mile away.

it would take nothing for him to come up behind her and push her into the boot. nothing to wrestle the purse from her hands and slam the trunk shut. nothing to drive off base with a flick of his fingers to the guards that hardly ever bother to question him before he leaves (though they know what car he actually drives), made complacent by familiarity.

and he knows that it's wrong, knows that there's a line that he shouldn't cross, that choices have consequences, but,

his mouth salivates when her hips twitch, the urge to take settling over him. surely they'd forgive him one indiscretion.

[slytherinslut0]

MATHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Thirty--info:-You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, SMUT, PIV, Oral Sex (f rec), Dirty Talk, Unprotected Sex, Praise Kink, Degradation, Morning Sex, Love-Making, ANGST! FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF.

Find the rest of the chapters HERE.

In the depths of the night, your dreams unfurled a complex tapestry of fears and uncertainties. The lucid scenes played out like a haunting ballet, shadows weaving intricate patterns on the canvas of your subconscious.

In the dream, Dumbledore's venerable voice resonated with a gravity that bespoke both wisdom and disappointment.

"You must confront your challenges…your fears, young witch," he intoned, his eyes reflecting not just understanding but a palpable disappointment, a profound sorrow in his gaze as the conversation switched, growing more grave. "I regret to inform you that there are no positions available for you. Not after your unprofessional behaviour.”

Flashes of disappointment intensified, drowning your lungs in its depth, Dumbledore's scrutiny cutting through the facades you had worked so hard to carefully construct for all those bloody months. Before you could process it, the dream seamlessly transitioned to a poignant future, your long-anticipated graduation day, where joy was now eclipsed by an unspoken sorrow.

Mattheo, a figure of proud accomplishment tainted by the weight of disappointment, stood before you. In this dream, your fingers intertwined for a final embrace, the unspoken acknowledgment of paths diverging echoing with heartbreak. The whispered goodbye carried the burden of reality, the truth of life pulling you apart, and a palpable pain radiated from Mattheo, his eyes mirroring the depth of his hurt.

And despite all of these emotions, in the dream, you struggled to admit the true extent of your pain. The reluctance to acknowledge the wounds, the fear that this love might crumble under the weight of your mistakes, lingered in the subtext. The dream became a harrowing journey through the corridors of vulnerability, where the echoes of disappointment and heartbreak were met with an internal struggle to confront and heal.

You found yourself standing at a crossroads, torn between the desire to fully embrace your love for this man, and the paralyzing fear of the inevitable heartbreak that loomed on the horizon, a shadow you knew was yet to follow.

As you jolted awake, the tendrils of the dream still lingering, you found yourself face to face with a peacefully sleeping Mattheo. The room unfolded around you with hushed tranquility--the black lake just beyond the window mirrored the early morning light, its rippling reflections casting intricate soft shadows across Mattheo's peaceful face. The dim lighting in the room whispered of the approaching dawn, a delicate glow that hinted at the promise of a new day.

His arms were securely wrapped around you, one hugging your waist, the other under your head--creating a cocoon of protective solace. His long lashes rested gently against his cheeks, and a cascade of messy curls adorned his forehead, adding a touch of vulnerability to his slumbering form.

Feeling the sting of your dream still lingering, you wiggled in his embrace, snuggling in closer to him.

The air held a serene stillness, interrupted only by the rhythmic cadence of Mattheo's breathing. The juxtaposition of the dream's emotional turbulence and the peaceful reality of the waking world blurred briefly as you took in the details--the soft hues of the room, the play of shadows on Mattheo's features, and the subtle acknowledgment of the early morning hour--all of them calming your anxiety within seconds.

Mattheo's lids fluttered open softly at your movements, his eyes dazed as he blinked away the remnants of sleep. His chocolate pools, catching the morning light, held a timeless warmth as they met yours. A gentle hum escaped his lips, and he inhaled a sharp breath as he instinctively pulled you closer.

"What's the matter, Raven?" Mattheo murmured, his lids fluttering back closed in a languid motion.

The deep rasp of his voice, raw with the remnants of sleep, sparked a warmth within you, like a comforting ember glowing softly. His words, spoken with a blend of curiosity and a touch of husky vulnerability, lingered in the quiet morning air, igniting tingles on your skin.

One of his hands, calloused and tender, glided lower to rest on your hip, the connection between you deepening as your legs became entangled in the quiet intimacy of the morning.

"Sorry for waking you," you whispered, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. His hand, seemingly on a mindless journey, slithered around to rest gently on your lower back now. "It was just a bad dream."

"Who hurt you?" Mattheo mumbled in a groggy, raspy tone, his lids still resting closed. A completely serious expression adorned his face as he added, "give me a name and I'll strip the skin from their bones."

"Someone's definitely not a morning person," you quipped, a groggy chuckle seeping into his neck. A comforting warmth enveloped you as you teased, "Waking up ready for a battle, huh?"

He shifted, molding himself against you, and it was in that moment that you became aware of him, entirely--the firm press of his desire throbbing against your torso.

"Mm...I've certainly woken up with a fight in mind," Mattheo groggily purred, a trace of arrogance lingering in his tone. "But maybe not the one you're thinking about."

"Shit..." your thighs quivered, seeking friction, and with a sleepy smirk, you added, "no fight necessary, Matty...I was disarmed the second I heard that sexy morning voice of yours."

Mattheo's hand slipped lower, finding your ass and giving it a playful squeeze, his grip growing firmer with each passing moment. A husky groan escaped him as he throbbed against you, plush lips pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.

"Not like you to surrender so easily," he teased, a shiver of anticipation dancing along your spine as he demanded, "tell me about the dream first."

You shifted, your hand tracing a deliberate path along the strong contours of his arm. With a tender yet purposeful motion, your fingers wove into his hair, entangling themselves in his tousled curls. His lashes responded like delicate butterflies, fluttering in rhythm with the shallow bursts of his chest as you tugged gently.

"It was nothing," your voice, a soft murmur, attempted to dismiss the weight of the dream. Coaxingly, your lips pressed kisses against his neck, their warmth acting as a soothing balm against his skin. "Just a stupid thing."

Your gentle murmur aimed to dissolve the tension, encouraging him to release the probing question that lingered in the tranquil, dawn-lit room, but of course, your efforts would prove futile.

"Clearly, it wasn't nothing." Mattheo's nails dug into the skin of your backside, his grip tightening with a fervor that bespoke an intense need. His body turned relentless, an urgency in his touch as if he needed you more than the very air he breathed. "If you don't tell me in five seconds, I'll deny you orgasms until you're in fucking tears, understand?"

Torn between a desire not to sound vulnerable and a plea for mercy, you instinctively tightened your grip on his hair. Your body flooded with warmth as you burrowed your head further against his neck, hiding your face from his view.

"It was about the future...about us," your voice was low, nearly inaudible. There was a long, silent pause before you spoke again. "I just...what do you want out of life after grad, Matty?"

In a sudden, swift movement, he flipped you onto your back. His strong fingers wrapped around both your wrists, holding them captive as he climbed over you. The weight of his body pressed against yours overwhelmed you with a clamouring lust, an undeniable force that spoke of desire and possession.

"What do I want?" he whispered, his dark eyes boring into yours with an intensity that left little room for evasion. "Hm..."

Seemingly lost in thought, Mattheo leaned in, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against your cheek, a trail of warmth that heightened the tension between your bodies. His grip on your wrists tightened, a subtle yet commanding restraint as the proof of his desire pressed against your pelvis, fuelling flames that danced between your naked bodies.

"You know what I want, Raven?" As Mattheo mumbled against your neck, his curls gently tickling your cheek, your heart leapt with each syllable, your lids fluttering shut as you drowned beneath his warmth. "I want you to stop worrying so fucking much..."

Mattheo released your wrists, one hand finding purchase next to your head as the other threaded through your hair, softly soothing your scalp. Heat blossomed, blazing between your bodies as skin skimmed skin, and you writhed, wrapping your arms around him.

"I want you to stop doubting us....doubting me..." he mouthed wet, warm kisses at your throat. "But what I want...most of all...is just to be with you."

"But," you blushed, thighs buzzing with need. "What if we can't?"

Nipping your ear, he moved lower, hand leaving your hair to skate over your side, painting pleasure with his calloused palm as he went. He suckled at your clavicle, tracing a line to your sternum with his tongue--you whimpered.

"Then we'll find a way." He murmured, his breath washing warm over your skin. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

Gripping your backside, he burned kisses between your breasts, briefly acknowledging them with a nuzzle before continuing--his mouth was tender and deliberate, as if you were parchment, as if you would tear under his touch. Amidst the caresses, a realization echoed within you--this man, once seemingly distant, had transformed before your eyes. The disbelief lingered, weaving through your internal thoughts as you grappled with the profound shift. His unwavering commitment, the assurance that he wasn't going anywhere, left you in uncharted emotional territory.

The conflicting currents of vulnerability and safety created a storm within. You still found yourself marvelling at how this man who was hardly a mere acquaintance at the beginning of the year, had now become a source of comfort, a haven within the unpredictable sea of emotions. It was a sensation wholly unfamiliar, yet undeniably welcomed--a delicate dance between disbelief and the profound realization that, in Mattheo's embrace, you had found a sanctuary, a place to be unapologetically yourself.

Tears brimmed, bliss buzzing. "Mattheo..."

Abruptly, he pulled back, his hand shifting from your backside and darting up to grip your jaw, his touch commanding yet tender. He met your eyes with an intensity that held a hint of vulnerability, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek.

"Do you understand me?" he asked, his voice a low, raspy murmur. His grip sought assurance, and he implored, "tell me you understand."

Your heart thundered. "It's just...we've said goodbye so many times before-"

Mattheo cut you off with a fervent shake of his head, his thumb continuing its gentle caress on your cheek.

"No more goodbyes, Raven," he declared, his voice resolute yet carrying a touch of tenderness. "We're not playing that game anymore--you think I could ever do this again? You think I could ever find another as maddeningly perfect as you are?..."

he paused, searching your eyes for a moment, before he finally whispered; "You have me...you're safe."

Your heart melted, and with that, he dipped low, his lips capturing yours in an instant. Out of pure joy, you sighed, surrendering to the warmth of the kiss, your eyelids fluttering closed, fingers delving deep into his hair.

A soft grunt escaped him, the kiss deepening, and he shifted his hand to cradle your head, pulling you closer. A contented whine escaped you, ecstasy radiating in your chest. In his embrace, you let go of tension, allowing the remnants of fear to disintegrate. You found solace in the trust that he would keep you safe, that you two would undoubtedly find a way to make things work.

"Nothing can change that," he mumbled against your lips, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks before he broke away again, kissing a steady path back down your neck. "I need you to get that through this beautiful, stubborn little head of yours."

A soft, breathy chuckle escaped you, your fingers slipping from his hair to gently trace mindless patterns on his back.

"Alright, alright," you teased, a playful glint in your eyes. "I'll work on getting that through my 'beautiful, stubborn little head’...but only if you promise to keep reminding me."

Mattheo's lips continued their journey, a purposeful exploration down your chest. Each kiss marked a steady descent, and as he ventured lower, the subtle tensing of his muscles hinted at the strength restrained beneath his touch. His messy curls framed his face like an untamed halo, and he pressed further with a playful smirk, an amused huff escaping him against your skin.

"Reminding you is the minimum," he replied, his voice carrying a promise wrapped in a husky tone. "I'll fucking drill it into your bones, princess--you're mine, I'm yours. Say it."

Your breath caught at the intensity in his words, and a shiver ran down your spine. Meeting his eyes, a mix of desire and vulnerability, you whispered, "I'm yours, Mattheo. And you're mine."

With a gentle hum, he trailed kisses over the curve of your belly, descending to the intimate swell between your thighs. Settling between your legs, his lips tenderly caressed your thighs, eliciting delightful squirms as waves of pleasure surged through your nerves.

"That's right, baby..." he cooed, kissing inward toward the crease of your thigh. "You will always be my first, last, and only love."

With a deliberate touch, he pressed his lips to your pussy, tentative at first, grazing once, twice, before lavishing it with a deep, voracious kiss. Your cry echoed in the room as his strong tongue slid through your slit, exploring your tender folds, a soft groan resonating in his chest. Mattheo maintained eye contact, locking his gaze with yours while he lavished your sex with his mouth. Blinking, you struggled to clear the foggy haze of nearly-untamed emotions that threatened to spill out, his words echoing in your mind like a tempest.

Your fingers curled in his hair. "Oh, fuck..."

You gasped for air, feeling the oxygen drain from the room. Tightening your grip on his head, your hips involuntarily twitched beneath him, the intensity of the moment leaving you breathless. Dizziness washed over you--the heady blend of infatuation and the surging pleasure left you gasping, bucking in the throes of desire. Cravings surged within, a hunger for more, a yearning for him that still caught you by surprise, even after all of this time.

"What else worries you," he murmured into your cunt, his warm breath turning the blood in your veins to pure magma. "What else are you afraid of."

A muted cry escaped your lips, and you swallowed against a tightening throat--Mattheo's kisses delicately navigated your slit, as though tending to the intangible wounds forged in the ebb and flow of your complex, on-and-off sexual intimacy over the past few months. Surprisingly, words flowed with ease, a spontaneous revelation of your soul, unshackled by the torrent of bliss coursing through your senses.

"I...I'm afraid..." you gasped, your eyes squeezing shut, your breath hitching as his murmurs sent shudders through your limbs. "Afraid of losing myself in this, in you," another gasp escaped, "and of not being able to find my way back."

Mattheo purred in praise, urging you to keep going, delving his tongue in between your folds, his tongue wet and strong as it slipped through your slit. There was a deliberate avoidance of your clit--which twitched and stiffened in ways it would only do for him--his mouth marking you in memory as he kissed you not only in desire, but in apology. In servitude.

"And the fear of...of needing you more than I should," you admitted through gasps, your vulnerability laid bare. "Of loving you so much that...that I might lose sight of my own path."

Licking lines through you, Mattheo purred again when he reached the top of your cunt, circling your clit with lavish, lingering kisses. You groaned, fingers coiling around his curls, your hips bucking, begging for him, for his release. But he was torturous--drawing his tongue between your slit until his nose grazed your clit, sparking pleasure, a moan catching deep in your throat. Humming with satisfaction, he rolled around it, and air fled you in wanton breaths while you tried in vain to grind onto his face, fighting his hold on you.

"And...ah," you stammered through gasps, your admission laden with a heavy truth, tears brimming in your eyes, promoting you to squeeze them shut. "Most of all...I'm...I'm afraid of losing you."

Finally, finally--he rewarded your patience and flicked your clit with his tongue, swirling it in saliva before taking it between his plush lips. You sobbed, tears spilling free, body thrashed with waves of ecstasy, and Mattheo moaned into you, his mouth hot and soft and working your clit as it throbbed and ached against him.

Laving at you, he sucked, hands stroking up your sides until he reached your breasts, palming at them, thumbs brushing your nipples. Your back arched in bliss, and you jerked his head into you--in response, he battered your nub with his tongue, suckling you faster, chasing your wriggling frame as you gyrated in rhythm, your chin dropping to your chest, body plunged in pleasure.

"Let go for me," Mattheo murmured, his hold on your hips tightening, his shoulders tensing. "I promise I'll catch you."

He drove his face into your cunt, sucking your clit past his teeth, beating it faster, groaning, bathing in your slick. You whined, twitched, moaned, and euphoria exploded over your skin--within seconds, you were erupting, cumming hard onto his tongue, clit pulsing in his lips, walls spasming at his chin. Mattheo sucked in a breath through his nose, swallowing your orgasm, laving you into oversensitivity as he sucked until you twitched in discomfort. When he finally released you; you collapsed, spent, sweat sticking to the sheets, still shivering with tears.

"Such a good girl for me..." Mattheo massaged your thighs, strong, warm grip kneading your buzzing skin--the tenderness in his gaze flushed you with heat, and you began to tremble. "Shh..."

You swallowed, lungs still finding their rhythm. Mattheo's hands moved with a gentle reassurance, caressing up your thighs and over your hips in a rhythmic dance. Simultaneously, his mouth began a wet trail of soft kisses, ascending with each delicate touch up your stomach.

"Your vulnerability is a fucking honour, my pretty girl," his warm breath interweaving with the intimate cadence of his movements. "Don't keep any of that inside, anymore...you can trust me with your fears...your worries..." the comforting strokes continued, a tactile promise as he whispered, "I'm more than willing to take the weight off your shoulders."

His lips found your skin in a tender embrace, and he hummed against your tingling flesh as he added, "I'm with you...I'll help you find your way, just as you helped me find mine..."

Your chest heaved with a mixture of pleasure and vulnerability. As Mattheo's words echoed in the air, you managed to rasp out, "I trust you," each syllable tinged with the raw honesty of your emotions. "I fucking love you."

His touch, both commanding and comforting, sent shivers through your trembling form, and the weight of your fears began to lift, replaced by the reassuring warmth of his presence. Mattheo's gaze held a depth of emotion as he absorbed your words. His hands, still moving with a gentle reassurance, tightened ever so slightly on your skin.

And then, he shifted, collapsing down on the sheets and slipping up beside you, guiding you to turn onto your side, facing away from him, his arms wrapping around your waist, his mouth teasingly ghosting against your ear.

In a husky whisper, he murmured, "I love you too, Raven, but you already knew that...didn't you?"

He was all-encompassing, warm and solid and strong, enfolding you in something you almost believed was invincibility.

You hummed, lids fluttering softly. "Of course I did, Matty.."

"That's right, baby," Mattheo tucked his knees behind yours, shifting your ass so it rested against his hips--like this, you felt his cock flatted between you, throbbing as you tweaked your position. "My beautiful little angel...all I want from life is to wake up like this every fucking morning...with you...wet and needy for me..."

As you whined, squirming against him, Mattheo leaned in, brushing his lips against the skin behind your ear. He trailed kisses and nibbles down your neck, making you dizzy with pleasure, his hands moving to cup your breasts, rubbing his thumbs against your already hard nipples. You let out a soft moan, eyes rolling as you arched your back into his touch.

"You're fucking perfect." The low thunder of his voice melted in your ears, and he murmured your name. "You want me to fuck that pretty pussy, hm?"

Your throat was tight, and instantly, you nodded. "Yes, Matty...please..."

"Mm." He hummed. "That's my good girl."

You shifted your head to the side until Mattheo's lips met yours in a soft, gentle kiss, one of his hands moving to guide his throbbing length toward your core, groaning into your mouth as he entered you with an unhurried, deliberate thrust of his hips. The sensation of him filling you slowly, inch by tantalizing inch, elicited a chorus of whimpering and moaning, each one bringing forth a new wave of exquisite pleasure. As the kiss deepened and he skillfully rolled his hips, your body responded instinctively, arching into him, welcoming his intimate touch.

One arm held you securely against his chest, and the other shifted to your hair, the grip of his hand against your head both comforting and soothing, tracing calming strokes along your scalp. A fusion of bodies unfolded, your essence intertwining with his. The synchronized rhythm of your racing hearts echoed the now-openly spoken connection coursing through your veins.

Mattheo broke the kiss, pressing his forehead into yours. "You are the only one for me." He was seated inside of you, offering soft, gentle thrusts. "I knew it the second you saw the darkest parts of me...the fucking hell in my eyes and didn't even blink...when you told me it mirrored your own."

You whimpered, head spinning in a whirlwind of emotion, and he kissed your nose. "You've always been the woman whose words hang in my mind..." another kiss to your jaw. " ...the woman whose face I see before I sleep..." he confessed, snuffing a moan in his throat. " ...the woman who plagues me every moment I'm awake..."

Every single syllable from Mattheo's lips left you in utter disbelief, grappling with the unfathomable reality that had transpired within your life. Once entirely convinced that love was an unattainable concept, a realm you adamantly avoided, you now stood fully-drenched in the depth of a connection with a partner who defied every single living expectation. Mattheo Riddle, a man who should have been everything you steered clear of, turned out to be precisely what your heart craved--a revelation that shook the foundations of your entire understanding.

In the whirlwind of emotions, you found yourself astounded by the depth of this unexpected bond. He saw facets of your being that had remained veiled to others, unraveling layers of your soul with an understanding that transcended imagination. It was then that you realized, some hearts just understood each other, even in silence.

"You're relentless," his lips hovered mere millimetres from your ear as he intensified his pace, his fingers finding your clit. "You're maddeningly fucking beautiful." A forceful jolt from his hips, and you shattered, the pleasure overwhelming. "And you're the most insatiable, fierce little creature I've ever come across. You stirred me up without effort.”

Your voice was a whimper. "Mattheo..."

His embrace tightened around you, anchoring you as he thrust deeply, filling you completely. "Fuck-you're my good fucking slut...all fucking mine..." he groaned your name, sucking at your shoulder, tongue leaving hot lines on your neck. "This tight little cunt only stretches for me...those pretty lips only moan my fucking name..." his fingers whirled your clit. "I'll be dead before I allow that to change."

"Gods-" you choked, eyes squeezed shut, wetness damping your cheeks as you clutched onto his arm, revelling in every single inch that he was giving you, the pleasure from his fingers intoxicating your conscious. "Matt-fuck-oh...."

"Fuck--" a feral kiss bruised your lips, his cock splitting you with deep thrusts. "Such a good fucking slut...my good little cockslut, hm?"

"Yes-" you gasped, his fingers moving quicker. "Yes-yes!"

"That's it..." He muttered your name against your mouth. "Cum for me...let me feel how much you love this cock..." "

"Fuck-" one more breath, one more gasp, blink, moan, and you were there. "Fuck! Mattheo! Oh, Gods..."

Euphoria swept through you like a tempest, unraveling the seams of your sanity, and you shattered, convulsing with the overwhelming intensity of your climax. Your walls spasmed around his dick, milking him hard, and Mattheo held you, groaning and grunting into your mouth as he held off his peak for as long as he could, until it was too much and he surrendered--his lips working over yours as he came deep inside your heat, hips hitting your ass with every rush of rapture.

After what felt like minutes, he stalled, the aftershocks of bliss rippling through your bodies at once while you remained there catching breath, still connected.

Languid and sated, the two of you paused in a state of post-ecstasy bliss, your senses heightened in a way that defied fatigue. Mattheo, positioned behind you, had seemingly recuperated--his withdrawal from your cunt accompanied by a slow, deep guttural groan that reverberated through the aftermath. A sigh of relief escaped him, and you grinned, nestling against the contours of his body, not ready to leave the solace of his warmth.

The press of his lips against your temple held a silent reassurance, a whispered promise of care and comfort in the aftermath of shared passion.

Finally finding your voice, you could hardly articulate your thoughts, but one question lingered on the forefront, slipping past your teeth. "Where the fuck have you been, all this time..."

Mattheo hummed, placing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, nestling his face into your neck. "On my way here, Raven."

[infamous-light]

Green With Envy

Agatha Harkness x Familiar! Reader

AO3: Green With Envy

Summary: You served as Agatha’s familiar, bound to her by magic and loyalty. As you journey together down the witches' road, Rio, another witch, begins to take an interest in you, much to Agatha's displeasure.

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Possessive behavior, jealousy, suggestive themes, light dom/sub

The witches' road stretched endlessly before you, a winding, leaf-strewn path bordered by towering trees with gnarled branches that twisted overhead, creating a canopy of shadows.

Agatha walked ahead, her posture tense, shoulders rigid beneath the folds of her deep blue coat. Her gaze was razor-sharp, fixed on the road ahead, though you could sense something simmering beneath the surface. The usual confidence she exuded was strained, her energy taut like a drawn bowstring.

You followed closely behind, careful to stay within reach of her.

The bond between you and Agatha thrummed beneath your skin, a constant, unspoken connection that had always defined your role as her familiar. It wasn’t something you could easily describe; it was beyond words. It linked your soul to hers, a deep and intimate tether that allowed you to sense her energy, her thoughts, her emotions, as if they were your own. And today, they’re complicated – more complicated than usual, because of a certain green witch that had crawled out of Sharon’s grave like a ghost from the past.

Her presence unsettled Agatha, stirring up memories best left buried. You could tell she was trying to maintain her composure, but her agitation rippled through the bond, making your own pulse quicken in response.

Speaking of the green witch – Rio, if you remembered her name correctly – had started to drift closer to you, a little too close for your comfort. Her long strides matched yours, as if she were deliberately trying to invade the space between you and Agatha. Though her demeanor seemed playful, an almost carefree air surrounding her, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something far more calculated lay beneath. It was in the way her eyes, ever watchful, kept wandering toward you, their intensity impossible to ignore. And each time you met her eyes, a slow, sly smile would curl at the corners of her lips. Her interest wasn’t subtle, nor did she try to hide it. It was clear and unapologetic.

You did your best to avoid locking eyes with her, focusing on the other members of the coven or on Agatha’s form just a few steps in front of you, but Rio’s presence clung to you like a shadow.

“Quite the loyal familiar you’ve got there, Agatha.” Rio purred, her voice low and laced with amusement. Her gaze, predatory and assessing, flickered briefly toward Agatha before sliding back to you, lingering in a way that made your skin prickle with unease. “Where did you two meet?”

Agatha’s reaction was subtle but unmistakable. She stiffened ever so slightly beside you, her body becoming tense as though preparing for a confrontation. Her hand brushed against your arm as if she wanted to remind Rio – and perhaps even you – of whom you truly belonged to.

“That’s none of your business.” Agatha replied, her voice cold and cutting. Her dark eyes flashed with a dangerous edge as they fixed on Rio, daring her to test her patience any further.

But Rio only smirked, undeterred by Agatha's icy response.

“So, how’s it been, being Agatha’s... familiar?” Rio’s voice dripped with a smooth, almost silky tone. She leaned in ever so slightly, a smirk playing on her lips as her gaze lingered on you, waiting – no, daring you – to speak. “Must be quite the experience, being bound to her.”

Before you could respond, you felt a sudden shift beside you. Agatha's hand shot out, quick as lightning, gripping your wrist with a firm, almost possessive touch that sent a jolt through your entire body. Her skin was cool against yours but the strength behind her hold burned like a brand, as if she were marking her claim on you.

“Careful, Rio,” Agatha warned, her voice low and steady. “My familiar knows exactly where her loyalties lie, so don’t even try.”

The air between the two witches crackled with barely restrained energy, the tension thick enough to be felt in the pit of your stomach. Rio’s gaze continued to remain locked on yours, as though Agatha's warning was nothing more than an amusing game to her. A challenge waiting to be taken up. Rio’s lips twitched, the beginnings of laughter threatening to spill over, though she held it back just enough to let the tension stretch further. With a dramatic flair, Rio raised her hands, palms outward in a gesture of mock surrender, as if to say she meant no harm, though the smirk on her face told an entirely different story. The theatrical display only seemed to intensify Agatha's fury further before she dropped her hands back to her sides.

“So protective.” Rio’s voice came out in a soft, almost singsong tone.

In response, Agatha's grip tightened. She yanked you closer, pulling you flush against her side. She leaned in, her breath warm against the sensitive skin of your ear.

“I want you to stay away from her, understood?” Agatha murmured, her voice a low, threatening growl. “You belong to me. Don’t you forget that.”

Your heart thudded violently against your ribcage, as if trying to break free from the pressure building inside of you. The heat of both witches' gazes bore into you, and you swallowed hard, the movement painful as your throat clenched tight, dry with apprehension.

“Yes, Mistress.” The words tumbled from your lips, soft and breathless, barely more than a whisper.

Agatha’s lips curled into a smug smirk. “Good.” She cooed, the single word dripping with satisfaction.

Agatha cast a sidelong glance at Rio as she leaned in further, her lips so close to your ear that you could feel the soft brush of them. Just as her teeth were about to nip playfully at your earlobe, the moment was shattered by a loud, deliberate throat-clearing.

Startled, all three of you turned, eyes snapping to Lilia, who stood awkwardly at the edge of the scene. Her expression was as uncomfortable as her interruption. Behind her, the rest of the coven shuffled around nervously, shifting their weight from foot to foot. Their faces were a mix of concern and curiosity, eyes flickering between you, Agatha, and Rio.

“We need to get a move on.” Lilia said, clearly eager to get away from this situation.

Heat crept into your cheeks as you realized the coven had been watching this spectacle unfold. You lowered your gaze, wishing for the road to swallow you up whole, to disappear from this moment.

Agatha let out an exasperated sigh. Without uttering a single word, she tightened her grip around your wrist, her fingers firm and unyielding as she forcefully pulled you along. Rio, meanwhile, merely flipped her dark hair over her shoulder, a knowing smile still playing on her lips. It was as if the interruption hadn’t bothered her in the slightest.

As she trailed behind, you could feel Rio’s gaze lingering on your retreating form.

***

The campfire crackled softly, casting a dim orange glow on the surrounding trees. The night air was crisp, carrying the fresh scent of pine and earth. Around the fire, the others lay in deep slumber, their makeshift beds of leaves and branches scattered in a rough circle.

Agatha made sure that Rio was far from the two of you, positioning herself strategically next to you to keep a watchful eye on the witch’s every move.

The stillness of the night was almost absolute, broken only by the occasional pop of the fire. Its warmth, though faint, was the only barrier against the biting chill that threatened to seep into your bones. Lying on your side, exhaustion clung to your limbs, making your body feel heavier with each passing moment. Yet, just as sleep began to tug at your consciousness, you felt a shift – Agatha stirring beside you.

A second later, the front of her body was pressed firmly against your back. Her breath, warm and steady, caressed the nape of your neck, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. One of her hands, soft yet deceptively strong, slipped across your abdomen, her fingers splaying out with deliberate ownership. Agatha began tracing slow, languid circles over your shirt, the movement deliberate and enticing, sending waves of heat coursing through your body despite the chilly night air.

“M-Mistress?” You stuttered quietly, the word escaping your lips in a barely audible whisper.

Agatha gently shushed you, her voice low and soothing. Then, she moved, turning you onto your back in one smooth, effortless motion. Her body shifted, and suddenly she was straddling you, her legs pinning you down with a delicious weight. Your pulse raced as she loomed over you, her wild, untamed brown hair cascading around you like a curtain, enclosing you in a world that belonged to the two of you alone. The flickering firelight illuminated her face just enough to highlight the sharp angles of her features – high cheekbones, a defined jawline, and lips that curved with a tantalizing smirk. But it was her eyes that truly captivated you – dark, smoldering, and filled with an almost feral possessiveness – that drew you in with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

Her gaze held a promise, both thrilling and terrifying, as she braced her hands on either side of you, caging you in, making it clear that you were hers and hers alone.

Without warning, Agatha closed the distance between you, her lips crashing against yours with a fierce, unrestrained passion. The kiss was possessive and hungry, like she was trying to devour every ounce of you. The force of it was dizzying, leaving you breathless as her tongue teased and explored, dancing with yours in a rhythm that felt both intoxicating and primal, leaving no part of you untouched.

Agatha’s left hand reached up, her fingers curling around your jaw with a tender yet commanding grip. She turned your face to the side, and you could feel her warm breath ghosting against your skin. As she began to pepper soft kisses along the column of your throat, each gentle press of her lips felt electric, sending waves of arousal pooling between your legs. The sensation intensified with every delicate brush, heightened as Agatha’s teeth grazed your exposed neck, biting down just enough to leave a mark. Your eyelids fluttered closed, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that overcame you, and you let out a soft whimper, the sound barely escaping your lips.

After another firm nip at your pulse point, you opened your eyes once more, blinking against the encroaching haze of desire.

The breath in your throat froze, caught like a deer in the headlights, as you caught sight of Rio gazing at you from across the flickering campfire.

She lay on her side, facing your direction, propped up on one elbow. Her dark hair cascaded over the forest floor like a waterfall of silk. A sly smirk danced across her lips, amusement sparkling in her eyes. Panicked, you instinctively glanced around, worried that the others may be awake as well, but, to your relief, they were sleeping peacefully in their makeshift beds.

“Uh-Mistress, Rio, she’s-” You stammered, a rush of embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

“Let her watch.” Agatha said breathlessly, her voice a sultry whisper that sent goosebumps across your flesh.

Agatha captured your lips once more. Her kiss was a fierce declaration, filled with longing and desire. As her right hand trailed up your ribs, her fingers brushed delicately against your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, causing another spark of arousal to settle low in your gut. Each touch was deliberate, coaxing a deep, instinctual reaction from within you.

“Please…” The word escaped your lips in a breathy whisper, laced with urgency and yearning.

Rio made a low, pleased hum at the sound of your plea. Her eyes were half-lidded, dark with lust and intrigue, as if she were savoring every second of what was unfolding before her. She shifted slightly, leaning back, her posture relaxed yet predatory. One hand rested on her thigh, her long fingers tapping slowly, deliberately, against her leg.

The heat radiating from Agatha’s body felt like molten fire against your skin, leaving you desperate as her hand slid down, resting possessively on your hip, anchoring you in place.

When Agatha finally pulled away, a soft, involuntary gasp escaped your lips, your chest heaving as the cool night air rushed back into your lungs. Yet even as the distance grew, Agatha’s breath remained tantalizingly close, ragged and uneven, mingling with your own. Her gaze never wavered, locked onto yours with a deep, dark hunger swirling in its depths, consuming each one of your thoughts.

“You’re mine,” Agatha growled, her voice lower, huskier, dripping with pure possessiveness. “My pet. No one else will ever have you.”

Your body reacted instinctively as your thighs pressed together in response.

Agatha’s gaze shifted like a blade, cutting sharply toward Rio. Her eyes narrowed into a deadly glare that could have scorched the ground beneath the witch. But Rio, ever unfazed, merely chuckled, her laughter low and teasing. Without a word, she turned back around, her posture relaxed, as if unconcerned with Agatha's jealousy.

This was going to be a long, difficult journey, you realized.

[drgnflyteabox]

Imagine you're a sheltered woman from New York in the 1850s. By the time you're a young lady both your parents are dead, so you have no choice but to leave your cushy little family home, get on a train and meet your only living relative. You're kind of useless, bookish and naive. You've never experienced anything but comfort. Your uncle tells you he doesn't want you around, but as a woman you can't do much on your own, and what could you do? You're as helpless as a lamb.

Your uncle betroths you to a man in Oregon, and ships you off to travel the oregon trail with all your treasure (jewelry, bonds, antiques, etc). The only thing is that he can't just send you on your own- you've only been in the real world the past few days to travel to him!!! You've been an anxious little hermit, and who's gonna carry your trunk full of romance books?

Your uncle hires security company 141 to escort you through the grueling journey, and you're none the wiser that company 141 doesn't exist, but outlaw gang Ghost team does...

Anyways I neeeeeeed more western and cowboy 141 and I've been playing rdr2 lately soo

This could work for any of the boys :')

Gaz who's just like your fairytale men. Kind, considerate, kisses your hand. He gives you a little extra bacon in the morning when you whine and picks wildflowers for you when he sees a pretty one (like you). You're defenseless against his charms.

Price who's...... the embodiment of your daddy issues. Spoiler? But you grew up so sheltered because your dad believed your family was cursed, and made you scared to be in the world. Price is so big and solid and comforting, older and bearlike... you definitely could call him daddy :')

Johnny who's got you flustered and blushing the entire way, even when you're miserable, when you're beyond travel weary. He's carefree about touch and space, and for someone who grew up locked in a single space for so long, you're like putty at the simplest touches from him

Simon's a wildcard. He wears a bandana, which makes everyone but the company nervous, and he's always riding off. You rarely see him, but you're mesmerized by his pale eyes and pale lashes, his scars and his story. He kind of hates you for how you don't seem to know like... anything. He let's the others care for you, counting the days until they can meet up with Kate and abandon you for dead with all your ma and pas jewelry and valuables and onto the next robbery... unless (0)o(0)

Also the guy you're meant to marry is graves LOL. Your family is deep in the railway industry and filthy rich and graves is buying up land and planting vineyards. Hes getting rich off of wine :') that's the story in my head

Plsss forgive me if this has already been written!!! I had a dream about it and I couldn't remember if it was something I'd read, or something I thought up. I looked around tumblr and ao3 for anything but couldn't find anything. Pleaseeeeee contact me if its your idea, I'm terrified of accidentally plagiarizing lol

[glitteryinknotes]

There is a level of deep, bitterly poetic and cruel irony in Astarion's death and his eventual fate as a vampire spawn. Laughable, even. Lamentable.

Where do I even begin. I once posted here my thoughts on who Astarion was before Cazador took him; and all my thoughts were based on what we can assume to be canon from scraps on information in - game and interviews with Neil. That Astarion Ancunin who was laid into the ground at Baldur's Gate cementary was a corrupt magistrate, a shining example of power abuse, indulgence, hedony, existence in privilege without any service to the world around.

We also know for a fact that Astarion is not a good person in a moral sense. Again, Neil Newbon himself talked about it. He has capability to grow, mature, open himself up, soak in the positive influence and feel for others, but he never will be the default upstanding type. That is simply not at his core.

This is why (I am aware we're talking a fictional character, headcanon is free to all in whichever way they think it suits and pleases them) I cannot for the world believe in all the fanfiction based on the notion of the tragic, tortured soul unjustly attacked and turned into a vampire, because to me - it misses the entire depth and essence of Astarion's personality and arc. He was not a "worthy" persona before Cazador; in fact, the beating he got from the Gur was well - deserved and the near - death experience... Probably so as well. Maybe if anything, this would open his eyes and force him to reflect at least a bit on his choices in the position he was occupying. (But given that he mentions begging Cazador to turn him to be able to take revenge, I highly doubt that.) So yeah... The man got what was coming to him. He deserved it.

But what he got in the end once Cazador allowed him to drink his blood and had him in his hold? Two hundred years of misery and abuse beyond description, being completely stripped of any identity and personhood? No one deserves that. Such fate should not be thrust upon anyone. Ever.

It is the cruellest, most wicked twist of fate that it took that kind of ordeal to change a corrupt little elf's view of the world and force him to even acknowledge the existence of evil deeds and abuse of power - something I am quite sure he never gave any thought to before. It took being transformed into an utterly helpless victim to make him truly see that there is good and bad and perpetuating the bad leads to pain and misery for the innocents (and you can never be sure if not for you as well), and only then, at his most pathetic, most vulnerable, after centuries of torment, it took meeting, trusting, admiring, being grateful to, befriending / loving and being influenced by a genuinely good and kind person (probably the exact opposite of who he was before) to shake and cause some shift in his inner moral compass, or rather the way he was choosing to use it. The full circle, a poignant, unwilling journey from the one abusing power, to the enslaved puppet of someone with considerably more power abusing it in the most inhuman ways possible, and this time to his own woe, to the one person able to break the abusive cycle given the right influence.

Isn't that simply poetic in the most sickly sense? A tragicomedy, if you will.

Forget about Astarion Ancunin. The grave was good for lovemaking and sharing an important moment, but whoever was laid there was not anyone worthy of your time (just like "Ascended Astarion" )The one who stands by your side now is. Your Astarion. The new Astarion, the same "lovable rogue" with a taste for theatrics, drama, debauchery, beauty, murder mayhem and loose morality, but - a better person all the same.

[follow up post here

https://www.tumblr.com/glitteryinknotes/733162725841289216/a-little-follow-up-to-my-previous-post?source=share]

[shybluebirdninja]

Broken Claws and Tender Hearts

Summary: In the dark corners of a crumbling city, aging mutant Wolverine, James Logan Howlett, finds himself gravely wounded and abandoned. Rescued by Y/N, a compassionate woman trapped in an abusive marriage, Logan’s gratitude evolves into deep, forbidden love as he witnesses the brutal toll of her husband's violence.

The city was a mess, like it had given up on itself a long time ago. Streets were littered with trash, and broken glass crunched underfoot like a constant reminder of the decay that had set in. In the darkest corners of this dismal place, where even the streetlights seemed to flicker with disinterest, James Logan Howlett—known to the world as Wolverine—was barely hanging on. Once a fierce mutant warrior with an unbreakable spirit, he was now just an old man with unhealable wounds and a broken heart.

Logan, as he was known, was a far cry from the invincible fighter he used to be. His claws, once sharp enough to cut through steel, were now dull and rusty. His body, scarred and bruised from countless battles, was failing him. Pain was his constant companion, a relentless reminder of his mortality. As he lay slumped in a filthy alley, the cold seeped through his tattered clothes, mingling with the sweat of his suffering. He was beyond exhausted, teetering on the edge of consciousness, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“Fuck, this is one hell of a way to go,” he muttered weakly, his voice barely a croak. His usually fierce eyes were now clouded with exhaustion, and the alley seemed to close in around him, a concrete tomb waiting to claim him.

Just when it seemed like things couldn’t get any worse, a pair of footsteps echoed through the alley. Logan's dimming senses barely registered the sound at first. But the crunch of boots on the grimy pavement drew closer, and his survival instincts kicked in, if only just. He tried to lift his head, but it felt like it weighed a ton. He managed to catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure approaching.

“Jesus Christ!” a female voice called out, a mix of shock and concern lacing her words. The figure moved closer, and Logan could make out the silhouette of a woman. Her face was partly hidden by the dim light, but the earnest worry in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Hey, buddy, you look like shit,” she said, crouching down beside him. “What happened to you?”

Logan tried to muster a response, but the effort was futile. Instead, he gave a weak shrug and a bitter laugh. “Just another day in paradise,” he rasped, struggling to keep his eyes open.

The woman, whose name Logan would soon learn was Y/N, didn’t seem deterred by his sarcastic tone. She looked him over with a practiced eye, noting the severity of his injuries. “You’re in no shape to be lying here. We need to get you out of this mess.”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna be any trouble,” Logan mumbled, his voice tinged with irony. “I’m practically dead weight.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Y/N said, her voice firm but gentle. “Everyone deserves a chance, even you. Let’s get you out of here.”

With a strength that belied her delicate appearance, Y/N helped Logan to his feet. It was no easy task; he was barely able to support himself, his legs unsteady beneath him. She wrapped an arm around his waist, trying to steady him as they made their way out of the alley. Each step was a challenge, and Logan could feel his energy draining away with every movement.

“You’re really doing this?” Logan asked, glancing at her with a mixture of gratitude and skepticism. “You know I’m not exactly in the best shape.”

“Trust me, I’ve seen worse,” Y/N replied with a faint smile. “You’re not the first person I’ve helped, and you won’t be the last. Just hang in there.”

The journey to Y/N’s home was slow and arduous. The streets seemed endless, stretching out like a labyrinth of shadows. Logan’s breathing grew more labored with each step, and he could feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness. Y/N kept a steady pace, her determination unwavering.

When they finally arrived at her modest apartment, Logan was barely aware of his surroundings. The building was far from luxurious, but it had a certain homeliness that contrasted sharply with the desolation he had just left behind. Y/N managed to get him inside and guided him to a makeshift bed in the living room. The space was cluttered but warm, with a few personal touches that made it clear someone lived here.

“Alright, let’s get you settled,” Y/N said, her voice gentle as she helped him lie down. “I’m going to get some supplies and see what I can do for you.”

Logan watched as she moved about the small apartment, gathering medical supplies and setting them out with careful precision. Her movements were efficient but calm, as if she had done this many times before. Despite the pain, Logan found himself oddly comforted by her presence.

“Why are you going through all this trouble?” Logan asked, his voice weak but curious. “You don’t even know me.”

Y/N paused her work and looked at him with a thoughtful expression. “It’s not about knowing you. It’s about doing what’s right. No one should be left to suffer like this, not even someone who looks like they’ve been through hell.”

Logan chuckled dryly, a sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m kind of a mess. I don’t exactly inspire confidence.”

“Everyone has their own battles,” Y/N said softly. “Yours might be different from mine, but that doesn’t make them any less real. I’ve had my share of struggles, too.”

As Y/N cleaned his wounds with a gentle hand, Logan winced at the sting of antiseptic. Despite the pain, he appreciated her care. It was a stark contrast to the harshness of his usual existence. For once, he wasn’t fighting, wasn’t on the run. He was just lying here, vulnerable and at the mercy of someone who seemed to genuinely care.

“You know, I’m not exactly the type to get all mushy,” Logan said with a faint grin. “But this...”

Y/N cut him of and glanced up at him, her eyes warm. “You don’t have to be mushy. Just be grateful that someone’s here to help. That’s all I’m asking.”

Logan nodded, his heart heavy with a mix of gratitude and sadness. “I don’t know how to thank you. You’re giving me a chance when I don’t even deserve one.”

“Everyone deserves a chance,” Y/N replied firmly. “Even if they don’t think so themselves.”

As the night wore on, Y/N continued to tend to his wounds with meticulous care. Logan watched her, taking in the details of her face, the determination in her eyes. It was a rare sight—a glimmer of kindness in a world that had long since turned its back on him.

Despite the pain and fatigue, Logan felt a strange sense of calm. For the first time in a long while, he was allowing himself to be cared for, to be vulnerable. It was an unfamiliar but oddly comforting feeling. He had spent so many years fighting, surviving, and pushing everyone away. But here was someone who was willing to stand by him, even in his darkest hour.

“Hey, Y/N,” Logan said softly as she finished her work. “You ever wonder why we end up in places like this? I mean, I’ve fought a lot of battles, but this... this is a different kind of fight.”

Y/N looked at him, her expression thoughtful. “Sometimes, I think we end up where we need to be. Even in the darkest places, there’s a chance for something good to happen. Maybe this is just one of those moments.”

Logan nodded, his thoughts a tangled mess of past regrets and hopeful possibilities. As he drifted off to sleep, the warmth of Y/N’s care was a small, flickering light in the midst of his darkness. It wasn’t a cure for his wounds or his broken spirit, but it was a reminder that there was still some good left in the world

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

Y/N’s apartment, though modest and cluttered, was a sanctuary of sorts for Logan. As days passed, he began to recover from his severe injuries, thanks in no small part to Y/N’s dedicated care. The old Wolverine, now fragile and more vulnerable than ever, found himself in an unexpected role—patient rather than warrior. It was a role that didn’t sit easily with him, but Y/N’s unwavering kindness made it bearable.

Y/N’s daily routine revolved around caring for Logan. Mornings began with gentle cleaning of his wounds, followed by a carefully prepared meal, usually something simple yet nourishing. Despite her own exhaustion, she never missed a beat, always wearing a brave face even when her eyes betrayed her fatigue. Logan noticed these details—the way her hands shook slightly when she applied ointment, the forced cheerfulness in her voice, and the way she always tried to keep things normal.

One afternoon, while Y/N was in the kitchen preparing lunch, Logan sat on the bed, feeling the stiffness of his muscles. He was starting to regain some strength, but moving was still a struggle. He could hear Y/N’s soft humming and the occasional clatter of pots and pans. Just as he was about to call out to her, the sound of the front door slamming shut cut through the quiet.

Logan tensed, recognizing the unmistakable sound of anger. Y/N’s face, when she returned to the room, was pale and strained. Her eyes darted nervously towards the door. Logan could sense the tension in the air, a sharp contrast to the calm that usually filled the room.

“Everything alright?” Logan asked, his voice hoarse but concerned. His eyes, though tired, were keenly observant.

Y/N forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, just... Marcus had a rough day at work. Nothing to worry about.”

Logan didn’t press further, though he could tell there was more to it. He knew from experience that some things were best left unspoken, but the bruises on Y/N’s arms, which she tried to hide with long sleeves, spoke volumes. Each mark was a silent testament to her struggles.

The days turned into weeks, and the tension between Y/N and Marcus became increasingly palpable. Logan overheard snippets of arguments through the thin walls of the apartment. Marcus’s voice was harsh and threatening, full of disdain for mutants and a general aggression that made Logan’s skin crawl.

One evening, as Y/N was bandaging a fresh wound on Logan’s side, the door burst open with a violent crash. Marcus stormed in, his face twisted with rage. “What the hell is this? You’re still wasting your time on this mutant freak? I thought I told you to get rid of him!”

Logan’s eyes flared with anger, but he held back, his body tensing. Y/N’s face flushed with a mix of fear and frustration. “Marcus, please, just calm down. He needs our help.”

“Why should I give a damn about this piece of shit?” Marcus spat, his eyes cold and unfeeling. “He’s nothing but trouble. You’re bringing this mess into our home.”

Logan could see the strain on Y/N’s face, the way she struggled to keep her voice steady. “Marcus, I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do. This man is hurt and needs help. I can’t just turn him away.”

Marcus’s gaze flicked to Logan, his eyes filled with contempt. “And what about what I need? You’re always putting others before me. I’m done with this crap.”

Logan remained silent, his claws itching to come out, but he knew better than to escalate the situation. Y/N’s shoulders slumped as Marcus’s angry words continued to fill the room, each one a fresh wound to her already battered soul.

Finally, Marcus stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Y/N stood there, shaking slightly, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. Logan’s heart ached for her, and he struggled to keep his voice calm as he spoke.

“Y/N... are you okay?” he asked, his tone gentle despite the anger bubbling inside him.

She wiped her tears and nodded, though it was clear she was far from okay. “I’m fine. It’s just... the same old stuff. Marcus doesn’t understand, and he never will.”

Logan reached out, his hand brushing against her arm gently. “You don’t deserve that, you know. No one does.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. “Thank you, Logan. I know it’s not your place to say that, but it means a lot coming from you.”

The days that followed were a delicate balance of tension and care. Y/N continued to nurse Logan back to health while trying to manage the chaos that Marcus brought into their lives. Logan’s own recovery was slow but steady, and he found himself growing more dependent on Y/N, not just for physical healing but for the emotional support he hadn’t realized he needed.

One night, as Logan lay awake in the dim light of the living room, he heard Y/N sobbing quietly in the next room. Unable to ignore her distress, he carefully rose from the bed and moved to the door of her room. He knocked softly, hoping not to startle her.

“Y/N, it’s me. Can I come in?”

There was a brief pause, and then Y/N’s voice, strained but soft, replied, “Yeah, come in.”

Logan entered to find Y/N sitting on the edge of the bed, her face buried in her hands. The sight of her, so vulnerable and broken, stirred something deep inside him. He approached her cautiously, sitting down beside her.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice a rough whisper in the quiet room. “You want to talk about it?”

Y/N looked up, her eyes red and swollen. “It’s just... everything feels so overwhelming. Marcus is getting worse, and I don’t know how much more I can take.”

Logan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle despite the rawness of his own wounds. “You’re stronger than you think. You’ve been handling all this shit with a lot more grace than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N gave a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Logan. It means a lot to hear that, especially now.”

As they sat together in the dim light, Logan found himself opening up in a way he hadn’t in years. He shared fragments of his past, stories of battles fought and lost, of the loneliness that came with being a mutant. Y/N listened intently, her presence a comforting balm to his wounded soul.

“I never thought I’d be in a place like this,” Logan said quietly. “Hell, I thought I’d be dead by now. But... there’s something about this place, about you, that makes me feel like maybe I’ve got a reason to stick around.”

Y/N’s eyes met his, and for a moment, the weight of their respective burdens seemed to lift. “Maybe we both needed this. A place where we could find some kind of solace, even if just for a little while.”

Logan nodded, feeling a strange sense of peace despite the chaos around them. He realized that his feelings for Y/N were growing stronger, and he admired her more with each passing day. Her strength in the face of adversity, her kindness despite her own suffering—it all spoke to him in ways he hadn’t expected.

One evening, after another particularly brutal argument with Marcus, Y/N sat down beside Logan, her face etched with exhaustion. She had a new bruise on her cheek, a stark reminder of the violence she faced at home. Logan’s heart ached at the sight of it, and he reached out, gently brushing his fingers against the bruise.

“Does it ever get easier?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern.

Y/N shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “No, it doesn’t. But I have to keep going. For me, for you... for everyone who needs me.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone. It’s not right.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and hope. “Maybe someday things will change. Maybe there will be a way out of this mess. Until then, I have to hold on to whatever hope I can find.”

As the days continued, Logan’s feelings for Y/N deepened. Her resilience in the face of Marcus’s abuse, her unwavering dedication to helping him despite her own suffering—it all made him see her in a new light. He found himself drawn to her not just as a caretaker, but as a person who had become an unexpected beacon of hope in his life.

One evening, as they sat together after Marcus had stormed out, Logan took Y/N’s hand in his, his touch gentle but firm. “Y/N, I want you to know something. I’m here because you gave me a chance when no one else would. And... I care about you. More than I probably should.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, her breath catching in her throat. “Logan, I—”

Before she could finish, Logan leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know that I want to be here for you. I want to fight this together.”

Y/N’s eyes were filled with tears, but a small smile touched her lips. “Thank you, Logan. That means more to me than you can imagine.”

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

Logan's recovery was a slow grind. The days were punctuated by a relentless rhythm of pain and progress, his wounds mending bit by bit. Y/N's care was both a balm and a burden; she was always there, her hands gentle and her demeanor kind. But as Logan's strength began to return, another kind of strength was being tested—Y/N’s.

Every day, Logan saw the bruises she tried to hide. He noticed the way she flinched when Marcus’s name was mentioned, the dark circles under her eyes that no amount of concealer could mask. It wasn’t just the physical pain that she wore like a second skin; it was the emotional toll that was etched into every line of her face. Logan could sense it, even when Y/N put on a brave face and forced a smile.

One evening, while Y/N was preparing dinner, Logan was lounging on the bed, his head resting against the headboard. He heard the all-too-familiar sound of the front door slamming, followed by Marcus’s booming voice, filled with venom. Logan’s jaw clenched, his claws itching to come out. But he knew better. The last thing Y/N needed was another problem on top of the one she already had.

Y/N’s footsteps were quick and hesitant as she moved around the kitchen. Logan could hear her trying to keep her voice steady as she spoke with Marcus, though it was clear from the sharpness in her tone that things were far from calm. Logan’s concern deepened with every shouted insult and the occasional crash that echoed through the apartment.

He struggled to stay put, his anger boiling beneath the surface. It was maddening to be so powerless, to hear Y/N suffering while he lay here, barely able to move. He wanted to confront Marcus, to show him just how outmatched he was, but his weakened state kept him tethered to the bed. It was a cruel irony that the very strength that had once made him a force to be reckoned with now left him helpless.

The door finally swung open, and Y/N walked in, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed. She carried a tray with a modest meal, her hands trembling slightly. Logan’s heart ached at the sight of her, and he tried to offer a reassuring smile, though he knew it probably looked more like a grimace.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Everything okay out there?”

Y/N set the tray down on the small table beside the bed, her expression a mixture of exhaustion and resignation. “Yeah, just another argument. Marcus had a rough day and... well, you know how it goes.”

Logan’s gaze was intense, filled with concern. “Y/N, you don’t have to go through this alone. You don’t deserve this.”

She sat down next to him, her shoulders slumping as she took a deep breath. “I know. I just... I don’t have a choice. If I leave, things will only get worse. I’m trying to hold on for now.”

Logan could see the pain in her eyes, the way her hands shook slightly as she picked up a small bowl of soup. He wanted to reach out, to offer some kind of comfort, but he felt powerless, his own strength a mere shadow of what it used to be.

“Y/N, listen,” he said, his voice rough but earnest. “I know I’m in no position to make demands or offer solutions, but you’ve got to know that you don’t deserve this. Marcus is a piece of shit, and you’re better than this.”

Y/N’s eyes met his, and she looked so tired, so weary. “It’s not that simple. Marcus is... he’s unpredictable. If I push too hard, it’ll only make things worse. I have to tread carefully.”

Logan’s anger flared, his hands curling into fists. “You shouldn’t have to live in fear. No one should.”

Y/N gave a small, bitter smile. “I appreciate that, Logan. I really do. But sometimes, just getting through the day is enough. It’s all I can manage right now.”

As the days went on, Logan’s concern grew. He noticed more bruises on Y/N’s skin, more shadows in her eyes. The arguments with Marcus became more frequent and more vicious. Logan found himself wrestling with a deep, gnawing frustration. He wanted to protect her, but he felt like a caged animal, unable to do anything but watch.

One night, after an especially brutal argument, Y/N came into the room, her face bruised and her lip split. She tried to hide it, but Logan saw the truth. His heart pounded with a mix of rage and helplessness.

“Y/N, what happened?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She sat down beside him, her movements slow and pained. “It’s nothing. Just... another fight. I’m okay.”

Logan’s eyes were fierce, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re not okay. This isn’t right, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to put up with this crap.”

Y/N sighed, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and resignation. “I know, Logan. I know. But what am I supposed to do? I can’t just leave. I need to keep this place together, even if it’s falling apart.”

Logan’s anger simmered, his frustration boiling over. “I wish I could do something. I feel like I’m just... useless.”

Y/N shook her head, her hand reaching out to touch his. “You’re not useless, Logan. You’ve given me more hope than I’ve had in a long time. Just having you here, knowing you care—it means more than you know.”

As they sat together in the dim light of the room, Logan felt a deep connection to Y/N. Her strength, her resilience, even in the face of so much pain—it was a stark contrast to the brutality she endured. He realized how much she had come to mean to him, and how deeply he wished he could change her circumstances.

Despite the growing attachment and the undeniable pull he felt towards her, Logan remained bound by his own limitations. He could only watch as Y/N continued to endure Marcus’s cruelty, his own feelings of helplessness mixing with a fierce, burning desire to protect her. Every bruise, every tear she shed was a reminder of the pain she was enduring and the brutal reality of her situation.

Logan’s internal struggle was a constant battle. He wanted to be the hero, the one who swooped in and saved the day, but he was stuck in a role that felt more like a spectator than a savior.

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

The night air was heavy, thick with an oppressive silence that seemed to press against Logan’s chest. He lay in bed, the shadows dancing across the walls as the soft hum of the city outside filled the room. Y/N had been unusually quiet tonight, and Logan's senses were on high alert, a growing unease gnawing at him.

He could hear Marcus’s booming voice from the other side of the apartment, each shout like a hammer pounding against Logan’s already frayed nerves. It had been a rough night, and Y/N’s attempts to calm her husband had only seemed to make things worse. Logan could feel the tension in the air, a sense of impending violence that made his heart pound and his skin crawl.

“Damn it,” Logan muttered under his breath, his frustration growing. He struggled to push himself up, but his weakened state made it a Herculean effort. He needed to do something, anything, but he was still bound by the limitations of his own frailty.

Suddenly, a crash echoed through the apartment, followed by Y/N’s scream. Logan’s blood ran cold. Without a second thought, he threw off the covers and stumbled toward the door, his heart racing. The anger and fear coursing through him felt like a storm, threatening to tear him apart.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice hoarse and desperate. He reached the door and yanked it open, the scene that greeted him was something out of a nightmare.

Marcus was towering over Y/N, who was curled up on the floor, her face streaked with tears and blood. The rage in Marcus’s eyes was palpable, a fury that seemed to consume everything in its path. Logan’s instincts screamed at him to act, but he was frozen for a split second, caught between his own fear and the raw, primal need to protect.

“Get the hell away from her!” Logan roared, his voice a guttural snarl. He forced himself to step forward, his hands trembling as he tried to summon the strength to intervene.

Marcus’s head snapped around, his eyes locking onto Logan with a mixture of shock and fury. “What the hell are you doing here, mutant? Stay out of this!”

Logan’s claws extended with a sharp, metallic hiss, his rage boiling over. “You’ve done enough, you piece of shit. Leave her alone.”

Marcus sneered, his face twisted into a cruel smile. “Or what? You’ll claw me to death? You’re pathetic.”

In a burst of adrenaline, Logan lunged forward, his claws slashing through the air. He was fueled by a mixture of desperation and anger, the need to protect Y/N overriding every other consideration. The chaos that ensued was a blur—Marcus lunged at Logan, and in the ensuing struggle, Logan’s claws struck out, his aim wild and frantic.

Time seemed to stretch and warp as Logan’s claws found their mark. Marcus fell, a look of disbelief and shock etched on his face. The room fell silent, the only sound the ragged breaths of the two remaining people in the room.

Y/N was still on the floor, her body trembling as she stared at the lifeless form of her husband. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of horror and disbelief. Logan stood there, his own breathing heavy, his claws retracting as he tried to process what had just happened.

“Oh God,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking. “What have you done?”

Logan took a tentative step toward her, his heart aching at the sight of her pain. “Y/N, I—”

“No!” she cut him off, her voice sharp and filled with anguish. “You didn’t have to kill him. I—I didn’t want this.”

Logan’s heart twisted at the sight of her tears. “I didn’t mean to... I was just trying to protect you. I couldn’t stand seeing him hurt you like that.”

Y/N’s sobs were ragged, her hands covering her face. “It’s too late for that now. I don’t know what to do...”

Logan knelt beside her, his voice soft and full of regret. “Y/N, please. I know this is a mess. I never wanted things to end like this, but I care about you. I care about you a hell of a lot.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes red and swollen. “What are we supposed to do now? What happens next?”

Logan reached out, his hand gently touching her arm. “We get out of here. We leave this place behind and start fresh somewhere else. I’ve got a stash of cash, and we can find somewhere safe. I just—”

Y/N cut him off, her voice trembling. “And what? We just run away? We leave everything behind and hope for the best?”

Logan’s gaze was intense, his voice pleading. “It’s not just about running away. It’s about finding a place where you can be safe, where you can be happy. I know it won’t be easy, but it’s got to be better than staying here, right?”

Y/N’s eyes searched his, and for a moment, Logan saw the flicker of hope amidst the pain. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Okay. Okay, let’s do it. But we have to be careful. We can’t just jump into this blindly.”

Logan nodded, a mixture of relief and determination in his eyes. “We’ll take it slow. We’ll figure things out together. I promise.”

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

The first light of dawn seeped through the cracks in the dilapidated building where Y/N and Logan had spent the night. They had barely slept, huddled together in a small room with only a threadbare blanket for comfort. Y/N's eyes were red from crying and lack of sleep, and Logan's face was etched with exhaustion, but beneath it all, there was a flicker of determination.

“Jesus, what a fucking mess,” Logan muttered as he rolled out of bed, wincing at the stiffness in his body. His voice was rough, a mix of weariness and frustration. He glanced around the room, taking in the dusty furniture and peeling wallpaper. “This place isn’t exactly a five-star joint, but it’ll do for now.”

Y/N sat up, her expression a mix of sadness and resolve. “We can’t stay here long. We need to move, find a place where we can lay low and figure things out.”

Logan nodded, his gaze fixed on her. “You’re right. The longer we stay, the more chance we have of getting caught. I’m sure Marcus had connections and surely he talked about me. He wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who kept his mouth shut.”

Y/N rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of her nightmare-filled sleep. “I just can’t believe it’s really over. That we’re actually doing this.”

Logan moved closer, his voice softening as he spoke. “It’s real, alright. And it’s probably gonna be rough as hell. But we’ve got a shot at something better, Y/N. We just gotta keep moving, keep our heads down.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes full of a fragile hope. “And what about you, Logan? How are you holding up? I know you’re hurting, too.”

Logan grinned wryly, a hint of his old self peeking through his exhaustion. “I’ve been through worse. I’m still kicking, aren’t I? It’s not about me right now. It’s about making sure you’re safe.”

She smiled, a small, grateful curve of her lips. “Thank you. For everything. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

“Hell, it wasn’t easy for either of us,” Logan replied, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “But that’s the way it goes. You deal with the crap life throws at you and hope for a bit of luck.”

They packed what little they had, their belongings hastily stuffed into a couple of old duffel bags. As they prepared to leave, Logan took a moment to glance back at the room they were leaving behind, a reminder of the chaos and danger they were escaping.

“Let’s get the hell out of here before someone shows up,” Logan said, his tone low and urgent. “The city’s not exactly safe, and we’ve got no time to waste.”

They made their way through the empty streets, their movements cautious and deliberate. The city was waking up, and with it came the hustle and bustle of a new day—one that neither of them had any intention of being a part of.

Y/N walked beside Logan, her hand occasionally brushing against his, a silent reminder of their shared journey. The streets were eerily quiet, the weight of their escape hanging heavily in the air. The city’s familiar sights were quickly becoming distant memories, replaced by the uncertainty of the open road ahead.

“So, what’s the plan?” Y/N asked, her voice breaking the silence. “Where do we go from here?”

Logan glanced at her, his eyes focused and serious. “We head north. There’s a cabin in the woods a few hundred miles away. It’s not much, but it’s off the grid. We can lay low there for a while, figure out our next move.”

Y/N nodded, absorbing the plan. “Okay. I trust you.”

“Good,” Logan replied, a hint of a smile on his lips. “We’ll make it. We just need to stick together and stay smart.”

As they continued their journey, the reality of their situation began to sink in. They were fugitives now, their past lives left behind in the wreckage of Marcus’s wrath. But amidst the uncertainty and danger, there was a growing bond between them—one forged in the fires of their shared struggles and the hope for a new beginning.

They traveled through small towns and rural areas, staying off the beaten path and avoiding any unnecessary attention. Each night, they would find a place to rest, whether it was an abandoned house or a makeshift campsite. They made do with what they had, finding solace in their shared strength and resilience.

One evening, as they sat around a small campfire, Y/N turned to Logan, her eyes reflecting the flickering flames. “You know, I never thought I’d be here. On the run, hiding from everything. But having you here... it makes things a bit more bearable.”

Logan looked at her, his gaze softening. “You’re not alone, Y/N. We’ve got each other, and that’s something.”

She smiled, a small but genuine expression of warmth. “Yeah, it is. And it means more than you know.”

They sat in comfortable silence, the crackling of the fire their only companion. The road ahead was uncertain, filled with challenges and obstacles, but for the first time in a long time, there was a sense of hope—a belief that, despite everything, they might find a way to make it through together.

[nofomogirl]

We need to talk about body snatching

I'm not a massive fan of the 1827 minisode - if you're curious why it bothers me, I've explained it in my post about two GO canons - but there's no denying it does an amazing job at exploring the complexity of morality and moral choices. It starts with a very black-and-white two-dimensional image and gradually adds shading and perspective, making it harder and harder to judge as we go along.

I think it's worth digging into (pun not intended but I'll take it).

Layer 1: body snatching bad

We learn someone did something

It's those first few seconds where we see a person robbing a grave, and since we know that robbing graves is a crime and generally not a good thing to do, we can quickly form a tentative conclusion that this is wrong.

Okay, in this exact instance, we immediately get enough context clues to see that this kind of judgment would be oversimplistic and superficial. Only Aziraphale, who for some reason acts as if it was his first day on Earth after a thorough memory wipe, is ready to condemn Elspeth based on just that.

Nevertheless, this is the first layer - the deed itself with no context.

Layer 2: body snatching acceptable

We learn about the person who did the thing

That's the whole journey with the first dug-up body where we get to know Elspeth and become privy to her circumstances - she's desperately poor, she has another person depending on her, she robs graves to survive. Aziraphale's suggestions that she might earn her living by selling books, weaving or farming just serve to prove how inaccessible more honest and dignified professions are to her. In turn, her comment about how she's not hurting anybody who isn't already dead hints that from the realistically available options, Elspeth could have chosen something much worse.

Technically this layer is a significant step up from layer 1 but it still isn't really challenging. Things are spelt out really loud for us, and most importantly everything we learn about Elspeth is just attenuating circumstances. To top it off both she and Wee Morag are immediately endearing. The takeaway is that sometimes things that in theory are bad can be excused which is important but the verdict still comes without any second thoughts.

Layer 3: body snatching complicated

We learn the larger context around the thing

This mostly happens when Aziraphale and Crowley discuss body snatching with Mr Dalrymple. We learn that the stolen corpses are used for a medical study that can advance human knowledge and make it possible to save living people and that surgeons have no legal means to obtain enough of them for their research - hence their need to buy them from body snatchers.

At first glance it's just more of what we got in layer 2 - more agruments in favour of body snatching that aren't all that nuanced and don't really give us any pause - just from a larger perspective, beyond Elspeth's individual experience. But if you glance more than once you'll notice this is when things stop being straightforward and easy to judge.

The moment we enter a proper grey area is when Aziraphale asks why Mr Dalrymple doesn't acquire the bodies himself. This is a very valid question - while we might easily agree that studying the human body to further medical knowledge is a good thing, and with just the slightest hesitation admit that it's acceptable to resort to using stolen bodies if that is the only way the research may continue, it's not as easy to excuse taking advantage of the poor and the desperate to do the actual stealing that we know is very dangerous.

The moment we know without a doubt we are in a proper grey area is when Mr Dalrymple laughs at Aziraphale's concern.

Objectively, the surgeon is right that it's more effective if he doesn't risk his own life in the graveyard and uses his time on actual research, teaching students and saving lives. But it's also clear he doesn't exactly see people like Elspeth as actual human beings and feels he has every right to use them. On the one hand, he is paying, on the other, he happily benefits from the cruel class system and is not even one bit remorseful about it. On the one hand, he takes risks too, on the other he has a chance of rewards Elspeth will not benefit from. It's not the poorest whose lives will get bettered by the progress of medicine, even though they're the ones who pay with their lives for that progress. And if Mr Dalrymple gets lucky and is knighted for his work (we know he wasn't in the end but it was a possibility), the poor still won't be pardoned for stealing for him. Nevertheless, he has no issue with that.

As I said, things get nuanced.

Layer 4: it's different when it's someone you know

The thing actually happens in your life

I think you'll all agree that the turning point of the minisode is when Elspeth decides to sell Wee Morag's still warm body. This is what finally leaves us speechless.

That's because up until now we've been approaching the issue intellectually. It's not that we didn't care about the characters, but we were allowed to keep a safe distance. The whole thing was like a problem to be solved - "Is body snatching right or wrong? Discuss in 500-1000 words" - and everything we've learned so far was data for this assignment. I believe that one of the reasons why this detachment came naturally was that there was a very thick line between people involved in body snatching and the bodies that were being snatched. The former were, well, people, obviously. The latter were inanimate objects.

It isn't until Wee Morag is to be sold that we are forced to see a person in a dead body. This is also when real emotions enter the equation.

This shift forces us to question our judgment for the first time. It was easy to justify Elspeth when she was selling a nameless corpse. But the fact that she decided to sell her closest companion - and most likely lover - shocks us. Something inside us strongly objects to how quickly she makes the decision.

And then there's the transaction, and it is also different when it's someone we know. The fact that we knew Wee Morag fully exposes Mr Dalrymple for the heartless jerk that he is. The way he treats Elspeth is the absolute worst and if you haven't realized he was a hypocrite earlier, you should be disillusioned by now.

But at least Elspeth is not a hypocrite, right? It may seem cold that she sold Wee Morag but it just proves she simply believed it's all right to sell a dead body, doesn't it?

Well, about that...

Layer 5: it's different when it's you

You are forced to face the thing happening to you

This layer is reached when Elspeth plans her suicide and asks Aziraphale and Crowley to bury her "somewhere where no ghouls will ever dig her back up again".

It turns out Elspeth McKinnon really was a filthy liar.

Not long ago she was insisting that body snatching doesn't hurt anyone who isn't already dead, and asking why she should let Wee Morag rot in the ground when she starves. But she wants to make sure it doesn't happen to her own body. The idea that someone might dig her up terrifies her and she calls people who do it ghouls. So why was digging up other people okay again? Why should she rot in the ground while other people suffer? There were other people living in the street where she and Wee Morag hid. Why not ask Aziraphale to give the money to them? Or just anybody in need? Why not ask to sell her body as well and use the earnings the same way?

Also, if you look at it from a certain perspective, Elspeth betrayed Wee Morag in the worst possible way. Wee Morag believed that if someone's body gets cut, that person's soul cannot enter Heaven. Yet Elspeth sold her to Mr Dalrymple, claiming that Wee Morag would have wanted her to have the means to survive. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps Wee Morag would have made that sacrifice. But then Elspeth decided to kill herself and use the money she got for Wee Morag's body for her own funeral.

But does it make Elspeth wicked? Certainly not. She's simply torn by grief. I seriously doubt she's been planning to commit suicide when she was taking Wee Morag to Mr Dalrymple. She might have genuinely tried to carry on but the reality of what happened caught up to her. Mr Dalrymple's cruel words certainly didn't help her cope with a personal tragedy. I even suspect one of the reasons she sold her friend was that she had no idea what else to do with a dead body.

Does this excuse her actions? Kind of, but not really.

Elspeth was a tragic character, not an innocent lamb with a heart of gold.

The point is - can any of us really judge her?

Which, coincidentally, is a question that the original Good Omens book toyed with quite a lot.

If you've reached this far, thank you for reading!

[raginglesbian2006]

Ne Me Quitte Pas

Alastor x angel!reader

Chapter 2: Among My Souvenirs

Chapter warnings: Heaven being a bitch, harassment from Adam

There's nothing left for me of days that used to be

I live in memory among my souvenirs

Some letters tied with blue, photograph or two

I see a rose from you among my souvenirs

Masterlist

The first thing you remember in your afterlife was the giant imposing golden gates that led you to the heavenly grounds.

You recall standing in a queue, waiting for your name to be called and gain your wings, halo, and a home in heaven. You could see people of various kinds- some short, some tall, most of them resembling creatures of all sorts. Only a few seemed to possess human-like features.

You looked back at where you came from. It was a bridge, a long one. You did not recall crossing it but saw people coming through it and joining the queue with a dazed look.

The person in front of you - someone resembling a bunny- yelped in excitement as their wings and halo were granted and they hopped off, passing through the gates into heaven.

You were next.

You looked up at the angel manning a register, standing in front of a tall podium. His fingers glided over the pages as he mumbled each name he saw before reaching your own.

Your name was called.

“Um…hi?” you said, rather awkwardly, “That’s me.”

“Hello!” the angel exclaimed, “My name is St. Peter. It is my delight to invite you to join the heavenly gardens that lay beyond this door! Congratulations on your journey here. Everyone in heaven is eager to meet you!”

You could feel a tingle at your back as soon as he said that. You waited for a while as your wings sprouted forth and a warmth settled atop your head. Your hands reached out to the warmth- you realized it was your halo.

The heavenly gates opened wide to welcome you. Your eyes widened as you got a glimpse of the paradise that lay before you. It was…beautiful.

“Go on now, dearie!” St. Peter smiled wide, “Enjoy the rest of your afterlife!”

You took one step forward but paused. You looked at the angel.

“Before I go…I had a question.”

The angel tilted his head, “Of course, do go ahead.”

You turned back around and pointed at the bridge, “What…what exactly is that?”

St. Peter chuckled as he explained, “That, my dearie, is the bridge to heaven. After your judgment, you must cross the bridge to reach here. As you do, the memories of your mortal life fade with every step you take. Once you do take a step forward, you cannot go back.”

“Lose…my memories?” you asked, “Why…why do I have to lose my memories?”

“To prepare you for the reincarnation program of course!” St. Peter smiled, “There comes a time when every Winner is reincarnated into a new body to live their next life! It won’t fare well if they remember the memories of their past lives, now would it?”

He continued, “For those that do not want to be reincarnated, they get to live a carefree life in heaven- away from every bad memory that plagued their life when they were alive!”

You nodded, feeling an ache in your chest.

“If you don’t mind, I have another question.”

St. Peter gestured for you to speak.

“Can you tell me then,” you lifted your hand, your fingers holding a beautiful ring- it held a lovely little gem that shone red, “why I have this?”

St. Peter bent down and squinted his eyes to look at the object a little better. Then, he smiled and replied, “That must be a gift to you from someone who loved you dearly.”

He explained, “Everyone who comes to heaven is gifted with something or the other at their grave from people who love them the most. They are allowed to have that little token from their life as they enter the gates of heaven. Consider it a little reminder that they were loved, even though they have forgotten their memories.”

He took a deep breath and looked at you, “Is that all, dearie?”

“Yes,” you replied, “Thank you for clearing my queries.”

“It’s no problem at all!” he said, “Enjoy the fruits of your goodness. Welcome to heaven!”

Your hand clutched around the ring, the ruby digging into your skin as you finally walked through the gates of heaven.

You had stayed in heaven for quite a long while. You could’ve chosen to be reincarnated but you didn’t. It was as if something was stopping you from taking that step.

So you made the best of your time in heaven. You helped your neighbors, spoke kindly to those who passed by you, and volunteered to serve the people of heaven.

Everyone who met you fell in love with your gentle and kind demeanor and they praised you for the goodness of your heart.

You had to make a couple swerves when Adam caught wind of you. He would often pop out of nowhere when you were out and about on your daily tasks and try to get you to go on a date with him.

You were quite adamant (see what I did there?) on not letting your anger at his arrogance get the best of you and politely declined his offers, no matter how many times he tried to convince you. You had class, after all.

In about a few years since your arrival, one of the guardians of the Heavenly Grand Council stepped down from his role to finally retire and head towards reincarnation. The vacancy was to be filled by the collective vote of the residents of heaven.

It was safe to say that you had gained enough love and support from your fellow Winners that you were chosen as the next guardian to man the station left by your predecessor.

You were gifted a golden sword, crafted by the prince of heaven, Michael himself, when you ascended to your position. You still remember how you felt more powerful and how your wings enlarged and grew stronger, the moment you held your weapon in your hands.

And yet, at the moment, even if you had such a powerful item in your hands and were imbued with unspoken power, you thought of the ring that stayed on your finger as a more precious possession.

The sword gleamed in the light refracted by the glass dome that hung above you. The large empty hall echoed with every swish of your weapon.

With your memories compromised by heaven, you were left with a deep aching in your chest. An ache that pestered you since you entered through the heavenly gates. Throughout your years in heaven, you felt like a part of you was missing.

Between your duties as a guardian and the constant pestering from Adam, you thought you would be able to forget that pain. But you couldn’t. The worst thing about it was that you had no idea what was causing this. How could you know? The memories of your mortal life were taken from you, erased as soon as you stepped on that god-forsaken bridge.

The golden sword moved like lightning, as your movements became swifter and more precise. Your breath came out in uneven huffs as you elegantly moved your way around the lonely hall, slicing the air with your weapon.

Suddenly, there was a change- a slight gust of wind blew through. Someone was here. Someone with the agility and patience to move towards you without making a noise.

You paused in your ministrations, only momentarily, before you swung your tightly held sword at your intruder.

The tip of your blade was met by two large pairs of eyes, looking back at you, terrified.

"Molly?"

The female arachnid let out a puff of air in relief, as your sword turned itself into a staff- the latter holding the same regal air as the former.

"I have got to stop sneakin' up on ya, I swear!" Molly chuckled.

"I am sorry, dear," you hung your head in embarrassment as you tapped the end of your staff on the polished golden floors, "I do tend to get carried away sometimes."

Molly waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal.

"It's alright, sugar. It ain't your fault. I just gotta be more careful next time," she winked, playfully.

You let out a laugh in response. Your heavy heart felt a little lighter with such a jovial presence as she.

"So," you gestured to her to walk along with you, "To what do I owe the honor of you visiting?"

"Oh, I'm just a messenger!" Molly followed close behind you, as the two of you walked out of the large hall, " It's Emily who wanted to talk to you."

She leaned in closer and whispered to you, placing one of her hands over her mouth, "I hear there's a very special guest coming! I've been called to participate in the welcoming song by Sera! Can you believe it, sugar?"

Your brows scrunched up in confusion, "There's...a special guest? Coming to heaven?"

Molly nodded her head excitedly, "Mhm! But they won't tell us who it is. I reckon it's gonna be sweet ol' Em who's gonna let you in on that secret!"

You hummed, "Well, I best be off then, darling. I wish you all the best for your performance!"

The arachnid looked at you gleefully, and then with a tight hug, she left you to find your way to Emily.

Fortunately, even though Molly forgot to tell you where the younger seraph was, in the midst of her excitement, you knew exactly where to find her.

You saw Emily waving at you from one of the tables placed outside the quaint cafe you frequented. She had already ordered for the two of you- your cup steaming with a freshly made beverage.

"Greetings, Emily," you bowed your head out of courtesy. No matter how much you considered her a dear friend of yours, she was a seraph first and foremost.

Emily giggled and pulled you down to have you sit at the table, "You have no idea how much I've been wanting to tell you something!"

You glanced at the youngest seraphim, gently blowing over your hot beverage, "Well, I am here now so..." you trailed off.

Emily bounced in her seat, excitedly, "Ok, but you have to pinkie promise that you won't tell this to anyone," she raised her pinkie towards you.

Chuckling, you intertwined your little finger with hers, "I promise. Now don't keep me waiting."

"Theprincessofhelliscomingtovisitheaven!" Emily exclaimed as softly as she could, in a single breath.

Your eyes blinked owlishly at hers for a moment. Then, you burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry, I thought you said the princess of hell is coming over to visit heaven," you wiped away a stray tear, taking a sip of your drink.

"No, that is exactly what I said," Emily stated.

You spat out your beverage in disbelief, "I'm sorry, WHAT!?"

Emily shushed you and awkwardly smiled at the patrons gawking at the two of you.

You immediately lowered your voice, "What do you mean the princess of hell is coming to heaven? I mean-what-why?" you stuttered through.

The younger seraphim looked at you with glee, "Oooh! She's here to propose her idea to Sera and me in front of the court!"

You titled your head in confusion, "Propose....what?" You took another sip of your beverage.

"Why, her idea to rehabilitate sinners, of course!"

You spat out your drink a second time.

Emily handed you a tissue as your wide eyes looked at her.

"The princess of hell," you said, taking the tissue and wiping your mouth, "is working on rehabilitating sinners," you made sure to sound out each syllable clearly, " and is coming to heaven to propose her idea?"

Emily clapped her hands, "Yes! Isn't it exciting?"

Your confusion remained.

"It is indeed...unexpected," you finally took a proper sip.

"Oh! And she's coming over tomorrow!"

You did nothing but nod your head. The princess of hell trying to get sinners into heaven? No matter how noble the cause was, it seemed rather...useless. Sinners were brought down to hell for a reason. Besides, what demon would even want to rehabilitate themselves? Was there any scope for success?

You continued listening to Emily rant about how excited she was at the prospect of meeting someone from hell, let alone, the daughter of the head honcho, herself.

Your thoughts remained on how important it was for you to attend this court hearing. There was a feeling in your chest that you may be able to find some semblance of an answer to the questions you have been withholding for so long.

After a long chat with Emily, you two bid each other adieu and you headed straight to your headquarters, wanting to get some work done before the busy day tomorrow. You knew if the princess of hell was coming over to heaven, things would not go as smoothly as one would hope.

You took your time to wander through the streets leading up to your destination, greeting every angel that passed you by.

Just then, out of the blue, your wings bristled at the sound of your name being called rather harshly.

“There you are!” a gruff voice exclaimed, approaching you, “You know how fucking hard it is to find you nowadays?”

You turned around with a pointed look.

“Adam,” you greeted him, “What a pleasure it is to meet you here.”

God knows you were lying.

“Yeah, yeah whatever,” he leaned in closer to you as you took a step back to create some distance, “There’s this concert coming around in a few days and I wanted to tell you to come with me.”

You raised an eyebrow, “I’m sorry…you wanted to tell me to come with you? Not ask?”

Adam let out a scoff, “Why would I ask? I mean, I know any bitch would want to come with me,” he leaned his face closer to yours, “including you.”

You pushed his face away with your finger and laughed.

“That is where you are wrong, Adam,” your teeth gritted as your anger bubbled through, “Despite the many times I have rejected your advances, you keep coming back to pester me.”

You took a step forward, and your eyes shone golden. Your figure grew bigger as your wings fluttered wide and the grip on your staff- which had now turned into the sword- tightened. You felt your third eye opening, right in the middle of your forehead- the eye resembling your normal ones, golden and terrifying.

Adam gulped and opened his mouth to say something but you interrupted.

“YOU CANNOT SEEM TO UNDERSTAND,” your voice grew more frightening, “WHEN NO MEANS NO.”

After a few seconds, Adam let out a huff and turned around, leaving you be as he shouted, “Your loss, bitch.”

You reverted back to your normal self as you huffed out a sigh. You turned your sword back into your staff and held it in the crook of your arm, your hands fiddling with the ring that adorned your finger. When you calmed down, you snapped your fingers to open a portal that would transport you to your headquarters. You wished you had thought of taking the easy route before Adam had ruined your mood.

When you reached your office, you were greeted by Oliver, your assistant.

“Greetings, your grace!” he bowed his head as soon as he saw you.

“Oliver,” you started, making your way to your desk, “How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t need to use honorifics with me?”

You had met Oliver not too long ago. He seemed to have lived a long and happy life. Despite his old age, he was very sprightly and efficient in organizing the mess that was your paperwork and reports.

Whenever he smiled, your mind was put at ease. You felt safe in his presence. You considered him your dearest friend, your confidante, and most importantly, a person you could talk to without the fear of judgment.

You felt as if you knew him already before you two even had the chance to meet.

Oliver shrugged, “You’re too humble for your own good. Embrace your title! Feel the power you possess!”

You chuckled at his theatrics- your unfortunate encounter with Adam long forgotten.

Oliver continued, “You look like you have a lot on your mind, though.”

“You are the only one who can see right through me, Oliver,” you sighed as you leaned against your chair.

“I’m not supposed to say this to anyone…but let’s just say a very…interesting guest is going to make an appearance tomorrow.”

You fiddled with the ring on your finger once more.

There was a lot of hustle and bustle at the court today.

As you sat down at your assigned place, you politely greeted your fellow guardians and waited eagerly for the session to commence. Several feet below you, you could see two figures making their way to their station. They were not angels, by what you could tell.

One had strikingly blonde hair and a painfully nervous demeanor to her walk, the other had moth-like features and flowing gray hair with a large red bow at the back.

There was, however, something about the moth demon that was familiar to you. You just couldn’t point out what.

Adam and Lute arrived and sat at their respective places, and soon after, followed Sera and Emily. The trial then began.

Throughout the trial, you could see your previous expectations of the princess crumbling before you. You had assumed she had wanted to reach heaven on the false pretense of rehabilitation just to cause havoc here. But you were pleasantly surprised to see before you, an heir, who wanted to desperately help her people.

When you were allowed to take a glimpse at one of the candidates participating in the princess’ efforts of rehabilitation, you could see how he was steering away from the bad decisions he made earlier that night and stood up for his friends, even going as far as putting himself in danger.

You could also see he resembled a certain arachnid you knew.

Despite the evidence provided, Sera refused to budge and that is when Adam foolishly revealed his plans for extermination. Hearing this, Emily intervened asking Sera if she had any idea about this. Sera confirmed that she did and had allowed it for the safety of heaven.

You could’ve stood up and interjected but you didn't. You were frozen in your seat. You could hear your fellow council members whisper and chatter amongst themselves but you couldn’t bring yourself to participate.

Heaven was supposed to be this paradise where everyone was good and helped each other, out of the purity of their heart. It wasn’t supposed to be the hand behind mass genocides taking place every year.

The trial ended with the princess and her companion- who was revealed to be an angel, an exterminator to be specific- thrown out of heaven through a portal.

You immediately teleported yourself to Sera’s office. She was already present at her desk as soon as the trial ended.

“With all due respect, your Highness,” you started, “What in the actual fuck was that?”

Sera’s glare pierced through you, “Watch how you speak with me, guardian.”

“Why is one of the protectors of heaven willingly participating in exterminations- the likes of which seem completely unrequired?” you said, ignoring her threat.

“If you must know,” Sera gritted her teeth, “It was to protect heaven from the uprising in hell.”

Your eyes widened at the information. You spoke again, “And who…or what gave you the idea that there was an uprising going on in hell?”

You flinched as Sera shifted into her true form and leaned in closer to you, looking at you with every bit of anger and terror.

“You are not to question my decisions, guardian,” she started, “Leave. Immediately.”

You took a step back, your eyes not leaving Sera’s before you turned around and walked out of her office, shutting the door behind you.

When you were outside, you saw Emily in front of you. She seemed distressed, her eyes watering with every second that passed.

“Oh, darling,” you stretched out your arms, letting the younger seraph fall into them and cry into your shoulder, “It’s alright.”

“I- I didn’t know,” she struggled, her tears making it difficult for her to speak, “I-If I d-did…”

You gently shushed her as you ran a hand through her hair.

“I know…I know…”

You held the crying seraph in your arms till her trembling stopped.

You sighed as you finished the last of your paperwork.

Today was supposed to be extermination day.

Adam and Lute, along with their slew of exterminators, were going to go down and kill off staggering amounts of hell’s population and despite the powers you possessed, you could do nothing about it.

You’ve never felt so utterly helpless.

“Oliver, I’ll go deliver these reports to Sera.”

After a nod from him, you transported yourself to the front of Sera’s office with a snap of your fingers. You still remember the last time you came here. With a deep breath, you pushed the huge golden doors open.

“Your Highness, I have the reports…”

Your voice trailed off as your eyes saw what lay before you.

It was a snake like creature looking back at you with an awkward smile on his face. You could see his halo glowing atop his head.

You had seen him before.

You recalled the time of the trial when Princess Charlie was showing the court the progress being made by a certain Angel Dust towards redemption. During that, you could also see the other patrons of the hotel.

One of which…was the snake that stood before you.

Your mouth gaped open as your eyes flitted over to Emily’s gleeful look and Sera’s terrified one.

“It worked,” you whispered.

Sera quickly regained her poise and said, “Emily, would you please go ahead to help this…” she looked at the snake, “...new…resident settle in?”

Emily jumped out of her seat and excitedly nodded, “Of course! Right this way, umm…what was your name again?”

“Sir..Pentious,” the snake hissed out hesitantly, “Where…where am I exactly?”

Emily giggled out, “You’re in heaven! Welcome!” she said as she walked towards the door, “Oh, Princess Charlie would be so proud of you!”

“I’m sorry…who?”

Emily stopped and looked back at Pentious, her smile diminishing. She shifted her eyes to you and you looked at her helplessly.

“Right…” she mumbled out, before opening the door.

“Emily,” Sera called out.

The younger seraphim turned her head towards her.

“Not a word,” Sera reminded her, “Not a word until we figure this out.”

Emily nodded her head somberly and stepped out of the office, the new resident of heaven slithering closely behind her.

Sera let out a sigh and rested one hand against her head, cradling it as she leaned forward on her desk.

You flew towards her desk, after recomposing yourself, putting the reports you had intended to give to her atop the table.

You were about to turn around, leaving her in her lonesome before she called out your name.

“Yes, your Highness?” you asked.

“…I need you to do a job for me…” 

You burst into your office, startled to see Molly having a chat with Oliver as he rearranged your files. Amid her rant, you caught her eye and she turned to you happily. However, her smile faded seeing the distressed look on your face. She stood up, approaching you.

“Sugar,” she started, “Are you okay?”

“I..” you paused, “I’m fine.”

You continued, moving past the arachnid, “Oliver, I need your help packing my stuff.”

Oliver turned towards you with a confused look on his face, his hands laden with files.

“Pack?” he questioned, “Where are you going?”

“To hell,” you said, averting your eyes.

You heard a thump as Oliver lost his grip on the files and Molly gasped.

“To hell?” the female arachnid shook you by the shoulders, “What do you mean to hell!?”

Oliver approached you with the same curiosity. You sighed and explained, “Sera tasked me with going to hell to oversee some…business...”

Molly looked at you incredulously, “What…what- why?”

You gently lifted her hands away from you, “Look, I can’t say much. It’s confidential information but…” you paused, looking at her worried face, “I promise you, I will be fine and back in no time.”

Molly let out a sigh. Even though she looked conflicted she nodded her head, looking at you with a smile.

Oliver interjected, “And…what exactly made you…accept this task? She could’ve asked anyone, couldn’t she?”

You recalled your conversation with Sera. She had told you to oversee the working of the Hazbin Hotel and to send her daily reports on your findings.

━═━═━═━═━═━═━═━═━

“You’re sending me there…to spy on them?” you had asked.

Sera hadn’t looked at you. Instead, she continued, “The balance between good and evil is being compromised,” she let out a sigh, “I need you to go there to help restore it.”

“And…why me?”

“Because you happened to see the new arrival and you witnessed the trial. I cannot risk anyone else knowing,” She ended.

She turned to look at you, her eyes fierce and her stance imposing.

“This is a command from the High Seraphim,” she started, “I hope you know that.”

━═━═━═━═━═━═━═━═━

You looked towards Oliver, “How can I defy her Highness’ orders?”

He did not look convinced so you had to continue, “And because…” you looked at both Molly and Oliver, “I have a feeling I might find answers there…”

Your fingers brushed over the ring once in an effort to comfort yourself. Suddenly, you felt a pat on your shoulder and your eyes found Oliver’s. He smiled, his aged face giving a wise look to him.

“As long as you’re safe,” he said, “That is all we could ask for.”

You smiled and hugged the two of them, holding them close. Their embrace helped cool your anxious heart as you let yourself loose in their warmth.

You had no clue what to look forward to when you were to reach hell. But you knew, you had to take that step…for your own sake.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the hotel. It looked absolutely beautiful and grand-a place fit for the princess of hell.

You turned around to see the portal fizzing out, the remnants of your home disappearing before your eyes. You took a deep breath and forced a smile to your face, knocking on the large doors of the hotel.

You waited for a while before you saw the doors open, revealing a one-eyed demon who was dressed casually. Her eye flitted up to your halo and before you could get a word in, she slammed the door in your face.

You let out an indignant gasp and your eyes scrunched at this treatment. You were about to open the doors yourself but were interrupted by the Princess of Hell opening it for you.

She looked at you with wide eyes and you sensed that she was going to shut the doors once again but you stopped her, holding the door with your hand.

“I’ve come here by the orders of the High Seraphim… to give the hotel her blessings and oversee its welfare on her behalf.”

The princess’ eyes widened and a smile overtook her features. She eagerly pulled you by the arm and into the hotel, before excitedly exclaiming, “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!”

Oh boy, you were in for a ride.

Taglist: @yumiburrito , @candyladycry , @sleepykittycx, @fairyv-ice , @sonatabee @preciousbabypeter, @mo-0-o

[book--brackets]

The BFG by Roald Dahl (1982)

Captured by a giant! The BFG is no ordinary bone-crunching giant. He is far too nice and jumbly. It's lucky for Sophie that he is. Had she been carried off in the middle of the night by the Bloodbottler, the Fleshlumpeater, the Bonecruncher, or any of the other giants-rather than the BFG-she would have soon become breakfast. 

When Sophie hears that they are flush-bunking off in England to swollomp a few nice little chiddlers, she decides she must stop them once and for all. And the BFG is going to help her!

Graceling Realm by Kristen Cashore (2008-2022)

Graceling tells the story of the vulnerable-yet-strong Katsa, who is smart and beautiful and lives in the Seven Kingdoms where selected people are born with a Grace, a special talent that can be anything at all. Katsa's Grace is killing. As the king's niece, she is forced to use her extreme skills as his brutal enforcer. Until the day she meets Prince Po, who is Graced with combat skills, and Katsa's life begins to change. She never expects to become Po's friend. She never expects to learn a new truth about her own Grace--or about a terrible secret that lies hidden far away . . . a secret that could destroy all seven kingdoms with words alone.

Oz by L. Frank Baum (1900-1920)

Join Dorothy and her little dog Toto on the yellow brick road, as they set off to explore the magical Land of Oz. Can they find the Wizard, defeat the Wicked Witch of the West, and return to Kansas?

Stardust by Neil Gaiman (1997)

Catch a fallen star . . .

Tristran Thorn promised to bring back a fallen star. So he sets out on a journey to fulfill the request of his beloved, the hauntingly beautiful Victoria Forester--and stumbles into the enchanted realm that lies beyond the wall of his English country town. Rich with adventure and magic, Stardust is one of master storyteller Neil Gaiman's most beloved tales, and the inspiration for the hit movie.

Inkworld by Cornelia Funke (2003-2023)

One cruel night, Meggie's father reads aloud from a book called INKHEART-- and an evil ruler escapes the boundaries of fiction and lands in their living room. Suddenly, Meggie is smack in the middle of the kind of adventure she has only read about in books. Meggie must learn to harness the magic that has conjured this nightmare. For only she can change the course of the story that has changed her life forever. 

Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine (1997)

At birth, Ella is inadvertently cursed by an imprudent young fairy named Lucinda, who bestows on her the "gift" of obedience. Anything anyone tells her to do, Ella must obey. Another girl might have been cowed by this affliction, but not feisty Ella: "Instead of making me docile, Lucinda's curse made a rebel of me. Or perhaps I was that way naturally." When her beloved mother dies, leaving her in the care of a mostly absent and avaricious father, and later, a loathsome stepmother and two treacherous stepsisters, Ella's life and well-being seem to be in grave peril. But her intelligence and saucy nature keep her in good stead as she sets out on a quest for freedom and self-discovery as she tries to track down Lucinda to undo the curse, fending off ogres, befriending elves, and falling in love with a prince along the way. Yes, there is a pumpkin coach, a glass slipper, and a happily ever after, but this is the most remarkable, delightful, and profound version of Cinderella you'll ever read.

The Witches by Roald Dahl (1983)

This is not a fairy-tale. This is about real witches. Real witches don't ride around on broomsticks. They don't even wear black cloaks and hats. They are vile, cunning, detestable creatures who disguise themselves as nice, ordinary ladies. So how can you tell when you're face to face with one? Well, if you don't know yet you'd better find out quickly-because there's nothing a witch loathes quite as much as children and she'll wield all kinds of terrifying powers to get rid of them.

The Kane Chronicles by Rick Riordan (2010-2012)

Since their mother's death, Carter and Sadie have become near strangers. While Sadie has lived with her grandparents in London, her brother has traveled the world with their father, the brilliant Egyptologist, Dr. Julius Kane.  One night, Dr. Kane brings the siblings together for a "research experiment" at the British Museum, where he hopes to set things right for his family. Instead, he unleashes the Egyptian god Set, who banishes him to oblivion and forces the children to flee for their lives.  Soon, Sadie and Carter discover that the gods of Egypt are waking, and the worst of them--Set?has his sights on the Kanes. To stop him, the siblings embark on a dangerous journey across the globe -- a quest that brings them ever closer to the truth about their family, and their links to a secret order that has existed since the time of the pharaohs.

Discworld by Terry Pratchett (1983-2015)

In the beginning there was… a turtle.

 Somewhere on the frontier between thought and reality exists the Discworld, a parallel time and place which might sound and smell very much like our own, but which looks completely different.

 Particularly as it’s carried through space on the back of a giant turtle.

 It plays by different rules. But then, some things are the same everywhere. The Disc’s very existence is about to be threatened by a strange new blight: the world’s first tourist, upon whose survival rests the peace and prosperity of the land.

 Unfortunately, the person charged with maintaining that survival in the face of robbers, mercenaries and, well, Death, is a spectacularly inept wizard…

Daughter of Smoke & Bone by Laini Taylor (2011-2014)

Around the world, black handprints are appearing on doorways, scorched there by winged strangers who have crept through a slit in the sky.

In a dark and dusty shop, a devil's supply of human teeth grown dangerously low.

And in the tangled lanes of Prague, a young art student is about to be caught up in a brutal otherwordly war.

Meet Karou. She fills her sketchbooks with monsters that may or may not be real; she's prone to disappearing on mysterious "errands"; she speaks many languages—not all of them human; and her bright blue hair actually grows out of her head that color. Who is she? That is the question that haunts her, and she's about to find out.

When one of the strangers—beautiful, haunted Akiva—fixes his fire-colored eyes on her in an alley in Marrakesh, the result is blood and starlight, secrets unveiled, and a star-crossed love whose roots drink deep of a violent past. But will Karou live to regret learning the truth about herself?

[bluelockmaniac]

BEYOND THE PALACE WALLS (ft. alexis ness)

royal/fantasy au - princess reader x wizard alexis ness

no kaiser in this story– feeding ness simps ♡

wc; 1k

"in which a bored princess seeks a wizard rumoured to possess extraordinary healing abilities to find a cure for her ill father"

you were the princess of the vast empire of anastas, a land blessed with fertile soil by the gods themselves, a formidable army, and advanced architecture. an empire revered by allies, feared by foes. but, beneath the deceiving facade of prosperity, there beat a restless heart, longing for the thrill of exploring way beyond the palace walls. you badly wanted to set foot in the crowded markets in town, where street vendors promoted their goods, where the overwhelming aroma of spices filled the air and vibrant tapestry gave the town life. your parents forbade you.

fate, however, had plans for you. sure– the concern for your father, the emperor, had weighed heavily on your heart when the royal knights announced he had fallen gravely ill, and that not even the most skillful of healers in anastas could cure him– but, as sickening as one might think, you felt a strange feeling of excitement after getting the reluctant approval of the empress to finally leave the palace and venture into the ancient forest with a purpose; to seek the mysterious wizard rumoured to possess unrivaled healing abilities, ness.

you began your journey into the forest and it was beyond comparison to the royal gardens in your wing of the palace–no offense to your gardeners. large trees and colourful plants and flowers decorated the area and the scent of wet earth was lingering in the air. it was very quiet, and only the sounds of rustling leaves and frequent chirps and squeals of creatures you have yet to see can be heard.

however, this ancient forest did not align with the rumours. it seemed as though some mysterious ‘force’ was attentively tending to every leaf and branch of the forest. the fierce beasts you had expected to encounter weren’t there. neither were the giants or tiny, cunning, elf bandits that your mother warned you about. everything was well preserved– from the mushroom on the soil to the ladybug climbing the tree.

you had absolutely no clue where you were going, only guided by the subtle hints of ness’ whereabouts. and finally, you reach an ancient tower–cracks and crevices on its withering stone walls along with overgrown ivy draped tightly around it. suddenly, the man you were looking for emerged from the tower as if he had sensed your arrival. it was him. it was unmistakable, plain as daylight.

he had an exceptional, distinctive aura, an aura that surpassed even the best mages of anastas. despite your best efforts to appear composed, you could not help but feel suffocated by the tension of the atmosphere that… he involuntarily portrays?

“sir,” the words trip awkwardly out of your mouth as you look at him with twitching lips, a failed attempt to smile at him, “y-you must be ness, the legendary wiza–”

“oh my, the princess herself–the embodiment of royalty– graces me with her presence,” he chuckles and walks closer to you, bending slightly as he gently takes your hand and presses a soft kiss on it, “please, fret not, my princess,” he grins, “it’s been quite a while since i’ve last seen someone.”

pulling your hand away, a soft blush spreads across your face, tinting your cheeks a rosy pink, “ness, i desperately need your help,” it felt strange. despite experiencing this gesture from countless tedious suitors who seeked your hand in marriage, you had never felt your heart race as much as it does in this moment. “...my father, the emperor, has fallen ill and is in critical condition,” you utter with desperation, tightly clutching onto his cloak as you look at him pleadingly. “please, help my father,”

“oh,” a soft sigh escapes his lips as he holds his elbow and rests his head against his palm, “i suppose i can heal the emperor, princess,” he starts, a smirk playing on his lips, “but, naturally, nothing comes without a cost. my assistance is no exception,” he adds as his fingers gently lift your chin to meet his gaze.

you feel your heart drop as you prepare yourself for the conditions he is about to lay out. is he some sadistic bastard who’s going to make you fight to your death with a monstrous cerberus he summons? with reluctance, you gulp, “n-name your price, i’ll give you whatever you wish for– be it a thousand white horses or a million gold bars,”

he adjusts his coat, dismissing the material offerings, “horses? gold? far too ordinary, not my style,” he laughs, his fingers gently tucking your hair behind your ear, “what i’m really after,” he teases with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “is a kiss,”

you pause, shock washing over your face. did you hear that correctly? or was your mind playing games with you? “a… a kiss?” you stammer, your heart was beginning to beat uncontrollably against your wishes all over again. you felt conflicted, unsure of how to respond to ness’ unexpected demand. “why? a kiss won’t benefit you all, so wh–”

“says who?” he laughs, patting your head gently, “dare i say, i’m certain any man would be thrilled to have the opportunity to share a kiss with the princess, hm?”

“...i…” what you feel for this man is unlike anything you have ever felt before– your racing heart, the warmth spreading across your cheeks, the sudden consciousness of your own appearance– they’re all sensations you remember your palace nanny describing in fairy tale books, sensations you thought were only for the characters of the novel. you once dismissed those feelings as mere fantasies, but now you couldn’t deny it any longer, “ness, it’ll be my first kiss,” you gaze deeply into his magenta-coloured eyes, looking for assurance, “make it good.”

grinning playfully, he tenderly rests his palm against your cheek, pulling you in closer by your waist, “your wish is my command, princess,” he murmurs softly before pressing his lips affectionately against yours. his lips felt distant, yet strangely familiar, as if you had not just met this man a few minutes ago. your arms instinctively find their way around his neck, pulling him even closer until your chests were pressed together.

you still vividly remember the day you granted his request– the day his hand guided you towards the enchanted tree of healing and extended its branch to you. it’s been three years since that encounter, yet you still find yourself gazing out of the window of your palace chambers, yearning for the day when fate would reunite you once more.

thank you for reading!! comments appreciated ♡

a/n: this was so much fun to write, i've been obsessing over manhwas lately and thought i could somehow incorporate ness' backstory in a royalty setting.

[dee-writes-smut]

The Crushing Burden Of Those Before Us (Eris Week Day One)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x reader

SUMMARY your wench of a mother makes a bargain with Eris's father when they were young, next thing you know, you've got a bargain tattoo on your wrist that matches Eris's and you're being forced down an aisle.

CONTENT WARNINGS mentions of dead parents, harsh language?, angst into fluff (kinda), short little teaser ig??

AUTHORS NOTE happy first day of @erisweekofficial! hope you all enjoy this one, prompt was bonds/bargains.

How was it that your mother’s choices were still coming back to bite you even after her less-than-satisfying death? 

No matter how much you tried to rid yourself of the ghost of that awful woman—selling her house, discarding her possessions, donating all her money—she still found a way to haunt you. It was as though her malevolent presence had seeped into every corner of your life, determined to make you miserable from beyond the grave. 

And now, the wedding invitation you held in your trembling hands was yet another cruel reminder of her lingering influence. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You had imagined meeting the man of your dreams by chance—maybe at your favorite coffee shop, at a lively party, or in some other serendipitous way. Instead, you were being forced into a marriage with Eris Vanserra, bound by a ridiculous bargain made between your mother and High Lord Beron when they were still young and foolish. 

The letter, written in the cold, formal script of your parents, spoke of a bargain sealed in the throes of what they claimed was love. But you were far more inclined to believe it was a political maneuver. Your mother was far too heartless and calculating to have ever genuinely loved anyone. She was simply using the promise of marriage as another pawn in her cruel game. 

According to the letter, your mother and Beron had agreed that their firstborns would marry, an arrangement to be honored upon their deaths. When your mother died, you were just shy of eighteen, and the bargain’s true nature was revealed through the appearance of matching dove tattoos on both your wrist and Eris’s. A sick reminder of your grim fate. 

The letter had also stipulated that the wedding must take place in the same year you turned eighteen. It was as if your dead parents had taken a perverse pleasure in being both specific and cruel. And so here you were, standing in the cramped, barely habitable confines of your apartment, staring at the invitation as if it were a personal affront. A month—just thirty days—was all the freedom you had left before you were shackled to the new High Lord for life. The prospect was suffocating, and the invitation, a stark symbol of your impending confinement, was almost too much to bear. 

It wasn't that you disliked Eris. In fact, from the rare political gatherings you’d been forced to attend as a child, you knew he was far more complex than he let on. His eyes held a depth of kindness that rarely surfaced around his father, and you had no doubt he would have made a fine husband under different circumstances—if not a particularly present one due to his lofty position. 

But none of that mattered now. This was not the future you had envisioned. You hadn’t dreamt of meeting your soulmate in a flurry of serendipity only to have those dreams shattered by a cruel legacy. You didn't want to give your mother one final, bitter victory. You had hoped for a love that was truly yours, a partner who would share your journey, not one thrust upon you by an old bargain. And yet, the harsh reality of your situation left you powerless. 

When Eris had called you to the forest house after receiving the letter, he had assured you that he would search for any possible way to evade the marriage. He had promised to explore every avenue to find an out before succumbing to the wedding. But the invitation in your hands was a bitter confirmation that his efforts had been in vain. The deal was sealed and unbreakable, and there was no escaping the inevitable. 

In just thirty days, you would be bound to the High Lord, your life altered forever by the dictates of a long-forgotten bargain. The realization was suffocating, each tick of the clock a reminder of the freedom slipping through your fingers. The future you had hoped for was slipping away, replaced by a reality that felt more like a cage than a union. 

You stared at the invitation, its ornate script mocking you with its elegant cruelty. The embossed seal at the bottom, a symbol of the Autumn Court, seemed to pulse with the weight of the bargain it represented. It was as if the letter itself was a living, breathing entity, savoring your despair. 

The forest house, where you had been summoned, loomed in your memory—its grand, secluded setting both beautiful and intimidating. Eris’s promise to find a loophole in the bargain had seemed sincere, even hopeful. Yet here you were, holding the invitation that spelled out the end of that hope. The reality of your situation was inescapable. 

The only solace you could find was in the fact that Eris was as trapped by this bargain as you were. He had tried to fight against it, to find a way out, and that small glimmer of solidarity was a small comfort. You wondered if he felt as trapped as you did, if he too was grieving the loss of a future untainted by duty and politics. 

The days that followed were a blur of preparations and forced interactions. Your apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt like a gilded cage. You were inundated with wedding plans and endless consultations with advisors who spoke in hushed tones, as though discussing the arrangement was a betrayal in itself. The very air seemed to hum with a sense of inevitability. 

Eris appeared at the house often, his demeanor a mix of frustration and resignation. Each time he arrived, his eyes met yours with a flicker of shared defiance, a silent acknowledgment of your mutual predicament. There were moments when you caught him looking at you with something other than cold detachment, a hint of empathy or perhaps a begrudging respect, but he had yet to speak with you outside of advising meetings. It was these fleeting glimpses that made your situation even more complex. 

In the quiet moments between the chaos, you found yourself contemplating the nature of the bargain. Was it truly as unbreakable as it seemed, or was there a hidden loophole, a forgotten clause that could free you both? You began to dig into the history of the bargain, searching for any shred of hope that could salvage your future. 

As the days dwindled, your desperation grew. You sought out old family records, consulted with seers and scholars, and even tried to uncover any magical artifacts that might hold a clue. Every lead turned out to be a dead end, and each failed attempt only intensified your frustration. 

The evening before the wedding, you sat alone in your apartment, staring at the moonlight streaming through the window. The soft glow illuminated the dove tattoo on your wrist, a constant reminder of the bargain you were bound to. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was not just a marriage but a binding of destinies, a convergence of paths that had been set in motion long before you were born. 

You didn’t know what the future would hold, but as the sun rose and your wedding day approached, you resolved to face it with whatever strength you had left. If this were to be your fate, you would meet it head-on, unwilling to let it completely crush your spirit. And perhaps, in time, you might find a way to turn the forced union into something more, or at least to reclaim some measure of control over your own life. 

The day of the wedding arrived far sooner than you had anticipated. It was surreal—standing in the mirror, draped in the finest silks the Autumn Court could provide, staring at your reflection as if it were someone else's life you were witnessing.

Your gown was stunning, that much was undeniable. The deep, rich colors of the Autumn Court—burnt oranges, golds, and reds—were woven into the fabric like fire captured in silk. The dress hugged your body in all the right places, the intricate patterns of leaves and flames embroidered into the material seemed to glow in the light. It was a work of art, one befitting a queen. And yet, you felt nothing but cold dread beneath it all.

Around you, the bustling noise of preparations filled the air. Maids and attendants flitted about, making final adjustments to your veil, ensuring every detail was perfect for what should have been the most important day of your life. But it felt more like the prelude to your execution.

You could feel the weight of the dove tattoo on your wrist, like a brand searing into your skin. The mark of the bargain, ever present, seemed to pulse in time with your own heartbeat, a reminder that this day was not truly your own. Your marriage was a contract, a binding agreement forged between two families for reasons you could barely comprehend.

And Eris? He was likely standing somewhere in the grand hall already, calm and composed as always. He had played his part in this just as you had—trapped by the same cruel fate. You had shared a few moments of conversation in the days leading up to the wedding, but they had been brief, formal exchanges. He was polite, almost distant, though you couldn’t blame him for it. Neither of you had chosen this.

A soft knock at the door broke your reverie. One of the attendants stepped in, her face pale and anxious. “It’s time.”

The words sent a shiver through you, but you nodded, steeling yourself. You could feel the pit in your stomach growing as the moment drew nearer. With a final glance in the mirror, you turned and followed the attendant out of the room, down the long corridor toward the grand hall where your fate awaited.

The hall itself was nothing short of magnificent. High, arched ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of leaves and flames soared above you. Golden light poured in through stained glass windows, casting vibrant hues across the polished floors. The Autumn Court’s finest had gathered, dressed in all their splendor, though their faces blurred together as you passed them.

And there, at the far end of the hall, stood Eris.

He was every inch the noble High Lord, dressed in rich autumnal hues that complemented his fiery hair. His presence was commanding, and yet, as your eyes met his, you saw something unexpected—a flicker of something softer beneath the hardened exterior. A shared understanding, perhaps. A silent acknowledgment that this wasn’t the life either of you had wanted.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you reached the end of the aisle, standing before Eris. The High Priestess began speaking, her words a blur as the ceremony began, her voice like a distant hum in your ears. All you could focus on was Eris and the crushing weight of the moment.

When the priestess instructed you both to clasp hands, you hesitated for the briefest second, but then his hand found yours. His grip was steady, warm. Despite everything, it brought a strange sense of grounding, as though for the first time, you weren’t completely alone in this.

The priestess continued, speaking of bonds forged in ancient magic, of unity and duty. Each word felt like a chain, slowly wrapping around you. You couldn’t help but glance at your wrist, where the dove tattoo seemed to glow faintly, reacting to the magic of the ceremony. When you looked up, you saw Eris doing the same.

Then, it was time for the vows.

“Do you, Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court, accept this union and pledge your loyalty, your protection, and your heart to your bride?”

For the first time, Eris hesitated. His golden eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he nodded.

“I do.”

The weight of those two words settled in the air, heavy and final. The priestess turned to you next.

“And do you, Y/N, accept this union, pledging your loyalty, your protection, and your heart to your groom?”

Your mouth was dry. The room seemed to close in around you. This was it. The moment that would bind you to him forever. There was no way out, no escape from the fate that had been sealed long before your birth.

But as you looked into Eris’s eyes, something in you shifted. Perhaps it was the way he stood, resolute yet not unkind. Perhaps it was the realization that, like you, he was just as bound by this as you were.

You took a breath, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside.

“I do.”

The words left your lips, sealing your fate. The moment the final syllable echoed through the hall, a surge of magic washed over the room. The tattoo on your wrist flared with a brilliant light, as if acknowledging the completion of the bond. You felt the magic settle into your very bones, a binding force that linked you and Eris in ways deeper than mere vows.

The ceremony concluded with the priestess' declaration: “By the power vested in me, and by the will of the Autumn Court, I pronounce you bound in marriage.”

A roar of applause erupted from the crowd, though it felt distant, hollow. You stood beside Eris, hand still in his, both of you bound by something neither had chosen, staring down a future that was suddenly uncertain and terrifying.

As the celebration swirled around you, Eris leaned in, his voice low and quiet, meant only for your ears. “This doesn’t have to be the end of everything you’ve wanted.”

You looked at him, startled by the unexpected softness in his tone, but before you could reply, he pulled away, his expression once more unreadable. The crowd descended upon you both, offering their congratulations, but your mind was still reeling from his words.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this wasn’t the end.