#like he’s just so *alone* in a way no other character is | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hexescore · 2 days ago

Text

oh and by the way, i love you.

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, ekko, jayce, jinx, mel, sevika, viktor, vi.

☆ ◞ summary: first 'i love you's with (character)!

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader. pre-established relationship (caitlyn, jinx, mel, viktor). friends-to-lovers (ekko, jayce, sevika, vi).

CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

It's quiet, the early morning blessing you both with a peaceful silence that allows you two to truly appreciate the sight in front of you— each other. Caitlyn enjoys moments like this, waking up with you, getting to see the way the rising sun filters through her curtains to cast a golden glow across your skin.

Her hand, which is in yours, gives a gentle squeeze. You give her a sleepy smile, and she chuckles as she leans in to press a quick peck to your lips, and then another, and another, before you're both shuffling together, closer. Legs and arms entangled, a slowness in you both knowing that neither of you have to leave anytime soon.

"You know," She whispers, her eyes shut. She had imagined how she'd say this a million times, wondered when it'd be the right time, but Caitlyn quickly realizes that perhaps the right time is the time she makes to say it. So she makes the time. "I love you."

Your heart skips a beat, and you pull away to look at her. Her eyes open, and you can see the panic flashing in her eyes- was it too soon? did she get confused? had she-

"I love you, too." Her tense form immediately relaxes again, and she buries her head into your neck, shaking her head as she lets out a breathless laugh. You laugh along with her, both of you feeling nerves and excitement at those words.

"Don't scare me like that," she whines against your skin. Indulging this rare side of Caitlyn, you gently pat her back, cooing at her.

"'m sorry, 'm sorry, won't happen again." You'll definitely respond faster next time!

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

EKKO

Ekko had been acting quite strange as of late, and had you been any less keen you'd just assume he was busy- but this was different, he was most definitely avoiding you! Which is why you devised a plan to corner him and get to the bottom of this whole situation.

It was like any other day, except you had been lying in wait. Waiting, and waiting, until he was finally alone. You continued to follow him to a secluded area. "Ekko." He tensed up, but recovered quickly as he turned to glance at you.

"Oh, uh, hey, what's up?" Was he serious? You cross your arms over your chest, giving him a pointed look. Ekko's guilty conscious is clear as day when it comes to you, from the way his Adam's apple bobs to the way his fist clench and unclench. You frown.

"Ekko..." He doesn't say anything. "Alright, I'll ask it. Why have you been avoiding me?" He falters, looking ashamed. He knew it was wrong to avoid you, but when he came to realize how intense his emotions were for you it freaked him out. He hadn't... He didn't mean to... well, fall in love, during such a time.

The silence is heavy, and you debate just leaving, before Ekko clears his throat. "There are things that I've been meaning to tell ya... I'm just having a hard time finding the words..." He scratches the back of his neck.

"Like?" You press, needing to know what has been so hard to say that he's been avoiding you.

"Like... I love you?"

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

JAYCE TALIS

"Jayce? What are you doing?" Jayce, with his hand respectfully on your lower back, guides you away from the boring and artificial conversations of Piltover's finest. He excuses you both, much to your dismay. "Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere private," He says through a tense smile. You soon find yourself down the hall, away from the party but still able to hear it's chatter. It seems Jayce hadn't prepared for what comes after he got you away from those flirty elites.

"Well?" You ask, head tilted in a questioning way. "Are you going to explain why you so rudely pulled me away? I was about to get some nice funding for your-" Jayce cuts you off, desperation rolling off of him in waves.

"Because I love you," He says, "And I can't stand to see them look at you, touch you-" He stops to take a deep breath before he gets himself too worked up. "Look, I know... I know you probably don't feel the same, and I understand if you don't, but-"

"Jayce," You call once, and like an obedient dog he stops everything he's doing. Instead he waits, hanging on to your words. Your arms wrap around his neck, and you pull him into a kiss. It's needy, filled with want and love and passion. Until you can't breath, you wait until you can't breathe to pull away, and look him in the eyes.

"I love you."

For the first time that night, Jayce's lips curl into a genuine smile. It's so bright and warm you get weak in the knees and butterflies in your stomach.

"Can we ditch the party now?"

"Oh definitely."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

JINX

"Wrench!" Jinx calls dramatically, hand stuck out and awaiting her tool- which you promptly hand to her, repeating her words 'wrench.' She giggles as she grasps the wrench and twists a few bolts on her latest invention.

When she finishes, she takes in inhale of breath, ready to shout the next tool she needs, but already in her hand is a can of spray paint. She blinks a few times- how did you know? She grins, looking back at you, before looking at the can of spray paint.

"This is why I love you, ya know that?" She says, not really processing the words until you say them back to her.

"You... You love me?" The shock is evident in your voice. It's not that Jinx hasn't shown her love, her affections, for you, but this is the first time she's vocalized them and it has your heart hammering in your chest. She blinks a few times, lifting her goggles to rest on top her head.

"I did say that, didn't I?" She says, more to herself than to you. She then looks you in the eyes, that sparkle in them has your throat tightening up. "Yeah, I love you." You try to speak, truly, but you can't get a word out. "Jeez, is it that surprising, thought it was obvious?"

"No, it's just-" You finally manage to speak. Actually, you finally manage to get a good look at her. Her cheeks are a little flushed, she's fiddling with her tools, she's nervous- she's vulnerable- and you feel a protective instinct come on. "I love you, too- I really, really love you."

She laughs nervously, turning away from you. That's enough emotional vulnerability she's willing to share today. "Yeah, yeah, let's not get too mushy, 'kay?" You don't push it, instead nodding along. "Uh, anyways... Hand me that wrench again...!"

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

MEL MEDARDA

"You don't have to say it back," Mel Medarda has always been diplomatic, even in your relationship. She's also always been rather guarded, keeping all her cards close to her chest- but she allows you from time-to-time to catch a peak behind her walls. "I just wanted to let you know. I... I love you."

Undoubtedly, you love her back. You've loved her from the moment she smiled at you- Mel was hard not to love. Which is why you're having a hard time responding, because how could you even possibly begin to explain just how much you love her?

Mel begins to grow withdrawn, those small anxieties nipping away at her mind. Did you not feel the same way? Had she embarrassed herself with her little display? Did she ruin this relationship in one phrase? She takes a step away from you, wondering if she should take her leave.

Thankfully before than can happen, you've caught her wrist and meet her eyes.

"I love you, too." A breath of relief leaves you both. "Mel, I... I can't even begin to explain, I mean, it's just that you... god, you, you definitely deserve a better response than this mess but, I mean it, truly. I love you. I've loved you since the moment I saw you. I'll always- I'll always love you."

"Darling..." Mel started to feel flustered, your earnest rambling getting her cool and collected persona to crack a little. "I get it."

"Right, sorr-" Before you can apologize for your cute, anxious rambling, Mel shuts you up with a kiss. Something that symbolizes that you both understand just how much you both mean to each other.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

SEVIKA

Sevika can't help but crack a smile at your antics sometimes. She's watching you with a close eye as you dance in an exaggerated way, being goofy in a way that's so very rare in the undercity. She shakes her head as you sit in the seat across from her, wiggling your brows. "Dance with me?"

"Not a chance in hell." She snorts, "How you made me fall in love with you is still beyond me." Sevika takes a drink, not noticing what she said. You, on the other hand, have gone still. "What's wrong with you now?" She asks, already exasperated.

"You love me?"

"What're you-... Shit." She definitely didn't mean to say that, but now that it's out there, she might as well commit. She downs the rest of her drink, clears her throat, and looks away from you.

"And if I do? Would that be a problem?"

"Not at all- I love you, too!" Your enthusiasm has her taken aback once more. She looks at you incredulously, searching your face for any sign of lying or messing with her. She finds nothing but genuine love. Shit, shit, shit. Sevika was so totally unsure on how to handle this.

"You love me, huh?" When you nod, eagerly, Sevika bites her cheek. Well... She supposes if it's you, she could try and give it a shot. "I guess, yeah, I do love you... so... what're we gonna do about that?"

You had a few ideas.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

VIKTOR

"Yes, yes, I understand." Viktor says as he wraps the scarf you gifted him around his neck. "I'll be back tonight for dinner, not to worry." You don't really believe him when he says that, still you help him zip up his winter coat.

"If you're not," You say, taking a step closer, your lips hovering over his. "I'll personally drag you back here." Your lips meet his and he hums into the kiss, pulling away with a small smile.

"I'll be here." You just hum dismissively. You'll believe when you see it. He rolls his eyes at your sass, opening the door and stepping out. "Alright, I'll see you then. Goodbye, I love you." He closes the door, and just as quickly he's trying to pry it back open.

You're laughing your ass off on the other side of the door whilst Viktor's ears turn red. "Dear, please, open the door, I forgot my keys... and I need to say those words properly..." he groans, his head resting against the door. After a few seconds, the clicks unlock and it opens to reveal you, tears in your eyes from laughing.

"This is not funny."

"It's a little funny." You tease, handing Viktor his keys. "I lov-"

"Wait," He halts you. "Let me... Let me say it properly." His blush moves from his ears to his cheeks. He takes your hand and presses a sweet kiss to it, looking up at you through his lashes. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Viktor."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You're patching her up after a particularly brutal beating. Her job, these missions, can get pretty violent, and it's always up to you to heal her wounds. 'I don't trust any other doctor,' she explains before you inform her that you are not a doctor. Despite that she still finds you after every fight she gets herself in.

You sigh, cleaning a nasty cut on her face. "You've got to be more careful." You tsk, reveling in the way she hisses at the disinfectant. It's what she deserves after scaring you to death all these times.

"Worried 'bout my pretty face?" You scoff, rolling your eyes at her.

"More like your brain- I'm afraid you can't afford to lose anymore braincells." She laughs at your snark. She likes that about you, likes everything about you, actually. Her hands find your waist, pulling you closer to her. You huff, pulling back to get a better look at her wounds.

"Hey," Vi calls, and you just hum in response. "I love you." You freeze, before looking down at her with wide eyes.

"Did you actually get brain damage-" She bites back another laugh, shaking her head. "Vi...?"

"I love you. Have for a while, so no, this isn't a brain damage confession." Oh. You falter for a second, hands shaky as you finish placing the band-aid on her cheek.

"If you're messing with me-"

"I'm not." She insists, earnest in her affections. "So... Do you-"

"Yes." You mumble, turning your face to hide it from her. "I... Love you, too, Violet."

#arcane x reader #arcane headcanons #arcane imagines #caitlyn x reader #ekko x reader #jayce x reader #jinx x reader #mel x reader #sevika x reader #viktor x reader #vi x reader #x reader #arcane #arcane x you #arcane fluff #fluff

901 notes · View notes

benkeibear · 1 day ago

Text

『 AITA: For accidentally sending nudes to my sons best friend? 』

☼ synopsis: Toji accidentally sends nudes to his sons best friend... but was it really an accident?

☼ character: Toji Fushiguro

☼ reader: female | AFAB

☼ wc: 2033

☼ cw: phone sex, age gap (reader is in her 20s, Toji in his 40s), masturbation, pet names: baby/doll/bunny, mentions of pussy eating and p in v

☼ notes: a sudden need for dilf Toji overcame my horny brain... I won't apologize 😭

[1 New Message, 3 Images Attached]

Your head piped up when your phone vibrated, your focus instantly vanished when you saw his name - Toji. Seeing his name on your phone was a rare sight, he only ever texted you when Megumi didn't show up at night or when you asked him to pick you up from god knows where because it was far too dangerous to walk home at a late hour. Hell, at this point you almost called him dad with how many times he showed up for you or the way he treats you like his own.

Curiously you opened the messages to see why on earth that man texted you at almost 1 am, but your phone dropped to the floor and your jaw almost joined the device. You pinched the bridge of your nose and picked the phone up again. This surely wasn't what you were thinking...right?

A shaky breath left your lips when you unlocked your phone again, only to be met with Toji Fushiguro's cock splayed all over the screen. It wasn't even tasteful, just your average dick in hand while jerking off picture. Unsure if you should even stare at it the way you did, you swiped left to be met with a similar picture, but it was the short video that followed that left you breathless. He sounded so frustrated, angrily moving his fist up and down his thick shaft, his foreskin slightly shifting over the tip each time. It was hypnotic and after the fifth time of watching the eight second long video, you had to close it, your pussy aching from neglect, but your brain told you not to indulge. You really shouldn't touch yourself to nudes of your best friend's dad, now should you? This surely was a mistake and it almost made you chuckle, the thought of Toji going on dates and probably scaring these poor women off with his attitude alone.

Biting your lip, you decided that it couldn't hurt to indulge, worst case, you could blame him for it - he's the older one, after all, and should know better. Your clothes were quickly discarded before you took a few tasteful nudes, which you immediately sent to him. They were really tasteful, nothing too revealing and most importantly, not showing your face.

[1 New Message, 1 Video Attached]

With a shaky breath, you opened the video, your other hand gently rolling one of your nipples before traveling down south while the video played on a low volume.

“That's my good girl,” his voice rasps into the microphone, praising you for indulging, but his voice almost gets drowned out by the view, his cock was painfully hard, veins visibly popping and his grip was tight as he worked on his lubed up cock. The view once again left you hypnotized, his big hands looked small when he held his cock and it left your pussy clenching around nothing as your thoughts ran wild. Would you even be able to take him? He surely would rip you clean into two pieces with how huge his cock is.

Your pussy was absolutely drenched by now, fingers gently circling your clit and occasionally dipping the tip of a finger inside of your entrance to tease yourself.

“Bet you want me to fuck you dumb on my cock. Make you forget your own fucking name, bunny,” he groaned, a low moan following after the pet name that had your clit throbbing. You wanted nothing more than to hear this moan directly next to your ear when he pushes your head into the pillows and fucks you until you're a babbling mess for him - for your best friend's dad.

“Fuck- I can only imagine what your little cunt would look like stretched around me right now… so fucking tight and messy.” His hips buck up to meet the thrusts of his hand and you can see his abs ripple beneath his skin. He was right. Your pussy is a mess right now.

“Show me that messy pussy I love so much, baby. Let me see,” he encourages you to send him more of you, which is where the video ends.

A shiver runs down your spine and your finger stills against your sweet spot, but you don't pull it out just yet, contemplating if you should go further than you already did.

Your needy cunt clenched around your finger, letting you know that you fucking need to see more of Toji, need to see him come undone in order to earn your own release. These thoughts won't let you think straight, so you angle your camera and hit record when you rub your little clit just before dipping two fingers into your messy cunt. The squelching noises are obscene when you start curling them against your sweet spot and at this point, you can't hold back mewls and small whimpers anymore, practically whining his name and begging for his cock like a bitch in heat. Just as you were about to release, you pulled your fingers out, edging yourself and sending the little video to Toji.

[Message: Sent]

[Message: Read]

In order to keep yourself dancing along the edge, you ran your fingers over your clit with feather light touches, just waiting for him to type or send more of your newest addiction - his cock.

Toji stroked his dick in time with the way you pump your fingers into your cunt, fast and needy, but when you start whining for him, he almost loses control, his balls suddenly feeling tight and his urge to release getting almost unbearable… until he catches a glimpse of your face. It was just a fraction of a second, but he would recognize your face everywhere.

His hand stilled right away, his orgasm ruined, but his cock twitched greedily.

“Fuck,” he cursed out and locked his phone before running his hand over his face. Without wasting another moment, he wiped the remnants of lube on his hand off on his discarded t-shirt and dialed your number.

When you finally picked up, it was just silent on both sides, neither of you sure what to say, so he puts on the big boy pants and speaks up first.

“That wasn't meant for you,” it sounded like he scolded you, as if you invaded his privacy when it was his fault to begin with.

“I should have paid better attention, sorry.” An actual apology followed seconds later and you could hear that his heart and mind racing equally as fast as yours, although he would never admit to it. He was met with silence once again.

“You shouldn't have sent me anything back. I would have deleted everything if you would have just…” He began to explain that he would have never asked this of you, trying his best to be a proper adult here, when in reality he has thought about bending your cute ass over the kitchen counter quite a few times.

Toji can't even deny it at this point. He likes his women a lot younger and you're no exception here, even though his son is your best friend, so what? There was a reason he stopped talking, though, a little whimper on your end caught him off guard.

“Are you fucking getting off to this?” He asked, but it sounded more accusatory, although you can hear his smirk, you know him well enough that you know that he's just trying to be that stern adult when in reality he likes to think with that big cock of his.

Get a grip. She is young enough to be your fucking daughter. Toji tried to hold himself back, but at this point it was like a tightly coiled spring, the more pressure applied, the more inevitable he would snap - so he chuckled.

His chuckle sounded almost mocking, but it turned you on even more. The fact that he could hear just how pathetic you were, how desperately you craved him to stretch you open on his cock and fuck you until you could neither sit nor walk comfortably for the next days to come. Two of your fingers slipped into your dripping pussy once again, a silent gasp escaping you at the light stretch.

“You thinkin’ of my fingers fucking you, bunny?” He mused out and you heard a lid click shut on his line, followed by a small hiss. The lube felt like fucking ice against his rock hard length, but he needed it, wanting to imagine your little cunt wrapped around him and not his shitty hands. You mewled in reply, but it wasn't good enough for him.

“Use your words, baby. Tell me what you thinkin’ of,” his voice sounded raw, the hunger for you dripped off of every word, and you could already feel your walls flutter. The sheer perversion and the taboo of this alone were enough to have you on edge, but the way he talked to you drove you to the brink of insanity.

“Y-yes,” you whimpered and your voice cracked in such an embarrassing way, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Toji could hear how needy you were for him - not knowing if you've ever been fucked properly or if your fingers were all that your cunt ever got stuffed with - he took pity on your whining self.

“Come for me, baby, let me hear you,” he encouraged you to finally cave in, to let the knot that has formed in your tummy snap. Heaven knows he was just as close with how desperate you were for him, whining his name so sweetly as you came around your little fingers. He could practically see it, your toes curling and your mouth hung open as you tried to close your thighs, fingers still curling by the sound and he wanted nothing more than to have you clench around his cock like that - you'd grip him like a vice and he would never let you go until you're dripping with his cum and -

“Fuck-” Toji’s chest rumbled with a groan as he painted his defined abs with small shots of ivory, a few drops running down his hand as he squeezed his sensitive tip a little harder than necessary just for it to sting with overstimulation.

There was silence between the two of you for a few minutes, heavy breathing slowly evening out and the haze of hormones wearing off, leaving you to think about what just happened between the both of you.

“Are you okay?” He eventually asked, actually worried that you might regret this.

“Hmm, yeah,” you whisper softly, and it felt like a whole entire mountain fell off his chest.

“Do you… regret it, doll?” He proceeded to ask you as he wiped the cum away with the discarded T-shirt before tossing it to the ground.

“Not really,” you giggle softly and shake your head. “I just regret that it wasn't actually your fingers,” you sound teasing with an edge of sincerity and it was a breath of fresh air to him. He never thought you would be this naughty.

“Naughty… Perhaps I can change that next time I drive you home,” he mused, letting you know that this won't ever happen in his home.

“Yeah… let's not tell Megs anything about that, okay?” You ask shy, the guilt was slowly eating you alive from keeping such a secret, but Megumi wouldn't like it much to know that you're fucking his dad. He would probably never speak to you again should he find out.

“That boy won't find it out from me anyway,” Toji reassured you, never telling his son anything about his love life to begin with - let alone about the women he ends up in bed with.

“But who knows. Perhaps I'll have you as a dessert one day. You just gotta be real quiet, he muses, the playfulness practically dripping from his voice and you rubbed your thighs together.

“Don't say that, Mr. Fushiguro. I might hold you to it,” you chuckle as your finger gently glides over your slick folds once again.

“Maybe you can tell me about all the things you intend to do to me.”...

Networks @pixelcafe-network @houseofsolisoccasum

#-ˋˏ ༻luma's musings #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #dilf toji #💫hotter than the sun💫

461 notes · View notes

kirammanswifey · 3 days ago

Note

Would you be down to write some reverse comfort with the Arcane characters?

Basically just make them go through one of the worst days of their lives then have the reader take care of them (I mostly just wanted to see Viktor in this scenario, but if you want to write for other characters too that'd be awesome)

Either way take your time and I hope you have a wonderful day ~☁️

arcane characters reverse comfort x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: i'm always down for this kind of scenarios, make me feel like a teenage girl again. as you already know request are open ;)

Viktor

It has been an exhausting day in the lab. The experiments have failed time and again, each mistake weighing heavier on Viktor’s shoulders. You can see it in his eyes when he finally gives in, letting the tools fall with a long, heavy sigh. He leans against the workbench, his slender, hunched figure casting a shadow of defeat on the walls illuminated by the flickering equipment.

"This doesn't make sense..." he murmurs, as though the words are a burden he needs to release. His fingers drum frustratedly on the metallic surface, and you feel the despair in every tap. "I’ve made mistake after mistake... Maybe this was all a mistake from the start."

His words hit you, but it’s the tone of his voice that wounds you more, filled with a self-criticism that is painfully familiar but no less difficult to hear. You know how much his work matters to him, how much of himself he has poured into these projects. And you know this failure consumes him more than he’s willing to admit. You can't just stand by and watch him spiral.

"Viktor," you say softly, stepping closer and placing a firm yet comforting hand on his arm. "You’re a genius, and even geniuses have tough days. Today was one of those days, but it doesn’t define who you are or what you do."

At first, he doesn’t respond. His gaze is lost, searching for answers in the shadows that stretch across the lab. But then his grey eyes meet yours, filled with doubt and exhaustion. "How can you be so sure? Every day without progress... I feel like I’m wasting time, like I’m failing everyone, even myself."

Your heart tightens at his words. You take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers gently, feeling the coolness of his skin against yours. "Because I know you, Viktor. I’ve seen your dedication, your passion. Every mistake, every small setback is part of the process. You don't have to carry this weight alone. I’m here to help you shoulder it."

The silence that follows is thick, but instead of uncomfortable, it’s a space where words aren’t necessary. Slowly, you see his posture relax, the tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. Without letting go of his hand, you step even closer, sensing the fragility of the moment.

"Let’s step outside for a bit," you whisper, "You need to clear your mind, get some fresh air. You don’t have to do it all today, not tonight."

He looks at you again, with a mix of gratitude and weariness, and finally nods. "Alright," he says softly, as if it’s hard for him to admit he needs the break.

You walk together to the exit, your fingers still entwined with his. The night air is a balm, cool and light, carrying away some of the day's heaviness. You walk in silence through the almost deserted streets, the distant hum of the city a constant murmur.

"Thank you," he finally whispers, breaking the silence with a voice soft, almost breaking. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

You stop, turning to face him. "You don’t have to know, because I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, through the good and the bad days. You don’t have to bear this burden alone."

He tilts his head, and for a moment it seems like he’s about to say more, but instead, he simply squeezes your hand tighter, a silent gesture that speaks volumes.

"Come here," you say, leading him to a nearby bench. You sit beside him, and for the first time all night, you see him take a deep breath, as if the fresh air could cleanse not just his lungs but also his mind and soul.

Viktor rests his head on your shoulder, allowing himself to close his eyes and savor the moment. You kiss his head and gently stroke his hair, cherishing these rare moments, knowing how precious they are when they happen.

"Today was a bad day," he finally says, his voice tinged with a quiet melancholy. "But, for some reason, it doesn’t feel as overwhelming with… with you here."

You smile softly, feeling warmth spread from his acceptance, from his openness. "I’ll always be here to remind you that even the worst days come to an end. And that you are stronger than you think."

He looks at you, and for an instant, the world seems to stop. His gaze, filled with gratitude and something deeper, envelops you. Before you can say anything more, you feel him leaning towards you, and in that moment, everything falls into place. His lips brush against yours with a tenderness that disarms you, a kiss soft yet laden with unspoken emotions.

When you part, just inches away, his eyes remain closed as if he wants to hold onto the moment a little longer. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper.

You cradle his face in your hands, gently caressing his cheeks. "There’s no need to thank me, my love."

Jinx

The day had been chaos, even by Jinx's standards. Everything had gone wrong: a botched attack, crumbling plans, and to top it all off, an unexpected explosion that almost trapped her in her own trap. Now, she sat in her lair, surrounded by the wreckage of her shattered inventions, her breath short and pulse racing. Her mind, always a whirlwind, now felt like a hurricane of uncontrollable voices and thoughts.

The laughter of her imaginary "friends" echoed in her head, growing louder, mocking her. "Failed again, Jinx. You always fail." She pressed her hands against her temples, squeezing as if she could silence the voices. But the laughter wouldn’t stop, and the crushing weight of loneliness and failure bore down on her.

You approached cautiously, knowing that Jinx in this state was a minefield. But you also knew you couldn’t leave her alone in her internal storm. "Jinx," you called softly, keeping your voice low and calm. "I’m here, sweets."

She didn’t respond at first, her body tense like a spring about to snap. But as you drew closer, her bright blue eyes, wide and wild, met yours with a mixture of anger and desperation. "Why? Why do you keep coming back? Don’t you get it? I don’t need anyone. I don’t want anyone to see me like this."

"I’m not here to judge you," you replied gently, sitting down next to her without encroaching too much on her space. "I’m here because I care. Because I know that sometimes, even the strongest people need a breather. And there’s nothing wrong with that."

She let out a bitter laugh, dripping with sarcasm. "A breather? You think I can just... breathe and everything will be fine? That’s not how my head works. It’s... broken. Everything’s broken."

Your eyes softened at the pain in her words, the self-loathing and anger intertwining dangerously. Without much thought, you reached out, lightly touching her hand, hoping the physical contact might ground her somehow.

"Maybe you can’t fix everything right away," you said softly, "but at least you’re not alone in this boat. I’m on board with you, and I’m not getting off, even if we hit an iceberg." You joked to lighten the tense atmosphere.

She looked at your hand on hers, and for a moment, it seemed like she would pull away. But instead, her trembling fingers closed around yours, with a grip that betrayed just how desperately she needed something—someone—to understand her.

"Why do you care?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I’m a mess. Everything I touch... I ruin."

"Because you’re more than your mistakes," you said, squeezing her hand gently. "You’re strong, creative, and even if the world doesn’t understand you, I want to be here for you, to help you see that, even when everything gets tough."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her voice breaking as she murmured, "I don’t know if I can do it... but thank you... for not giving up on me."

You smiled softly, leaning closer to her. "I’ll never give up on you. And you know what? Let’s make a deal. Today was a bad day, but just for today, we’ll do whatever you want. How about we start with some ice cream?"

Her eyes lit up slightly, though there was still a shadow of doubt in her expression. "Ice cream? Really?"

"Serious business," you said, smiling a little more. "Pick your favorite flavor. We’ll go get it, and then we can do whatever you want. You can draw, launch rockets, blow things up—whatever makes you feel better."

"Can I dye your hair blue?" she asked, her tone teasing but her eyes hopeful.

"Anything but that," you corrected, not quite understanding her obsession with wanting to dye your hair.

She burst out laughing, pressing a hard kiss to your cheek. "Just kidding, hon. I love everything about you, even your boring dark hair."

"Hey!" you playfully patted her shoulder.

Suddenly, her smile faded again, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

"But what if everything keeps going wrong?"

"Then I’ll be here to pick up the pieces with you," you said, gently stroking her hand. "You’re not alone, sweets. Not today, not any day."

She launched herself into your arms, hugging you tightly, her body trembling slightly. "Thank you..." she whispered against your neck, clinging to you as if you were her anchor in a storm. And in that moment, you knew the only thing that mattered was her feeling your presence, your unwavering support.

Vi’s mind was still trapped in the ring, replaying the final moments of that crucial fight. She had bet everything on it—her money, her pride, her reputation. Everything hung by a thread, and she had lost. The cheers had faded, leaving only the echo of failure resonating in her head.

She limped back to her hideout, her knuckles bloodied and her jaw clenched. Dropping onto the worn-out sofa, she let out a frustrated growl, covering her face with a hand as she tried to contain the fury and humiliation. She had risked so much, and now it was all gone.

The whispers of her defeat spread like wildfire. You knew Vi wasn’t one to admit defeat easily, nor to ask for help. So, with a heart full of concern, you went to find her, worried about her state.

The door creaked open as you stepped inside. "Vi," you called gently, finding her on the couch, shoulders tense and gaze fixed on the floor. You approached cautiously and sat on the floor in front of her, your chin resting on your hands as you looked at her intently. "Are you okay?"

"I don’t need your pity," she snapped, her voice sharp but laced with vulnerability. "I’m fine. Just... need a moment."

"Vi," you said softly, "it’s just one loss. You’re incredible in the ring, babe, but you can’t expect to win every time. Besides, we learn more from our mistakes than from our victories. It’s okay."

"No, it’s not okay," she shot back, finally lifting her head to meet your gaze, her blue eyes filled with frustration. "I bet everything on that fight. Everything. And now I have nothing."

"That’s why I’m here," you responded, sitting beside her and gently taking her bloodied hand in yours, inspecting it with care. "You don’t have to carry this alone. Let me help you."

"I don’t want your help," she protested, trying to pull her hand away, but you held on firmly. "I don’t need saving. I can handle this."

"Vi, don’t be stubborn," you chided, your voice firm yet warm. "I care about you, and I’m not going to stand by while you drown over something we can fix together."

Her gaze softened, a mix of wounded pride and unspoken gratitude in her eyes. "I can’t take your money," she muttered, looking down again. "It’s not fair to you."

"Babe, if the roles were reversed, I know you’d do the same for me," you reminded her. "This isn’t about fairness or debt. It’s about caring for someone I love."

The last word hung in the air, making Vi look up again. "You... love me?" she whispered, as if it was something she hadn’t allowed herself to hear before.

"Love you? I’m crazy about you, woman!" you admitted with a chuckle, gently squeezing her hand. "And because of that, I’m going to help you through this. Take the money, just this once. It’s not weakness to accept help, Vi. It’s strength to know when you need someone."

She let out a deep sigh, her body relaxing slightly as the tension began to ease. "Alright," she murmured finally, her voice barely a whisper. "I’ll take your help... just this once."

"That’s all I needed to hear," you said, smiling softly as you caressed her hand. "We’ll get through this, together."

Vi looked at you, and for the first time that night, a faint smile curved her lips. "Thank you," she said, leaning toward you. Her hand suddenly slid to your ass, giving it a playful squeeze.

You looked at her, a mix of confusion and amusement on your face. She just shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"What? It’s my way of saying thanks," Vi defended, following it up with a loud slap.

Laughing, you climbed onto her lap, leaning in close to her mouth, "Well, if I’d known your gratitude was this charming, I’d hope for favors more often."

Vi leaned in and kissed you, a tender kiss that spoke of gratitude and something deeper, needing no words. "I love you," she murmured against your lips.

"And I love you," you whispered, your lips still brushing hers.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn's office was silent, the only sound breaking the stillness was the soft scratch of her pencil against paper as she reviewed the reports that had come in. It had been a particularly difficult day for her. The weight of the decisions she'd had to make hung heavily on her shoulders, and her mind couldn't stop replaying the latest case she had been handling. Even though she tried to maintain her composure, you knew Caitlyn wasn't invincible.

You approached cautiously, gently tapping on the door before stepping inside. "Cait," you called softly, seeing her immersed in her work, her eyes glued to the desk, but her rigid posture betrayed her exhaustion.

She looked up and forced a smile. "Don’t worry, everything’s under control," she said, her voice slightly tenser than usual.

Leaning against the doorframe, you watched her with concern. "I know you're working hard, Cait, but this isn’t just about work, is it?"

She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes narrowing as if fighting herself not to admit what was clearly troubling her. "It’s nothing. Just... tough cases. Nothing you need to worry about."

You knew her too well. Something wasn’t right. Caitlyn always maintained her facade of strength, never showing vulnerability, but you knew even she had limits. You decided to step closer, gently removing the papers from her hands and sitting on her desk, right in front of her, catching her off guard. Her hands instinctively found your thighs, her fingers pressing into your skin as a silent sign of her pent-up stress.

"You're not doing this alone tonight, Cait," you told her firmly. "I know you feel the pressure, but you don’t have to carry it all by yourself."

She tried to smile, but the gesture only highlighted her fatigue. "I can't afford to show weakness. Everyone expects me to have the answers."

"That’s precisely what makes you human," you replied softly, cradling her face and appreciating her delicate features. "The burden of leadership, the tough decisions... it can’t all rest on you. If you need a break, you’ll take one. If you need to talk, I’m here."

Caitlyn remained silent, her gaze now locked onto yours, as if considering your words for the first time. You could see her defenses slowly crumbling, her breathing easing into a calmer rhythm. "Sometimes I feel like no one understands... how hard it is to keep everything together, always being the one expected to know what to do."

"I understand," you said, gently holding the hand that gripped your thigh. "And you don’t always have to have all the answers, Cait. It’s okay to feel lost. You can lean on me for these things and anything else."

She didn’t speak for a long moment, simply watching you, and for once, her face displayed a vulnerability she rarely showed. Finally, she sighed, letting the tension in her face melt away.

"I know," she murmured, almost as a confession. "Sometimes it’s just hard not to feel like a burden."

"You’re never a burden to me," you assured her, leaning in and wrapping your arms around her, your fingers tenderly running through her hair. She responded with a soft sigh of relief. "You’re the strongest person I know, Cait. And that strength doesn’t make you invulnerable. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You carry so much responsibility and expectation, and you handle it as best you can. You can share that with me too, love. I’m not in your life just to enjoy your company and admire your beautiful face."

With an intense gaze, Caitlyn gently squeezed your hand, displaying a rare tenderness. "Thank you," she whispered, her tone much softer than usual. "Thank you for this. For always being there when I need it. For knowing what I need when I don’t even know myself."

You moved a little closer and, without thinking, kissed her forehead, a warm and comforting gesture. "I’ll always be here, Cait. You don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."

She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to rest in your presence. And although the day's worries wouldn't vanish immediately, there was something about that small gesture, that silent connection between you two, that made her feel less alone. She knew that, no matter what, she would always have a refuge in you.

Jayce

The door creaked open, and instantly, the tension that Jayce carried with him filled the room like an unwelcome guest. He stood in the doorway, his figure worn down as if each step of his day had chipped away at his strength. His face was a canvas of frustration and exhaustion, the lines of weariness on his forehead barely hidden by his tousled hair. The warm light of home contrasted sharply with the cold night air, but even the comforting ambiance seemed powerless against the heavy burden he bore.

Without a word, you moved towards him, your presence a sanctuary in the storm he was weathering. You gently took his cold hands in yours and led him to the couch, where he sank down with a deep, weary sigh. The weight of the day clung to him, a cloak of responsibility and fatigue. He barely acknowledged you as you spoke.

"Rough day?" Your voice was gentle, laced with concern.

Jayce exhaled sharply, his exhaustion evident as he turned his head to you. "More than you can imagine." His tone was rough, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Viktor and I... the experiment in the lab was a disaster. Then, the Council meeting... a complete mess. I’m not even sure how I made it back here tonight." His voice cracked for a moment, followed by a bitter laugh. "And tomorrow? I have to give that damned speech to the entire city. I haven’t even started writing it."

The air felt thick, laden with everything he couldn't put into words. You squeezed his hand, holding it with a tenderness that cut through the fog of his mind. "Breathe, Jayce. You don’t have to solve everything at once. One step at a time."

Instinctively, you sat behind him, guiding him until his back rested against your chest. You began to massage his shoulders, feeling the tension slowly seep from his muscles. Each movement of your fingers seemed to ease his burdens, though his sighs suggested the thoughts still swirled in his mind.

"I’ll help you with the speech," you offered softly. "We’ll write it together. You don’t have to face it all alone."

Jayce closed his eyes briefly, as if clinging to your words to prevent drowning in his thoughts. "But... it all depends on me. If I screw this up, the consequences are massive. I can’t afford to fail." His voice broke, and he sat up abruptly, anxiety gripping him once more.

"It’s just a speech, Jayce. It doesn’t define you." You wrapped your arms around his torso, holding him from behind. "What matters most to me is that it doesn’t destroy you. The city needs you, yes. But you need yourself too."

A long sigh escaped his chest, a release of some of the weight he'd been carrying. "How do you stay so calm through all of this? How do you have the patience to listen to my problems over and over?" His tone softened, a realization of what your presence meant to him.

"Because I love you, you big lug. And because I respect you," you said without hesitation. "Now... first things first. Dinner. I made your favorite." You whispered in his ear, the warmth of your embrace surrounding him, offering a sliver of peace. "Then, I’ll draw you a bath. You need to relax, to stop thinking about everything for a while. We’ll have dinner together, and afterward, we’ll stay up as long as you need. I’ll help with the speech. And if you need to rehearse all night, we will. The important thing is you’re not facing it alone. I’m here, Jayce, because I know how much this means to you."

Jayce let the silence hang for a moment, absorbing your words, your support the anchor he desperately needed. Slowly, he turned to look at you, his face finally showing signs of easing. "I don’t deserve you," he murmured, a small pout forming on his lips.

"Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my spoiled giant baby," you teased with a soft laugh, cupping his face with care.

Jayce chuckled, a low, grateful sound that was music to your ears, and you hugged him tighter, feeling the anxiety that had gripped him start to dissipate. "Can we stay like this a little longer?" he asked quietly, his tone vulnerable, more human than ever.

"Of course, love," you whispered. "There’s no rush tonight."

And there, between tender laughs and promises of unwavering support, time seemed to pause. In that moment, there was only the two of you, the warmth of home, and the certainty that, no matter what the next day brought, you would face it together.

Ekko

The sound of gears grinding and tools sparking filled Ekko's workshop, a familiar symphony that usually brought him a sense of calm. But today, the rhythm was frantic, almost as if he believed that focusing on the intricate mechanical details could help him outrun the weight pressing down on his heart. It wasn’t working.

"Ekko, what’s wrong?" Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet it cut through the tension hanging thick in the air. You could sense something was off, not just from the hurried way he moved but from the pallor that had taken over his face in the past few hours.

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers continued their precise dance over the wires and components, but there was a distant look in his eyes, a clear sign that his mind was far from the task at hand. Finally, he looked up, and though he tried to hide it, you could see the frustration and pain etched into his features.

"Things are... out of control," he admitted, his voice heavy. "The people of Zaun keep dying, and we can’t do anything about it. The illnesses are spreading, the air is becoming unbreathable, and the solutions... they seem further away than ever. How am I supposed to lead them when I have nothing to offer?"

His question lingered in the air, a cry of desperation in the stillness. Ekko had borne the weight of leading the Firelights since their inception. It was his strength, his refuge, yet also his greatest burden. Every day, he witnessed more of his people falling victim to the oppression and the harsh realities of Zaun, the toxic air swallowing those he cared about, and the seeming futility of their efforts gnawed at his resolve. What could one do when everything seemed stacked against them?

"Ekko," you approached him, gently taking his hands in yours. "Listen to me. I know what you're thinking. I know it feels like everything is collapsing, like there’s no way out. But you're not alone in this. You have the Firelights, and you have me. Caitlyn Kiramman might be able to help with this problem."

Ekko raised an eyebrow, confused. He knew Caitlyn, as an Enforcer, symbolized the oppressive system that had kept Zaun in misery, but he also knew you didn’t speak lightly. You must have had a plan.

"I don’t trust Piltover," Ekko muttered, his tone firm. "Or their damn Enforcers. How am I supposed to ask someone like Caitlyn for help? After everything they’ve done to us?"

"I know," you said, gently stroking his hands to calm him, "but hear me out. You're not just asking Caitlyn for help. You’re asking the person who owes me a few favors. Trust me. I think we can secure some supplies, maybe some of the medicines we need, at least to keep us going for a while. Something to help the Firelights keep fighting. Don’t see it as surrendering, Ekko; it’s a step towards giving us a real chance to make our voices heard."

For a moment, Ekko stared at the ground, lost in thought. It was clear he struggled to trust anyone outside his circle, especially someone like Caitlyn, who embodied Piltover’s oppressive power. But your words resonated with him, and for the first time that day, something inside him eased slightly.

"Maybe you’re right," he finally said, his voice low, as if only partially convinced. "But this... it can’t just be words. We need to do something real, something that actually makes a difference."

"We will," you assured him with a soft smile, trying to instill a bit of hope. "Together, step by step. Let’s start by talking to Caitlyn and see what we can secure. I don’t know how, but I believe we’ll make it happen."

Ekko looked at you, and for a moment, everything in his expression changed. The usual anger gave way to a mixture of gratitude and, perhaps, a hint of relief. He was exhausted, but the idea that not everything was lost gave him a tiny spark of hope.

"Thank you, babe," he murmured, his voice softer than before. "I don’t know how you do it. You always know what to say."

"That’s because I’ve learned how to deal with your stubborn, grumpy self," you said with a light laugh. "Now, how about we take a stroll through the city? Maybe a few hours of disconnecting will help."

A trace of a smile appeared on his face, though still tinged with fatigue. "What? Are you planning to make me forget all this by tagging the walls with graffiti?"

"Exactly," you responded with a mischievous grin. "That way, at least for a while, we can forget the world and do whatever we want."

Ekko finally gave in, his soft laugh filling the air as he grabbed his hoverboard. "You know, that sounds like a great idea. Let’s go before I change my mind."

And as you wandered the streets of Zaun, the weight on his shoulders didn’t entirely vanish, but for a while, Ekko could relax, paint his frustrations on the walls, and most importantly, remember that he wasn’t alone. Sometimes, all it took was stepping back and breathing, even if just for a moment.

Silco

The air in Silco's office was heavy, thick with the unmistakable scent of Zaun: metal, sweat, and burnt chemicals. Yet beyond those familiar odors, the room was saturated with the tension of recent events. The sting of failure clung to him, unsettling the usually composed mastermind. His meticulously laid plans had unraveled, and while his followers proclaimed loyalty, cracks in their devotion were becoming apparent. Zaun teetered on the brink of internal rebellion. The Firelights, the Enforcers, even the streets themselves seemed to be slipping through his fingers.

But what truly unsettled him, what gnawed at his very core, was the ever-present specter of betrayal, the fear of losing those who mattered most. In these moments, when chaos felt imminent, you chose to enter.

Silco stood with his back to you, staring out at the city’s dim lights through the window. You could sense the disquiet within him. His silhouette was somber, almost ghostly, with one hand resting on the glass. He seemed like a man who had lost faith in everything around him. Without hesitation, you approached him with a calmness that contrasted starkly with the storm raging within him.

"Silco," you began, your voice gentle but resolute. You refused to let his fragility consume him, not now. "We've faced this before. You don’t have to bear it all alone."

At first, he remained silent. The tension in his frame was palpable, and you could tell he was fighting a battle he wasn’t ready to share. Yet, you knew that struggle all too well. Beneath his layers of hatred and ambition lay a man as broken and vulnerable as any other.

Finally, he turned toward you, his eyes, usually burning with disdain, now dulled. "You don’t understand," he said, his voice low, roughened by a restrained fury. "This isn’t like before. It’s not just about winning anymore. It’s about maintaining control, about not losing everything. If I fail now, all we’ve built will be for nothing. What’s looming isn’t just a challenge—it’s war, and I need to be ready."

You stepped closer, studying the exhaustion etched into his face. His words were a glimpse into the turmoil that consumed him. "You will be ready. We will be ready. But isolating yourself in this downward spiral won’t help."

Silco’s gaze met yours, and for a fleeting moment, vulnerability surfaced. He appeared more human, less the monster Zaun feared. But his pride fought to keep that part of him hidden.

"I don’t need your pity," he said, though his words lacked conviction, a feeble defense against the truth you were unveiling. "Spare me the empty reassurances."

"They’re not empty," you replied, your voice steady. "I know what you’re feeling. This isn’t just about controlling Zaun. This is about you."

A heavy silence followed, thick with unspoken truths. Silco’s brow furrowed, not in anger but in contemplation. "It’s a war I can’t win. The city hates me, even my own daughter—"

"Don’t speak of her as if you’re some monster," you interrupted gently but firmly. "Jinx needs you, and you need her. This war isn’t just against Piltover, Silco. It’s against yourself. And if you keep fighting it alone, you will lose."

The room was still, the weight of your words settling in the air. Silco’s expression softened, touched by a realization he couldn’t deny. He wasn’t accustomed to being seen so clearly, to having his inner battles laid bare.

You took another step forward and, without allowing him time to withdraw, you took his hand. "You don’t have to do this alone," you whispered. "Not now, not ever."

For a brief moment, conflict flickered across his features, but then it happened—he relented. It wasn’t the surrender of a defeated man but of someone willing to trust, if only for a moment, that there was more to life than his solitary fight.

"I don’t know why you persist in keeping me upright," he murmured, his voice softer, laced with weariness. "Sometimes… sometimes it feels like too much."

"It’s not," you assured him without hesitation. "We’ll face it together. I won’t let you fall."

Silco said nothing more, but he didn’t pull away as you held his hand more firmly, a silent acceptance of your comfort. And for the first time in a long while, the cold steel of his demeanor cracked, if only for a fleeting second.

Mel

Mel's balcony was as sleek and cold, a testament to her meticulous nature. The soft glow of lanterns cast a gentle light over the cityscape, illuminating the endless sea of Piltover's lights below. Yet, amidst the serenity of the night, an unseen storm brewed within her. Tonight, her mind wasn't consumed with political maneuvers or strategic plans. Something far deeper gnawed at her: the weight of her ambitions had begun to manifest in ways she hadn't anticipated, threatening to fracture the carefully constructed facade of her life.

She stood by the railing, gazing out at the city that never slept, as if the twinkling lights could somehow chase away the growing void in her heart. You could see it—the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped the railing a little too tightly. She was a picture of composed authority, yet the subtle cracks in her armor betrayed the turmoil within.

"Mel..." Your voice, soft yet firm, broke the silence. You approached from behind, your footsteps light but deliberate. You didn't need to be loud; she had always been attuned to your presence, as if you existed in a part of her consciousness she couldn't ignore.

Mel turned slowly, her face a mask of unyielding calm, but her eyes... her eyes told a different story. They held a flicker of vulnerability, a silent plea she wasn't ready to voice. "What is it?" Her voice was cool, almost detached, but you knew better. The detachment was a shield, one she had crafted over years of political warfare.

"What’s wrong?" you asked again, your gaze unwavering as you closed the distance between you. You could sense her struggle, her reluctance to admit that something was amiss. "I can see it, Mel. You're not okay."

She sighed—a sound so heavy it seemed to carry the weight of the city. It wasn't frustration; it was the exhaustion of someone who had carried too much for too long. "It’s Piltover. My role in the Council... I can't keep up with it all," she admitted, her words slow, measured, as if each one was a reluctant confession. "I’ve been playing this game for so long, but the pieces are moving in directions I can’t control. And..."

Her voice faltered, and she didn't need to continue. You understood. This wasn't about Piltover alone. It was about her, about the toll her ambitions had taken on her soul. Here, on this balcony, she wasn't the indomitable Mel Medarda. She was a woman, weary and yearning for something she couldn't quite name.

"Mel, not everything needs to be under control. Not everything needs to be perfect," you said gently, stepping closer. "You can handle what’s happening in Piltover, but you don’t have to carry it all on your own."

Her eyes darted away, as if looking at you would make her break. She was so used to being the one in control, to bearing the burdens without complaint. "And if I fail... what then? What’s left after all of this? I've given everything to Piltover… everything."

Her voice trembled with a sadness that cut through you. Despite her steely exterior, you knew there was a part of her that longed for something more—connection, peace, perhaps even love. But the world she had built around herself left little room for such indulgences.

"If you fail, Mel, you’ll have the chance to start over. You don’t have to keep fighting for something that's slipping through your fingers," you said, your voice steady as you reached for her. "Sometimes, letting go of what we fear losing the most is what sets us free."

Mel's eyes met yours, and in them, you saw a vulnerability she rarely showed. She wasn’t used to conversations like this, to empathy. But in your gaze, she found something she hadn’t seen in a long time: safety, support, and perhaps... the promise of something different. Something better.

"I know it’s not easy," you continued, your hand gently brushing her arm. "But you don’t have to carry the weight of Piltover alone. You have people who respect you, who admire you. There are other ways to move forward without losing yourself in the process."

The silence that followed was thick, but not oppressive. It was as if the night itself was holding its breath, waiting for her response. For a moment, Mel said nothing. Then, her lips, always so carefully set in lines of authority, softened. "And if I fail… what happens to you?"

"You won’t fail," you said with a conviction that only you could have. "But even if you did, I’d be right here, helping you rebuild. Because what really matters isn’t the power or the control. What really matters is you, Mel."

For a second, she looked at you as if seeing you for the first time. The iron-willed woman everyone knew, the strategist, the leader, was now gazing at you with a newfound sense of recognition. And in that moment, she allowed herself a rare indulgence: she let her guard down.

"Maybe... maybe it’s not always about winning," she murmured, more to herself than to you. "Maybe you're right."

You smiled softly, knowing that Mel had just taken a step towards something beyond ambition—towards her humanity.

Sevika

The night had fallen with an oppressive stillness, but Sevika couldn’t find peace. The hours had dragged her into a whirlwind of stress and frustration. Each minute felt heavier than the last, and the air around her seemed thick, as if the city itself was pressing down on her chest. The decisions she had to make, the moves she had to plan, the constant need to watch over and protect her people… all of it had left her exhausted. But what weighed her down the most was the lack of control over her own life.

The shadows of the streets seemed to stretch out, enveloping her with an invisible pressure. Silco, as if things weren’t bad enough, was more erratic than ever, his paranoia brushing the edges of madness. To top it off, Jinx had played one of her twisted jokes: locking her in a room with a bomb that looked ready to explode. Sevika had been on the brink of death, only to discover that the bomb was a cruel joke, the kind only Jinx could conjure. If she had the time, she would have made sure the girl paid for it. She despised feeling vulnerable. But there was more. She had to deal with some of Silco’s men, and her day culminated with a direct punch to the face, leaving a visible mark on her otherwise stoic features.

On any other day, Sevika might have sought solace or at least retreated into the quiet of solitude, but today was different. No matter what she did, the sense of losing control gnawed at her insides. She needed to see you. She needed your presence, your calm way of looking at her and making her feel that everything, even if just for a while, would be okay.

Finally, the door creaked open. The sound of your footsteps was a balm to her weary spirit, and Sevika lifted her gaze. The damp night air lent a melancholic intensity to her eyes, now etched with fatigue and disdain. Though she tried to maintain her tough exterior, you quickly noticed the bruise marking her face.

“What happened?” Your voice, soft yet filled with concern, echoed in the room. Sevika tried to muster a smile, but it was futile.

“Just another day, you know?” she rasped, moving to lean against the table. She wasn’t about to crumble in front of you, but the exasperation in her tone was unmistakable. “Silco’s paranoid as ever. Jinx pulled one of her idiotic pranks… locked me in a room with a fake bomb about to explode. I thought I’d die there, amidst confetti and laughter. And if that wasn’t enough, one of Silco’s guys managed to land a punch on me.”

Your gaze, laced with worry and tenderness, softened instantly. You stepped forward, cupping her face gently, trying to ease the storm swirling inside her. Sevika stood still, unresponsive at first, but the hard lines of her face began to relax, even if only slightly.

“Why didn’t you call me?” you asked, your eyes never leaving hers, your words carrying a silent concern. You knew she hated appearing weak, but it didn’t matter; you would never see her that way. Sevika closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh.

“You know I don’t like to worry you.” Her tone was sharp, but softer than before. She could feel how your warmth affected her in ways she wasn’t ready to admit, but needed more than she was willing to acknowledge.

Without missing a beat, you acted. With a small smile, you stepped back a little, creating some space to prepare something that might bring her some comfort.

“Tonight, I’m making something special for my strong and sexy warrior,” you said, a mix of tenderness and teasing in your voice. “It’s not much, but I know you’ll like it.” You headed to the kitchen, and instead of a typical meal, you decided on something you knew would make Sevika smile: a homemade chocolate cupcake, with a hint of vanilla and a soft cream topping. While the sweet treat took shape, you thought about how this small gesture might lighten the night. The smell of freshly baked chocolate began to fill the air.

Sevika raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a slight smile. “A cupcake?” she asked, almost playfully, though her voice held a softness rarely heard. “Am I a child needing comfort now?”

“Maybe,” you replied, smiling as you set the table. “Sometimes we all need something simple and sweet.” You playfully tapped her nose.

With the cupcake served and a cup of aromatic tea, the two of you sat together, letting the calm settle for a moment. As she savored the cupcake, your fingers brushed hers gently, as if that simple touch could convey something deeper. Sevika’s gaze, usually so hard and closed off, softened as it met yours.

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost with a humility that was unlike her. “I needed this more than I thought.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you said with a gentle smile, intertwining your fingers with hers.

And in that moment, it didn’t matter what was happening in the outside world. For an instant, everything else faded away. Only that small space between the two of you existed, where love and understanding felt like the answer to all the burdens Sevika carried within.

430 notes · View notes

glowingsquiddragon · 2 days ago

Text

hmmm this one’s hard because I’m like hardcore fixating on like 7 diffrent things and like it’s jumping really hard and fast between them (LMK,PMD, Danny phantom, Stardew valley, Streamer lore, Epiphet Erased, Epic the musical, Sonic the hedgehog, and stuff my friends and I made) I’ll put the other ones here and there in parentheses, but focusing on one main one.

📃: kid gets powers of ancient hero. MOOOONKIE KID. (The other one is getting isekaid into Pokemon not main focus but wanted to mention it)

📌: my friend showed me and i fell in love with a ship and got a bit too deep. Help. Help I’m drowning

✨: The mONKIES LOOK AT THEM GO! The tension! The drama! The complexity of the characters! TOXIC OLD MAN YAOI! FRIENDS TO ENEMIES, TO FORCED TO WORK TOGETHER TO FRIENDS AND TO LOVERS! slooow buuuurn. and the animation is cool! More tho I reeeaallly love some of the people I’ve met with this fandom

🎥: hmmmmmmmm I can’t say I have a favorite, it’s all really well done and I’ve been spoiled on a lot of the stuff

🎶: uhhhhh sadly enough haven’t gotten that far. And haven’t paid enough attention to the music (but for hollow knight, a tie between city of tears, crystal peak and fog canyon)

💕: macaque and Redson, yeah I know I know, they are really liked a lot. But sometimes villains are just really fun. Macaque I like him because he’s a broody villian as the shadow or dark opposite of another who’s desperate to not be seen as the opposite of the other, but at the same time obsessed with the other. He’s a villian as a victim of circumstance, turned ally. Don’t get me wrong he does some messed up stuff but some of my favorite characters are genuinely insane. You have to put a lot of work of keeping them balanced between crazy but not stupid and there are soooo many way to do these things. Plus he’s smart too and it’s just really fun and shadow abilities are so cool to me. As for Red, I just really like him too, I like to analyze him like a scientist picking apart something. It’s fun!

💔: mayor I guess? I haven’t been able to get myself to watch the entire show it’s a hard thing to commit to so I don’t know about him all that much. But like at the same time him and LBD are hard to hate because everyone loves when a villain is done well. And they are done well.

🏳‍🌈 MK is Bi, the monkeys are all fruity, my mind cannot be changed.

🍀 Not really? I mean I guess MK but that’s just cuz he’s really sweet. But also red, but like in a mean way, like I wanna throw him at a wall and put that man in a situation kind of way. (RICK SHADES. PLZ I LOVE HIM SO MUCH LISTEN TO EPITHET ERASED I LOVE THAT LOSER )

💎: apparently sworn brotherhoods was like the Chinese equivalent of history says they are besties! (Looking at you Achilles for prime example) also macaque monkeys apparently have the highest rate of being gay for monkeys totally weird huh?

💢: MISCHARACTERIZATIONS NEED TO STOP LEAVE THEM ALONE! QUIT BOILING THEM DOWN TO SOMETHING BARELY RECOGNIZABLE! MK ISNT A DUMB KID! MEI IS NOT JUST THE GIRL CHARACTER! WUKONG IS NOT EVIL HE MADE MISTAKES! MACAQUE ISNT INNOCENT PRETTY SURE THAT MAN COMMITED WAR CRIMES! STOP SAYING RED HAS A PERFECT FAMILY LIFE HES ACTUALLY A REALLY SMART DUDE NOT A LITTLE BAAABY

yeah it’s like

really annoying how many people say Wukong is evil for killing Macaque when it was self defense and protecting others. I can like them both like come on man

@enka-antix @axolkitkat @flicklikesstuff

media hyperfixation ask game!

this can also be applied to special interests! if you have multiple, put them in the tags so people who send asks can specify which hyperfixation/spin they’re asking about. 📃 what is the plot of your hyperfixation? and is it a movie, game, show, etc? 📌 how did you find your hyperfixation? ✨ what draws you towards your hyperfixation? what is interesting about it? 🎥 do you have any favorite scenes from your hyperfixation? 🎶 if your hyperfixation has songs/an ost, what is your favorite song from it? 💕 tell us about one of your favorite characters and why you like them! 💔 tell us about one of your LEAST favorite characters and why you dislike them. 🏳‍🌈 do you have any headcanons (lgbt, race, neuro, etc) that are important to you? 🍀 do you have any kins or comfort characters from your hyperfixation? 💎 are there any fun facts or trivia that you would like to share? 💢 what do you NOT like about your hyperfixation? is there something you would want to change about it?

16K notes · View notes

mareastrorum · 22 hours ago

Text

Been chewing more on how C3 wound up here. What’s throwing me is the strange shift from the cast’s unflinching “yes, and” game in C2 to a misplaced feeling that they need to choose correctly in C3.

I want to be clear here that this isn’t a criticism post because I genuinely don’t know what’s happening here. It’s just odd behaviors that seem to signal a problem, and I don’t know what solution would resolve it. I’m not going to be so presumptuous as to hypothesize about any cast member’s thoughts.

In the Cooldown for C3E118 (and offhandedly previously), Laura and Ashley expressed some nervousness about making big decisions because they’re worried about making the “wrong” choice. Without more, that attitude alone would explain much of the party’s indecisiveness about key campaign questions. After all, their characters are the two Ruidusborn of most interest to the campaign villains, and other characters (especially Orym, Laudna, and Ashton) have insisted that Imogen and Fearne take the lead on Predathos.

But this isn’t a story in a vacuum. C2 got completely derailed multiple times. The Mighty Nein decided to steal a pirate ship and leave the continent the campaign was set on; shortly after they returned, they decided to reopen a collapsed tunnel to go the opposite side of the continent; then Caleb returned the Luxon Beacon and made themselves heroes of an enemy nation instantly. That’s not even getting into the fact that Molly died before the Nein got to Shadycreek Run (which absolutely would have been all about his backstory) or that Twiggy left an incredible magical artifact that wasn’t supposed to be given to the Nein. Each time, Matt adjusted and made it work. Granted, C2 was more of a sandbox campaign, but Matt demonstrated his flexibility as a DM time and again.

Like, as a general rule of thumb, DMs shouldn’t offer options that would torpedo the campaign. It’s rational to avoid situations that have a genuine possibility of undercutting the game. Matt has been DMing for a long time; he’s done a very good job of finding ways to make the campaign work regardless of the decisions the players make. Even when players do something directly against the signals he threw out (like Ashton trying to absorb a second shard despite consistent, dire warnings that it would kill him), he works with the players to come to a reasonable solution (Ashton survived but the shard wouldn’t take, and he got some character moments out of the failure). We, the audience, know Matt is good at pivoting when he needs to.

In addition to taking the players’ curveballs like a champ, Matt also takes big swings for the sake of the story. In C1, Matt broke his biggest city with a dragon invasion, then made a new god leading an undead titan to go stomp out the world’s oldest civilization. In C2, he let the players go off the map whenever and still made the digression relevant to their character arcs every time. Not to be parasocial, but if we can figure out that that Matt can handle this sort of thing, the players certainly have a better feel for it than us.

So what is going on in C3? We know Matt isn’t scared of breaking Exandria or destroying the pantheon: he set that possibility in motion as the default ending if the players did nothing. CR literally did a mini series about the start of the end of the world with EXU Calamity. Laura and Ashley were also in Downfall and making big choices between the gods and mortals. Breaking stuff is what they do!

Where did this idea that there’s a “wrong” choice come from? That type of thinking kills a lot of great improv, and the whole point of the “yes, and” exercise is to shake it off. While it’s incredibly obvious to say not to think that way, the real issue is sorting out why that mentality has taken hold at all. That’s a problem no amount of fan discussion is going to resolve.

#critical role #c3e118 #bell’s hells

123 notes · View notes

beckyninja · 3 days ago

Text

The Maiden

Pairing: Salamander OC x FemReader

Warnings: None, just angst

Description: The survivor Nev'ran saved from a Drukhari raid grows closer to her rescuer... even though she shouldn't.

I'm back! And, just like I promised, here's a sequel to my first Salamander OC fic, The Dragon. I just had to write more for this character. (Feel free to check out the other fics on my Masterlist, as well.)

Warm.

Your dazed mind conjured images of hot springs and steam-filled caverns. Your parents’ tired but smiling faces. Home. Were you home?

No.

Home was far, far away. They’d taken you, forced you into a mold not of your choosing. Quiet. Aloof.

Cold.

You’d been cold for so very long.

“Miss?”

The voice rumbled like the rockslides in your family’s mines. Yet, you felt no fear. You tried to focus on it, but your mind felt like gelatin.

“Can you hear me, little diamond?”

That wasn’t your name. But you liked the way the voice said it.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

It felt like weights had been placed on your eyelids. Slowly, so slowly, they lifted. Soft, flickering light streamed into your skull and you heard yourself gasp.

“There you are.”

Red eyes in a dark face. You shied back, fear flickering in the pit of your stomach.

The face smiled. “Do not be afraid, little diamond. You are safe.”

That voice…!

You felt your lips curve around a single word. “Dragon….”

***

Three Days Later

“The Lord Apothecary thinks it best you not be left alone.” The medica motioned you through the door. “So you will be quartering with me, for the time being.”

You stepped into the little room. It could have been any serf’s quarters. But the soft rugs covering the metal flooring and pillows stacked upon the cot surprised you.

“Such comfort for a-,” you caught yourself.

“For a mere serf?” The woman, Matia, pursed her lips. “Yet I know it must pale in comparison to what you’re accustomed to, my lady.”

You looked away. She knew nothing of what you were accustomed to.

“It will do.”

Matia gestured to a simple dress laid out on the cot. “This is the best our tailors could do on such short notice.”

No itchy frills. No laces so tight they cut your skin.

“It is adequate.”

“I will leave you to change.” Matia turned her back. “Get settled. In an hour’s time, I will return to guide you to the refectory. Unless,” she sent a cool glance back over her shoulder, “you would prefer to take your meals alone.”

You imagined sitting alone in the flickering candlelight. Alone with your thoughts.

“I will go to the refectory.”

“Very well…my lady.”

The door slid shut behind her.

You lowered yourself onto the cot, yet could not force your muscles to relax.

The Apothecary said you’d been delirious for the past few days, tossing back and forth on the medical bed, mumbling nonsense. You remembered nightmares. Screams coming through locked doors…inhuman eyes leering down at you…vicious laughter….

“No!” You pressed your hands over your face.

Don’t think. Don’t feel!

Another memory calmed the rising panic. His voice.

All the tales you’d ever been told had painted the Emperor’s Angels as fearsome, unknowable beings. But he… he spoke to you. He smiled at you. His gaze melted through the ice in your soul.

“Nev’ran.” My Dragon.

***

As soon as you stepped into the refectory, you wished you’d decided to remain in Matia’s quarters. Conversation ceased in the middle of a word. Dozens of hooded heads turned to regard you.

Matia gestured to the steaming containers of food. “It’s probably not as fine as you’re used to, my lady.”

Your mouth watered. Stomach overriding your shyness, you quickly filled a tray with hearty stew and an odd, flat bread. Again, the comforts these serfs enjoyed astounded you.

When you turned around, the medica had already taken a seat with another group of women.

Maybe she didn’t mean for you to hear what she said to them.

“...never even asked the fate of the rest of her crew…never cried...dead, cold eyes.”

You took a seat at an empty table in the far corner of the room, appetite gone.

Booming footsteps made you jolt upright. Your heart raced as two of the Emperor’s Angels strode into the refectory. Far from the silent giants you’d seen carved into the walls of your family’s chapel, these warriors jostled each other, laughed, and called out greetings to the serfs.

The younger-looking of the two made a beeline for the medica and laid a massive hand on her shoulder. She smiled up at him.

The other turned toward you.

Nev’ran.

You jerked your head away and stared down at your lap. Heavy footsteps approached.

“Diamond.”

“M-my Lord.”

The bench creaked as he settled his bulk across from you. “How are you feeling today?”

“I am well, my lord. Thank you.”

“You are not eating? Is the food not to your liking?”

In a panic, you reached for the bowl of stew, only to realize you’d forgotten utensils. “I…I don’t…”

He chuckled. And yet, it didn’t sound mocking.

“I will show you how it is done upon my homeworld.”

You raised your eyes enough to watch his massive, scarred hands tear his own flat bread and dip it into the stew. You followed suit.

“Brace yourself. Our spices can be-”

Heat exploded across your tongue. You dropped the bread as coughs wracked your body.

“Throne!” A warm hand covered your entire back, patting gently. “Forgive me, I should have warned you sooner.” His voice rose. “Hur’reth! Bring water!”

“I am,” you gasped, “I am all right.”

The heat faded, leaving a delightful aftertaste. You reached for another piece of bread and scooped again. By the time the younger Angel placed a cup of water at your elbow, you’d already scraped the last bits from your bowl.

“Would you look at that, Hur’reth? She eats like a Nocturnean!” Your Dragon’s rumbling laugh sent a flicker of heat through your body. “Continue like this, Diamond, and you will have your strength back.”

Finally, you scraped together the courage to raise your eyes to his.

He smiled down at you. “Would you mind this old drake’s company?”

Another flicker. Your rational mind hissed a warning.

Don’t feel. Stay cold.

But you couldn’t resist the tiniest of smiles. “I would not, my lord.”

***

The Apothecarion fast became your favorite place on the ship.

As the weeks passed, Nev’ran still insisted on daily examinations. He grumbled about the thinness of your form, the pallor of your skin. You found yourself lingering longer and longer afterwards.

He didn’t seem to mind your silence, telling you stories of Nocturne, the Salamanders, and the Primarch Vulkan as you perched on the edge of the examination table. You loved the sound of his voice.

You craved his warmth even more.

It will end soon. And then where will you be? Better to be numb.

“What brings such a sour expression to your face, Diamond?”

You blinked. “My Lord?”

“That is not my name.”

Heat flooded your cheeks and you looked at the floor. A thick finger tilted your chin back up.

When had he gotten so close?

“Say my name, Diamond.”

Another flicker of heat, like a sputtering candle at your core. “Nev’ran.”

Somehow, his eyes seemed to burn brighter. His hand moved to cup your cheek.

“So fragile,” he seemed to say to himself, “and yet, I sense fire within.”

The blissful warmth of his skin against yours caused your eyelids to droop closed. A rich, heady smokiness overwhelmed the medicinal tang of the Apothecarion. Breath not your own brushed across your lips.

“Nev’ran….”

The door to the chamber hissed open.

Your eyes snapped wide and you flung yourself from the examination table. Pain lanced through your feet as you dropped nearly six feet to the hard floor.

The Apothecary’s hand on your shoulder steadied you. “Easy, there. What-?”

You pulled away, heart pounding.

“F-forgive me, my lord. I-I am in need of rest.” You bowed hurriedly and limped toward the door.

The younger Apothecary stood there, staring down at you. The look in his narrowed eyes churned your stomach. With another bow, you slipped past him and into the corridor.

You pressed yourself against the wall and brought your hands to your face.

Stop feeling. Stop!

But the flickering candle within refused to go out.

***

You did not return the next day. Or the next. And after your third polite excuse, Nev’ran stopped sending requests. He said he would respect your wishes.

Your nights passed in fitful spurts as the nightmares returned with a vengeance. Less and less did they return to you the Drukhari attack, instead filling your mind with terror for the future. Matia often did not return to her quarters during the sleep cycle, so you found yourself facing the horrors alone, shivering with a chill no amount of blankets could remedy.

In these moments of weakness, you turned to other things for comfort.

A soft smile, so incongruous in that broad, scarred face.

No, don’t.

A rumbling chuckle, making you smile in spite of yourself.

This is madness!

An impossibly deep voice that meant safety.

Better not to feel.

Fiery eyes that saw you, the you you’d thought safely locked away.

Be cold, you little fool. It’s the only way to survive what is to come-

“No!” You flung away the blankets and sat upright.

I want this. Even if only for a moment, even if it hurts.

The mad rush to the Apthecarion was a blur in your mind. When you finally stood in front of its door, you thanked the Emperor you’d passed no one on your way. What would they think of you? Feet bare, in nothing but a sleeping robe.

All thoughts of embarrassment faded away as you reached for the access panel…

… only to pause at the boom of raised voices within.

“Are you mad, Nev’ran?!”

You knew that voice. The younger Apothecary who never seemed too far from Matia.

“This does not concern you, boy.”

“This concerns the whole chapter! She is not one of us!”

“Hur’reth-”

“No. Listen to reason, Master. If not for yourself, then for her sake. She is frail. She would never survive life among Astartes.”

“She survived the Drukhari.”

“By the blood of her guards, only. And do you not see how it broke her? Throne, from what Matia tells me, she is little more than a walking corpse-”

“Hold your tongue!” You jumped at the rage in Nev’ran’s voice. “There is fire in her, Hur’reth. I have seen it!”

Warmth flickered through you.

“Perhaps you only see what you wish to see.”

“What?”

“I should have waited to tell you of my mate. I see now it opened old wounds.”

A deep, low growl.

“She is not Ruby, Master.”

A thunderous bang and the door bulged outward. You gasped and shied away, though not far enough to not hear your Dragon’s roar.

“YOU THINK I DO NOT KNOW THAT!”

A long pause.

“Either way, Master, it matters not.” You froze. “She belongs to another.”

The candle within you sputtered out.

***

“We have informed the Planetary Governor of your arrival, my lady. He is sending a transport.”

The words came automatically. “I thank you for your courtesy, Lord Captain. I hope I did not inconvenience you.”

Captain Xavus nodded, a kind look on his face. “This planet was not far out of our way, thank the Emperor.”

You bowed. “The Emperor protects.”

“Indeed.” With another nod, he returned to his command station.

Through the viewports, you watched the planet spin slowly below. Even from orbit you imagined you could feel a chill from the dead, white expanse. Ice. Ice as far as the eye could see.

How appropriate.

You ran your fingers over the bodice of your dress, the same heavy gown you’d been wearing when the xenos attacked your original ship. The memory no longer sent terror clawing through you.

You felt nothing.

The medica, Matia, escorted you to the hangar bay. You caught her sending concerned glances your way and almost laughed. She’d described you as a walking corpse before. What must you look like to her now that you were truly dead inside?

Good girl. It’s better this way.

“Wait.”

You jerked to a halt, but kept staring straight ahead.

“Leave us, Matia.”

You heard the medica retreat, felt the massive presence at your back. “My Lord, you need not have troubled yourself to see me off.”

“Stop.” The strain in his deep voice made your stomach quiver. “Diamond, look at me.”

“That is not my name, my lord.”

Great, armored gauntlets turned you to face him with an irresistible strength. You kept your eyes on the floor.

“You do not want this.”

Was it heretical to hear desperation in his voice?

“One woman’s desires are irrelevant in the face of dynastic politics, my lord.”

“Would you rather stay?” Hands, warm even through the armor, cupped your face. “Answer me!”

At the snarl, your eyes finally met his. The look within them shattered you.

“Nev’ran, it’s no use.” For the first time, you touched him, fingers playing over the scars on his cheek. “Thank you for saving me. Thank you for the kindness you’ve shown me. I wish….”

He turned his face, pressing rough lips to your palm. You allowed your Dragon’s warmth to wash over you one last time.

Then you turned toward the frost-covered transport.

Cold.

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith @noncon-photobomb @sinistermojo @b-rabbitboss @vyzz-undercover

@missmannequin @rivalriotrenegade @iloveoutlinesiswear @jaghatai-khock @hatsubara-8chan

@thememestrider @meervalv0 @grimdark-raccoon @garlickedbreads @riokunova

@ailujsenutna @emiemiemii @astrohymn @synfiction @soul-of-leya

@n0cturn4 @mgrm99 @seirensou

As always, comment if you want to be added to the Taglist!

#warhammer 40k #salamanders #salamander x reader #leaned into the angst on this one #space marines #space marine x reader

129 notes · View notes

uncannydevotion · 2 days ago

Note

Can you do toby, hoodie, and masky being instructed to kill their s/o by slender? Would they actually go through with it?

a/n: picture me rubbing my hands together evilly upon reading this request okay. this is so so so short but i felt like it would drag on if i made it any longer im sorry </3 but i hope you enjoy it!! thanks for the request, i love angst <3

warnings: major character death in tobys part!! murder, attempted murder, blood, descriptive death, memory loss, overall everyone has a bad time, but hoodie is like... vibing. also not proofread im incapable of rereading things i write.

MASKY

It's certainly not an order he intends on following, but he's well aware that he's susceptible to Slender's influence, so he's not quiet sure how to avoid it.

The only one of the three to actually try and negotiate with Slender. You weren't a threat to anyone, let alone it. He didn't understand why the being was hellbent on getting him to kill you, especially since it knew that he loved you.

And that's just the reason.

He loved you, so you were a distraction. You were a weakness, and Slender doesn't take well to its proxies having weaknesses.

But it was a reasonable being. For Masky, at least. The man was logical, so they saw eye to eye a fair amount of times. He had yet to go against any of his other orders, so Slender was willing to negotiate.

Its terms? Masky would have to cut all contact with you and your memory of him would have to be taken so to ensure you wouldn't try finding him. And in exchange, you would get to keep your life.

Now, obviously, he didn't want that. Masky loved you, so why would he ever want to part ways with you? Almost as if to show him what would happen if he didn't accept its terms, Slender caused the man to black out, and when he came to...

He was in your bedroom, standing over your bed as you slept, a gun pointing at you. His finger was on the trigger, and he quickly dropped the gun before anything could happen.

The thought of you dying, the reality of living in a world without you in it, was enough to make him agree to Slender's terms. Masky disappeared from your life, and your memory of him went with.

Though he remembered you. A sick form of punishment, perhaps, for falling in love. He remembered everything about you.

HOODIE

Hoodie is, out of the three, the one most likely here to blatantly disobey Slender without fear of consequence. Though Slender is technically his boss, he's not the type to blindly follow orders unless they make sense to him.

No amount of punishment has been able to break him, but he's too valuable of a proxy for Slender to rid of him.

When the order first comes to his mind, he almost laughs from the sheer absurdity of it.

He does not care what reason the entity might have for wanting you dead. Hoodie loved you, so he would not kill you. And should Slender try getting one of the other proxies to try and kill you, Hoodie is not against harming them.

His loyalties lie with you, first and foremost.

You are one of the very few things in his life that brings him joy, there's just literally no way in hell he'll let anything take that away from him. Not even his evil eldritch boss can force him away from you.

And unlike Masky, he won't distance himself from you. He's... pretty selfish, to be honest. His very presence puts you in harms way, and you might have people actively trying to murder you from now on but don't worry!!

He'll keep you safe, trust him.

TICCI TOBY

The only one here who will actually kill you. He doesn't want to, believe me. Toby will actively go out of his way to try and defy Slender like Hoodie, even, but he is the entity's most loyal proxy, so it's a short battle.

Toby's loyalty to the faceless being runs deeper than anything else, even his love for you. If Slender wants him to kill someone, then he will.

But he doesn't kill you willingly, if that makes you feel any better. Toby ignores the order for as long as he can, until Slender runs out of patience. And when it does, it will hound Toby with endless static and agonizing pain, punishment for disobeying its orders.

It will break Toby down, and once it's sure that Toby can't disobey it again, Slender will demand he kill you. And this time, in a mindless haze, Toby does it.

Maybe he thinks he's killing someone else, your screams and cries falling upon deaf ears as he slams his hatchets into you over and over again under you could no longer be recognized, your blood staining his clothes and skin.

Toby won't remember you. You were a weakness that had to be purged, so Slender ensured that every memory he had of you was repressed. But even so, there's this aching feeling in his chest. As if he was missing something important, something he can't quite place.

He mourns you, and yet he can't even remember you. He just feels... anguish, for some reason.

#anon #creepypasta x reader #ticci toby x reader #masky x reader #hoodie x reader #proxies x reader #tim wright x reader #brian thomas x reader #so what if i actually write toby happy for once #i feel like i havent done that in a hot sec

86 notes · View notes

fireheartpages · 2 days ago

Text

interlude | b.d

bodhi durran x reader chapter two. series masterlist summary: So, he made a plan. He would work his way into your atmosphere. Get your attention somehow, manage to win you over. He didn’t know what it was, only that his interest would only be satiated by one thing: knowing you. word count: 1.8k notes: kind of second person pov, it's mostly all bodhi's pov though. canon-typical violence. bodhi is such a sweetheart ok. this is a little brain baby because i wanted to dive a little more into his brain so i could get a good feel of where this was going! pls enjoy reading bc i really enjoyed writing it, i love a good character study and that’s well and truly what this is!

When Bodhi had seen the dragons after parapet as a first year, he had almost been apart of the group that ran.

They were menacing—terrifying, and for a brief moment, he wondered why more people didn’t have the common sense to turn around in their presence. Leave them be. Simply try something else. Like maybe something that encompassing and powerful should just be left alone.

His anxiety had eaten through every nerve ending in his body until he was barely able to stay on his feet. But he did. He stayed standing, and when Garrick leaned over and whispered to him not to move—lest he incur the wrath of such a colossal beast—he listened. He planted his feet on the ground and kept his head held high. This was his life now. This was the card he had been dealt, and deal with it he would.

It was this attitude that had gotten him bonded to his own dragon: Cuir, the massive green with a quick tail and even quicker tongue.

She was a mother hen if he’d ever met one. Half the time she was making sure Bodhi had an adequate meal and enough sleep, and the other time she was the backbone he’d grown and hardened in the quadrant.

She’d gotten him through all of the hardest things he’d done within the quadrant. His first year had been rough—not incredibly eventful by most standards, but enough to put him through the wringer.

Nothing had made him feel more inadequate than watching all of his friends develop signets while his own lie dormant. Cuir had started channeling almost immediately. Her trust in him was implicit, but he had worried it was misplaced. He worried he would just never develop one. Worried that he would just burn up and never amount to anything.

But there never seemed to be a danger of it. Never seemed to be a surge of power with the threat. He could feel it, and he could channel into lesser magics, but there was no signet. Nothing.

Everyone else in his squad had a signet. They had even been developing and training them. But not Bodhi.

It was only a few weeks before the end of the year, going on a mission for the rebellion and suffering through Xaden’s taunting when he realized his signet had developed. He just hadn’t used it yet.

Xaden had swarmed his feet with shadows, nipping at his ankles like they were viscous animals, and they all watched as the shadows seemed to burn up.

No one was more surprised than Bodhi was.

“Light?” Garrick had asked.

Xaden shook his head. “No, I—I felt that.”

Then, during War Games, he realized what it was.

Some asshole from first wing was a fire wielder, and he had it out for Marked ones. He sent a wall of fire at Bodhi, completely intent on killing him, and Bodhi had thrown his hands up. And then nothing happened. The flame sputtered out, and—oh.

A twist of his hand, and he had rendered the asshole incapable of using his own signet.

The other rider tried again, and Bodhi was intentional with it this time. He twists his hand again, imagining it was a dial on someone else’s power, and he watched as the flames seemed to retreat back into him.

Satisfaction was a tangible thing in his chest. Pride filled his bond with Cuir. There was a roar from someone behind him, and Bodhi couldn’t help but just fucking smirk at the guy.

“Nice try.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Durran!”

“You’re gonna have to try a little harder than that!” Bodhi called as he mounted his green, knowing it was a taunt. He was top of his wing in sparring. He’d lost to one other person during challenges ever. In that moment, Bodhi felt unstoppable.

He suddenly became the most useful tool his squad—hell, his whole wing. Needless to say, they won War Games that year.

The Executive Officer title came as no surprise, not after the display of power he had shown in the latter half of the year. It did, however, paint a target on his back. No one liked that Marked ones were working their way up in the ranks. Him, Garrick, Xaden, they were the pentacle of everything leadership had hoped rebellion kids would never become—good at their fucking jobs.

But Bodhi had decided he refused to show them what they were looking for. Including anything less than perfect. He would be a powerful rider. He would master his signet. He would be a just officer. He would do everything he could to help with the rebellion. He would be the perfect soldier for Navarre, so they could never suspect he was an even better soldier elsewhere.

And then he watched you make a dance of the parapet.

He couldn’t resist the interest that followed, the way you captured his attention simply by being there. You were meant for a stage, not the hardened walls of Basgiath. And yet.

You were incredible. Skilled and talented. You were kind, and witty, and good gods he would give anything to be the center of your attention. You were like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.

So, he made a plan. He would work his way into your atmosphere. Get your attention somehow, manage to win you over. He didn’t know what it was, only that his interest would only be satiated by one thing: knowing you.

Step one: observe. Figure out your likes and dislikes, your habits and interests, who your friends were. Xaden’s weird interest in Violet helped, gave him an excuse. He watched you during challenges, even got the chance to spar with you. Would watch you slip those gloves on your hands every morning as you run to catch up with your squad. Watched you dominate the Gauntlet despite the odds stacked against you.

Step two: get an in. Ané was the cadet in the healer quadrant that always seemed to be stuck with him when he came in with any particularly nasty wounds. A sprained wrist, too-deep cut, and one time, even a broken rib or two he’d gotten on a very much not sanctioned flight to drop off some weapons over the border. That was all his fault, but it was hard to explain away when no one had observed it. But Ané was kind, like you, and when he explained what he’d seen of your hands, Ané seemed to know what it was. And have a solution.

Step three: delivery. It had taken Ané minutes to make a balm for you, and he kept it on him until the next time he saw you. He had felt like he was ambushing you, jogging up to you in the courtyard as you headed back from the infirmary, but he was excited. To say the least. Not being able to do so had never crossed his mind, so when you’d nearly rejected it, he had almost crumbled right then and there. But then you’d taken it from him, and gods, the look on your face—he wanted to bottle the feeling in his chest, the light in your eyes. And when you’d told him about home? Trusted him with little pieces of yourself—the cold you hated, your mom’s role in the damn rebellion, how you’d ended up in the quadrant. The high he felt was better than winning War Games.

Step four: make you like him. You were a hard shell to crack, but he was working on it. He was doing his damndest. He would give you as many little pieces of himself as he could. Find you during Threshing and talk down your anxiety. If you could admit your history to him, he could tell you a little about his. You weren’t Marked physically, but from the burden you carried, you were marked in another way. On your soul.

Step five: make you fall for him. Not that he’d fallen for you. He wasn’t, like, in love with you or anything. He just—liked you. Yeah. Really, really liked you. Cuir thought he was full of shit, but she didn’t know everything. (Even though she reminded him many times that she, indeed, did.) And the more he got to know you, the more he liked. He would teach you how to spar, and make you give him something in return. He didn’t care about flying like you. In fact, you were terrifying in the air. Said you weren’t meant to be a rider and yet you rode like you were born for it. He just wanted to spend time for you. And if he got to touch you while you sparred? In the most innocent way, of course. No funny business. Unless you have the green light, then—

Then you started pulling away.

He missed seeing you for days at a time, sometimes an entire week. He felt it like a phantom limb.

It had only then occurred to him then just how thoroughly you had encompassed every part of him. Just how easily he had gotten you mixed into every aspect of his day. How much he looked forward to seeing you until he was deprived of you. Until he didn’t have access to your wit and your laugh anymore.

Seeing you on the flight field had been nothing less than a shock. He had recognized Shocair before she had even seen them. He was still thinking of the most recent drop when their little group had stumbled across her.

And somehow, deep in his gut, he knew. He knew that if you discovered them, found out what they were doing, that they were working with the resistance… You wouldn’t say a word. In fact, he knew you would jump to help.

Those thoughts had sprung forward without him realizing, and it was like they were caressed, cupped in his head and—it was a weird feeling. Almost like someone ran a hand through the pond that was his mind. Not unlike the one he got around Xaden sometimes. The one that flared something in his channel.

And then Shocair’s wing lifted and you stepped out and Bodhi’s heart about stopped beating. You looked run through. Tired. Still beautiful. Beaten down.

Xaden had gone on offensive, but you handled it with ease. With the support of Shocair, of course. When you said you slept on the flight field, it was like his world had stopped spinning.

Something was wrong, something was deeply, deeply wrong. He would have done anything to fix it.

But you kept icing him out. And it hurt like hell.

He wasn’t going to push, but damn him if he wanted to. There was a moment there where he thought he might have cracked you. But he wasn’t a fire wielder, so he couldn’t melt your ice, and he wasn’t an inntinnsic, so he couldn’t figure it out for himself.

So he walked away. And he felt like a damned coward for it.

#me when character study <<<33333 #emmmaswrites #fourth wing #the empyrean #fourth wing fanfiction #fourth wing x reader #bodhi durran #bodhi durran x reader #bodhi durran x you #rebecca yarros

63 notes · View notes

mimiii-3 · 3 days ago

Text

Keening

Yandere Platonic Injustice Batman x GN Reader

Notes: INJUSTICE SPOILERS, typical yandere themes, major character death, angst

…

You had never seen your father cry like that. He held his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. His broken cries filled the empty halls of the manor. He was inconsolable.

Alfred was locked up in his room. All he could do was drink. Alfred smelt like a walking glass of scotch for over a week. He’d smile at you but it wouldn’t reach his eyes.

Selina had suggested Alfred take a small break. Get away from the manor and it’s memories. Alfred took her advice and left to spend a weekend in the countryside.

Selina could only spend so long with Bruce before she had to return to her side business. If she stayed in one place too long, the more likely Clark would find and kill her.

Selina’s departure was kind but short-lived. Then you were left all alone with your father.

Your sock-covered feet gently padded down the hall to Bruce’s room. You knocked and leaned your ear against the door.

A gravelly voice cut through the silence, “come in.”

Your father sat on the wood floor, leaning against the foot of his bed. He looked decrepit. When was the last time he showered?

You set down a small bowl of oatmeal and a glass of orange juice. He didn’t look up at you but muttered a small “thank you.” You moved to his other side and sat down.

Wordlessly you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and hugged him. “I know you’re hurting.” You take a beat before continuing, “I miss him too, Dad.”

Bruce tenses at the mention of his son. His oldest son. Taken from him far too soon. He nods and pats one of your arms still hugging him.

It’s clear he’s not in the mood to talk so you unwrap your arms and stand. You make your way out of his room and turn in the doorway. “By the way Dad, I’m heading over to Caroline’s for a sleepover. It might be the last chance I get…with the way things are going.”

With no response from him, you take your leave. You pack a small bag and wait at the front door for Caroline’s brother to pick you up. You’re sure he’ll be alright for just one night. Will he be okay for one night?

You shake the worries out of your head and put on a sweet smile as the silver car approaches. You can take this one night for yourself. Nothing too bad can happen in just one night.

If only you had noticed your father’s expression at the mention of Dick. He had slipped into the troubled depths of his own mind. He hadn’t heard a word you said. Maybe if you had payed closer attention, you could have saved what was left of his psyche.

Everything has changed. All for one stupid sleepover.

…

Extra notes: Bruce’s pov is on the way😯

Lmk if anyone wants to be on this tag list

#dc x reader #dcu #injustice #dc injustice #gn reader #batsib!reader #batsiblings #platonic yandere x reader #yandere x reader #batman x reader #platonic batman

92 notes · View notes

vidavalor · 2 days ago

Text

<<I looked up the etymology>>

*blush* You can't say these things to me when we're in public. 😂

<<And so our loops connect again with "Every Day.">>

Very true! The focus on mornings in S2 in the "Everyday" of S2 was also interesting to me. The first few episodes all begin with like "here we are again with Aziraphale trying to deal with his same daily round of these weird, lonely mornings" and The Final 15 is like welcome to the worst Friday morning that has ever existed lol. I guess my point is that the cycle of time is a thing during the week we're watching with things around everyday and the same daily round, etc. and that also shows us Aziraphale's diary.

Dawn is difficult for him because new days are micro-versions of the new dawn he feels stuck in trying to figure out how to start. He faces them alone because part of that new dawn would be figuring out how to make it so he can breakfast with that one, particular demon without them getting killed.

Diary and journal do seem to be quite a bit interconnected with some overlapping roots and connected words tied to daily/the dawn/daybreak, etc.. The PIE root dyeu is it a bit more the sky and heaven than technically God-- I know that, in some minds, those are the same things, but I think there might be a difference in meaning with relation to Good Omens. There's a disconnect between the awesome Voice of God who has been chatting with us and the evilness of the Heaven we've been watching.

There's also plenty of blasphemous wordplay throughout where characters are referring to those they love in different ways using terminology related to God or religious figures. With Crowley and Aziraphale, it's obviously deliciously dirty but, in the more general and innocent and direct paralleling plotline with the kids in S1, it's also just using the most famous palindrome word in the English language:

Dog, backwards, is God. The kid's gonna be alright. 😉

The ties between sky and heaven and the word diary does make Aziraphale choosing that word to call his record of his life on Earth a lot of fun. I've found that the words sky and heaven overlap in their etymologies as well because the sky is basically space but, as we know, space has always been where people thought the angels and the gods and such lived. It's something that makes me smile about Aziraphale writing in Demon's Guide that Baraqiel (Crowley) is the "Angel of The Sky."

It's true on a few levels. It's dry, since Crowley's a fallen angel who, like the other demons, was originally an angel of Heaven. It's also a nod to sky being space-- Crowley as the angel who made the stars. And the sky being an ancient way to refer to heaven... and heaven then becoming human figurative language for paradise? It then also seems to make it something of a C&A version of Gabriel's 'Beezlebub is my Heaven' moment. 😊

So, Aziraphale arrived in Edinburgh with a briefcase we never see him open and a hat that reads, among other things, "PRESS 66" on it, right?

And we might think that these are just Aziraphale's journalist cosplaying accessories but I think there are some hints that there's a bit more going on here than we might think-- all of it very relevant to The Finale.

We think that Aziraphale's arrival in Edinburgh is the first time that we see these things but, in true Good Omens form, the hat and briefcase are both actually glimpsed in a prior scene... rather significantly placed in that earlier scene, even.

Here they are, sitting together, the hat atop the briefcase, both in front of Jimbriel's once Fly-containing box, beside/behind the memory-wiped Muriel, in the scene below:

So, as Muriel is sitting there, not remembering Aziraphale, and as Aziraphale is sitting there, remembering Muriel and thinking all the things about the fact that they don't remember him at all? In the shot between them is the box into which Jim put his memory and brought it to Crowley and Aziraphale for safe keeping. In front of that box? Is Aziraphale's press hat and briefcase, seemingly drawing some connections between the journalist accessories and the memory plots in S2. Hmm...

What this scene also shows is that Aziraphale didn't just magic this stuff up as props when he arrived in Scotland. Even though we didn't see them in the car on the way up, they were there on the passenger seat for him to retrieve upon his arrival. He brought them with him from the shop. He packed them overnight and they were there, all ready to go, prior to Muriel's arrival, which coincided with Crowley coming over and moving the plants out of the car because Aziraphale planned to take it to Scotland. Why does this matter?

Because it might signal that there's more to the briefcase and the hat with its press credentials than we might initially suspect.

I think it would be safe to say that Aziraphale, by this point in the story, would be concerned that his memories were in danger.

He knows he's always been on a collision course with falling and this is all escalating pretty quickly in S2 in the two days prior to Aziraphale packing this press stuff and taking the car. Gabriel was The Supreme Archangel and he couldn't remember who he was and the archangels had shown up to threaten them and say that they're going to be spying on him even more closely, sending another angel to bug them the next day... the memory-wiped Muriel being quite an interesting choice, as that's sending quite a threatening message. Aziraphale also had roped Maggie and Nina into this and he knew he was likely going to have a confrontation with Heaven and Hell coming.

One of the first things he'd be concerned about would be his memories, right? and it's here where we can mention what we later learn about what Heaven can and cannot do regarding those memories... things that are new to us but that Aziraphale likely would have already known and factored into his plan, as we'll see.

Hints are given to this all season via Gabriel but it really becomes overt in this scene here:

This scene proves that Gabriel's memories aren't just in The Fly in S2-- they're also still in his mind. His memories are shown to be in two places at once. Gabriel's memories-- ones even directly related to the trauma he underwent-- actually began to come back before The Fly, in this scene. Gabriel felt safe and like he was talking with someone who could understand in this scene with Crowley so the memories began to come back for him.

The point here is that this scene shows that, when Gabriel "took his memories out" and put them into The Fly, what he was really doing was basically backing them up. He "uploaded" his memories into The Fly for safekeeping so he could retrieve them later, as a way to keep it so that they wouldn't be erased forever, but those same memories are still also on the "hard drive" of his mind. They were just mostly inaccessible to him for almost all of S2 because of trauma.

Before you say well, Gabriel might be a special case because he took his own memories out to avoid Heaven attacking him? Consider that Crowley didn't have a chance to do that-- but he tells Gabriel he knows how Gabriel feels.

Crowley has had the same experiences with his own memories. He's been able to bring some back at different times, without a lot of context, but a lot remains blocked. Crowley saying that he's been able to retrieve some memories means that those memories are still there in his mind, just very painful and difficult to access.

The idea might be that their memory loss is actually trauma-blocking. If Crowley's situation has the same effect as Gabriel's, it suggests that Heaven can't actually take people's memories-- they can only block them.

This would then be suggesting, as a lot in S2 did, that Gabriel didn't develop retrograde amnesia from taking his memories out-- he developed amnesia from the trauma he underwent.

When he felt safe enough to confront some of that trauma, the memories started to come back to him a bit.

What does this have to do with Aziraphale's briefcase, you ask?

It is connected because Gabriel's memory loss being from the trauma of Heaven trying to kill him, not from putting his memories into The Fly, proves that an angel could take his out their memories and not get amnesia from doing so.

Gabriel's story is showing that they could take out their memories whenever they want and still retain those memories also in their minds and be perfectly fine.

It's showing that Aziraphale could have backed up his memories in S2 without experiencing memory loss-- and the press hat and the briefcase are tied to just how he might have done that.

Aziraphale might have taken one look at Gabriel and his memory situation and the archangels circling the shop and thought that it would be a good idea to backup his memories and store them somewhere safe for if this all went pear-shaped.

What's interesting is that then, in a parallel shot to Aziraphale arriving in Edinburgh, we have this later scene when Aziraphale returns to London... note what's missing:

We see him park by the suit shop-- but no suitcase/briefcase this time. No hat. He's also taken off the raincoat. We never see them again for the rest of the season but we see a whole bunch of scenes that hint at where they are and why Aziraphale has left them in that location.

In this moment, we spend a strange amount of time on watching Aziraphale get out of the car and look around, hands-free, pat The Bentley, go for a little walk for a moment...

He talks to Nina, he goes back to the bookshop and greets Crowley and gets an armful of plants. The Bentley is largely the focus of the scene with Nina as well and its moving up in a scene that involves Nina and her bicycle-- another "mad 'American' woman on a bicycle", in parallel to Anathema in S1-- recalls Aziraphale miracling a bike rack onto the boot of The Bentley to transport Anathema's bike back to Jasmine Cottage. The key to getting Anathema and her bike safely home to her cottage was the bike rack Aziraphale made happen; the key to getting him and Crowley safely to the South Downs Cottage might be what Aziraphale stashed in the trunk of the car on his trip.

Here's where we can see that scenes before and around this involving Shax and Crowley show us pretty emphatically where the briefcase and the press hat are not located in the car...

They can't be on the passenger seat as they were on the way to Edinburgh because Shax wouldn't have been able to sit there when she got into the car on the drive back from Edinburgh. They also can't be in the backseat because the scene adjacent to Aziraphale's return to London is he and Crowley loading the plants back into the backseat. Crowley would have handed him his things if they were back there.

So, we have all of these shots of Aziraphale's return that are, among other things, emphasizing that the hat, the raincoat, and the briefcase are all not things he's taking out of The Bentley's trunk upon his return, even if they are his belongings and he brought them with him from the bookshop. He's intentionally leaving them all in the Crowley's car.

Aziraphale definitely did not leave his memories in a briefcase in The Resurrectionist Pub, even though that's the last place we saw the briefcase. How do we know that?

Because let's say that we're right here and Aziraphale did put his memories into the briefcase... either into something else that he then locked into the briefcase or just into the briefcase itself. What's the one problem with this?

He locked them in there for safekeeping, right? So...

He can't just leave the briefcase for Crowley-- he also needs to leave the key to the briefcase, yes? He needs to leave the combination somewhere... but he also has to hide that combination key. The briefcase wouldn't be very safe if just anyone could figure out how to open it, right? It needs to be something only Crowley can understand.

This is why Aziraphale is not a private detective in Edinburgh but a journalist because the key is in the hat.

How does one open the locked briefcase?

Press 66. 😉

The briefcase and the hat go together because the briefcase cannot be opened without the press credentials in the hat which, in very Good Omens and Crowley & Aziraphale form, look like they're one thing but are really another when you consider alternate meanings of words. Aziraphale knows that only Crowley would see Aziraphale's hat atop that briefcase and the 'Press 66' and work out that it's how to open the briefcase.

It would also be very Good Omens to nod to famous film Macguffins and then make them actually important in Good Omens' story. While a "what's in the briefcase?" thing here is very Pulp Fiction, the film that inspired the briefcase in Pulp Fiction is 1955's atomic noir Kiss Me Deadly, which is being referenced all over the place in S2.

The scene where Aziraphale picks Shax up from the side of the road is a homage to Kiss Me Deadly's opening scene, Gabriel's memory issues and his "I am in The Fly" note is similar to part of the central mystery of that film, and Kiss Me Deadly is the origin of the popularization of the word vavoom/va-va-voom.

Like basically every other film referenced in Good Omens, it's also known for innovative use when it comes to language-- particularly, coded cinematic language, in this case. Like North by Northwest, which is referenced in both parts of 1941 so far, Kiss Me Deadly found innovative ways to get around the Hays Code to tell its story. References to The Maltese Falcon in the story are also likely in relation to that story using etymology-based language to queer code aspects of its story, in a similar way to Good Omens, but also that The Maltese Falcon itself is a bit of a MacGuffin. In Good Omens, though, it seems like they're actually winking at those by making Macguffin-alluding things actually important parts of the story.

Anyway, the biggest fan theory about what's in the briefcase in Pulp Fiction is based around the combination to the briefcase being 666 in the film and the idea is that it's Marcellus Wallace's soul, which he sold to the devil. Famously, the audience never sees what's inside the briefcase. We might be saying here that the combination to Aziraphale's briefcase being 66 may be nodding to Pulp Fiction's briefcase a bit and hinting at the Satan in The Final 15 ideas. 66 is also tied to Route 66 and rock 'n roll in America, Buddy Holly, and the paralleling Gabriel & Beez flashback, maybe especially hinting at memory-related things happening with the briefcase.

I won't spoil you on what's in the briefcase in Kiss Me Deadly but let's just say that it goes along with Good Omens pretty well thematically... in a much, much darker way. The film being very bleak noir makes it very different in tone from Good Omens but the fact that the briefcase is actually is relevant to the story in the end of that film might also hint that Aziraphale's disappeared briefcase might wind up being important in The Finale, too.

Adding to this theory is also that another briefcase in The Bentley's trunk/boot was also something shown earlier in S2-- on a very significant night in Crowley & Aziraphale's history:

When Aziraphale is in Edinburgh, we see him intentionally hamming up his newspaper man persona and, in doing so, he takes the briefcase into The Resurrectionist Pub, right? Bit of foreshadowing there as to what will happen to Aziraphale and what will need to happen to bring him back?

Yes, we don't see the briefcase again after this scene but I doubt he left it in the pub because it would be useless to Crowley without the hat, on which Aziraphale has hidden the briefcase combination hidden in plain sight. Aziraphale was seen wearing the hat in one scene set after we last saw the briefcase, proving that both of them and the raincoat are in the trunk of The Bentley:

Aziraphale wore this whole get up to Edinburgh so that, if anyone was watching him, they'd think he was Muriel-like cosplaying a newspaper man. I mean... we know the trench coat is a little Columbo-esque, but why wouldn't he just be a private detective and not a journalist, if the goal was just to play a role to help solve the Gabriel mystery? Because he had to be a old movie-esque journalist so he could have the word press there in the credentials, only for its other meaning for the briefcase combination.

Aziraphale definitely had a whole other list of motivations for being the one to go to Edinburgh. He wanted Crowley to rest in the shop and to talk to Gabriel, he wanted to be the one to go tackle the mystery, and he wanted to work on his 1827 issues by going to the graveyard again... but we might find we can add to that list that he also realized it would be a good opportunity to hide his memories in a briefcase in The Bentley with actions that are right there, in plain sight of anyone who is watching-- including us 😉-- but might not be deemed suspicious.

Parallel-wise, the briefcase and The Bentley are the matchbox and the moving box and PRESS 66 is Aziraphale's equivalent to I AM IN THE FLY... all before Aziraphale and Crowley actually figured out what Gabriel and Beez did to protect Gabriel.

He's pressing on the press hat he's leaving for Mr. Six Shots of Espresso... 😂 The press card is in his hat, like a feather... Crowley's "it'd be a real feather in your cap wing" joke from the foreshadowing "I'll be damned"/"It's not so bad when you get used to it" scene in 1.01...

That demon doesn't know it yet but he's driving around with Aziraphale in the trunk because Aziraphale figured out how to get around the worst case scenario. He knew he was on a collision course with falling and he found a way to potentially dodge the memory loss by stashing his memories for Crowley in The Bentley.

His enthusiasm in Edinburgh is him barely able to contain his amusement at getting one over on anyone watching him who think they know what they're seeing but don't realize what he's actually up to.

No wonder why he was walking on air when he got back to London-- it was mission accomplished. He'd managed to leave Crowley the ability to bring him back, tucked away in the safest spot possible.

The bookseller who, like the others, is a metaphorical book/paper, left their out for Heaven and Hell trying to kill him for Crowley's safekeeping in a briefcase... the thing people use for...

...paperwork. 😂

But wait... there's one other big question, though, yes?

Why didn't Aziraphale tell Crowley this?

There absolutely was enough time and opportunity to tell Crowley he'd backed up his memories and left them in The Bentley's trunk.

The fact that this didn't come up seems wild, right, because they both know that Crowley has been having a steady anxiety attack about Heaven and Hell circling all week. We would think that, if Aziraphale had figured out this plan to circumvent that threat, the first thing he would have done would be to tell Crowley about it, yes?

Except... while I wrote this meta from the perspective of what the end result of Aziraphale's actions with the briefcase might be in The Finale, I don't actually think that was Aziraphale's own motivation for doing what he did.

Aziraphale didn't take out his memories and leave them in the briefcase in The Bentley for Crowley as a backup plan for them to elude a form of death for Aziraphale.

He left them there for Crowley to find and have after Aziraphale was already gone. Why else would Crowley need the combination on the credentials on the hat, right?

If Aziraphale had intended on his memories in the briefcase being a plan to save himself, he would have told Crowley about it so that Crowley would know. Instead, though, it's something of a suicide note. He left them for Crowley to find and have in the future.

I think The Bentley was even warning of this suicide ideation and showing concern upon the return to London for Aziraphale over what he had put in its trunk. The car is worried. [I love Good Omens-- when else am I going to type a sentence like that? 😂]

Aziraphale first parked it in front of Battye [madness] & Palm [to take]. It's a shop reflective of a lot of that depression and suicide ideation happening in Aziraphale's story and leading to his fall that I looked at in The Devil Takes The Hindmost.

The Bentley then drives itself-- and all Aziraphale's Aziraphaleness in the briefcase-- up a few feet. What is The Bentley then aligning Aziraphale with?

Death.

The car parked itself in front of the Give Me Death half of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death...

... until Aziraphale told it to go back to where he parked it. Then, The Bentley backed up a few feet to Battye & Palm and all the madness that is the rest of the season. The car was foreshadowing the end, parking itself right along where it would be parked the last time we'd see it in S2.

The trunk is aligned with Give Me Death in The Final 15...

...fulfilling the foreshadowing of the end of S1.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffable husbands speak #etymology

358 notes · View notes

antinousletmehit · 20 hours ago

Note

hi! 👋 can you pretty please write more polities x reader? He’s adorable and I would love to see more polities x reader fanfic stories maybe of him getting home and after he helps ody with the suitor problem, he runs straight to his wife, reader, who has also been waiting for him and he get done onto his knees and hugs her sobbing 😭 almost ugly crying on how sorry he is that he was gone for so long and beg for forgiveness

Or maybe of polities gets turned into a pig by Circe because he ate food with the crew even though he is a sweetheart and reader starts fawning over his adorable pig form with glasses and red bandanna

sorry so many cute short stories ideas involving polites and other characters from epic love your writing though 😍

୨୧┇pairing: Polites x reader

୨୧┇I don’t get enough requests for him ngl

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

After twenty long years, he was finally home.

He dropped his sword, the clang echoing in the silent hall, and turned to Odysseus. “My king, with your leave…” Odysseus, though weary, gave him a knowing nod. “Go to her, Polites.”

Polites didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted from the hall, his heart pounding as he ran through the familiar streets of Ithaca. The village had changed in some ways, new faces, new buildings, but his feet knew the way. They carried him to the small cottage on the outskirts of town, the one he had built with his own hands before the war.

The moment he saw the warm glow of firelight through the window, his breath hitched. You were inside. You were there.

He pushed open the door, his voice breaking as he called out, “Y/N?”

You turned from where you stood near the hearth, and the world seemed to stop. Your eyes widened, your hand flying to your mouth as you took him in. disheveled, bruised, and teary eyed, but alive. “Polites,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He didn’t trust himself to speak. He crossed the room in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees in front of you. His arms wrapped around your waist as he buried his face against you, his shoulders shaking with sobs. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice muffled. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You froze for a moment, stunned, before your hands came up to thread through his hair. “Polites…”

“I didn’t mean to leave you for so long,” he cried, clinging to you like a drowning man clings to a lifeline. “I didn’t mean to—gods, I thought I’d never see you again. I thought…I thought you’d have moved on, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. I—”

“Polites,” you interrupted gently, pulling back just enough to tilt his tear streaked face up to yours. “Stop. You’re home. That’s all that matters.”

“But I left you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I left you alone for twenty years. How can you forgive me for that?” Tears welled in your eyes as you knelt down, cupping his face in your hands. “You didn’t leave by choice. You went to war to protect our home, our people. And you came back to me. That’s all I ever hoped for.”

His lip quivered as he stared at you, his brown eyes filled with so much love and regret that it nearly broke your heart. “I don’t deserve you.”You smiled softly, brushing a tear from his cheek. “You’re wrong. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Polites.”

A shaky laugh escaped him, and he leaned forward to press his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he whispered. “More than anything. More than words can say.”

“I love you too,” you murmured, your own tears falling freely now.

For a long moment, the two of you simply held each other, the weight of twenty years melting away in the warmth of your embrace. Polites vowed then and there to spend the rest of his life making up for the time you’d lost, cherishing you with every breath he had left.

#epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #polites x reader #polites #epic polites

36 notes · View notes

bokettochild · 3 days ago

Note

Not sure if people have already asked this before, but whose roles are whose for your Opera House AU doing Epic the musical?

No one has actually asked this before! I kept kind of hoping they would though, because I felt weird just throwing it out there unprompted, but trust me, I HAVE thought about it before! So, huge thank you for asking!

Odysseus: Warriors. Who else? I mean, come on, lets be real here, the Troy Saga alone has influenced my perspective of Warriors for so long now that it would be an utter and complete SIN to not have Warriors play the guy who is, in so many ways, so much like himself. Granted, OH AU Warriors is less like our Ody and more like Jay himself, but who cares? The vocals are there and Wars has the spirit and skill. Also, he has the range, from the desperation of the Cyclops Saga, the sadness of the Underworld Saga, the fury of the Vengeance Saga and the warmth and tenderness in both Just A Man and Would You Fall In Love With Me. He had the audience on the edges of their seats, and even though he's already a fan favorite at the opera, he reaffirmed that position with this role. It's also been one of his favorites of all time, because it's very rare he gets to play such a fleshed out and complex character, as he's usually cast as a knight in shining armor archetype rather than a blood-covered and desperate soul one second from snapping!

Athena: I actually had to debate this one a bit, but Imma say Lullaby. Warriors' own Zelda is too sweet, and while Dusk herself could do it, I have a better role for her, and Lullaby is so Athena in so many ways, so I went with her instead. She has that strong, authoritative energy, while also being old enough to sell the Goddess of Wisdom vibe, and also the agility to be a warrior herself. Also, I can kinda see her just actually sounding like that when she sings, y'know?

Zeus: They brought Dei in for this role. Time would have, but they needed a couple of convincing individuals for this, and Dei being bigger and physically of a brighter pallet than Time kinda gave him High King and Sky God energy that they just really needed for the stage performance.

Polyphemus: Also Dei. For a stage performance, they actually had a puppet and rigging for the cyclops itself, but Dei's vocal range allowed him to do the voice from off stage quite convincingly. (Four himself was the Puppeteer (lol) for the cyclops though, so he also deserves credit)

Polities: It was Ravio. Typically, Ravio doesn't perform, but he could capture that energy they wanted for Polities and his vocal range is a bit higher than most of the other cast. Wind would have done it, but because of his age, the crew divided against it. After all, Polities isn't a child, but a man, and having Wind in the role would have changed that perception. Hyrule was nervous for the part, but he's actually glad that Polities died within five songs because it meant that he only had to show up on rare occasion as a ghost after that, and spent less time in the spotlight.

Eurylochus: They actually had a bit of a struggle on this one, since none of the team actually has a voice that deep, but Twilight ended up filling the role, since it's got less major singing parts and more speaking bits than a lot of the other characters. It's not as demanding as some of the other roles he could have played (like the gods) and he looks the part of the big, strong, best-friend and advisor to the lead, or at least enough that he was believable. He's not the best actor, but he did a great job all the same; better than anyone else could have done it at any rate!

Poseidon: Time actually played this part! Being a former rock-star has it's advantages, and that includes being able to bleed rage and/or agony into his voice while leaving his audience totally and completely chilled! Being the blocking director and stunt coach also means that he was able to really sell any battle scenes because he was right up in there to guide, coax, and otherwise cover for the cast's mistakes when need be. He admittedly had a TON of fun with the role, and I'd be lying if I said that there weren't;t a few people in the crowd watching who didn't have to pause and wonder where they'd heard his voice before, never mind so many online forums comparing his vocal qualities to famously masked singer Major-A, but, hey, Time considers it worth it, even if the role might have blown his cover.

Aeolus: Who better to play the god of winds than Wind himself? It's a small role, so Time and Lullaby felt comfortable letting him take it, even though this would have been a major production and risk for the opera. The fact that he's kid only helped to sell the care-free and mischievous depiction. He had a TON of fun with the role too, and the audience was eating his performance up!

Circe: Artemis! I wanted one of the divas to do this, and Artemis has the right energy, as well as great on-stage chemistry with Warriors! They broke down into giggles so many times as she attempted to "seduce" him during practice, but it actually turned out really great. She's one of the only gals in the cast who could hit the high notes at the end of There Are Other Ways and really sell the emotional range of Circe's character

Hermes: I actually struggled on this one until it literally just jumped out at me. Wild plays Hermes. He's got the energy, physically and otherwise, and I'm going to say that any dancing included was actually something he just ad-libbed in there, rather than being told to do it by Time or Lullaby. They loved it though and totally kept it in, as well as a few other little quirks he added to the character (they sort of just set him free on stage in the end and told him to go nuts, so most of Warriors' reactions to him are entirely real and not faked at all, lol). Yes, this did result in Wild deciding to address everyone (short of his bosses) as "dawling" for the foreseeable future, but no one could deny that it's been one of his best roles ever!

Tiresias/The Prophet: This one was actually a huge struggle for the crew, because while they have a lot of actors, there's a sort of a limit to who can or cannot portray certain character, and in the end, it was Legend who took the role, despite having other parts to play and a prop and costume crew to supervise for most of the musical. He did a great job though, and you know those animatics that sort of depict No Longer You as a sort of twisted waltz? Yeah, the cast went with that, and it was a good thing Legend played the role, because he's the only one who can actually dance blindfolded! He also carried the weight of the song very well, and between him and Warriors, they gave the audience absolute chills!

Odysseus's Mother: Malon! It was a small appearance, so even though she's technically not an actress, and is actually a musical coach, she was happy to join on the production if it was just for one song. Yes, everyone cried. Warriors' tears were entirely real in that scene and everyone else was hard pressed to not show it when their turns came to sing.

Scylla: For some reason I Can Not Explain, I just really want Legend to have told everyone "I know a gal" and just dragged Hilda in to play this role. But, since she isn't an actress, and probably wouldn't want to be one, I'm going to say Fable took it instead. She doesn't give Monster Girl energy, but like her twin, she's very adept, and really gave everyone the creeps even before Styla made her up like a monster lady! Her vocals are chilling, and she really enjoyed reading up on the lore of her character and trying to let it bleed in through her voice to sound more like a tortured soul, punished by the gods and made out as a monster to mortals due to her horrific appearance (and man eating, but details!).

Calypso: Believe it or not, Sun sold this role like the queen she is! Her innocent, almost angelic look really contrasted the horrible behavior but also total ignorance of the character, and I actually think she'd sound similar to Barbara Wangui when she sings, so having her in the role feels right. Granted, she doesn't give "Island Goddess" in the same way that Marin would, but Marin is probably dead in the OH AU, and wouldn't join the opera anyway, so yeah.

Penelope/Siren: (I'm pretty sure it's the same actress for both, but even if not, that's how the crew did it!) Dusk was the only option for this role, and she rocked it! She's got the range, got the mature look of a woman who's been waiting 20 years for her beloved to come home (totally helped by the fact that she spent 17 years waiting for her actual love to reappear), and while she and Warriors did have to work quite a bit to sell the right dynamic on stage, they are both talented actors, and did a great job together. She actually really had fun with the siren role, and her screams as the sirens are slain were positively blood-curdling! She half sacred Warriors to death when he first heard it and he still shiver slightly even when they finally perform.

Telemachus: I debated this one so hard, because each member of the cast has a certain energy and none quite match Telemachus, but in the end, again, Legend filled the role, since he's good at taking the ones that no one else can do and adapting as need be to suit it. Is it sort of method acting if he can relate to the character and thus capture the emotion better? Who knows, but despite playing the prophet as well, a costume change and intermission can do wonders for helping a guy get into character as the opposite of what he was an hour ago! He's also got the stunt training and skill to pull off fight scenes well, and look like he's bad at it, as well as a good irl dynamic with Lullaby that they definitely leaned into for their songs together. As for the Ithica saga songs, well, he and Warriors had to work really hard, given their actual dynamic, to try and sell their parts, but they're both talented actors and they made it through in the end.

Antinous: Don't come for me, but Sky actually ended up taking this role! He's a talented actor, with a special skill for action scenes and fights, as well a great depth of emotion and, despite being an utter teddy bear in actuality, he plays a killer villain! Did Legend and he end up laughing their asses off after having to act like they hated each other? yes, but they kept in character as long as they were on stage and Sky's voice tends to give people chills when he sings, so he really could set the mood well, as well as keeping pace with Legend and giving their scenes together some great energy. It scares the rest of the cast how quick he can switch from softie to scary monster man, but there's a reason he's one of the best!

(Note: I feel like after a while if they decide to revisit the musical, Hyrule might be at a place where he'd be able to play Telemachus, but as it stands in the AU, he doesn't have the confidence needed to basically carry a whole act just yet. He has the vocals quality to sell the character though! And, while Legend's great at his job, Hyrule does look/feel more the part of the sheltered and stumbling young man without a guide or guardian to show him the way. Time and Lullaby probably wanted to cast him, but since Hyrule wasn't ready, they asked Legend instead.)

As for some of the other roles, the team had a ton of fun using puppets for the winions, and various not on stage actors got to voice them via mics! Think sort of Jim Henson style puppets though, since they are mental to be a sort of comedy relief.

The various suitors were played by all the guys who had been 'killed off' previously in the show, with the exception of Dei and Time, whose voices are too notable, and Legend who, of course, is currently playing Telemachus. Same thing for the army, although they did pre-record some of the bits where there's supposed to be more of a crowd, since they can only fit so many people on stage and wanted to really sell the idea of 600 men or 108 suitors, or the countless dead in the underworld, ect. They did hire a bunch of extras for crowd scenes, and used puppets and various other effects to sell the appearance of crowds where they could, but I don't feel the need to state who every extra is LOL.

So yeah! That's how it would go! Thank you again for this ask! It's been a delight to talk about a musical I actually understand, as well as adore! Especially considering I'm working on LU animatics for it even now!

Feel free to ask anything else you'd like, even if someone else might have asked already, because I have a big mouth and I like to talk, and I might have more thoughts now than I did previously!

47 notes · View notes

silver-soul00 · 2 days ago

Text

This is an extremely sensitive post to make because I am going to try yes to dismantle this narrative that someone have about Tyler, but still trying to be somewhat amenable to confrontation.

I had already made posts inherent in the problematic nature of the ship with Tyler and how unsuitable he is as a partner (or in general just impossible for him to have feelings for Wednesday with the information we have now).

“Tyler genuinely smiled after talking to Wednesday.”

A smile is not necessarily a sign of genuineness. Social psychology teaches us that a smile can be used as a tool to manipulate or reassure.

In the context of the series, Tyler proves adept at earning Wednesday's trust through seemingly sincere behavior.

For example, the way he engages her on their “first date” is carefully constructed to leverage her passions and preferences, a classic example of “emotional mirroring,” a manipulative technique that creates an apparent connection.

Obviously, the date was carried out to cheat and remove Wednesday from her room so that Laurel could enter Wednesday's room and carry out the plan (with Thing stabbed I might add)

Moreover, Tyler's smile may reflect personal satisfaction with her success in manipulating her, rather than genuine feelings.

This type of behavior is common in manipulators, who use nonverbal signals to build a false perception of trust and affection.

“He said he liked killing because he was possessed by the Hyde.”

Tyler's statement during interrogation, “I enjoyed it,” cannot be ignored as simply an expression of his Hyde. Although it is true that the Hyde is a monstrous aspect of his personality, the relationship between the “monster” and the human in Tyler is complex.

Studies of individuals with dissociative behavior show that the sense of pleasure felt in negative actions, even under pressure, is often indicative of an at least partially consensual will.

Moreover, the way Tyler expresses himself suggests not distress or remorse, but complacency. This is a sign of moral disengagement, a psychological mechanism in which a person justifies his actions through emotional detachment.

“Wednesday was furious because of betrayal, not because of the murders.”

Reducing Wednesday's anger to personal betrayal alone ignores the depth of her character. Wednesday is motivated by a strong sense of justice, as seen in her constant efforts to uncover the truth and protect others, particularly the marginalized.

Her reaction is a combination of anger at personal betrayal and outrage at the murders committed by Tyler.

The episode in which Eugene is almost killed is emblematic: Wednesday is devastated by the idea of losing a friend to Tyler's senseless violence.

Her guilt and determination to avenge him show that she considers the murders a central issue, not a secondary one.

"He was tortured, drugged, abused to unlock the Hyde”

It is true that Laurel manipulates and unlocks Tyler's Hyde side through cruel methods.

Tyler is a victim of abuse and there is no compromise on that...but once the Hyde is active, Tyler shows that he is a willing participant in Laurel's plans.

There are no signs that Tyler tries to resist or escape his condition.

On the contrary, he fully immerses himself in the role of assassin and enjoys tormenting Wednesday during the scene in the police station.

This kind of behavior is consistent with what the theory of submission to coercive power describes: an individual who is initially a victim can become an active perpetrator if he or she derives benefit or pleasure from the new condition.

“Wednesday is not an angel, she hurt normies and almost tortured Tyler.”

Comparing Wednesday's actions to Tyler's is a classic example of whataboutism, a rhetorical technique that seeks to distract from the actions of one character by highlighting the flaws of another.

Remember that Tyler still harmed and hurt loved ones in Wednesday's

Wednesday's actions, while questionable, are always motivated by a sense of justice or self-defense.

Her extreme behaviors (such as the piranhas in the pool) are directed against people who have done harm, while Tyler targets innocent victims to satisfy his own instincts or to please Laurel.

Wednesday is not perfect but through the series understands when she is wrong or not, such as admiring Wheems only on the finale.

On this point, however, the novel did a better job, where the vigilante mentality is felt more and she thinks so much about the fact that she cares what people think.

“Tyler hated her so much he kissed her and planned a date.”

The argument that Tyler could not hate Wednesday because he kissed her and planned a date is naive. Emotional manipulation often involves seemingly romantic acts to gain the victim's trust.

Tyler exploits Wednesday's feelings to distract her from the truth and to assure her that he is “on her side.”

This is an example of emotional triangulation, a manipulative technique in which the manipulator alternates between affection and betrayal to confuse and control the victim.

"They liked each other and were in a toxic situation, not a toxic relationship"

Tyler and Wednesday's relationship is inherently toxic because it is based on lies, manipulation, and violence.

According to healthy relationship theories, an authentic relationship requires mutual trust, respect and open communication. None of this is present between Tyler and Wednesday.

Their dynamic is defined by a profound inequality: Tyler is in control of information and exploits Wednesday's emotional vulnerability, while she is kept in the dark about her true nature. This asymmetry is the very definition of a toxic relationship.

But in general, this post presents a common narrative that tends to confuse victimization and personal responsibility.

Being a victim does not eliminate personal responsibility

The fact that Tyler was abused, drugged, and manipulated to activate his Hyde is a significant element of his background. However, the psychology of victimization makes it clear that undergoing trauma does not automatically justify all of an individual's subsequent actions.

According to the concept of posttrauma agency, an abused person still has a decision-making capacity, even if it is affected by the trauma suffered.

After his Hyde is activated, Tyler shows no signs of inner conflict or attempts to rebel against Laurel, his manipulator.

On the contrary, he embraces his role complacently, declaring that he took pleasure in killing.

This behavior suggests a conscious choice to indulge his dark nature, despite the Hyde's traumatic origin.

“Wednesday loves murder, so they are meant to be together.”

This statement is based on a superficial understanding of Wednesday's character. Although Wednesday has a fascination with the macabre and a dark personality, she is not motivated by a sadistic pleasure in killing. On the contrary, her actions are guided by a strong sense of justice.

For example:

The piranhas in the pool are punishment for those who bullied his brother.

Her obsession with the Hyde case stems from a desire to protect her friends and other students at Nevermore.

Wednesday never kills without a reason related to justice or self-defense.

Tyler, in contrast, shows a pleasure in committing murder.

This pleasure is completely incompatible with Wednesday's worldview.

Their apparent affinity is superficial: she loves the macabre in an aesthetic and moral sense, while he embraces destructive mayhem without remorse.

The “innocent victim” narrative in social psychology

The idea that being a victim of abuse automatically makes one an innocent person is common, but psychologically incorrect. In reality, traumatized people may develop destructive or abusive behaviors toward others, but this does not eliminate their moral responsibility.

According to the “cycle of abuse” theory, victims of abuse can sometimes become perpetrators, but this does not excuse them from their actions. Tyler is a victim of Laurel, but he becomes an active accomplice in her plan. He shows awareness and pleasure in his actions, which go beyond mere submission to Laurel's control.

The manipulation of Wednesday's emotions.

Tyler not only kills, but also exploits Wednesday's feelings to manipulate her. He presents himself as the sweet, caring guy who tries to understand her, but this mask falls away completely when his role as Hyde is revealed.

The scene in the police station is emblematic:

Tyler humiliates Wednesday with a monologue in which he reveals how easy it was to deceive her.

He shows a complete lack of empathy or remorse, using betrayal as a psychological weapon.

This dynamic is not a basis for a healthy relationship, but an example of emotional manipulation and relational toxicity.

The concept of “meant to be together”

The idea that Tyler and Wednesday are “meant to be together” because they both have a dark side completely ignores the foundations of healthy relationships. According to John Gottman's relationship theories, successful relationships are based on:

- Mutual trust

- Respect

- Honest communication

None of these elements are present between Tyler and Wednesday.

On the contrary, their relationship is based on deception, betrayal, and violence. The fact that Tyler and Wednesday share an interest in the macabre is not enough to build a relationship, especially when this interest manifests itself in completely opposite ways.

Relationships similar to the one hypothesized between Tyler and Wednesday, which are based on dynamics of manipulation, deception, and trauma, are often considered highly problematic.

According to the work of Lundy Bancroft in her book Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men,” relationships in which one partner manipulates the other cannot be considered healthy. Manipulation, such as that displayed by Tyler toward Wednesday, undermines mutual trust and creates an environment of emotional control and abuse.

Healthy relationships require transparency and respect.

Tyler exploits Wednesday's feelings by building a connection based on lies and betrayal.

This type of behavior creates an unbalanced power dynamic in which one partner maintains control by exploiting the other's emotional vulnerability.

Victimization does not excuse toxic behaviors

Abuse cycle theory (Walker, 1979) shows how victims of abuse can develop abusive behaviors, but emphasizes that this does not excuse or justify such actions. Tyler, despite his traumatic past and manipulation by Laurel, demonstrates an active pleasure in killing and manipulation.

Furthermore, a study by McNulty and Fincham (2008) on forgiveness and personal responsibility in relationships points out that:

Suffering trauma does not eliminate personal responsibility for subsequent actions.

Healthy relationships require mutual commitment to avoid destructive behavior, even in the presence of trauma.

Tyler, as far as we have seen, does not show remorse or an attempt to right his wrongs, which makes it difficult to imagine a redemptive relationship with Wednesday.

The importance of equality and respect

According to Gottman's model of successful relationships (The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work), relationships flourish when partners share a sense of mutual respect and engage in open communication.

However, in the Tyler-Wednesday dynamic, Tyler exploits an advantageous position by knowing the truth about his identity as Hyde while Wednesday is kept in the dark.

Recall how betrayed Wednesday felt because, thinking placing trust after so long might be good for her, she eventually found herself stabbed in the back

The relationship is based on systematic deception, which makes genuine trust impossible.

Gottman points out that without a foundation of respect and transparency, relationships are doomed to failure or, worse, become toxic.

The idealization of toxic relationships

A study by Knox et al. (2000) on the idealization of toxic relationships in the media shows that romantic narratives involving manipulation and toxicity can negatively influence audience perceptions of real relationships.

Young viewers, in particular, tend to normalize abusive behaviors when portrayed as romantic or inevitable.

In the case of Tyler and Wednesday, the idea that “both are dark and therefore meant to be together” is an example of this idealization:

It ignores the real harm caused by manipulation and violence.

It romanticizes a dynamic that, in real life, would be devastating to the psychological well-being of both partners.

Psychological impacts on victims of manipulation

Studies on victims of emotional manipulation, such as Stark's (2007) in Coercive Control, reveal that relationships such as the one hypothesized between Tyler and Wednesday can lead to:

Chronic distrust: The difficulty of trusting others after such a profound experience of betrayal.

Emotional trauma: Victims of manipulation often suffer from anxiety, depression and a distorted perception of future relationships.

Self-isolation: Wednesday, already naturally inclined to protect her emotions, may further close herself off from the world after being betrayed in such a brutal way. But still in this case we could specify that Wednesday will be even more careful about placing her trust, since right now she trusts Enid and the other Nevermore friends who fought against Crackstone much more

IN CONCLUSION

Remembering that this is yes an analysis but not necessarily a gallows, anyone who appreciates the ship is not necessarily a bad person, you simply have to bring data and sources to the table when you have to discuss and from my perspective rather than romanticize this relationship, it would be more constructive to use their dynamic as a narrative example of how toxic relationships can negatively affect both partners and serve as a warning to recognize and avoid similar dynamics in real life.

Rather create stories where Tyler is not a murderer, Weyler stories like this I would love to read so much

#wednesday addams #wednesday #wenclair #enid sinclair #netflix wednesday #netflix #jenna ortega #emma myers #tyler galpin #toxic love #toxic relationship

28 notes · View notes

luv-beam · 2 days ago

Text

SURPRISEEE!!! i finished some things early and realized i had a lot of time tonight, so here i am!!! really, just a treat for me heh:

• dropping us immediately into everything-has-gone-to-shit oh ur praying on our downfall TT like the distance is palpable... and hao 😭 oh sweet, protective big brother hao 😭

• THE TULIPS??!?@!( STRETCHING TOWARD THE SKY??? my chest hurts .. the way yn looks at the garden now. like ik how it feels when something/someplace u once considered ur safe haven or safety net becomes corrupt,, twists the heart

• YOU WOULD NOT COME HERE AGAIN 😭😭😭😭😭😭 UGLY CRYING its the way "at least not alone" comes right after and i wonder if seokmin feels the same bc he also walked by, but only w minghao (granted, this isnt his house but...) and bc u write that they were BOTH affected (im not delulu am i...)

• vapid fop... what if i chuckled hahah

• also HELLO YOON JEONGHAN (u couldn't resist, could u, tara ;))) "a balm to the bruised parts" oh. im honestly living for jeonghans character and that in some other life, he and yn might actually make the perfect match (also mama xu doing mama matchmaker things w said thinly veiled glee is everything)

• its interesting that seok and hannie have kind of switched tropes? idk if that makes sense, but jeonghan as the warm, comforting presence and seokmin as the teasing, haunting ex-relation. its interesting seeing them both in these contexts and i like the subtle way u point to seokmin still having feelings for her or, yk, CARING ABT HER

• oh so nooow u try to play nice ..... jkjk im sorry i have assumed yns soul at this moment LMFAOOO (we're at the return of hao)

• i have sm pettiness in my bones that i emoathize w yn too well in this section LOL like yn was holding back, she could have snubbed him even more thoroughly imo !!! the dettached politeness and careful dismissal of his attempts at conversing w her makes me cackle lol (sorry dk) loved the dialogue/interactions!!!

• "weaving an intoxicating tapestry of distraction" oooooo welcome back tapestry metaphor 😌 i love imagining all of this like one massive tapestry being weaved in of those big ass looms that u think of from ancient greece

• speaking of intoxicating, the way u described jeonghan previously reminded me of champagne teehee

• the fact that every time seokyn make eye contact w one another the world seems to pause makes me ILL. like u cannot make me think of that slow motion, light fading-esque scene every time like my heart cannot take it

• i feel sick 😭😭😭😭 like damn that hurts... like u hate to see them doing so much better than u and u capture that bittersweet heartache/break so well :')))

• like sure seok's reputation might have been scuffed a little when she ran away, but all of that negative social consequence is given to yn, not seokmin. and the domino effect of all her "mistakes" and all this isolation is so... accurate? truly, her isolation and helplessness/defeat can be felt thru the screen

• i can kind of imagine the scene where yns escaped back home and is just sitting in the dark,, like the muffled sounds of partygoers and then the door closes and it's so quiet... man im so sad for her

• "ah i see my sister's charming everyone tonight" PLS I LOVE U HAO 😭😭😭 he's such a sweet older brother bye skfndjfj the way he's so protective im so

• i am kind of curious if yn has realized/forgiven seokmin in some way? like ik she's bitter and also heartbroken cuz she felt stupid for believing he could love her back, but at this point, she seems to have forgiven hao in some capacity for trying to help her "save her prospects" last chapter. so would it be safe to say that she's forgiven seok for going along w it too? or ig,, its a little more complicated than that huh

• damn someone who can make even jeonghan nervous/uncertain? crazy lol

• all this time passing MAKES. ME. SO. SAD. FOR. HER. 😭😭😭

• i agree w yn, the tulips bring an unwelcoke reminder of seokmin 😌 sorry seokmin

• the gaping hole and taut tension during the brief scene of spring age 22 is so JSNFKDJFJ RAAAAAAAAH ik im on yns side but like i need to strap this girl to an armchair so they can talk shit out 😭 i love longing so much but i also wanna tear my hair out

• i looove that u describe each and every ball/society event in its own way, like they have their own unique personalities!! :'))) like this one as a kaleidoscope... so beautiful, its a pleasure to my mind. on a similar note, the way u described sohee's dress and appearance was MWAH!! like i can picture exactly what she looks like, she's such a vibrant and living character in my mind. though the irony is not lost on me how her appearance/dress is described in such similar detail as when yn was a debutante 💔 like she's now been cast aside and it no longer matters how well she dresses; no one expects her to steal the spotlight

• oh but this one hurts 😭 ^ like it was established in chapter one that she must exhibit restraint and hope often slips through ones fingers like water, and it's heartbreaking and utterly depressing that she kind of lives thru these younger girls' experiences bc she never got her happily ever after. ur not only sidelined, but ur forced to watch someone live the life u were supposed to have (its so cruel 😭)

• "i suspect that there's still magic left in ur own waltz" OH I HAAAATE UUUUUUU YOON JEONGHAN WHY DID U HAVE TO END UP SO GOOD 😭 why r u making me like him tara 😭😭😭😭 not the second male lead 😭 now i want him and yn to end up together

• a reminder of what ive lost... the ache... ugh its so good...

• ONCE AGAIN. the imagery is perfection. like ur painting of the gardens at night in my mind is SUBLIME

• SHE WAS MINE FIRST OH JEONGHAN (´Д⊂ヽ OHHHHH I SO WANT U RN ive always sensed this kindred heartache btwn us, bestie. also just both of them coveting a hand that isnt theirs... goddamn, it's always the pining and forbidden that gets me

• but also totally digging the offer for a loveless marriage. like they can totally just make the best of it :')) its clear that they get along, and who knows.. it could turn into some semblance of love :')) i like to think that he's a little desperate himself while trying to convince yn to take up his offer. although a man won't get as much blow back for being unmarried, he's still a viscount. mutual desperation, mutual heartache... just drawing connections heh

• A GARDEN PARTY IN THE QUEEN'S GARDEN AND YET ANOTHER BEAUTIFUL PANEL TO ADD TO OUR GROWING TAPESTRY WEEEE

• "punctuated by the delicate notes" oo i just had to say that i love that word choice, it scratches an itch in my brain

• oh. thats quite the uh scandalous position their seokie... also just the way that time seemed to slow down again, but this time, yns trying so desperately to put on a strong face that seems so ready to slip off at a moment's notice. like i can feel her trying to pull herself up by her bootstraps and not fall apart

• never mind my question was just answered 😭😭😭 yn baby pls i know ur terribly depressed but U NEED TO HEAR HIM OUT . PLEASE.

• I LOOOOVE THE ENDING, LIKE I LOVE THAT WE'VE ENDED UP HERE OF ALL PLACES LIKE OOOOOOO PETTINESS HAHAHAHAH

if u couldn't discern it, i loved this chapter so much!!!! :'))) like the superstar was definitely the tension and the push and pull of emotions as yn experiences her young life flash before eyes skcnkdnf i love that you've ghrown a wrench into the plot of seokyn via one very handsome and persuasive and lovelorn yoon jeonghan 🫂🫂 i cant WAIT to read seok's reaction, and EVERYONE'S reactions for that matter LMFAO i am so enjoying this series so far tara, tysm for ur hard work !!! 💖

The Somerset Affair Chapter 3: Promises Bathed in Moonlight

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.8k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, crying, mentions of a panic attack (not being able to breathe), eventual smut, more to be added a/n: sorry sorry i know ch 3 took forever too lol // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys

summary: maybe you really are well and truly alone.

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the fic taglist here! series masterlist

The First Year: Summer Age 19

The first season after that fateful night was like a hazy dream. When you returned to the social scene, the whispers followed: why had Lord Lee disappeared from your side, so abruptly and publicly, leaving you to stand alone in the wake of his departure?

You endured it with a forced smile, accepting dances from any man who offered. Seokmin, when you saw him, was always nearby yet achingly out of reach, just beyond the edge of the crowd, his gaze never straying to you. Minghao, perhaps sensing the fraught silence between you, would draw you into conversation whenever he could, his manner protective, his eyes wary.

The estate gardens were nothing short of stunning in the late spring. Bursts of red and yellow tulips stretched toward the sky, their vibrant hues softened only by the ivy draping from the nearby trellis. The whole scene was picturesque, brimming with life and warmth. Yet, to you, it held only shadows, echoes of laughter from a time that now felt far away.

You’d meant to pass by quickly, perhaps even avoid the gardens altogether, but the pull was magnetic, the memories nestled there too insistent to ignore. This had been your sanctuary, your haven of whispered secrets and boundless dreams. You had spent countless summer afternoons here with Seokmin, lying on the grass, watching clouds drift lazily by as he teased you with nonsense riddles and ridiculous tales. He’d always made you laugh—those moments had seemed to stretch endlessly, filled with the certainty that nothing would ever change.

But change it had.

Now, as you stood among the tulips, their bright faces tilted toward the sun, you felt as if you were the only one left in shadow. Each flower seemed to mock you, as if asking why you had come back when he was no longer here to share it with you. You could almost hear his laughter in the rustling leaves, a phantom sound that made your heart ache.

You allowed yourself one indulgent moment of memory, one small surrender to the warmth of the past. In that instant, you could almost feel his presence beside you, could almost hear him sigh as he lay back against the grass and urged you to do the same. Tulip, he’d called you once, likening you to the flowers here—delicate, bright, full of life. His voice drifted through your mind like a warm breeze, and you closed your eyes, feeling the bittersweet pang of loss settle deeper into your chest.

Then, a sudden sound cut through the quiet, and you froze. It was the low murmur of a familiar voice—Seokmin’s voice—wafting toward you from the entrance of the garden. You barely made out the words, some easy greeting exchanged with Minghao as the two approached. The cadence of his voice was softer now, more mature perhaps, but unmistakably his. In an instant, the fragile calm you’d managed to summon evaporated, replaced by a panicked urgency to flee.

You turned on your heel, lifting your skirts as you hurried toward a narrow, shaded path, heart pounding as if you were a trespasser in your own sanctuary. You slipped behind the thick ivy-covered trellis, your fingers clutching the delicate lace of your gloves as you pressed your back against the rough wood. There, hidden from sight, you held your breath, willing your heart to quiet, afraid he might hear it even from a distance.

He paused at the garden’s entrance, his voice carrying lightly on the breeze, mingling with the chirping of birds and the gentle rustle of leaves. It was a voice you had known too well, one that had once woven a thousand dreams in these very gardens. But now, standing there alone and concealed, all you could feel was the sharp edge of those dreams turned to dust.

You dared not look, dared not even breathe until his voice faded and the crunch of gravel beneath his feet grew distant. Only then did you step out from your hiding place, the scene around you as unchanged and pristine as ever. But it felt different, achingly empty. He was gone, and so, you realized, was something inside you.

Your shoulders slumped as you turned away from the gardens, swallowing against the emotion lodged in your throat. You would not come here again—at least, not alone.

That first year passed slowly, the memory of him shadowing you at every event, every garden, every dance, leaving you both haunted and empty.

The Second Year: Autumn Age 20

As autumn arrived, the weight of that lost season faded slightly, turning to something colder, something sharper. You found yourself no longer seeking him out at every ball. Instead, you steeled yourself, donning an unapproachable mask that suited you better with each passing day. Your brother had chosen to spend the season traveling, claiming that the sea salt of Grecian air was calling him. The absence of his protection meant that you had to sail the rough shores of that season alone – Minghao’s letters were frequent and welcomed, always ready to provide words of assurance from thousands of miles away.

Your second season was to be markedly different—by your design and no one else’s. The naive enthusiasm of your first season had faded, replaced by a wariness that had hardened around you like a shell. Suitors still called upon you, though they were fewer and far between, and the gentlemen of impeccable standing, those your mother deemed suitable, grew distant with each passing event. They would approach with polite intentions, murmuring some pleasantry or another, only to bow and make haste to another part of the room where more receptive young ladies waited.

Yet, for all the polite avoidance and empty conversation, there was Lord Yoon Jeonghan, the Viscount of Hastings. He was different—not at all the cold and detached nobleman that society often produced, nor the vapid fop more concerned with his cufflinks than his conversation. He was witty, charming even, and his remarks would often spark a laugh that you could scarcely suppress. A flicker of intrigue would alight in his eyes every time you spoke, as if you were unraveling a particularly delightful mystery, and for those brief moments, he made you almost forget.

Almost.

You felt his gaze often, lingering in the spaces between words, and sometimes, if you were honest with yourself, it was almost enough to ease the ache that had taken root in your chest. There was a certain warmth to his presence, a lightheartedness that let you slip free from the burdensome weight of the past. Your mother, ever vigilant, noticed his interest immediately. She seized upon his attentions with thinly veiled glee, her gaze often flickering between the two of you at gatherings, assessing, calculating. She would arrange you beside him at dinners, leave you in his company at the slightest opportunity, her encouragement subtle yet unmistakable.

Jeonghan would lean in close, his words laced with humor, often turning some mundane observation into something absurdly funny. And for a fleeting second, the laughter would come easily, a balm to the bruised and hidden parts of yourself. You allowed yourself to think, Maybe this could work.

But the quiet, hollow ache lingered, a constant reminder of the ghost you could not quite shake. And that ghost was Seokmin.

Seokmin, who watched from across the room, his gaze burning, perceptive as ever. He was polite, distant even, but his presence was always there, like the flicker of candlelight that neither dimmed nor died. You could feel it most keenly when you danced with other men, swirling across the floor to the strains of violins and cellos. Once, as you stepped onto the ballroom floor with Jeonghan, you felt Seokmin’s gaze settle on you from across the room. The intensity of it was enough to make your skin prickle, and suddenly you were painfully aware of every step, every turn.

The first misstep was subtle—a slight stumble over the Viscount’s foot. But as you met Seokmin’s eyes, his brow lifted ever so slightly, a smirk hovering just on the edge of his mouth. That subtle, amused expression set your pulse racing in a way you would never confess. And in your distracted state, you stumbled again, this time nearly losing your balance. Jeonghan chuckled, mistaking your lapse for some charming display of nervousness, too oblivious to realize the true reason for your faltering steps.

Seokmin’s gaze, however, saw straight through you. His smirk was knowing, almost taunting, as though he could see past every mask, every effort you’d put into your newfound resolve. It was maddening—the way he could still get under your skin, the way he seemed to enjoy watching you unravel, even if only for a second. The lingering effects of that look stayed with you long after the music ended, clinging to you like perfume.

And so, you spent the season caught between two worlds. Lord Yoon, with his charm and his lightheartedness, who could ease the bitterness that lay thick upon your heart if only for a while. And Seokmin, a relentless presence, haunting you from across every ballroom and garden, his gaze a tether you could never quite sever. It was a delicate dance, one you performed night after night, hoping, in vain, that one day you would not feel his eyes on you at all.

The afternoon sun angled low over the estate, bathing the drawing room in a cool October light that poured through the high windows, softening the sharp edges of the day. Minghao had just returned from his travels and had brought back a novel he thought you would enjoy—Jane Eyre, by a Miss Brontë. The air was thick with the quiet thrill of this gift, the promise of evenings spent lost in its pages, and you had just begun to express your excitement when Minghao, with his usual calm, announced that Seokmin had accompanied him.

You schooled your face to remain pleasant, though your pulse quickened at the mention of his name. And indeed, there he stood by the door, his posture polite yet tense, hands clasped behind his back, and eyes dark with some unreadable emotion. He offered a slight bow, his gaze fixed on you even as you looked firmly at your brother.

"Did you know," Minghao began, oblivious to the tension in the room as he handed you the book, "that the author published it under a man’s name? Some say it’s because she thought her work would be dismissed otherwise."

You managed a small smile, allowing yourself the momentary reprieve of this topic. “Thank you, Minghao,” you replied, fingers grazing the embossed cover. “I’ll cherish it. It sounds wonderful.”

Across the room, Seokmin shifted, clearing his throat. "Do you find time to read often these days?" His voice was tentative, a hint of hope or maybe familiarity clinging to the question, as if reaching for a bridge long burned.

Your reply was smooth and immediate, though you kept your gaze firmly on Minghao, as if Seokmin had merely been a ghost in the room. "I make time, yes. It’s quite necessary, given the, ah… limited options for conversation."

A faint hint of color rose to Seokmin’s cheeks, but he quickly smothered whatever response he had been about to make. Minghao glanced between you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he pieced together the simmering tension, the edges of a puzzle he hadn’t been around to see formed.

There was a brief pause, heavy as stones, before Seokmin tried again. "Do you still ride out to the southern fields? I remember…" He hesitated, his words trailing off before he finished. “The views from the hilltops there were always lovely in the fall.”

It was a simple question, a nod to a pastime you had once enjoyed, but the memories it evoked—the two of you racing across the meadows, laughing breathlessly under the open sky, sharing quiet moments on that hilltop he spoke of—all felt too sharp, too close. You tightened your grip on the book, the rough binding grounding you in the present.

"Occasionally," you murmured, as if speaking to no one in particular. Your tone was clipped, devoid of warmth, and you let the silence stretch, long enough for the weight of his words to fade. After a beat, you forced yourself to stand, smoothing the fabric of your dress as you prepared to excuse yourself. “Please, if you’ll excuse me.”

Seokmin’s face barely shifted, yet the flicker of disappointment that crossed his features was unmistakable. "Wait, please—" he began, his hand reaching out as if to stop you. “I… wanted to know if you might—”

You looked over at Minghao, not giving Seokmin the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. “Thank you for the book, brother,” you said softly. “I’ll look forward to discussing it with you when I’ve read it.” And with that, you turned, leaving the drawing room before Seokmin could finish his thought.

You could feel his eyes on your back, a silent, unyielding weight as you retreated, but you pushed down the churning emotions in your chest.

Later, your mother found you in the library, a faintly exasperated look in her eye. "What has possessed you to act so sharply towards Lord Lee? He is a friend of your brother’s, and a gentleman. I hardly think it was necessary to snub him quite so… thoroughly."

"I simply wasn’t inclined to entertain him," you replied, not lifting your gaze from the book you had barely managed to focus on since leaving the drawing room. “It was not my intention to be rude, Mother.”

She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. “He asked after you very kindly. And if you cannot manage the simple courtesy of conversation, well…” Her sigh was laden with disappointment, tinged with the faintest trace of resignation. “It does make things rather difficult for you, don’t you think?”

You didn’t respond, clamping your lips shut and focusing on the words of Jane Eyre as if they might hold an escape. What could you say? That politeness was a currency you could not afford to spend on him? That every pleasantry only made the knife in your back twist a little deeper?

There was nothing to be done, and so you said nothing at all. The book lay heavy in your lap, unread, as your mother’s gaze lingered a moment longer, her silence more cutting than words.

The Third Year: Winter Age 21

The winter air nipped at every inch of bare skin as you stepped out of the carriage and into the towering, grand hall where that night’s ball was being held. Snow blanketed the world outside, a thick layer that muffled everything it touched, leaving only the crunch of footsteps and the soft murmur of the wind. The frost bit through your gloves, but it was nothing compared to the cold lodged deep within your chest. You drew yourself up and stepped into the hall, a practiced smile on your face as you greeted the hosts and exchanged pleasantries.

Inside, the ball was already in full swing. Laughter and music filled the air, weaving an intoxicating tapestry of distraction. You navigated through clusters of guests with practiced ease, inclining your head and making idle conversation that barely skimmed the surface. You had come to know the routines well, slipping into this role as though it were armor: a mask of charm, a shield of grace. It kept you safe, even as it kept others at arm’s length.

But then, just as you were making your way toward a friend by the window, you spotted him—Seokmin, across the room. He was surrounded by a small group of gentlemen, his laughter carrying over the din as he shared some amusing story. His cheeks were flushed from the warmth, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you’d once adored. For a moment, a whisper of memory drifted to you unbidden—those nights by the garden, his laughter mingling with the soft hum of summer crickets, a harmony you’d taken for granted. The sight of him now, seemingly unaffected by the hollow ache that had lodged itself so firmly within you, twisted something in your chest.

As though he could feel your gaze, his eyes turned toward you, catching you unprepared. His laughter faded, and for a moment, the room seemed to still. There was something in his gaze—a flicker of recognition, regret, perhaps. Or something more resigned, an acceptance of the chasm that had grown between you. He made no move toward you; there was only a slight nod, a silent acknowledgement of… something. You couldn’t name it, and you didn’t want to try.

It was his easy return to conversation that undid you. The way he turned back to his companions, laughing once more, as if nothing had changed, as if the years you’d spent trying to bury the echoes of that ball could be erased so simply. The laughter that once filled you with warmth now rang hollow in your ears, a reminder of all that was lost and all that could never be reclaimed.

The walls of the ballroom began to feel oppressive, the cloying warmth of bodies and perfume suffocating. You pressed a gloved hand to your temple, feigning discomfort as you turned to your nearest acquaintance. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well,” you murmured, a faint tremor in your voice that you hoped was undetectable.

“Oh, my dear, are you all right? You do look rather pale,” she said with concern, her eyes scanning your face. “Perhaps some fresh air?”

“Yes,” you managed, barely holding together the thin fabric of your composure. “Yes, that may be best.”

With a polite smile and promises to catch up at the next event, you drifted toward the doorway, slipping through the crowd as unobtrusively as you could. The cold air in the entry hall was a shock, but you welcomed it, letting it bite into your cheeks and ground you.

Soon enough, you found yourself in your room, finally alone. The silent darkness enveloped you, and for the first time that night, you let yourself drop the mask. You sank into the nearest armchair, clutching the armrests as if they could anchor you. Outside, snowflakes drifted lazily past the window, catching the moonlight like shards of glass. There was no warmth, no comfort in the scene, only the lingering shadows of a memory that refused to fade.

You had no energy to reach for a book, nor did you bother lighting the fireplace. Instead, you sat, letting the silence swell around you, filling the empty spaces that had been left in Seokmin’s wake. Your gaze lingered on the frost etching delicate patterns across the glass, and for a moment, you wondered if he was still at the ball, still laughing, still untouched by the winter that had settled so deep within you.

It felt almost foolish to mourn something you had lost so long ago, but as the hours slipped by, you couldn’t bring yourself to shake the feeling.

The bitterness reached new heights that year. Your relationship with Minghao, however, began to shift. He sensed your resolve, noticed the way you shrank from any mention of Seokmin, and quietly took up the role of your champion. He became your shield at social gatherings, a polite, steadfast presence whenever your mother hinted at your dwindling prospects or a suitor left you standing alone. Your mother’s eyes, ever watchful, lingered upon you with a barely hidden concern, her gaze darting to the eligible gentlemen nearby and then to you with that familiar, expectant look.

“You know,” she began in a low voice, “if you were only a touch more… approachable, it might encourage the young men here to consider you more seriously.”

You forced a small smile, the words heavy and stale from years of repetition. “I’ll do my best, Mama.”

But before she could respond, a familiar voice joined the conversation.

“Ah, I see my sister is charming everyone tonight,” Minghao remarked smoothly as he appeared beside you, offering a short bow to your mother. “May I borrow her for a moment?”

Your mother’s gaze softened—she had never worried over Minghao as she did with you, and his title afforded him some measure of leniency that you could never claim. She nodded, though her expression remained faintly expectant as she watched you both step away.

Minghao led you toward the edge of the ballroom, his arm steady around yours as you wove through the crowd. Once there, he turned to you with a look that spoke of both amusement and concern.

“You looked ready to flee,” he observed, a trace of a smile in his eyes. “Would you like a few minutes’ reprieve?”

You sighed, grateful for his intervention. “I was beginning to feel like a prized cow at market,” you replied, tone dry. “Thank you for sparing me.”

He chuckled softly, but his expression grew more serious as he studied you. “I noticed Mother watching you rather closely. And I know her remarks can be… persistent.”

“Persistent is a kind way of putting it,” you replied, your voice just above a whisper. “She insists that my chances dwindle each season, that—” You cut yourself off, pressing your lips together to hold back the frustration that threatened to spill over.

Minghao’s gaze softened, and he sighed, reaching out to adjust the lace of your cuff in a gentle, brotherly gesture. “You’ve nothing to prove to her or to anyone else here,” he said quietly. “If you feel uncomfortable, I’ll be here to see you through the night.”

Despite the stifling heat of the ballroom, his presence felt like a breath of fresh air—a lifeline against the unrelenting pressure of society and its expectations.

“And if any gentleman dares to turn his back on you tonight,” he added, his voice adopting a playful lilt, “I shall personally see to it that he regrets it.”

The corners of your mouth lifted into a small, appreciative smile. Minghao’s protectiveness was a comfort you rarely admitted to needing, but tonight, you couldn’t help feeling grateful that he saw past your composed exterior to the worry lingering beneath.

The music shifted to a slower waltz, and he extended his hand with a knowing smile. “Shall we dance, sister? A waltz is far more agreeable than enduring Mother’s lectures, I assure you.”

You accepted his hand, letting him lead you to the center of the room. As you twirled together, the swirling silks and laughter around you faded into the background, leaving only the familiar warmth of his presence.

After a moment, he leaned in, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “And for what it’s worth,” he murmured, “you have no need of any of these foppish gentlemen. They should consider themselves lucky if they could win even a passing glance from you.”

The sincerity in his words soothed you, and for a brief moment, the ballroom was no longer a daunting place, nor its occupants a source of anxiety. Minghao’s quiet strength steadied you, his steadfast support as dependable as the rhythm of the waltz beneath your feet.

Yet, even with Minghao’s silent support, Seokmin’s laughter ringing through the ballroom haunted you, echoing a reminder of what you once had and what you had lost.

Across the room, your gaze flickered to a familiar figure, the Lord Viscount Yoon, the lightness of his presence breaking through your somber thoughts. He had been different—his clever banter had a way of making even the most mundane topics feel lively and engaging. When he spoke, it was as if he was inviting you into an exclusive circle of shared secrets and laughter, making you momentarily forget the weight of expectations pressing down on you.

Even now, he stood amidst a group of gentlemen, engaging in light banter that sent ripples of laughter through the crowd. A flicker of intrigue would alight in his eyes every time he caught your gaze, but he looked away just as quickly, as if your newfound prickly attitude was enough to scare him away.

Over time, your disinterest had made him less willing to approach you. Though he had shown interest the previous year, the glow in his eyes now held a tinge of uncertainty, as if he had begun to doubt whether your heart remained open to him. Your mother, ever vigilant, noticed his hesitance, her gaze flickering between the two of you at gatherings, assessing, calculating.

“Perhaps if I were a bit more approachable,” you murmured to Minghao, who nodded thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward Jeonghan.

“Sometimes, it takes more than just approachability,” he replied quietly. “He is a good man, but the more you withdraw, the more he may think he should step back.”

You let the thought linger in your mind, but it was soon drowned out by the sight of Seokmin across the room, leaning in to laugh politely with another woman, a vision of laughter and ease that made your heart twist painfully. The vibrant atmosphere of the ball blurred around you, filled with the laughter of others while your own heart sank, caught between the past and the possibility of a future—one you feared might never be yours again.

The Fourth Year: Spring Age 22

Spring came late that year, but the blossoms in the garden were the most vibrant you had ever seen. Tulips, bright and full of life, lined the path outside your drawing room window. Their sight brought an unwelcome reminder of Seokmin, as if they were mocking the pain that had dulled over the years but never truly healed.

One fateful morning, Seokmin arrived at the estate again, waiting for Minghao in the drawing room. You entered the room unaware of his presence, intending to retrieve a letter you had left on the table. The shock of finding him there, standing alone, was enough to root you to the spot.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and longing. “How have you been?” he asked, breaking the silence, his tone formal but softened by something more vulnerable.

“I try to stay busy,” you replied, refusing to meet his gaze, your own fixed on the tulips outside the window, as if they alone could fortify your resolve. The way they leaned toward the glass, reaching out, seemed a cruel reminder of what you could never reach. You clung to your indifference, fearing that one look at him would undo you.

“Ah,” he replied, his voice barely a murmur. “I see.”

The silence was unbearable, stretching long and wide between you, filled with all the words you had left unsaid. For the first time, you could sense his unease, as though he, too, felt the weight of everything that had come between you. You imagined he might say more, but instead, he fell silent, unwilling or unable to breach the chasm.

When Minghao finally entered the room, his gaze shifted from Seokmin to you, sensing the tension immediately. He offered a warm, lighthearted greeting that brought some relief, yet you felt exposed, as though Seokmin could still see every last flicker of pain beneath your carefully controlled exterior. Minghao’s easy conversation filled the room, and you seized on it as a lifeline, grateful that the moment had passed.

But as you left the drawing room, something inside you felt irrevocably changed. The wound you thought had healed now ached anew, as raw and fresh as ever.

Age 22

The season has turned again, and as you step into the grand ballroom, you are met with a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds that fill the air with an electric energy. The chandelier overhead sparkles like a constellation of stars, its crystal droplets refracting the warm glow of candlelight that dances across the room. The polished wooden floors gleam underfoot, reflecting the vivid hues of the gowns that swirl around you like petals caught in a gentle breeze.

After five seasons on the market, the whispers of society have cast you in the role of a spinster. No longer the young debutante brimming with promise, you now find yourself almost a chaperone to the eager, wide-eyed debutantes navigating their first seasons. Your newest charge, Sohee, is a whirlwind of youthful exuberance, her bright pink dress adorned with intricate floral appliqués that seem to bloom against her pale skin. The bodice sparkles with tiny beads, catching the light as she twirls, her laughter ringing like bells. You can see the nervous energy in her movements, the way her hands flutter as she points out various gentlemen across the ballroom.

“Oh, look at Lord Lee—what a fine dancer!” she exclaims, her voice bubbling with excitement as she gazes at Seokmin. His deep navy jacket contrasts sharply with the pristine white of his shirt, and the cravat around his neck is tied with an effortless elegance that only enhances his charm. The way he carries himself, relaxed and confident, seems to draw the attention of everyone around him.

You try to mask the bitterness rising within you as you observe him. Seokmin entertains Sohee’s infatuated chatter with polite smiles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. For a fleeting moment, you are grateful that she has captured his attention, but then the weight of your own feelings crashes over you like a cold wave. The ache in your chest deepens as memories flood your mind—long summers spent chasing fireflies, laughter echoing through the fields as he playfully pursued you with a worm on a stick, or the way he would reward your sharp tongue with that unguarded, carefree laughter.

As if drawn by some invisible thread, Seokmin’s gaze suddenly shifts, catching yours from across the room. Your heart leaps into your throat, a jolt of surprise and embarrassment coursing through you. Mortified that he has noticed your lingering stare, you quickly avert your eyes, but the warmth of your cheeks betrays you. You want to disappear into the vibrant crowd, to escape the intensity of your emotions that seem to swell with every passing second. Yet, even as you force yourself to engage with Sohee’s exuberant chatter, you can feel the weight of Seokmin’s gaze resting on you, a silent reminder of everything you’ve lost and the connection you once shared.

It is a cruel twist of fate, standing on the sidelines while young girls like Sohee chase the dreams you once held so dear. You find yourself in this role, a guide for the naive and hopeful, all the while wishing that you could feel that same thrill of possibility. The grand ballroom, alive with laughter and music, feels both enchanting and suffocating, each dance a reminder of the joys that have slipped through your fingers.

As the music swells and couples begin to sway across the polished floor, you catch glimpses of Sohee and Seokmin amidst the swirling gowns and dapper jackets. They move with an innocent delight that contrasts starkly with the weight of your unspoken feelings. Sohee beams up at him, her laughter bright and infectious, and for a moment, the sight softens the edges of your heartache.

Just then, you feel a presence beside you, and when you turn, you find Viscount Yoon Jeonghan standing there, a knowing smile dancing on his lips. His appearance is as striking as ever; his tailored coat hugs his frame perfectly, and the delicate embroidery along the cuffs catches the light, giving him an almost ethereal glow. His hair falls elegantly around his face, framing those sharp features that always seem to hold a hint of mischief.

“They make quite a pair, do they not?” he murmurs, his voice smooth and warm as he gestures subtly toward the young couple. His eyes sparkle with a mix of humor and curiosity, and for a moment, you’re reminded of the lighthearted conversations you once shared, the way he could lift your spirits without even trying.

You glance back at Sohee and Seokmin, your heart twisting at the sight of them. “It seems so,” you reply, your tone nonchalant, though the bitterness seeps through. “She is quite taken with him.”

Jeonghan’s gaze lingers on the two, but then shifts back to you, an amused glimmer in his eyes. “And yet, I believe it’s Seokmin’s charm that keeps her so enchanted. He has a way of making everyone feel special, does he not?” His words are light, but there’s an underlying sincerity that pulls you in.

“Especially the younger ones,” you add, your voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm. You cross your arms, an instinctive barrier against the swell of emotions threatening to break free. Jeonghan tilts his head, studying you with an intensity that makes you self-conscious.

“Ah, but don’t let that dampen your spirits,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice. “I suspect that there’s still magic left in your own waltz.”

You scoff softly, trying to hide the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “I’ve had my dance, my Lord. It’s only right that I help guide the next generation.”

He nods, as if he understands more than you’ve revealed. “But it doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a little bit of the spotlight yourself, does it?” His gaze holds yours for a moment longer, an invitation hanging in the air between you.

Taking a deep breath, you accept his invitation with a gentle nod. Jeonghan extends his hand, and with a sense of determination, you place yours in his. The moment you step onto the dance floor, a familiar spark ignites between you. As you move, you find the rhythm of the waltz is an intoxicating escape from the weight of the evening.

His touch is confident yet gentle, guiding you with an ease that sends warmth through your veins. You laugh softly at his playful quips, the way he effortlessly spins you and twirls you beneath the glimmering chandelier. The surrounding laughter and chatter fade into a soft background hum as the two of you lose yourselves in the moment.

But just as you begin to forget the lingering ache in your heart, a commotion draws your attention away. You glance over to find Sohee in an animated conversation with Seokmin, her eyes wide with excitement. She appears to be swooning—her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink as she clutches her fan, fluttering it in the air as if to cool herself.

And then it happens. As the waltz concludes and the music reaches its crescendo, Seokmin leans down to retrieve Sohee's fan, which had slipped from her grasp in her flurry of emotion. The way he effortlessly picks it up and hands it back to her is undeniably charming. She gazes up at him with unrestrained adoration, and in that moment, it’s as if the entire ballroom falls silent, the air thick with their connection.

Your heart sinks, the joyous moment turning into a bitter reminder of your own unfulfilled longing. You feel the weight of your own feelings crashing down, suffocating the lightness of the dance you just shared with Jeonghan. The innocence of Sohee’s crush, her delight at Seokmin’s attention, stabs at something deep within you, twisting the knife of your heartache just a little deeper.

“Lord Lee is such a gentleman,” Sohee breathes, her eyes sparkling with admiration. You try to smile, but the corners of your mouth feel heavy, the happiness you should feel for her overshadowed by the ache in your chest.

“Quite the pair, indeed,” Jeonghan murmurs beside you, his tone shifting slightly. You glance up at him, but the amusement in his eyes has dimmed, replaced with a knowing sympathy that only intensifies your discomfort.

“I should—” you start, desperate to escape the scene unfolding before you, but Jeonghan catches your gaze, his expression serious yet gentle.

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly, concern lacing his voice.

You swallow hard, nodding even though you can feel the tears threatening to brim. “Yes, of course. It’s just… a reminder of what I’ve lost.”

Jeonghan’s eyes soften, understanding radiating from him. “Then let’s step outside for a moment, shall we? A breath of fresh air might do you good.”

You nod again, grateful for his presence, and together you slip away from the dancing couples, leaving behind the laughter and music, hoping the cool night air will ease the weight on your heart. As you step outside, the crisp night air envelops you like a silken shawl, drawing you away from the swirling gaiety of the ballroom. The coolness is a welcome reprieve from the warmth of bodies and laughter, and you relish the soft caress of the breeze against your skin, bringing with it a gentle rustling of leaves that whispers secrets from the garden. The scent of blooming jasmine and sweet honeysuckle mingles in the air, heady and intoxicating, wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace.

You move to the stone balcony, where the moon hangs low in the sky, its silvery glow spilling over the manicured gardens below, illuminating the delicate petals of the flowers that sway gently in the evening light. The grass is cool beneath your feet, a delightful contrast to the warmth of your silk gown, and you can feel the slight dampness of dew beginning to settle on the earth, a reminder of the approaching night.

Fidgeting with the lace hem of your gown, you feel the fabric whisper against your ankles, the soft silk cool to the touch. Your heart races as you catch sight of Jeonghan stepping out to join you, his tall frame silhouetted against the glow of the moonlight. He regards you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You love him,” he states matter-of-factly, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I beg your pardon?” You turn to him, surprise etched across your features. Your fingers tighten around the delicate lace, twisting it nervously as if it could shield you from his piercing gaze.

“It is nothing to shy away from,” he continues, his tone surprisingly earnest. “I have observed the two of you for years, engaging in this delightful dance around each other. You love him. That is a fact. Do not shy away from it—love is a beautiful thing, even if it is tinged with loss.”

You force a laugh, the sound almost bitter. “You sound as though you speak from experience.”

“And if I am?” Jeonghan counters, his brow arching slightly, inviting you to delve deeper into the conversation.

“Why, then,” you reply, your heart racing with a mixture of intrigue and dread, “it cannot be that only my secrets are shared tonight.”

“Lady Choi,” he says, the shift in his tone unmistakable, as though he is unearthing a long-buried truth.

“The general’s wife?” you ask, the name escaping your lips with an air of disbelief.

His eyes darken, and for a moment, the lightness of the evening is overshadowed by the weight of his admission. “She was mine first,” he admits, his voice heavy with unspoken emotion. “But her father—he was a cruel man—wished to marry her off before I ever had the chance to court her properly, as adults.”

You draw a sharp breath, the air suddenly feeling thick and heavy around you. “Lord Yoon, it is a sin to desire another man’s wife,” you say softly, your fingers trembling slightly as they continue to play with the delicate fabric of your gown.

“And it is a sin to pine after what cannot be yours,” he replies, a note of melancholy creeping into his voice. “It seems we are both trapped in a most unfortunate dilemma, Miss Xu.”

You hesitate, the truth of his words resonating within you like the toll of a distant bell. You find yourself gazing at the garden below, the moonlight casting long shadows across the path. “I… suppose.”

His expression softens, the tension between you easing slightly as he steps closer, the distance shrinking as if the night conspires to bring you together. “I have an idea, if you are amenable to it,” he proposes, his voice low and conspiratorial.

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piquing despite the tumult of your thoughts. “I suppose I have no choice but to hear it.”

“Let us… have an arrangement of sorts.”

Your mind races, the absurdity of the suggestion both ludicrous and strangely enticing. “An… arrangement?” you repeat, incredulous, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“A loveless marriage is better than none at all,” he declares, his eyes glinting with a mixture of seriousness and mischief.

You laugh, unable to contain yourself. “You jest. Have you indulged in more champagne than you can manage?”

“I assure you, I am as clear-headed as the sky on a summer’s day,” he insists, maintaining eye contact with a steady gaze that makes your heart flutter. “We are friends, are we not?”

“Friends? My lord, we have danced a few times, to my mother’s delight,” you reply, a teasing lilt in your voice, though your heart feels heavier with the weight of his words.

He feigns a look of mock hurt, placing a hand theatrically over his heart. “You wound me! We have enjoyed such spirited conversations! I do consider you a friend. And a marriage with a friend—a viscount at that—is nothing to scoff at. Have you given no thought to your future? What happens when your dear brother finds a wife and you are no longer his primary concern?”

The reality of his words settles over you, sending a shiver down your spine. You search the moonlit path, pondering the path that lies ahead. “Just… think about it,” he presses, his voice earnest, the night seemingly holding its breath.

The silence stretches between you, the world around you fading as you consider the proposal. You raise your gaze to his, a flurry of emotions swirling in your heart.

But as the moment hangs in the air, he steps back, creating a chasm of space between you once more. The hope in his eyes flickers like the stars above, illuminating the path of unspoken possibilities.

With a lingering glance, Jeonghan turns to leave, the quiet night reclaiming its stillness. Alone now, you stand beneath the watchful gaze of the moon, a companion that seems to mock your predicament, its light dancing across your skin like a playful breeze. The weight of the evening settles around you, the possibilities of what could have been lingering like a sweet perfume in the air. The garden around you, fragrant and alive, seems to echo your turmoil, the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft chirping of crickets a reminder that you are not as alone as you feel—but still, the loneliness wraps around you like a heavy cloak, suffocating and inescapable.

The Queen’s Garden is even more stunning at twilight, an exquisite tapestry of flora bathed in the soft, golden light of the setting sun. Lanterns hang from the branches of ancient trees, casting a warm glow that mingles with the fading daylight, creating a magical ambiance that enchants every guest present. Lush greenery and blooming flowers adorn the paths, their fragrant scents—jasmine, roses, and honeysuckle—drifting through the air like a sweet serenade.

As you weave your way through the throngs of elegantly dressed nobles, the cool evening breeze brushes against your skin, a refreshing contrast to the warmth radiating from the lively crowd. The sounds of laughter and spirited conversation wrap around you, punctuated by the delicate notes of a string quartet nestled among the trees, their melodies intertwining with the soft rustle of leaves overhead.

Amidst the gaiety, you scan the faces around you, searching for Sohee. Her absence hangs like a whisper, pulling at your awareness.

Just then, your gaze lands on Lord Yoon Jeonghan, standing across the garden. His tall frame commands attention, and as you meet his eyes, he offers you a teasing wink, a smirk dancing on his lips. He raises his glass in a casual salute, a playful reminder of the “arrangement” he proposed only weeks prior.

But as you turn to continue your search, you hear a soft rustle behind the curtains of the powder room. A frown creases your brow, and with a sense of trepidation, you pull the curtains aside.

What you find steals the breath from your lungs: Sohee, her dress slightly askew, caught in an intimate embrace with Seokmin, hidden from view. Time seems to freeze as you process the scene before you, the vibrant colors of the garden fading into a blur.

They don’t notice your entrance, the warmth of their laughter drifting toward you, blissfully unaware of the precariousness of their moment. A wave of urgency washes over you; you step back, the laughter and music of the ball dimming behind you, overwhelmed by the tension in the air.

The cool mask of indifference you wear feels like a fragile façade, barely holding up against the storm of emotions roiling within you. Every heartbeat thunders in your ears, a rhythmic reminder of the tension crackling in the air. You force yourself to breathe slowly, deliberately, the sweet scent of blooming flowers mingling with the sharp tang of night air filling your lungs.

You clear your throat, breaking the stillness that envelops the hidden corner where Sohee and Seokmin stand. Your posture is straight, your chin lifted, but your palms feel clammy against the lace of your gown.

“Sohee,” you say, your voice steady and cool, as though dipped in ice, “you should return to your Mama. If anyone else had seen you like this, it would ruin you.” The words hang in the air, each syllable heavy with consequence. You hold her gaze, your eyes fierce, willing her to understand the gravity of the situation.

Sohee’s eyes widen, vulnerability flickering across her face like candlelight. The flush staining her cheeks deepens as she processes your words, a mixture of mortification and gratitude washing over her. She nods, biting her lip, and you watch as she slips past you, shoulders squared despite the embarrassment, grateful for your discretion.

Once she disappears back into the sea of guests, the atmosphere shifts. It’s just you and Seokmin now, the weight of the moment pressing down like a thick fog, the sounds of the ballroom fading into a dull roar. For the first time in years, you stand alone with him, the years of silence and distance palpable between you.

You turn to leave, the flutter of your gown trailing behind you, but his voice stops you, soft and tentative, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Please, don’t go.”

You whirl around, disbelief etched across your features. “Why on earth? What are you doing here?” Your heart pounds, and your fists clench at your sides, the intensity of the moment clawing at your composure.

He takes a step closer, the distance between you shrinking, but the space feels charged with electricity. The use of that name—“tulip”—falls from his lips like a spark igniting a fire inside you. Anger bubbles to the surface, your fingers curling into fists. “You have no right to call me that anymore.”

His expression shifts, desperation creeping into his tone as he opens his palms, a gesture of vulnerability. “It’s been four years, and you still won’t give me the chance to explain myself.”

Your chest tightens at the memories, sharp and unyielding, a storm of emotions swirling within you. “So was it because Minghao told you to?”

His gaze darkens, the flicker of regret visible in his eyes. “Yes, but you need to—”

“Good evening, Seokmin.” The words slip from your mouth like ice, cold and final. You turn to leave, your back straight but your heart racing, and he reaches for you, fingers brushing against your arm like a whisper.

You jerk away, anger and hurt surging through you, the fabric of your dress catching in the air as you turn. “Please, stay,” he begs, his voice thick with emotion, almost desperate. “Stay and let me explain—”

You shake your head slowly, each word heavy with the weight of unspoken history. “You lost the right to that four years ago.” Your voice softens, but the resolve behind it remains, a quiet storm ready to break. In a flurry of lace and silk, you turn on your heel, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the thick grass as you leave him standing there, a distant silhouette against the vibrant backdrop of the garden.

The night air feels cooler as you weave through the crowd, your heart pounding in your chest like a war drum. You seek solace in the bustling ballroom, where laughter and music swirl around you, a cacophony that drowns out the echo of your heartache. The warmth of the candles flickers against your skin, the soft glow momentarily comforting amidst the chaos.

The crowd shifts around you, a blur of color and laughter, but everything feels muted—distant—as you navigate back toward the main hall. Your heart still pounds, each beat a reminder of the encounter that lingers, bitter as smoke. And then, across the room, a familiar pair of eyes finds yours: Jeonghan. His gaze is intent, assessing, and as he raises his glass to you with an amused smirk, his words from weeks before echo in your mind: “It is a sin to pine after what cannot be yours.”

The decision is instant, unbidden, like the snap of a thread pulled too tight. Steeling yourself, you weave through the crowd toward him, your mind clearing with each step. Jeonghan turns slightly as you approach, his attention shifting from the men he’d been conversing with. You stop just a breath away, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you, even as laughter and chatter fill the air.

“My lord,” you say, voice steady as a blade.

He raises an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, Miss Xu?” His eyes gleam in the low light, the gold of the candle flames reflecting in them. “I must say, you look rather lovely in this garden.”

“Yes.” The word is simple, yet it feels like a vow, a quiet certainty.

His smile falters for just a second, replaced by a glimmer of surprise in his eyes before he quickly recovers. He leans in slightly, his voice softened but no less intent.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice calm but resolute. “I shall marry you.”

Jeonghan’s expression settles into something unreadable, a flicker of surprise replaced by the slightest tilt of a smile. He inclines his head, the elegant motion drawing him closer, as though sealing the moment between you.

“A wise decision, Miss Xu,” he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours. The sounds of the garden around you blur into silence, the perfume of roses and night-blooming jasmine heavy on the air, and though the world presses on with its merriment, this quiet promise, made in the hush of the queen’s garden, feels irrevocable.

Tagging: @kibs-and-bits@moondustmemories@shinwonderful@ivehypnosis@gwend0lyne@thestoryofana13@mellowamour@blissedjoon@begentlewithme-please @xabsolutelynothingx @reiofsuns2001 @mngyulvrs @mooniewrld @archivistworld @lexyraeworld @ateez-atiny380 @walkinganxiety01 @lovecleastrange @uriguyeok @nenojaems @carefully325 @meowmeowminnie @ts19009 @flickhurstyles

#seventeen fic recs #lee seokmin x reader

109 notes · View notes