#me when I have the chance to make symbolism in anything

[angelwishess]

Kyra’s Broomquet!

Bouquet… whtver!!!! For the broomquet thing!!!

(Yeah I had to filter the colors to make it look not awkward HWHAHAHA)

^^ This looks like a reaction meme LMFAOOOO

I think I added way too many flowers but its ok guys trustme… 💗 (also i think i used the non fully bloomed begonias by accident oops)

I dont think this is a realistic bouquet at all but its okay because !!!!! Symbolism !!!! Yayayayya!!!!!!!!!!

ALOT of rambling utc!!

First— I’d like to mention that some of these flowers are actually poisonous so erm idk how that would work out LMFAOO😭😭 Take it as symbolism of how many are attracted to Kyra due to her beauty, but stay away once realizing her true nature … or something like that!!!!!

Camellia (Japonica)

Camellias have always been Kyra’s flower! Its the one I associate her with the most, and to me is just iconic for her! I have an entire post in my drafts talking about Kyra’s other symbolisms, but I might as well just copy paste the Camellia section here lol

Camellias in general symbolize a spirit of depth, self-reflection and inner strength, love, loyalty and humility.

Camellia japonica, a shrub or small tree species that is native to southern Japan and China. Known as tsubaki in Japan,this species is iconic for its beautiful white, pink, or red flowers that appear from late winter to early spring as well as its thick, glossy, and evergreen leaves.

The camellia has come to symbolize grace, beauty, sophistication, and perseverance - all traits that make it so beloved today.

The camellia has long been a symbol of beauty, grace and perseverance in Japanese culture. Its deep crimson petals evoke the vividness of a fiery sun while its delicate bloom serves to represent the infinite nature of life itself. It has become the embodiment of courage, resilience and strength owing to its fantastic ability to survive and thrive in even the harshest conditions.

It is believed that those who wear or carry a camellia can show their boldness in facing adversity with integrity and grace; thus, this timeless flower carries with it monumental symbolism.

The camellia is intricately intertwined with the cultural and spiritual life of Japan. In various art forms, they signify appreciation and admiration. The flower represents a spirit of depth, self-reflection and inner strength - qualities that are highly esteemed in Japanese culture. They also symbolize love, loyalty and humility - perfect to express gratitude towards family and friends.

Kyra herself is honestly my most perseverant character! Shes stubborn and driven, and won't back down regardless of how hopeless a situation seems.

No matter how much she falls down, she'll keep getting right back up again, more determined than before to keep living.

With the Camellia's notable ties with Beauty, loyalty, grace, self-reflection and inner strength; it makes the Camellia a beautiful way to represent Kyra. It reflects her current character and character development

In China, camellia has been cultivated for thousands of years and is a symbol of love and devotion. It is often used in Chinese art, literature, and poetry to represent beauty, purity, and faithfulness. For people in China, the camellia is more than just a flower; it's a sign of a long past. The camellia has a place in Chinese art, literature, and tradition because it is thought to bring good luck and beauty.

The Chinese believe that the camellia will last forever, so it is often used as a symbol in ceremonies and parties. People see the flower's ability to survive under challenging conditions as a metaphor for life's problems and the strength needed to deal with them.

In Japan, the camellia is also a symbol of love and is associated with the samurai tradition. The flower is often worn as a hair ornament by Japanese women and is used in traditional tea ceremonies.

The samurai looked up to the camellia as a sign of bravery and morality. The flower's ability to stay beautiful even when things go wrong was like the samurai's dedication to duty and honor.

During the Victorian era in Europe, the camellia flower became a popular symbol of wealth and luxury.

White camellia flowers are less common but are highly prized for their purity and innocence. In some cultures, white camellia flowers are associated with death and are often used in funeral arrangements.

With NRC's whole theme with death— this extra little fact is just a little nod to that theme hehe. It also represents Kyra's own "innocence" and naivety when it comes to regular society. After all, Kyra's first time ever leaving her palace was because she was sent to NRC fe. Through that "death", she gained freedom and a new beginning.

Pink camellias show love, appreciation, happiness, and thanks. These flowers are a lovely way to show someone you admire them or are thankful for them because the soft color of pink makes people feel loved and appreciated.

Pink camellias are often seen as signs of love and respect in the language of flowers. In some countries, friends trade them with each other or give them thanks. Aside from their beauty, pink camellias are known for their gracefulness and ability to show love without being too intense.

Kyra is very thankful and values the friends and people closes to her. She loves so much and so deeply, and holds everyone that accepts her despite her being a handful, very dearly! She isnt shy to show her affection at all, and makes sure her friends know that they're all loved, even if she doesn't say it outright.

Pink Camellias can also symbolize longing! I view it as a symbol of how Kyra had always longed for more, yearning for a life that feels like hers. She longs for freedom, and has spent her entire life with this feeling of yearning.

Camellias can also, ironically enough, symbolize perfection. Something Kyra had forced herself to be for the sake of her family, in hopes that if she was, she could be loved, too.

Amaryllis

Amaryllis symbolizes pride, strength and determination as they stand tall above all other winter blooms. Amaryllis is also a Greek name which means 'to sparkle', ‘sparkle’, ‘shine’.

Funnily enough, Kyra’s name also has Greek origins! And while they do differ in meaning when it comes to their shared origin language, Kyra’s name also means ‘sparkle’ and ‘shine’ in Japanese!

The flower itself symbolizes the idea that beauty can bloom from pain, and it often serves as a metaphor for inner strength and resilience.

The amaryllis is frequently associated with strength and determination, largely because it can bloom in the colder months when many other plants are dormant. Its tall, strong stems and large flowers make it a symbol of overcoming obstacles and standing tall in the face of adversity. In this context, it is often given to individuals who are facing challenges to symbolize perseverance and inner strength.

In the Victorian era, the language of flowers (known as floriography), was a popular means of communication, where different flowers conveyed specific messages. In floriography, the amaryllis stands for pride, beauty, and strength, aligning with its mythological and cultural symbolism.

When given as a gift, an amaryllis flower might convey the message that the recipient is admired for their inner beauty and strength. It celebrates an individual's unique qualities, making it appropriate for someone who exudes confidence, grace, and resilience.

Gardenia (Peonies)

I love you secretly, unspoken words

Because of their clean white petals, gardenias symbolize purity, refinement, innocence, harmony, and gentleness.

One of their lesser-known meanings is that of a secret or unknown love. Gardenias are a thoughtful way to express that you care about someone, even if it hasn't yet been expressed verbally.

Hibiscus

represents transient beauty and the importance of living in the moment. The hibiscus flower blooms for a short time, often just one day, reminding us of the impermanence of life and the need to cherish every moment.

In Victorian times, giving a hibiscus meant that the giver was acknowledging the receiver’s delicate beauty.

the hibiscus is linked to grace, femininity, and delicacy. It is often associated with romantic appeal, particularly in cultures where the flower is worn as a symbol of attraction or love. The Hibiscus encourages mindfulness and appreciation for the present, with the end goal of reminding people of the transitory beauty of nature and time.

Mountain Laurel

Perserverance and achievement

The mountain laurel is also associated with ambition. The Greeks would present a wreath of laurel to poets, athletes, and war heroes as a mark of great achievement.

the mountain laurel was chosen as the state flower of Pennsylvania due to its unique beauty and profusion. This plant, which is native to Pennsylvania, thrives in the state's mountains and forests, showcasing the incredible natural resources of the region. Its adaptability to a variety of environments symbolizes the tenacity and resolve of the neighborhood.

I also mainly chose it due to its unique appearance, and Kyra loved unique looking stuff hehe

Dahlias (Pink Silk)

The dahlia is Mexico's national flower, and it represents pride, inner strength, elegance, kindness, uniqueness, embracing positive change, beauty, and creativity.

Spiritually, the name represents inner strength, positive change, and commitment. The name elegantly symbolized beauty, freedom, and love.

dahlia flowers symbolize beauty, commitment, and kindness. They're also tied to steadfastness due to their ability to bloom after many other flowers have died.

Delphinums

The meaning of delphiniums is generally accepted as 'big hearted'. White and pink represent new life and the power of youth.

Delphinium meanings include openness to new experiences and overall positivity. Delphiniums symbolize cheerfulness and goodwill, as well as a protective plant. Delphiniums are used to communicate encouragement and joy, as well as remembering loved ones who have passed.

Skeleton Flower

The flower's change from opaque to clear symbolizes shedding past identities and revealing one's true self.

The Skeleton Flower, known for its delicate beauty, has inspired numerous stories and myths across various cultures. Often viewed as a symbol of resilience, it represents the beauty that can emerge from adversity. In art and literature, the Skeleton Flower frequently appears as a motif of purity and transformation.

The skeleton flower holds a notable place in Asian history and culture. Celebrated for not only their beauty but especially for their unique transformation, they often symbolize the balance between life and death.

the Skeleton Flower also serves as a powerful symbol of resilience and personal growth.

The flower’s captivating appearance and remarkable adaptation serve as a reminder that beauty and resilience can coexist, even in the most unexpected of circumstances.

Begonias

Hope of life. It's the reminder that no matter how bad something is, no matter how sad it is, life is always right there, renewing itself along with you. It's a reminder that there's always an opportunity to start over. Individuality and standing out from the crowd

Despite a historical association with warning, begonias symbolize gratitude, respect, understanding, and forgiveness.

Traditionally, this flower is as a symbol of warning. It is a way to tell someone that they needed to watch their backs. The begonia wasn’t necessarily a threat, but instead a gesture that things aren’t always as they seem.

A begonia can mean understanding, and even forgiveness.

Habenaria Radiata (White Egres Orchid)

represents purity, grace of the soul, and good intentions.

looks like a dove teehee

“My thoughts will follow you into your dreams.”

In Japan, the 'White Egret' Orchid (Habenaria radiata) is admired not only for its beauty but also for its symbolism of grace, purity, and the return of summer.

the egret symbolism too focuses on being at peace with oneself and the world, being in a state of balance and calmness throughout.

Lily Of The Valley

Funfact! Since Kyra’s birth month is May, the Lily Of The Valley is her birth flower!!

Lilies of the valley symbolize rebirth, purity, youth, and happiness.

The lily of the valley means return of happiness in the Victorian language of flowers.

Chinese Peony

Peony petals are edible. Yeah. I just thought it’d be funny to include an edible plant in Kyra’s bouquet. Is that not hilarious

In China and Japan, peonies mean 'king of flowers', and are used in important holidays like Chinese New Year. They are also known to symbolise wealth, because for a really long time only Chinese emperors used peonies. But really I just thought they were pretty HEHEHEHE

This is the ONLY flower I chose because it was pretty PLS ….. Kyra would hate me for this I fear HELP (in my defense it looks like her ..)

Lilium Casa Blanca

The Lilium Casa Blanca symbolizes celebration. It also symbolizes eternal beauty and elegance.

Beyond purity, white lilies also represent hope, remembrance, and the promise of a fresh start.

Pink and White lillies symbolize compassion and admiration.

Nelumbo Nucifera

The lotus flower symbolizes rising from a dark place into beauty and rebirth, as this is precisely how a lotus flower grows.

It symbolizes the realization of inner potential.

In the classical written and oral literature of many Asian cultures the lotus is present in figurative form, representing elegance, beauty, perfection, purity and grace, being often used in poems and songs as an allegory for ideal feminine attributes.

All symbolism associated with the lotus seems to be positive and in the vein of being a good person and finding meaning in life.

[savanir]

The What Corps?

“we have you now spook! there is nowhere you can run and hide with our new spectral tethers active!”

Danny winces at the small metal clips that have hooked themselves in his leg, some new GIW tech that is messing with his powers.

“oh yeah? I was just dying for you guys to give me a challenge” plan. plan. He's gotta think of a plan to get out of here and fast. He takes a steadying breath and starts to look for anything that can help him.

he can’t get caught here. He just can't. He simply won’t allow himself.

suddenly the two GIW goons in front of him click their earpieces to clearly listen to what someone else is telling them, Danny is very glad for his own enhanced senses.

“Operatives K and O, be advised, there have been sightings of a new ectoplasmic entity near your location. Other operatives report that it’s incredibly small and moves fast. watch your backs, this may be an ambush”

small and fast? it better not be some poor little blob ghost, Danny sort of hopes it’s some manner of ectowasp, at least that could be entertaining to see.

“you better not be hoping for back up, ecto scum”

“I have no idea what you are talking about”

It's then that a small bright green light zips on scene and weaves through crowds in the distance with ease and then speeds up towards the two operatives who do not hesitate to shoot, missing completely like the storm troopers they are.

Whatever it is, it is indeed going very fast but Danny manages to figure out what it looks like and it appears to be a… ring?

“hold it you tiny accessory shaped ecto fiend!”

The ring does a speedy circle around Operative O while K is lining up a shot and ends up blasting the poor guy point blank in his face, “O!”

Danny takes a step forward with an arm outstretched and a “oh damn! Are you alright?” on his lips when the ring takes the chance to slip on his finger. “Daniel Fenton of Earth”

Danny already had a freakout about a ghost jewelry getting on him, his experiences with those so far have been incredibly bad after all, what with the rings and crowns and pendants… now this damn thing is just straight up outing him! 

Thank the ancients the two GIW stooges are too busy with each other right now to pay close attention to what this weird ring is saying.

“You have the ability to overcome great fear” ah so this is related to him steeling himself just now? Maybe? or something??

You have been chosen” never good, we are back to freaking out again.

“Welcome to the green lantern corps” 

… the what?

Danny notices that his usual outfit suddenly has more green going on, and his DP symbol has some sort of… he guess it’s supposed to be a lantern, maybe? shape around it.

He’s somehow even more glowy now, and there is something on his face. Feeling its shape makes him think it’s some sort of mask.

The metal clip things are no longer attached to his legs though so that’s great!

“You’re not getting away so easily ecto scum! sentient ghost paraphernalia coming to your rescue or no!” They both aim their weapons to take a shot.

Danny figures he can now easily hold them back with his usual shields,“you guys realize you just called this weird ring sentient and thereby negate the whole nonsentie-ack!”

“Attacking a corps lantern is punishable offense as of the instatement of the galactic diplomatic immunity as declared by the-” Okay so now Danny is just raising his eyebrow at this weird as fuck ring. Just what is it going on about?

“notifying nearby lanterns and requesting assistance with apprehension of hostiles”

what?

“getting your friends to help you out vile spook? such a thing is useless with the Blackout still very much in place”

Well… the two streaks of green light in the distance is making Danny doubt that statement.

Maybe there is more to this Lantern corps thing than he thought… And something tells him his life is about to get even more complicated than it already is.

[adieutristana]

getting married headcanons / arcane women x fem! reader

the thought of marriage and weddings have been on my mind for weeks now and i’m not sure why, but i’m a sap like that. i also haven’t been able to find many fics in the arcane tags about marriage so i figured i’d write my own :)

i’m getting to requests as quickly as possible! my first final is this friday and i’m kinda freaking out. things should speed up once im on winter break!

summary: headcanons of what it would be like marrying arcane characters.

characters included: jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn.

tags/warnings: fluff. SO much fluff. mentions of (happy) crying, mentions of drinking, s2 spoilers / mentions of death (caitlyn), slight hurt/comfort

men dni.

jinx;

✧.* you had spoken of marriage before, and every time you did, jinx became incredibly emotional. the girl had never seen marriage as something in the cards for her. a master criminal, a symbol, a living martyr? sure. but never a wife. so when you brought up the fact that you one day wanted to marry her, she was inconsolable in the best way possible.

✧.* to think that someone loved her enough to want to marry her, to want to spend the rest of their life by her side was unreal. she never thought she would have that.

✧.* so naturally, when you got down on one knee in front of jinx and opened a velvet box, presenting her with a shining diamond- jinx was in hysterics. she immediately broke into a fit of tears. blubbering, she nodded frantically, shakily taking your hands in hers. you felt a few tears of your own fall from your eyes as you slipped the ring onto her finger.

✧.* "yes, yes, yes- oh god, yes, i want to marry you. are you sure, though? i mean... will i make a good wife? are you sure you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody like me?"

✧.* "yes, jinx. i want all of it. all of the chaos, all of the mischief and adventure. all of you."

✧.* jinx immediately makes it a point to show off her brand-new, shiny ring to absolutely everyone. she’s engaged now, and she’s gonna make it everybody’s problem. she would go into sevika’s usual spot- a local casino just to track her down and shove her hand in her face. sevika would just raise an eyebrow, and look back up at jinx. seemingly unamused.

✧.* “i’m a fiancée now! see?”

✧.* “i can see that.”

✧.* “you can at least act like you’re excited for me!”

✧.* jinx’s favorite part of being engaged is probably planning the wedding. she makes almost all of the decorations herself- centerpieces, messy tablecloths, colorful banners. they’re crude and chaotic, but they’re jinx.

✧.* you do manage to talk her into letting a friend make flower arrangements and cater, though.

✧.* while jinx wants to look nice for her big day, she doesn’t really put that much thought into what she wears, instead wanting to hear your input. if you want her to wear a suit, she’ll do so! if you’d rather see her in a dress, fine by her. however, i can’t see her in an extravagant wedding gown… probably something simple.

✧.* she does insist on wearing her hair in a single braid, though.

✧.* jinx wants a small wedding, at a local empty hall she can decorate however she pleases. close friends and (your) family are the only guests welcomed.

✧.* when the day of the wedding comes, jinx is both ecstatic and a nervous wreck. a million thoughts are swirling through her mind, whispering to her from every angle. what if you leave her at the altar? what if you get cold feet? but the fact that you are there, she knows you’re here for the long haul, is what grounds jinx.

✧.* jinx somehow convinced vi to walk her down the aisle.

✧.* it actually wasn’t hard at all, she’s just exaggerating. despite the strains and tainted history between the two, vi wouldn’t miss the chance to see her little sister get married for anything in the world.

✧.* when she walks down the aisle, she’s the first one at the altar. twiddling with her thumbs, eyes darting around the hall.

✧.* when she finally sees you being walked down, though, jinx isn’t able to hold back her tears. it starts out small, then a dam breaks. you just look so beautiful.

✧.* it comes time for the reading of vows, and jinx’s voice is trembling. bless her, she’s sniffling and trying through shaking hands to unfold the paper.

✧.* “i’m not good with words, you know this. i never have been. but you make it so easy. i’ve never felt more like myself with someone, never felt so loved and cared for. i still wonder why you chose to marry someone so chaotic, a ‘master criminal,’ as the pilties put it. but i can’t explain how grateful i am. you love me for everything that i am, and everything i’m not. it’s you and me, always. i love you.”

✧.* after exchanging rings, jinx is practically pouncing on you to close the distance between you. the exact moment the officiant says ‘you may now kiss.’

✧.* jinx is completely different during the reception. the music selection is so perfectly her, but also so you. she’s (horribly) dancing, tugging your wrists to invite you to dance with her. whooping and singing along to the music. this is the happiest you’ve ever seen jinx. your wife.

vi;

✧.* vi is also someone who never saw herself getting married, honest. she had a prison wife at one point, but that was just to get her through each grueling hour at stillwater. the girl never saw herself being married for real. until she met you.

✧.* she first began calling you her wife playfully. vi is a sucker for pet names, isn’t she?

✧.* “i’m home! how’s my wife doing? i didn’t keep ya waiting long, did i?”

✧.* but the more she called you her wife, and the more positive your reactions to the nickname became, it dawned on her that she actually could see herself marrying you. that option had just never clicked in her mind.

✧.* the two of you never properly talked about marriage per se, but it was silently agreed that it was a possibility.

✧.* however, it still caught you completely off guard when vi proposed to you.

✧.* it was in the middle of a field, which already struck you as odd. vi wasn’t one to go exploring in nature typically, but she said she wanted to see the stars with you, so you didn’t ask any questions.

✧.* you’re side-by-side with vi on a shared blanket, while your girlfriend uses her finger to point out each constellation. she’s wrong about the name of the majority, but you don’t have the heart to tell her that. she’s just too cute.

✧.* however, at the end of the night, when you’re occupied with folding the blanket, you glance over your shoulder to see vi on one knee. your hand claps over your mouth and the blanket falls onto the ground.

✧.* “(y/n), i love you. you know this. i tell you every day. but we’ve been together for a while now… and i think i’m ready to take the next step. i call you my wife anyways, why not make it official?”

✧.* with tears welling in your eyes, you nod again and again. hands covering your mouth and one shakily stretching to let vi slip the ring onto your finger.

✧.* it’s a simple ring; a silver band with a rectangular alexandrite in the center. but you can tell from the shine that vi had been saving for this purchase for a while.

✧.* vi wanted to get a ring worthy of you. a ring that showcased her endless devotion to you, and damn, she did a good job hiding the ring as long as she did.

✧.* vi doesn’t waste any time when it comes to planning. she wants a small wedding, but still intimate and romantic.

✧.* almost everything is done by the two of you, with minimal help from jinx. vi does centerpieces, invitations, and the music, while you take care of the catering, flower arrangements, and guest planning.

✧.* jinx likely just makes a few light coverings to give the illusions of different colored lights during the reception.

✧.* your girlfriend fiancée wears a tailored black suit, with a maroon vest and tie. she put a lot into being able to rent it, so she wants to make sure she looks perfect for her soon-to-be wife!

✧.* the day of the ceremony finally arrives. vi is nervous, but she does her best to keep herself grounded. it isn’t until she’s stood at the altar waiting for her bride that anxiety truly sets in.

✧.* yet, all of that anxiety melts the instant she sees you walking down the aisle. your eyes light and full of adoration, only for her. the smile on your face is enough to light up the entire universe on its own.

✧.* it’s then, when she takes your hand as you step up to the altar, that she begins to feel tears pricking at her eyes.

✧.* vi has her vows memorized. she made a habit of reading them aloud every night at least twenty times, over and over again. but she still manages to stumble over her words; something you can’t help but giggle to.

✧.* “my love for you has always been clear. since the day i met you, you’ve never left my mind, or my side. i love all of your cute habits, all of the things you think i don’t notice, the sound of your voice, your smile, those eyes… i love all of you. i promise to love you now, and forever. you complete me.”

✧.* vi is fully crying by the time she finally gets to cup your cheeks and press her lips to yours, holding the kiss longer than she probably should. but she just can’t help herself. you’re her wife now.

✧.* she doesn’t get shitfaced during the reception, but your wife is definitely pretty drunk on the dance floor. busting out moves you didn’t even know she had.

✧.* she feels free to let loose now, have fun, with you by her side. dancing with her. singing along to the music without a care in the world.

mel;

✧.* with mel, marriage wasn’t really a conversation the two of you had, instead, it was a given from the beginning.

✧.* mel takes relationships very seriously and sees anything casual as a waste of her precious time. marriage is the end goal when mel gets into any relationship, so it wouldn’t be any different for you. she loves you, and you love her, the natural thing to do is to get married.

✧.* however, she is a patient woman and willing to wait for whenever you’re ready to commit to marriage. she is busy after all, she can wait as long as needed.

✧.* when you finally are at a place in your life- financially, mentally, emotionally, to be able to comfortably get married, mel wastes no time proposing to you.

✧.* you figured it would be the other way around, and actually did begin window-shopping for a general idea of what ring you’d purchase for your girlfriend.

✧.* but mel has a way of knowing things, and she tells you that she’ll buy it.

✧.* “i know you’ve been browsing around, here and there for a ring. be patient. i’ll handle that, okay?”

✧.* when mel proposes, it’s in a small, intimate space in her home. the woman goes to plenty of galas and parties as a councilwoman, but she wants this moment to be only between her and her girlfriend.

✧.* warm candlelight fills the room, the scent of peonies and baby’s breath subtle. you’re unsure of what’s going on for such decorations- was there a holiday that you forgot? your anniversary wasn’t for another few months, so surely-

✧.* a soft voice from behind you pulls you back to reality. the sight of mel, on one knee, holding open a violet velvet box.

✧.* “my dearest. i know i tell you regularly, and i know you’re aware, but i love you. i love you more than life itself, and i want nothing more than to make the next commitment to you. i need to marry you, (y/n).”

✧.* and god, the ring itself. the stone is practically a boulder. it’s a gold band with a cluster of diamonds framing one big diamond in the middle. yes, mel is the most wealthy woman in piltover, but she’s truly outdone herself.

✧.* you’re in tears, mumbling out choked ‘yes’s as your now-fiancée beams. she takes extra care, gently slipping the ring onto your finger. letting you know just how beautiful it looks on you.

✧.* as much as mel would love to be thoroughly involved in planning the wedding, duty calls. so you have creative liberty- she trusts you. she also does hire a professional wedding planner to get most of the difficult work done. the last thing mel would want is you worrying your pretty head before marrying her.

✧.* a grand hall, with gold interior, fountains, high ceilings and glass chandeliers was selected for your wedding. a place which many former high-ranking members of piltover’s society have been married in years prior.

✧.* as for a dress, mel chooses a grand, white gown. silk with lace trimmings, and a cathedral-length veil. she doesn’t mind what you wear, the only thing that matters to her is your comfort.

✧.* naturally, the majority of piltover is invited to the wedding. it’s not every day that the most high-ranking woman in your city gets married.

✧.* the day of the wedding comes. mel is an expert when it comes to keeping herself calm on the outside; stoic and poised. but internally, she’s a mess.

✧.* mel medarda, getting married? it’s always been something she’s wanted, but now that it’s happening, it’s hitting her what she’s about to do. yet, that makes it so much more exciting.

✧.* her worry is more about what how she’ll be perceived by the public, and presenting a much more vulnerable side of herself.

✧.* when mel walks down the aisle, bouquet in hand, orchestra plucking strings, she’s taking deep breaths to ground herself. this is really happening.

✧.* she sees you walk toward the altar, and she immediately has to close her eyes. only for a second. you look absolutely divine- it’s overwhelming. so many emotions: love, adoration, gratitude, all swirling in mel’s chest.

✧.* mel has her vows memorized. she’s always had a good memory, but she can’t stop her voice from cracking and breaking every few words. the moment is just all-consuming.

✧.* “my love for you is eternal. it always has been, and it always will be. to be stood before all of piltover, making this promise to you is an opportunity i am honored to have. i promise to fiercely love you for as long as you will allow me to, and as long as you will love me. (y/n). my love, my light, and now my wife.”

✧.* she has to wipe away a few stray tears from her face afterward, but she giggles and tightly embraces you. just before brushing your lips with hers, a moment she wishes she could stay in forever.

✧.* the reception is refined and calm. although others may be getting a bit tipsy, mel would much rather slow-dance with you on the floor. stand beside the cake, champagne in hand, just admiring you for all that you are. she swears you’ve never looked more beautiful.

sevika;

✧.* sevika has never given marriage a second thought. for other girls? sure, but never her. she had a job to do, a city to protect, and that was her priority.

✧.* until you in passing mentioned being old and married in jest. that statement hit sevika like a bag of bricks.

✧.* trying to lay her head down to rest, your voice plays on a loop in sevika’s head. being old and married. married. married to each other.

✧.* she simply can’t shake the thought. again, she had never given marriage a second thought, but sevika could truly see herself marrying you. that was how loyal and devoted she was to you, how much she loved you.

✧.* sevika doesn’t mention it, though. that’s the kind of woman she is, isn’t it? moving in silence, but with intention nonetheless.

✧.* however, one day, sevika slips out of your shared home to take care of ‘business.’

✧.* “be back soon, love. i won’t be long. -sevika”, reads a note left on your dresser.

✧.* where sevika is actually going is to a metal smith in zaun, a humble craftsman in a shared space with various other artists. she wants your ring to be perfectly you, and she wants your ring to be one that nobody else possesses. so custom-made is the only option.

✧.* a thick silver band with an amethyst in the center, and engravings on the inside. it takes about two weeks to finish, with sevika checking in about twice every week in the wee hours of the morning. this is one of the most important projects she’s ever overseen.

✧.* once she finally gets it, sevika will not let go of the ring box. a heavy maple wood box housing the most important possession she has, soon to be yours.

✧.* of course, sevika fiddling with her left pocket doesn’t go unnoticed by you. but she brushes it off, tells you that she wasn’t sure if she left something in there from the day before.

✧.* her proposal is spontaneous. she tries to plan it, but she simply cannot wait any longer. she takes the ring box out of her pocket, presenting it to you and slowly opening it.

✧.* “i don’t… i don’t do this stuff. i don’t know how to, i’m sorry. but i… i love you, and i can’t stop thinking about what you said before. about being old and married. i want that, with you.”

✧.* it’s so rare that sevika is completely unguarded, even in private. she’s a soft lover, but you can tell that right now, all of her walls are down. poor woman, she’s even shaking.

✧.* you just grab her hand, a stray tear falling down your cheek, and whisper, “yes.”

✧.* sevika has no idea where to start when it comes to wedding planning (or event planning to begin with.) so you take on most of the responsibility for planning, occasionally enlisting help from friends.

✧.* of course, sevika is still very involved in terms of observing and helping you make decisions.

✧.* you choose a small hall, enough to hold a handful of guests. sevika doesn’t have many people to invite, granted, but there needs to be enough room for her playing mates at the casino, jinx, and your guests.

✧.* your fiancée chooses a dusty plum suit, tailored to her body and the smallest golden hoops in her ears. (you didn’t even know she had her ears pierced until the day of the wedding.)

✧.* the day comes, and sevika sees you walking down the aisle. she stares at you in nothing short of awe, pure joy. her mouth hangs open.

✧.* when you finally step up to meet her at the altar, it takes everything in the woman to not simply whisk you away then and there. patience, sevika, she tells herself.

✧.* she has her vows written down, despite trying to memorize them. she’s just filled with too many emotions. nerves, mostly.

✧.* “standing here now, i realize more than ever how much i love you. you’ve brought something to my life i never thought i’d feel: unconditional, unwavering love. i don’t know how you do it, but you make every day better than the last. you’ve gotten through to my heart. i swear to love you, to be loyal to you, and to protect you.”

✧.* she doesn’t even wait for the officiant to say that you may kiss, she’s immediately closing the distance between you as soon as you finish exchanging vows, kissing her wife again, and again, and again.

✧.* sevika doesn’t do much during the reception, mostly drinking little sips of whine and gazing at you with that longing expression you’ve come to know. if you try to drag her out onto the floor to dance with you, she’ll playfully groan and roll her eyes. but you know she loves it. she loves you.

✧.* “come on, sev, dance with me!”

✧.* “i don’t dance.”

✧.* “well, you do now!”

caitlyn;

✧.* the topic of marriage is a difficult one for caitlyn. as a member of one of the highest-ranking houses in piltover, it’s an expectation that she will one day marry. not necessarily from her parents, but from piltover and tradition.

✧.* honestly, she was indifferent. if she found someone she’d like to marry, great. but if not, she wasn’t going to hold her breath or beat herself up over it.

✧.* when you came into her life, caitlyn could feel her perception of marriage slowly changing. it was still indifferent at best, but she now understood why marriage was so common. why it was a thing, even. her love for you grew stronger by the day, and she wouldn’t be opposed to marriage- if it was you.

✧.* not married because she has to be, but because she wants to be.

✧.* caitlyn is transparent about all of this with you, telling you that while she’s okay with the idea of marriage, she doesn’t expect it. it’s the least she can do: be honest.

✧.* ultimately, the decision is in your hands, and you decide that you undoubtedly want caitlyn to be your wife.

✧.* so you browse every single jeweler in both piltover and the undercity. looking for any hidden gems amongst them. independent jewelers, chains, even heirlooms from your family. but in your search, you find a sole jewelry dealer in the undercity. selling a silver engagement ring with sapphire clusters that perfectly match caitlyn’s eyes.

✧.* you’re in the family’s garden, cait looking off into the distance. observing… the leaves, the flowers, the way the light hits them? you’re unsure, but you decide now is your opportunity.

✧.* “caitlyn.”

✧.* caitlyn quickly turns her head to you, looking the slightest bit concerned. “hm?”

✧.* that’s when you drop to one knee and take out a ring box. caitlyn’s eyes blow wide, both hands clapping over her mouth. she can’t believe the scene that’s playing out in front of her.

✧.* “i can’t contain myself anymore. caitlyn, the time i’ve had with you has been wonderful. the most amazing time of my life. you are the epitome of grace and diligence, consistently leading. you bring out the best in me day after day, and my life feels complete with you in it. caitlyn kiramman, will you marry me?”

✧.* bless caitlyn, she’s trying so hard to keep the tears threatening to spill at bay. she only nods, once, then twice, then over and over before bringing you into a deep kiss.

✧.* when you slip the ring onto her finger, you wish you could freeze time and frame this particular moment. the adoration in the woman’s eyes is one you can’t describe.

✧.* when it comes to wedding planning, cait wants to be as involved as possible. of course, she has a job to do, so that does prolong the planning. but patience is a virtue she learned early, so she doesn’t mind.

✧.* “what’s another few months? we have all the time in the world, dear.”

✧.* the two of you choose to have a small and intimate wedding, inviting her father, a few council members, and anyone you’d like to invite.

✧.* caitlyn chooses a sleek v-neck black dress, fitted to her form with a long train. she opts to wear a small tiara instead of a veil.

✧.* upon further examination, you notice that it’s the very tiara cassandra wore on her wedding day. silver, with small rubies delicately placed. caitlyn honoring her mother in this way brought a whirlwind of emotions to you, but you knew she would be happy for her daughter.

✧.* and for that very reason, among many others, caitlyn’s wedding day is an emotional one for her. she’s elated to be finally marrying the woman she loves, but she wishes more than anything that her mother could be there to see it.

✧.* seeing cait walk down the aisle does wonders to you. waiting at the altar for her was excruciating as is, but you almost have to pick your jaw up off the floor as your fiancée makes her way closer and closer to you. she looks otherworldly.

✧.* she chuckles and beams at you once she steps up to the altar. taking a moment to just admire you. she reaches a slim hand out to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek in her hand for only a moment. her sapphire eyes full of adoration.

✧.* caitlyn has her vows written down, in that annoyingly perfect penmanship of hers. she reads from the paper, glancing up at you constantly while having to wipe her eyes.

✧.* “(y/n), i didn’t know if this day would ever come. but i’m so glad that it has. my love for you knows no bounds, it festers and grows and builds onto itself every day. it’s exhilarating, as is every day by your side. to call myself your wife will be my greatest honor. and to welcome you into the kiramann family, an even greater honor.”

✧.* she’s fully crying by the time she finishes reading out her vows, looking up at you with the best smile that she can muster. she’s so overcome with love, she can’t help it.

✧.* the moment the officiant says you may kiss, caitlyn is placing one hand firmly on your waist and the other wraps around your lower back. holding you close and brushing her lips against yours.

✧.* cait’s reception is rather relaxed, with a selection of mostly classical and contemporary music playing quietly over speakers. however, she insists on having several slow dances with you. she’s surprisingly good, which makes you suspect she’s experienced with this.

✧.* guiding you back and forth with expertise, her head buried into the crook of your neck. holding you impossibly close to her as she hums in contentment.

[thirteenheavens]

Seungcheol when read gives him silent treatment after a heated argument?

Broken Kisses|| Choi Seungcheol ♢

Notes: started to use my symbols now might be the last fic tonight :)

Seungcheol sighs as he enters the living room, finding you sitting on the couch with your arms crossed and a stubborn expression on your face. He knows this isn't going to be easy - you've been giving him the silent treatment since yesterday.

"Babe, can we talk?" he asks, sitting down next to you at a respectful distance. "I know you're upset, but we need to sort this out." You remain silent, your eyes fixed straight ahead. Seungcheol tries again, his voice gentle but firm. "Look, I know I messed up. I shouldn't have said those things during our argument. But you can't just ignore me forever."

The tension in the room is palpable as Seungcheol waits for any sign of acknowledgment from you. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, unsure of how to break through your wall of silence. Seungcheol's patience starts to wear thin, but he knows he can't give up just yet. He scoots a little closer to you on the couch, careful not to invade your personal space too much.

"Y-N, please," he pleads, his voice softer now. "I hate seeing you like this. I miss talking to you, I miss hearing your voice." He tries to catch your gaze, but you remain stubbornly looking away. The silence stretches on, and Seungcheol can feel his heart aching with each passing moment.

"I'll do anything," he says finally, desperation creeping into his tone. "Just say something. Yell at me, scream at me, I don't care. Just don't shut me out like this."

"Why should I say anything?" you snap, finally turning to face Seungcheol with tears in your eyes. "You've made it clear that my feelings don't matter to you." Seungcheol's expression falls at your words, guilt and regret washing over his features. He reaches out to touch your arm but stops himself mid-way, remembering your anger.

"That's not true," he says firmly, his voice cracking slightly. "I care about your feelings more than anything. I was just... stupid. I didn't think before I spoke." He scoots closer again, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry, Y-N. I should have listened to you instead of being so stubborn. Please, let me make it up to you." Seungcheol gently takes your hand in his, holding it tightly as if afraid you'll pull away. He intertwines your fingers together, his thumb stroking your skin softly.

"I know I messed up big time," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I promise I'll do better. I'll be more considerate of your feelings, I'll listen to you more, I'll...". He trails off as he realizes you're still not looking at him. The pain in his chest grows stronger, but he doesn't let go of your hand.

"Please," he whispers again, desperation evident in his tone. "I can't stand being apart like this. Just give me a chance to prove myself." Your tear-filled eyes meet Seungcheol's, and his heart shatters at the sight of your hurt expression. He cups your face in his hands, his own eyes welling up with emotion.

"I hate seeing you cry," he chokes out, his thumbs wiping away your tears gently. "Especially when I'm the one who caused it." He pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as he fights back his own tears. "I'm so sorry," he whispers into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll do whatever it takes to make this right." He holds you for what feels like an eternity, silently promising himself that he'll never let anything come between you again. The weight of your silence and hurt hangs heavy in the air, but he's determined to mend the broken pieces of your relationship.

As you sit in Seungcheol's embrace, his arms a comforting presence around you, the silence between you becomes less suffocating. The tension in your body gradually eases, and you lean into his warmth. Seungcheol's heart races as he feels you relax against him, taking it as a sign that you might be willing to forgive him. He holds you even tighter, burying his face in your hair.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice breaking with emotion. "I love you so much, Y-N. I was an idiot for saying those things and hurting you like this." He pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with sincerity and regret. "Please tell me what I can do to fix this," he begs softly. "Anything. I'll do anything to make you happy again." You finally speak, your voice still shaky but softer than before. "I just need you to listen to me more," you say, looking into Seungcheol's eyes. "And trust me. I know we have different opinions sometimes, but that doesn't mean we have to fight."

Before he can respond, you lean in and kiss him gently on the lips. It's a simple kiss, but it carries all the emotions you've been holding back. Seungcheol melts into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you as if you're his lifeline. When you pull away, he touches his forehead to yours, his eyes closed in relief.

"I promise," he whispers, his breath mingling with yours. "No more fighting. I'll always listen to you, and I'll never let my stubbornness come between us again." Seungcheol's lips meet yours again, this time with more passion and urgency. He kisses you deeply, pouring all his love and regret into the connection. His hands slide up to cradle your face as he deepens the kiss, his tongue gently exploring your mouth. The tension from earlier has transformed into a different kind of tension - one that's filled with desire and longing.

"I missed you," he breathes against your lips, pulling you onto his lap. "Missed being this close to you." His hands roam over your body, rediscovering every curve and contour as if he's relearning you all over again. The kiss grows more heated, both of you desperate to reconnect on every level.

"I love you so much," Seungcheol pants, his chest heaving against yours. "I don't know what I'd do without you." He rests his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin. "I was such an idiot," he admits, his voice thick with emotion. "I promise to cherish you every day from now on."

He peppers your face with soft kisses - your forehead, your nose, your cheeks - as if trying to memorize every detail. Even though you may argue time to time, you still want to marry this man.Even if it’s the last thing you do.

[wonderjanga]

Cults Galore

Cults. If the JL had a nickel for every cult dedicated to Marvel they’ve found, they’d have two nickels. Don’t get them wrong, it’s not a lot, but it’s still concerning.

Aquaman, Green Lantern, and Marvel were sent to an alien planet. They needed to establish peaceful contact with the people there. That was the goal. So why? Why in the Gods’ names are the people here all tatted up with lightning bolts suspiciously similar to Marvel’s. Why are they calling Marvel Thavma? And most importantly, why are the three being lead to some type of shrine?

Hal: “Hey uh… I’m sorry to ask, but what does this shrine you told us about have to do with the treaty you need to sign?”

Alien Leader: “They are sacred grounds.”

Hal: “Okay…?”

Alien Leader: *continued to lead them until they came upon a bunch of people petrified into stone. The people were placed in a circle, in the middle was a grand shrine*

Aquaman: “What’s with all the statues?”

Alien Leader: “Statues- ah yes. The statues.” *looks to Marvel* “We’ve all kept them preserved just for you. Just in case that of off chance you decided to grace us with your presence again. And would you look at that? It paid off.”

Marvel: *awkwardly smiles at the Alien leader*

Alien Leader: *looks back ahead*

Marvel: *elbows Aquaman and starts speak in Atlantean* “This guy’s creepy.”

Aquaman: *responds in Atlantean* “I know.”

Hal: “What’d you guys say?”

Marvel: *switches back to English* “We’ll tell you when we get back to the ship.”

*awkward silence of following the Alien Leader*

Aquaman: “So… The statues. You make em or something?”

Alien Leader: “No no no. They’re all soldiers of the people who used to oppress our kind. They were petrified by our very lord themself during the uprising.” *looks over to Marvel* “Do tell me you remember?”

Marvel: *searches though memories and finds out a previous champion had done all of this* “I do.” *looks literally anywhere but Hal and Arthur*

Hal and Aquaman: *immediately share a look*

Later…

Marvel, Hal, and Arthur: *all at a burger joint eating in civvies*

Arthur: “I don’t get it. How do you just fail to mention that you petrified an entire army?”

Marvel: *shrugs* “I kinda forgot.”

Hal: “How do you just forget that? Also, you guys never told me about what you guys were saying. Are you guys gonna spill the beans now or what?”

Marvel: “What are you talking about?”

Hal: “When you elbowed Arthur?”

Marvel: “Ohhhh that.”

Arthur: “We were just talking about how the guy was creepy.”

Hal: *nods head* “True dat. True dat.”

Then there was the second cult. This one’s human though, don’t worry. This cult was found by Marvel, Batman and Robin.

Marvel: “I thought you just said this was just a cult. Not a cult for me.” *looking around at the various tapestries with his lightning bolt symbol*

Robin!Damian: “What makes you think it’s for you?”

Marvel: *gestures to the lightning bolt on his chest, then to the other lightning bolts on the decor of the place*

Batman: “They were worshiping someone named Keraunos.”

Robin!Damian: “And unless your name is Keraunos, it’s not for you.”

Marvel: “I’ll have you know it’s actually one of my names.” *walks until he stops in front of a fountain*

Robin: “You can’t be serious. Why would they worship you of all people? There’s hardly anything of value to worship in the first place.” *follows after him and stops near the fountain too*

Marvel: “Should I be offended by that?” *looks down at the water* “Geez, were they drinking electricity charged water? Normal humans cannot do that.”

Batman: *also walks over and kneels down slightly to read a plaque* “This plaque says the water was blessed by you.”

Marvel: “Uuuhhhh… No it isn’t.” *sticks a finger into the water* “This is just normal electricity.”

Robin: *tries to stick his own finger in*

Batman: *swats Damian’s hand away* “Regardless, what’s causing the electricity?”

Marvel: *puts some of his own lightning into the water*

Batman, Robin, Marvel: *hear something short fuse and look to see something off to the side smoking*

Marvel: “Probably that.”

[logansdoll]

Heyyy. Ok really cheesy but I’d like to request a Logan x reader friends to lovers where it’s like an accidental confession. Maybe someone makes fun of the reader and Logan without thinking about it just starts yelling and defending why the reader is great and everything he loves about her? Ik it’s a little OOC but maybe he gets so mad (as Wolverine does) that he gets all mushy without realizing lol. Thanks ❤️❤️

lotus

while on library duty, Logan overhears two girls talking shit about you... and corrects it quickly.

CW: sorry i went in a little different direction, suggestive, profanity, takes place during the timeline of the og X-Men, these girls are bitches, etc.

"I just don't get what's the big deal about her," Maya scoffed, resting her cheek in her palm as she thoughtlessly flipped through her biology textbook.

Talia nodded, glancing up from her notes with an excitement that screamed nothing to do.

"No, seriously," she agreed. "Like we get it... you can grow shit. Big deal."

That piqued Logan's interest.

With Jean and Scott off on a date, the professor away, and you and Ororo teaching a joint class, he was slapped with library duty—watching the kids during their scheduled study period.

Now, originally, he planned on simply plopping himself down in a corner and puffing his cigar, hoping to fall asleep and just ride out his sentence.

And he was halfway there, too.

But just as he was about to catch some Zs, his hearing picked up on a conversation between two older girls who seemed to be trash talking his girlfriend.

"Word," Maya turned the next page, a grimace settling on her face when she noticed the image of a flower.

One you were very vocal about liking.

"She won't shut up about these stupid lotus flowers either... Hey! Did you guys know that the lotus is considered sacred in many Eastern cultures? And it often symbolizes purity, beauty, and rebirth!"

Talia let out an obnoxious snicker, the impression not nearly as funny as what she was making it to be.

But maybe she just hated you that much...

"You sound just like her," she commended, very much amused. "Only she's always smiling. Like I've never seen her frown before... it's almost creepy."

"Seriously creepy. But Peter can't get enough of it... you know he has a crush on her, right?"

"Seriously?!"

Logan let out a quiet chuckle, tickled by the news.

He'd caught the boy staring at you during a few Danger Room sessions, but didn't think much of it, assuming he'd just caught him while he happened to be looking in your direction.

Oh, how wrong he was...

He couldn't wait to tell you later tonight.

"Mhmm. Half the boys at school nearly fall over themselves to make sure they're not late to her class... It's almost funny."

"Funny, my ass. Why'd it have to be Peter?" Talia huffed, tossing her pencil at the textbook in frustration. "She's not even that pretty. I've had dogs that look better than her."

Maya attempted to muffle a snicker, but Logan heard it loud and clear, his brows furrowing at the horrible comment.

"I'm serious. She puts up this whole nice and innocent act, but I bet she's a raging bitch behind closed doors."

That was it.

All the stuff before was just normal, teenage jealousy; something he'd—albeit reluctantly—let slide.

But calling you out of your name?

Insulting your character?

Comparing you to a dog?

A line had to be drawn.

"Tali, you can't say that," Maya chuckled, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

"Like I care," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I'd tell it to her face if I ever got the chance. Just walk right up to her and say—"

"Say what?"

The girls nearly jumped out their skin, whipping around, only to be met by Logan's arched brow, the man leaning up against a bookshelf as he puffed on his cigar.

They were at a loss for words, unable to say anything under his imposing presence.

"Don't get shy now," he goaded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Go on. Tell me what you're gonna say to Dr. (l/n)."

The two were practically frozen, frantically glancing at each other for assistance, Logan's eyes flicking between the two expectantly.

"Nothing?" he hummed. "That's funny... 'cause you both seemed to have plenty of shit to say earlier."

Both their faces fell almost instantly, the color practically draining from Talia.

"You heard that?" Maya squeaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Every word," Logan nodded. "And what I managed to gather from it was that you both just can't stand her because she's kind, passionate, pretty, and beloved."

He listed each trait off on his fingers, glancing at the two for confirmation.

"How's that? Am I in the ballpark?"

They remained silent, hanging their heads in embarrassment as Logan's confrontation had garnered the attention of the whole library.

"Well, then, how's this..." he pulled the cigar out his mouth. "I'll let you both off this time with a warning... but if I catch either of you trash talkin' anybody again, teacher or student, you're grounded."

"'Til when?" Talia asked, nervously.

"'Til I tell you you're not."

The end of day bell punctuated his statement, a flourish of shutting books and closing pencil cases muffling the girls' sighs of relief.

"Now get outta here."

He had never seen two students pack up so fast.

They were gone in T-minus ten, and once the library was cleared out, Logan allowed himself to sit down, letting out his own sigh.

He could've tore into them infinitely worse—and he honestly wanted to for that dog comment—but he figured that was the right, and legal, amount for a teacher.

But even still...

'I dunno how a girl who can only float two inches off the ground is talkin' about (n/n) havin' a shitty power...'

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

ethereal - spencer reid x fem!reader

upon spencer's long-awaited return from a case, reader dresses up just for him and he gives her a new first

genre: smut wc: 1.8k warnings: soft dom!spencer, sub!reader, reader wears lingerie, mentioned masturbation (f), fingering, praise, squirting a/n: this is two anon requests i decided to put into one! --ty @spencerreidsrightsock for helping me brainstorm<3

It’s not like you to be doing so much for a man. You think of it as silly because it is. If a man really likes you, then you shouldn’t need to dress up for him.

But you really like dressing up anyways.

So here you are. In a see-through negligee that covers only your chest and ends at mid thigh. Below the bust line it’s completely sheer fabric, floating out like a princess’ nightgown only with fully visible panties. The colour white–usually symbolizing purity–makes you seem anything but.

You fear it’s appropriate for the occasion.

Because Spencer rarely is away this long. Usually it’s days–no more than five. This time, it’s been ten.

You know, you know, it’s a tough case, a tricky situation. But you’re needy. You haven’t been this long without him since you started dating. Sure, you could take matters into your own hands like most grown women do, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, he does it better. You can picture it, relive it, but it’ll never be the same. It’ll never beat the feeling of his fingers curling inside you. You’ll never be able to replicate that perfect rhythm he seems to find every damn time.

So you’re worse than usual. The moment the text came through that he was coming home in a few short hours, you essentially rushed to his apartment, but not before remembering the lingerie you purchased after a night of drinking with friends. You slipped it on and couldn’t help but admire yourself. Applause was surely in order for your tipsy self.

It’s not strange for you to be in his apartment when he’s not. Sometimes he’ll text, asking you to meet him at home. It typically means that he wants to see you in his bed as soon as possible. Since you came into the picture, he allowed sex to become a form of stress relief with the added bonus of being close to you. Spencer finds solace in giving you all the pleasure you could ever ask for. You assured him time and time again that being used by him was also pleasing, but he still insists on giving you as many orgasms as you can take.

Your lips freshly glossed, you fix your hair intently. When you hear his key enter the lock, your legs move quicker than it’s safe. The carpet in front of his desk makes for a perfect runway.

Your hands become fists on your hips as you attempt a pose to show off the lingerie he’s never had a chance to see.

“Sorry I’m so late, Emily had to talk to us about a case we’re consulting…” and then he sees you, eyes making their way over every dip of your body and every ripple in the fabric, “is that–uh–new?”

Spencer’s Adam's apple bobs around a gulp as your cheeks heat up. “I ordered it a few months ago.”

“Nice.” The word comes out in a higher pitch than usual, making him clear his throat after.

A few short steps bring him close enough to touch. His hands find the chiffon over your hips. The eyes you love–the ones that you find have memorized you several times over–come down to meet yours. “You look… ethereal.”

It’s definitely demeaning how you look up at him. Doe-ish, wide and sparkling like shimmering glitter. The compliments he loves to shower you in never fail to turn you into nothing. You’re unnecessarily sensitive to his praise.

“Really?” you whisper bashfully, lips curled into a grin.

“Really.”

Your arms wrap loosely around his neck as you lift yourself higher, standing on the tips of your toes to transfer some of the pink gloss from your lips to his. “Do you want to go to bed?” you ask gently.

Spencer nods and lays a kiss to the top of your head. “Go ahead, I’ll be right in.”

As if he commanded you to run as fast as you can, you pad into the bedroom, your bare feet bringing you to the soft mattress so you can climb onto it. You sit on your knees, the bed sinking beneath your weight. Only a few moments later, after shedding his coat and his bag, he finds you. His shoes come off before he’s mirroring your position on the mattress and his mouth connects with yours.

A hand tugs on your hair just enough to make you whine while the other reaches under the negligee to rest on the small of your back. His hand is warm, the rough skin of his thumb making passes as his lips part against yours.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, placing you gently on the pillows. Of their own volition, your knees open to give him room to start lavishing your neck with kisses.

“I missed you, too.” Your hand comes to his head, using his curls as leverage to bring him back up for a kiss. Hot and messy, your tongues collide, ragged breaths coming from both of you.

An insistent but reverent grip lands on your inner thigh. Spencer pushes your leg up, allowing you to hook it around his waist. In-between open-mouthed kisses moving swiftly down your chest, he murmurs a gentle, “you’re so, so pretty.”

Again, you’ve never said you’re strong. A moan desperately falls from your lips. You watch carefully as his eyes glide over your white panties or, more specifically, the small bow on the front of them. As they then lift to meet your starry ones, his fingers find the fabric covering your core.

“Is this okay?”

And you nod.

Any other day, he’d be hellbent on making you say it aloud but, for right now, after so long without you, a simple nod will suffice.

He moves the fabric to the side and gathers the surprising amount of wetness on his fingertips only to drag it upwards and start circling your clit. A buck of your hips makes him grin.

“What do you want?” Spencer asks gently, fingers speeding up, effectively rendering you speechless.

“Uh–fingers?”

He nods, letting two digits slip inside your entrance. The tips of his fingers hit your sweet spot on the first curl, making you whine and clench. “Good girl,” he praises while his other hand strokes the outside of your thigh soothingly.

The slight stretch turns into a throbbing sensation that makes your head spin. With every thrust, his palm hits your sensitive clit. You drip into his hand while whines leave your mouth.

His eyes never once leave your red face. He revels in how your lips part in a silent cry. This moment was only just a part of his reverie when he was away, the lonely hotel room being kept tolerable by every memory he’s accumulated of you since you met. Now that you’re wrapped around him outside of some petulant daydream, he can say everything is perfect.

In a fit of absolute need, your hips grind against his hand. His voice comes in a delicate whisper in your ear, “that’s it… you need more?”

A whine and an eager nod brings upon an instantly quicker pace. Driving into your G-spot, he makes sure to keep a consistent pace that makes your legs shake. It’s this pace that makes you embarrassingly close to coming already.

Your thighs clamp around his hand with force. You babble, barely coherent, “Spencer– I–I can’t… can’t–”

But it seems he couldn’t care at all less because he simply shushes you and places a sticky peck to your mouth. “Yes, you can, you’re doing so good.”

Breathing becomes difficult as his thrusts never once falter. The repeated bruising force against your most sensitive and sweetest point is quick to force you into a suspended state of fog and brain-curdling bliss. You’re uncertain on what the reason is as to why you desperately try to stop his motions but you’re glad he doesn’t let you. Because the moment he hits that spot one more time, you’re severely gone.

His lips leave gentle kisses all over your face as he patiently waits for your high to fall. And when it does, he’s right there to kiss you properly, as if communicating his love for you in a way you’ll understand in your haze.

“Do you think you can give me one more?” he mutters in a question, still pressing sickeningly sweet pecks down your neck.

As tired as your body is from only one orgasm, you crave impossibly more from him. So, you sigh, “yeah.”

Your underwear–the unnecessary barrier it is–is pulled down your legs slowly. After it’s been discarded on the floor, Spencer moves to your side, pulling your leg over his lap. He pulls the negligee further up your stomach before returning his hand to its rightful place between your thighs.

The embarrassing amount of wetness is collected by his fingers and spread over you teasingly. How sensitive you are is obvious by the whimpers slipping out of you uncontrolled. So, when his two digits make contact with your swollen clit, you turn your head and moan into his chest.

“Spencer, please,” you whine.

His free hand rubs circles into your waist. “I got you, baby,” he coos, “it’s okay.”

With no resistance, his fingers slip inside you again, your walls accommodating him immediately. This time, you can already tell, you won’t last long at all. Of course, he presses against your G-spot, but now, without any mercy.

Your core clenches with every rough thrust inside you. His shirt makes for something to muffle your cries.

“Fuck, S–Spencer, I’m gonna come again,” you mumble rapidly against him.

“Yeah?”

An eager nod against his chest seems to make him want to delay your impending orgasm. He takes his fingers out of you to toy with your clit instead. Although a minor setback that makes you whimper, his quickly moving hand moves in circles that bring that pleasure back even more intense.

It builds fast in your lower stomach, so fast your eyes roll back and your hips try to get away. But he’s too consistent. Your walls flutter around nothing as your second orgasm of the evening hits you hard. Spencer’s fingers work you through as you contract against them. A stream of fluid gushes out of your center, successfully soaking the sheets. It’s unfamiliar and something you never knew you were capable of.

The gentle circles he makes on your clit after you come dissipate into nothing as he looks down at you.

You mumble, voice laced with exasperation, “I’ve never done that… before.”

He knew, of course, that you’ve yet to do that with him but he is surprised that this time had been the first in your life.

“No?”

“I’m sorry.”

A surprised and honestly affectionate laugh leaves him. “Why?”

“I made a mess.”

“A mess that can be cleaned. Right now, that’s not something you need to think about.”

You look down at the lingerie you put on for him and smile bashfully, “you really like it?”And he does nothing but nod. “I love it.”

[gghostwriter]

Emails He Didn’t Send

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 1 || Part 2 Summary: Through a series of unsent emails, Spencer laments through the loss of his life. Trope: Angst with an open ending w.c: 2.11k a/n: this marks the last of my ‘three’s a sideshow’ series. I wasn’t planning on making it a mini series I promise but ideas came and i am nothing but a slave to my creativity and readers. Special thanks to @lavenderspence & @thegloryofliterature for reading my unfinished drafts and giving me their opinions. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

[Drafted at 14.02.2019 23:41] 

To: reader@gmail.com

Fr: spencer.reid@gmail.com

Subject: Hey Love

Your favorite song played on the diner’s radio today. You remember which one, don’t you? The one we softly played through your phone’s speaker as we tried to bake your mom’s apple pie from memory during that late night when nightmares plagued my mind. I vividly remember the burnt taste of its’ crust as we were too busy dancing in each other’s arms, under the dim light of our kitchen and the night light, to mind the timer going off.

Sitting on the table, feeding each other what we deemed left edible, and laughing at how faulty your memory could be. It didn’t taste like what you imagined it to be, nostalgia and love, but for me, it was the sweetest treat there was. Being there with you, sheltered inside our apartment, accompanied by your smiles and giggles.

In hindsight, how ironic was it that was our running joke, when my memory is anything but fallible.

I once thought I knew all there was about love. The science behind it—how love actually happens less in the heart and more in the brain where key neurotransmitters such as dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin are released. All these chemical trigger physical responses and in turn feel addictive. As time goes on, connection, commitment and comfortability of the known take over. I’ve known everything about it, read everything about it, and experienced some to an extent—familial and friendship but then, you came along, beautiful, light, and happy, unaware that you’ve dismantled all my beliefs and concepts, making me question the validity of science and making me realize I’ve never truly loved before—the encompassing type of love they describe in books and show in movies. Nothing existed before you and nothing exists after, I know that now. 

Happy Valentine’s Day, love. I’ve spent my day working myself to the bone, doing anything to push the thought away of you and the lack of us. Now, as I hunch over in this wobbling desk in my undisclosed assignment, I can think of nothing but you, the space between us, and the love you’ve defined in the very atom of my being. 

— Spencer

**

[Drafted 01.07.2019 21:16]

To: reader@gmail.com

Fr: spencer.reid@gmail.com

Subject: Flowers 

Communicating through flowers is a forgotten language in the modern times. I’ve read and seen too much classics, minus the existential musings of Dostoyevsky, to have a small knowledge of what each flower meant. Interestingly enough, they each would have a variety of symbolisms and depending on the color, it also changes. 

During our first picnic date, you mentioned the bushes of Hydrangeas your mother would religiously tend over in your backyard. How a subtle change in environment causes them to wilt and how the color of their flowers change, as if they were magic or a game of chance. You liked the concept, admitting right then that they were your favorites due to fond memories. I passed by the library, once I walked you home, and checked out a book for it—plants and its up-keeping never one I gravitated to. I did kill the tiny cactus Garcia gifted me in my early start in the FBI, sadly.

Its’ change in colors are attributed to pH changes in the soil, blue is for acidic and pink is for alkaline. Your mother must have made sure to always keep it pink, a manifestation of her love for you. They do, after all, mean many things like love, gratitude, hope, apologies, and regrets in some Asian cultures.

I left you a bouquet of blues on your doorstep, love, before I had to leave for an assignment I’m still on today. I’ve always gifted you pinks, in every month, and in every anniversary. Did you ask yourself why the change in color? I hoped you did.

The blues bear my sincerity and gratitude in having the chance in loving you. As a kid who grew up with certain circumstances, a father gone, bullies in school, and a mother in need of my care, I never once thought I would have had the chance in love or with someone like you, for that matter. I’m not as smooth or extroverted as Morgan, I could never figure out how he picked up women everywhere we went. I’m not as reliable or authoritative as Hotch, someone who could silence a room filled with testosterone with just his presence. I’m neither of those things but you approached me anyways. 

I keep a single pressed flower from that bouquet in my handkerchief now. The very same one you clumsily embroidered my name on. It has become a talisman of sorts, a connection to you and our past. I’m sorry for breaking your heart and in the process, shattering mine.

Good night and please visit me in my dreams, even just once.

- Spencer

**

[Drafted 15.11.2019]

To: reader@gmail.com

Fr: spencer.reid@gmail.com

Subject: What’s In A Name

There’s a phenomenon that happens in our brain that leads to a perception of increased frequency called the recency bias. Giving greater importance to the most recent or the most known, like how a jury remembers a lawyer’s closing argument rather than the whole hearing. Or like how my brain tunes in when it hears the sound of your name, nickname or not. 

I found myself craning my neck to face some stranger shouting your name, even though the statistic of it being you, where I am now, is a definite zero.

Garcia mentioned she saw you at the local grocery a few nights ago. She brought it up in passing, meaning no harm but possibly also looking for an answer as to why you seemed intent on escaping her presence. It’s been another mistake of mine, I know that now, not divulging the truth as to what had caused our break up.

In all my emails to you, I’ve never did tackle the reason—fearing that I haven’t explained myself well enough and end up pressing send by mistake. By then, there would be no going back.

I had met JJ when I was young, naive, and still green from the academy. She, along with Elle and Garcia, were the first female interactions I had that weren’t hostile or coated with this leer or distrust from me being too different from the rest. They saw me as Spencer, the protege of Gideon, the resident boy genius—an important part of the team. Something I have never experienced, I was, after all, always the last kid chosen during group projects and gym class.

Looking back at it now, I had latched on to that warm feeling of belonging and naively interpreted it as a crush on her. Why not on Elle or Garcia, then? Elle was never on my league—she was too strong-headed, sharp on the edges, something she developed during her time in the Sex Crime division. Garcia was too similar—smart and liked all the same things I did, something I had hoped a sibling would be if my mother had opted for another. That left JJ, who treated me kindly, further warping my notion on romance and emotion.

Then I met you and through a series of unforgettable dates, I knew then that what I had for her wasn’t love. What I had with you was. 

I regret not making it clear for you that you were my first love. You had become an absolute point in my cycle of life. Days and months have gone by and I don’t know what to do with the love left in my heart, still. Briefly I wondered if it would evaporate over time, like water left boiling until there is nothing left, or will it all fade with time, burying itself in my all important beating organ?

The scent of your laundry detergent had long faded from my clothes, no matter how I try to lessen its’ wash, trying to cling to it still. Now all that’s left are my memories and the stale smell of cleanliness.

I miss you, my love. 

I miss knowing you were mine, just like I am still yours.

-Spencer

**

[Drafted 01.01.2020]

To: reader@gmail.com

Fr: spencer.reid@gmail.com

Subject: Happy New Year

The empty space on the crook on my neck misses the feel of your skin burrowing in into mine. It’s a new year and I’m all alone, surrounded by strangers who do not know who I really am—as a person or as an FBI agent. 

As fireworks go off in the night sky and couples and families greet each other a happy new year, my minds wanders to you and how we could be looking at the same sky.

Nostalgia seems to be a bitter trick of the mind, one i could feel myself wanting to sink into its depth—trying to live in the past. Emily sagely advises me to let it go, to move on as you no doubt had, after all, it had been a year now, but I find myself rooted in place as if the earth’s gravity didn’t allow me to.

Time had passed and the atomic beings in me had aged, I question if this is the definite end. Were you the closest I had ever come to a cliche happy ending? If I had noticed the signs in time, maybe we would have still be one.

I never did tell you where we were that night—the real reason why I had been late. In my defense, I didn’t want it to seem to be an excuse, a way to curry your anger. She went with me to pick up your ring that night. Sadly, work got in the way and I had to beg the jewelry store owner, with the help of Garcia tracking him down, to open shop just for me to pick it up. I had it adjusted you see—to fit down your finger.

There are many cultures that have the tradition of making a wish on New Year’s, you were my every wish.

-Spencer

**

His finger hesitated on the right click of his mouse. It had been numerous months of being away from Virginia and everything seemed to have changed without him. Stores that he once frequented were now closed and replaced with something new. Broken down stop lights he vividly remembers were replaced. And the team, once happy and unstained with the darkness of their cases, had aged and become jaded.

Spencer wondered if reaching out was the right thing to do. If reopening old wounds that never healed right would bring some sort of closure. The first night back home, he had caught a glimpse of her, far away and oblivious to his presence. It had brought to mind the urban theory of meeting people twice—how someone who’ve finished their story in his life were bound to never appear again. He’d never put much fate into those beliefs with no scientific backings but as he spied her crossing the street, Spencer found himself believing it, imploring it to be real. 

He sighed under his breath, eyes tracking the simple note he had written down. 

To: reader@gmail.com

Fr: spencer.reid@gmail.com

Subject: Hello

Hi. I hope this finds you well. Will you be open to talk? Just talk.

There’s no need to reply right now or even at all, for that matter.

If yes, I will be waiting at our coffee shop, the one you shared just with me, by the window this coming Saturday afternoon.

But if the burden is too much or you simply never want to see me again, I would understand.

Perhaps, now is my turn to wait for you restlessly. A penance two years too late.

-Spencer

He steeled his nerves before pressing ‘send’. The beating of the organ in his chest threatens to swallow him whole. Who he was could change within a couple of days—there now would be a definite ending to their story. 

Her Polaroid picture was still tacked on his work station, faded but her smile was still the same—warm and inviting. She lingers all around, ring still in his drawer, as if she might return. As if these memories and mementos can summon her back in his arms.

“Reid,” Emily called out. “We’ve got a case.”

He nodded, quickly leaving his desk to head straight to the conference room, unaware of the single unread message left in his inbox.

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

Request taglist for this series: @mega-kittyglitter-1 @ozwriterchick @flyingwithsilly @timewontgivemetime @vani3 @babyspiderling @alexa554 @ivet4 @starbright1002 @lunaryoongie @casey1-2007 @cherryblossomfairyy @iovediary

[piracytheorist]

So about that grenade pin...

On first glace, this is certainly a top-notch proposal scene. A spy and an assassin, who are hiding their identities from each other, arranging their marriage for mutual benefit while fighting criminals, and the proposal ring coming out of a grenade pin, followed by an explosion from said grenade behind them? It's so absolutely badass and fun and as wacky as the story goes.

But I also like over-analyzing this story and making that everyone's problem, so I would like to share with you my thoughts on the symbolism of that gesture.

1. It's unconventional.

Twilight's original plan was to use the diamond ring from the repossessed artifacts to propose to Yor. In his mind, he wanted to create a family that's as conventional as it gets, in the hopes that it won't attract too much attention. Losing that diamond ring is a sign by the narrative that there was actually no chance this family would be anything but extraordinary. A grenade pin is not only unconventional for a proposal ring, it's also the result of impulsive thinking, of using what he has on hand.

Over time, this family will cause Twilight especially to act more impulsive than he's used to. All three of them will also be able to be themselves within this family, without putting any acts - Yor has already started feeling more confident than what she started as. There won't be any need for fancy diamond rings, or for any part of the family to be the perfect husband, wife or daughter. They will feel free to be themselves and know that they won't be judged for their secrets.

2. It represents the life of violence both Twilight and Yor are living.

Being in dangerous situations, protecting themselves from such dangers, and killing people is by now second nature to both of them. Throwing a grenade at a group of thugs after them is nothing out of the ordinary for them. It's very fitting to connect that with the thing that brought them together - the mutual need for a cover spouse.

But it also represents a truth; Twilight lies to Yor about the reason why he's being pursued by murderous thugs, and Yor lies to Twilight about how she became so good with self defence tactics. There's a TON more violence in their lives than they let on. The grenade ring is kind of a symbol of all that violence they're hiding from each other, and almost like an admittance of it, from the narrative at least.

3. Despite its catastrophic nature, it's a gesture of defence.

Twilight might have stolen back the stolen art pieces, but getting shot at by the first thieves was not a fair retribution. Plus, they weren't shooting just at him, they were also shooting at Yor, without knowing for sure whether she was an accomplice or not. She did kick a few of them unconscious but neither that nor taking the art pieces back guaranteed the death penalty. So he was acting out of defence when he threw the grenade at the people shooting at him AND Yor. Yor, on her own, only attacked a thug when she saw he was directly targeting Loid, so she was also acting in (self) defence.

And this parallels the reason behind their motivation for their jobs; Twilight wants to stop a war from happening and to avoid all the pain and casualties brought by one, and Yor wants to stop violent people from causing pain to her family or other innocent people. It is dirty work, without any consideration of their own innocence and well-being, but it's one they do for someone else's peace and safety.

That's what that grenade did. It killed the thugs, but it kept both of them safe.

4. They're a match of weirdos.

I don't think I need to point out how downright wacky it is for someone to propose with a grenade pin. We joke like "If my significant other doesn't propose to me like this they shouldn't even bother" or something, and it's a good joke, but in reality we would be horrified to see someone pull a pin from a grenade, throw it at a group of people, then propose to us with that same pin while those people are being blown to pieces right next to us. We would also be horrified at the prospect of us being the person to pull the pin and propose like that.

Yet neither Twilight nor Yor find any of this weird in the slightest. Twilight doesn't hesitate for a second to use the pin as a proposal ring while he's reciting his vows to her, and Yor accepts it wholeheartedly and even looks at him with admiration, not even worrying about the fact that this near stranger is holding her hands in his - a kind of proximity that would normally cause a violent reaction from her.

Not only is neither of them weirded out by the whole situation, not only do they not suspect the other might find this whole thing weird... their inner thoughts even match here. Cause the main feeling in that moment, for both of them, is a kind of relief that their plan for a cover spouse was successful, much faster and much easier than anticipated, and a security that they don't have to fake their feelings to each other. Until Twilight's mission and Yor's real job do them part.

I can't be certain how much of all that was intentional, but it was fun looking for what that grenade pin could symbolize. And I'm always down for an excuse to go meta on this story :D

(anime only here, don't spoil me for the manga)

[dcxdpdabbles]

The Summoned Demon Part 4

#Holiday Requests I would love updates to Child Support, The Summoned Demon, and Passion For Fashion

Danny had no idea where he was.

No one around him could understand what he was saying, and he couldn't read anything either. After running through the suburbs, Danny had made his way on foot into the large city. There was nothing familiar about where the cults had summoned him to.

Everything looked wrong. The clothes, the cars, the street ads, and even the people. He stood on the side of a corner, attempting to make heads or tails of his surroundings, but people passed by him like water in a river.

It must have been the fact he was covered in dirt.

Thankfully, a group of teens had been willing to stop his frantic shouting. One girl had snapped her fingers, then waved rectangular screens at him- What was that thing?- speaking into it.

The rectangular screen spoke in what he thinks is a different language, but not anything Danny could understand. Her face fell but she seemed determined to get him to talk into her rectangle. When he did, it gave her soft buz like the ones that are played on game shows where a constant gets a wrong answer.

The girl had looked at her companions, utterly lost, until one of them stepped forward and started playing charades. There were a lot of vague hand motions and desperate gestures when he attempted to explain his situation, and the children were able to direct him to the police station.

No one on staff was able to translate what he was saying. However, they did seem mighty alarmed by how he was covered in dirt and speaking a foreign language. They had given him some water and a change of clothes and sat him in a room with a two-way mirror. Danny felt safe knowing the authorities were on his side, sipping his water at the little table while he waited.

Time moved slowly when more and more police officers entered, attempting to establish communication with him. They placed a list of writing in front of him, each line a different symbol, and he knew they were meant to be a language.

The aging man with white streaks, dusting his red hair, adjusted his glasses, then pointed to the first sentence on the list. He said something slowly, patting his chest with an open palm, then pointing more determinedly at the line.

"Is that your language?" Danny asks, scanning the lines and realizing he can't read one. He shakes his head "I'm sorry I don't understand."

The old man frowns and then stands. He places a chocolate bar on the table- or what Danny thinks is one, but he can't read what it says, and it's quickly becoming frustrating how much that's happening- before heading out of the room. A few more minutes go by when a man wearing one of the police uniforms but a long, more outdated one walks through the door.

Danny blinks up at him as the man carefully considers his face. He avoids looking at the bullet holes decorating the cop's chest. "Wow, you seem pretty young. Wonder what you did to get old Gordon to personally question you?"

Danny chances a look at the two-way mirror before muttering. "I didn't do anything, sir. I got kidnapped."

The man turns around, arms still folded over his chest, but the second he realizes the door has remained firmly shut, he whirls around, gawking at Danny. "You can see me?"

"Yes, sir. I'm half ghost on my mother's side." He jokes but still maintains a level of respect. The Fentons joked around often, but they always respected those in service until the person proved unworthy of the uniform.

"Holy shit!" The policeman laughs. "I don't think you can pass something like that down the family tree, kid."

Danny cracks a smile. "You be surpirse."

"Guess I am. Who knew I would be shocked twice after my death?!" The man's jolly laugh makes Danny relax just a little. He doesn't even mind that the ghost's heaving chest is splatting a few drops of red on the table. "Haven't laughed like that in years. By the way, kid, my name is Alex. Alex Anderson."

"I'm Danny Fenton." Danny smiles, offering his hand for a shake. Alex hesitates, reaching out only to have his face brighten when he makes solid contact and eagerly pumps their joint limbs up and down. "It's nice to meet you, sir."

"Pleasure is all mine." Alex claps his hands, settling- somewhat as he goes slightly through the metal- in the chair opposite Danny. He laces his fingers under his chin and offers another impish grin. "So what's this about a kidnapping?"

Danny straightens, rapidly recapping his last few days. Alex doesn't interrupt, listening with an intensity that tells Danny he's being taken seriously even if he's still smiling like there is nothing wrong in the world. When Danny is done, he has to take a breath and top off his drink as Alex considers his words.

"That's a rough couple of days, Kid," Alex says at the end, leaning more on his hands. Danny nods sadly, feeling utterly exhausted. He's not sure where the nice older man went, but no one had come to check up on him for a while, and he's starting to feel cagy.

Alex considers him a little longer before throwing his head back with a sigh. "Alright. I guess I need to help you escape. I feel too guilty if I just let Gordon hand you over."

"What?"

Alex stands, pretending to stretch his arms over his head. He nods to the two-way mirror, clicking his tongue at it. "Yeah, Gordon called Batman a while ago when they were trying to figure out your language. This place will be swarming with vigilantes and their magic users any minute now."

"Batman?" Danny repeats, rising to his feet. "What's Batman?"

"The guy who put you in that cave cage." Alarm fills Danny's veins as he realizes that this whole time, the police were setting him up to be returned to the cultist. Was the entire city in on this!? "Normally, I wouldn't be making deals with people Gordon deems unsafe, but given that you're half ghost, I've chosen to ignore my morals in solitary."

"But why?! Why would they give me back to them!?" He demands, rising to his feet and backing away until his back hits a wall.

"I was Gordon's first partner," Alex tells him, gesturing at his chest. "I died to make sure the idiot got back to his wife and kids. Ever since he's done everything he could to make Gotham safe. As much as Batman makes me uneasy, he is doing a good job cleaning this place up and doing what I can't do anymore. I'm trapped inside this building, but I've seen the bats plenty of times, so I know they are not dangerous. I also know they will shoot first or ask questions later; this is your only chance to get away until you can establish communication. Take it."

Alex gestures to the wall behind Danny. "Can you faze through?"

Danny lets himself sink through the stone just as the door is kicked up, and three cops rush in with raised guns. He ends up in another interrogation room- because that's where he was. They had not placed him somewhere safe; they had set him up for capture- where a man handcuffed to the table screams. Danny apologizes desperately, trying to get the guy to stop yelling, as Alex yanks him by the collar of his shirt.

"No time for manners, Kid! You have to get out of the building. Bat's just landed on the roof!" Danny races through the walls, ignoring the people who shout and scatter at his sight until Alex leads him straight out of the building. The ghost stops behind a window, where chains had manifested and wrapped around him, preventing him from going forward.

Alex doesn't seem to pay them any mind as he points in a direction. "Head that way until you see a giant clown. The Joker is currently in custody, but his old hideout has thousands of ghosts. Someone is bound to know what to do. If that fails, follow the road with the white bricks to Old Gotham. Lots of Magic is rooted there. Maybe you'll find something."

"How do you know that?"

"My mom was a professional card reader. I inherited some of her ability to sense the paranormal, and trust me when I say Old Gotham always felt cursed." Alex pauses before tilting his head. "If you ever get to talk to Gordon, tell him I forgive him. And the key to our treasure is at our old hideout. Tell him I still love him even if he picked her."

Danny's eyes fill with water. "I promise."

"Good." There was a loud thump as a man in a trench coat raced down the hallway, aiming his glowing hands at Danny. Alex threw himself before the bright yellow beam, spreading his arms wide as he made a shield. For a second, Danny's vision overlaps with a similar image of Alex blocking a young redhead man in the same position. "Now go, Kid!"

Danny shifts into Phantom, flying at his top speed without further comment. Behind him, he hears someone with a British accent swear, and Alex's cries of pain nearly cause him to forget to turn intangible when he flies through traffic.

There had to be some way he could find a living person who understood him

_____________________________________________________

"What happened?" Bruce demands as John pushes something in a jar. Since it looks like an impressive mime trick, he's fairly sure it's actually a ghost causing problems for the Brit.

"Bloody demon had help from a human soul," The blond grunted, grabbing at the air. "Stubborn one that seemed convinced it was helping a child."

"Why?"

"Hmm?"

Bruce feels his eyebrow twitch but remains impassive overall. Right now, he's Batman, and Batman does not let emotions cloud his mind. "Why would a ghost think it was helping a child? Demons can't hide their nature from paranormals. John, are we chasing a child?"

"Normally, I would say, yeah, the thing is a child, but this one isn't your average spook. It's powerful. You saw it, right? The demon shifted forms, and I couldn't even see its second form until the two bright rings of light. If it could fool me into thinking the human flesh suit was its real form, it can easily fool a ghost."

"If it's so powerful," Tim cuts in, walking towards the pair with a floating hologram from his wrist. The integration room security camera plays on it, displaying the demon calmly sipping water. "Then why didn't it escape before? All it did for three hours before Gordon was alerted was wait."

John frowns at the camera, sealing the jar with a wax melt. "That is odd. Normally, things on that power level do everything, but be calm."

Bruce didn't like this. They had lost something powerful in his city; it had evaded detection only to waltz right into custody, where it had just as easily escaped. They had also confirmed that the demon was visiting the children previously offered to him as sacrifice.

First, there was young Jack, then Molly, who had attempted to help him with a translation app. The girl didn't seem to consider otherworldly language was untransltable. She behaved as if the demon with its harsh, raspy voice and chilling presence was not there to harm her.

In fact, when Steph interviewed her, the teenager insisted that the demon seemed lost and frightened.

Which one was the truth? His experts of the supernatural or the signs that the possible demon was dropping. That it was just a lost child terrified out of his mind?

Bruce had too many questions and not nearly enough to get any kind of answers. They needed to capture the boy again.

[jazeswhbhaven]

He Can Match Your Freak | Asmodeus Selfie Spoilers

OKAY sooo FINALLY I'm posting this lol it's probably going to be like two parts maybe??? Let's see how this goes because I'm learning to not post thousands of screenshots unless it's relevant.

First. I'm skipping the prologue because most have seen it, and I'm doing a different thing with that anyway.

SOOO it's gonna be a crash course ya'll with jumping right in when MC is in his room about to get them cheeks clapped.

He wants to know more about MC because of what he's heard and well he wouldn't be wrong here. MC apparently is quite the deviant. And you can tell the writers tried to describe him as majestic and breathtaking as possible because the way MC sees him is similar to how they see Leviathan.

Until they said this mess.

G I R L WH A T

Even Asmo was like ???? But he has a sense of humor so he just laughed it off which I mean okay yes as if he would care about that phrase being weird.

But MC out here actin' up once a g a i n. lol

But also they mention his body odor keeps wafting over in MC's nose clearly yeah because not only them pheromones' but uh anyways we'll get to that part later

And MC was just like covering their nose and is like "this is dangerous" and for me ya'll?

I'd be afraid to offend him by saying he smells ripe which I'm sure he wouldn't be offended because I'm not sure what would offend him at this point in time.

So big boi puts a sigil on MC's body similar to a womb tattoo which is why he said "be surprised you aren't pregnant" but this symbol makes you into his "female" no matter the gender. He goes to say it nicely that you're his "virgin" though.

And with that, most of what's happening is that MC is feeling the effects of Asmo without him even doing much of anything just yet. The feelings of having climaxed multiple times over, hazy, losing your goddamn mind.

That sort of thing.

Baby I would have cried on the spot. What do you mean be your companion?

Yup he asked MC to not only be his one night stand but to basically be his and that he thinks he could fall in love with them.

He says that he can fall in love at first sight despite his reputation. And also he mentions MC is his third love. First was Solomon (rejected him and wouldn't tell him who it is he was in love with) and two his late wife who was a witch and it's their children/descendants who are the Unholyc that inhabit Earth.

I'mma be honest with ya'll I didn't finish Lovely Unholyc because I was mostly interested in William, there was no route for him at that time so I just kinda dipped, tried again and then dipped lol

oh btw he apparently just straight up wanted to yap about him clapping Solomon's cheeks and getting his cheeks clapped back and how many damn positions they did and I'm trying to wrap my head around what the fuck they did because at one point surely they were on the ceiling or floating mid-air, like I don't even know

But his wife who chose to live on Earth and grow old and die normally put a curse on his soul. He can love and fuck whoever he wants and should never be lonely but he can't have any more children. If he does, they die, and he dies along with the partner he made them with. (the fall of the house of usher vibes)

AND let me just say? That woman did the world a favor because he has a breeding kink. We'd have a whole universe full of little Asmo halflings running around. So either it was her being possessive or just her sparing the world of that burden then yeah thank you for that because phew.

i don't need no babies anyways

And he says the same thing like "Oh we can leave other things other than babies, like photos of us in a mess" meaning he really meant when he said he wanted to participate in the contest.

I mean he would have won so I think it's fair to give the others a chance. Lol

So things are getting hot and heavy now and he's wondering why MC is holding back. Honestly I'm like huh he did say that he turns you into a virgin and not everyone is confident when being presented with the chance of a lifetime to fuck the embodiment of lust.

But at the same time I mean...MC this is your element and you are pretty much striking out. (not to him but to me you are)

SO I complied all of these because this is important. Asmodeus is literally combining all of their philias and using them on MC and he's quite good at it. And well, why wouldn't he be?

And he even goes to strangle and lick up MCs tears?

Yeah we know what he's about.

His tongue did what now?

his tongue did what now

his tongooooooooooooo

Anyways I short circuited there because everything about him is just driving me nuts.

MC even said they were coming by him just kissing them and I'm like hold up??????

I fucking bet.

Okay ya'll picked the nastiest ass stuff for him to mention but I get it. Congrats if ya'll have things you're self conscious about during sex Asmo's your demon because he literally won't care and will still be turned on.

Ayo.

Moving on....LMAO

And uh...Asmo was licking MC's snot and spit off their face and they came again.

I'm drowning in a sensory nightmare why is he so h o t but this is nastttyyyyyy

"I can always go hard whenever I feel like fucking the opponent"

Sir what? He just be sayin' anything

But he does ask MC what do they want...and they just smack the fuck out of him so there's that. Lol

I would tell him I'd very much like that mouth on the kewchie. I don't even need anything else just his mouth. His jaw probably can go for days.

Now MC is making deduction here that Asmo is the king of lust and seduction and can pass this feeling on to others. He's dangerous this way.

Now Asmo how do you know that.

Tell me sir HOW (I think I know the answer....but I'd be hella surprised that Belphie would let him hit unless he was watching him...)

But mostly what's happening is that MC is feeling what Asmo feels basically the same spiel as the other kings except with him it's intense to the point where they are quite literally about to pass the fuck out. And Asmo ain't about to stop momentum so you better stay awake MC.

NOW YA'LL.

Bullet point times:

MC has climaxed pretty much several times and they haven't even fucked properly yet

But wait, their clothes are off and....

Bam they notice that Asmo's cock is pretty much halfway in their hole and they haven't even noticed

All he did was push himself to the hilt and MC squirted ya'll

So there's that.

But the womb tattoo is doing it's job because now the climaxes are back to back, and I'm just wondering how the hell MC is still mentally there because I'd be a babbling mess.

Yes daddy.

he makes me SICK (lovingly)

But also they mention the liquid he was feeding MC had a horrible smell and I'm just like oh fucking gawd please get rid of my sense of smell before sleeping with him because I would not make it. Why is everything having to do with him smell so much? LOL

LMAO

MC was begging for his dick and Asmo is like, baby it's already in are you okay?

I'm crying

Yeah remember those memes about people getting high and saying they were vacuuming the dishes?

I imagine that's what it's like having sex with him. One minute you're on the bed next you're in another dimension, floating, transcending, melting, legs bent in impossible shapes. Indeed I am mopping the lawn.

He even mentioned they've done it like six times already and he's just getting started.

with a face like that? phew.

Oh so he does have a good pull out game.

btw the visual for that???? GAWDDDDDDD -> look here

So let me back up a bit and mention that MC was feeling insecure that since they have been doing it for quite some time (2 days I think?) they thought he wasn't satisfied. Nah he was just savoring the moment. He could come at any time. ANd when he does? It's alot and from his horn and everything. Cum fountain.

And best part? No refractory period. He's already hard and slamming that thang back in.

Also he mentions here that there's a smell, and he's getting really worked up.

Yeah he's tearing that up. Like it's overtime ya'll.

There's purple smoke and a erotic aura in the air, he's grabbing and biting down on the back of MC's neck to claim them? Oh he's going in.

Alright here we go.

And just so ya'll know...sorry male MC players....the same line is used in ya'lls version too. No change.

This is the point where I would of preferred perhaps something else be said entirely instead. I know the majority of players are women/non-men but...I can see someone playing and getting side swept like?????

But anyways let's move on past this point

Until the room stank is an understatement.

But anyways, while MC is trying to somewhat calm down, Asmo is still trying to keep the momentum. And MC starts trying to have a normal conversation and figuring out why devil's fear him the most.

But also mentioned they wanted to shove his nasty, greasy, bodily fluid covered hair up their hole. E x c u s e the fuck outta me?

AN Y W AY S

Mc figures that the reason the devils fear him is because of this. Imagine falling for someone like this? Who is nothing but the sole reason existence of lust and temptation where you could fuck for hours and reach pleasure centers unknown and yet have that all be taken away when he leaves? There's no love? No sweet nothings? Just being used up and tossed without any direction and you're just in the dark?

welp.

But Asmo does offer MC some comfort

He tells them that he's back in Hell so he will be around more often. It won't be painful, that it's okay to start slow and that MC would wait for him when he's ready to fully accept his feelings. He could fall in love with them not that he was already in love with them. But with how he's considering him as a companion, how he's biting and claiming them, the amount of time he's spending with MC.

mind you he left Phenomenon on the floor the moment he entered the meeting room so I imagine they weren't fucking for very long at all. I imagine all of his sessions with others are "quick" and for those he really likes they last longggg like days.

Not mention he on that yandere vibes....telling MC he'd lock them up in a cage but he'll deal with it for now.

And apparently when he gives a sincere command, it must be followed. So MC basically ends up getting dressed, not whining about leaving, and all that good stuff. A true dom in that sense.

Also he mentions that when he's nearby MC will just get turned on automatically. "Your body will scream that your man is here"

why is that so hot?

So MC is back in Gehenna and this is when Asmo starts reminiscing about Solomon who predicted that he'd see MC in the future and that he would know that he feels at the moment for Solomon is not 'love'.

I wonder if Asmodeus was just helplessly losing himself for Solomon, and pepaw clocked that and was just telling him to chill on it for a bit. Although it is fucking WI L D to me that he is going to try this again with his friend's descendant..."hey I'm a friend of your grandpa...soooo yeah let's fuck and fall in love"

Sounds weird when I put that way huh? lol

Also since we're at the end I'd like to highlight some personality things about him!

He plays too much: Taking a photo of himself and MC sleeping and sending it to Satan knowing he'd storm immediately to the room

He doesn't have self doubt, he is very much full of himself but is considerate of his partner given the circumstances

He is not into aftercare, he claims that part is included during the sex, if sex is over then it's over

He doesn't shower ya'll. Like at all. But he oddly keeps his nails clean and that's about it? He seems to be obsessed with sex funk

He really likes Mammon. Like a lot. But he does that thing where he's like "Nah I want him to want me so I won't give him what he wants" lol okay

He fucks pillows, pretty much inanimate objects if he feels like it

He has a sense of humor

Romance is not absent, it's just tricky for him since all that's all his brain is "breed breed breed breed sex sex sex breed breed breed oh lets pause for a break sex sex sex kissing sex sex breeding biting"

He loves his children though. He really is a fatherly devil. He beams about his kids and this is a moment where you can catch him not being sexual

It comes to no surprise that he doesn't like the idea of sharing his favorite person but it has me think that his style of relationship is that he's monogamous but if you want to occasionally bring someone to "play" with he won't mind as long as it's discussed and he gets to fuck them too

He's got a one track mind, but it's not like he can't carry on a conversation

Now for my

T H E O R I E S

Asmo is older than all of the kings, but younger than Lucifer

I am reaching in the dark but it seems the only King he's had sex with or has watched have sex is Belphie

He's only in love with MC because he's taking a opportunity that wasn't given to him with Solomon

There's most likely a loophole to his curse that his late wife left on him but he simply chooses not to break it

If the Kings fight together along with Asmodeus, the war would be over, and if we ever get a final battle chapter it's going to be MC who is the missing "key" and the one who figures that out is Asmo because he spent so much time with Solomon

We may get a cameo from one of his children in the story

Asmodeus is possibly capable of lying and just hasn't revealed that to anyone. I say this because if he was one of the very early devils created he is the exception to the rule. So there could be some secret he knows.

BUT wow it seems that I have compiled ALL of this into one post. YAY FOR ME. Now there may be more little blurbs popping up as I remember them but for nowwwwww~ Thank you for reading, hopefully you grabbed some snacks, and ya'll are amazing. Feel free to let me know ya'lls thoughts if you haven't said already on our stinky hot devil man <3 lol

[kaiser1ns]

#. GIVE ME WHAT I WANT

featuring 𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝗹 𝗸𝗮𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

fluff. he allowed himself to feel something he rarely did, peace and love because with you he got everything he wants.

happy birthday to my lover boy kaiser !! and happy christmas everyone !!

More awake inside of his dreams, the loneliness suits him better as he remains the only star in this cruel world. He doesn’t know what he wants but it’s not this, these sugar-coated words don't mean anything when he says them with his lips, tongue rolling with venom when he sees the faces of despair, experiencing the depth of a person’s soul when they have been put in their place. The moment people give up and are left hopeless, desperate for salvation, sacrificing their talent for more tedious lives — they are weak, more or less dead.

Impossible. He hates and loathes upon hearing that word coming out of someone's mouth, which makes him want to prove himself even more. Nothing is impossible. He was the weak person who gave up at any given chance, curling up into a ball to disappear and become invisible, embracing what is dearest to him in all the vast space, a planet that shines brighter than any star, emitting its own light basking in the gravity of football.

I don't know what I want but I know it's not this… A blue rose on his neck traced down with chain-like intertwined thorns that made their way to the crown on his left hand. To remind himself, to never again fall into that weak mindset, a dark and deep rabbit hole that won’t lead you to Wonderland but straight to execution, and it's ‘Off with your head!’. A symbol that shows the impossible, he is the symbol itself, not the tattoo.

Was that really you next to me? It’s cold even under the blanket, it's cold because it's winter … But it’s warm when you kiss him, it’s warm when you love him. Sometimes it makes him sad when he receives a gift because he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react. It’s his birthday and he doesn’t like it. Christmas lights, a decorated apartment, food on the table, and a woman full of love. Giving him what he wants, then again who is he supposed to please?

“Don't you like it, my love? I-I can always return it if you don't…” Kaiser tried to play it off, masking his emotions behind his usual arrogance. But with you, he was different—less rude, less cold. His eyes lingered on the gift he had just unwrapped: golden rings. Promise rings, you had said with a soft smile, assuring him that nothing could ever tear you apart. Yet, your expression betrayed you—your face was full of sadness and regret. It hurt him more than he cared to admit, more than anything else ever could.

He watched as you looked down, fidgeting with your hands, retreating into yourself. You had given him so much more than he deserved. You gave him what he needed the most: a dream to hold on to.

Then, you felt it—his colder, larger hands settling gently atop yours. For someone usually so brash, the touch was rather gentle and tender. He turned your hand palm up, brushing his thumb over your knuckles before sliding the ring onto your ring finger. An arrogant young man with a superiority complex, Kaiser had always been a fortress of pride and self-importance. But beneath it all, he was just a boy yearning to be loved. “I never said anything like that, Engel,” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. "I’m just… not good at this stuff, okay? Birthdays and gifts, they’re not my thing. Never have been."

He tilted his head, studying your face. His usual smirk returned, but it was softer now, almost boyish. Kaiser knows you are doing this with pure intentions, he knows he has ben truly blessed not on this day, but the day he met you. And even if he hides it, you can see the little boy's eyes waiting to hear those three words.

“I love you,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, your lips met his, the warmth of your touch seemed to catch him off guard, and he instinctively stepped back. You both paused, glancing up—mistletoe. A sweet kiss for the birthday boy. A loving kiss for the gift you’d received from the universe. His lips were softer than you expected, and he tasted faintly of your lipstick, a reminder of just how sweet your kisses were. He loves you too. You are everything he could ask for: pretty, smart, loving, and caring. You are his.

As he kissed you back, his hands found your waist, pulling you closer. The motion brought him off balance as he hit the edge of the bed, pulling you down with him. You landed on top of him, both breathless, laughter spilling into the space between your lips.

“Time to unwrap your other present~” you teased as you caressed his face, and he felt the golden ring pressing to his cheek.

On days like this, angels are said to come alive. But you were born one—his angel, his most precious treasure. For someone who believed the world to be cruel, who found pleasure in proving everyone else wrong, you were the exception to all his rules. You made him want to be better, not for the world, but for you. Who am I supposed to please? He asked, more to himself than to you, repeating the question that haunted him. His answer was clear now. It wasn’t about the world, the people who doubted him, or even his old self. It was you. It had always been you.

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[writingangst]

Friendly Fire

Summary: The aftermath of Simon Riley's paranoia has left the reader with an inner battle of holding onto her anger or making room for forgiveness.

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Warnings: mentions of violence and torture, angst, cursing, hurt/no comfort.

Words: 1.3K

Part One

I wasn't planning on posting on this account except for that one off, but since a lot of people liked it, I'm down to give you guys more angst. So, enjoy. (Also, if you want to request anything be sure to message me.)

Whispers and lingering stares were a part of your day to day since you and Ghost got back from the extraction mission. The barracks were filled with theories, the team making assumptions to make sense of the bruising you wore like a collar around your neck. As if you were some damn dog, beaten into submission. You hated every second of being on display and serving as a symbol of what they thought had to have been insubordination.

She must’ve mouthed off to the Lieutenant.

Poor girl was probably put in her place. 

Because Simon Ghost Riley couldn’t do any wrong. Surely the woman must’ve misbehaved to deserve being put in a life-or-death situation by someone she trusted. You couldn’t calm the anger that stubbornly sat in your chest. You wanted to scream. You wanted him in the same position you were in. You wanted the fucking bruising to go away so everyone could stop talking about it, reducing you into a fucking victim.

You were a Goddamn soldier.

Ghost on the other hand had been quiet. Even more so than usual. You would catch his eyes roaming the patches of dark purple and blue he painted on your skin from time to time, turning away when he noticed you looking back at him, your expression stoic. You could sense the tension. The regret. The nasty gut feeling assumed to be guilt swallowing him whole. 

He’d never felt that way before.

It wasn’t a part of your lives. You got jobs done that would make any normal person weep for years. Trauma so consuming, veteran suicide rates were in increase and violent crimes committed by them going up as well. You had no room for guilt or regret. You were machines. It was in the job description, under the fine print. There wasn’t an option to dwell on things, it was either keep pushing or people could die in your line of work. 

Yet Ghost was stuck on that feeling.

And it was becoming harder to ignore. You saw the way his fingers twitched when you flinched from any sudden movement. The quietness that overtook the space when you stepped into any room he was in, like everything suddenly became too heavy to bear. You wanted to laugh from the bitterness of it all. This was the same man that had threatened your life. And for once, it seemed like the monster that made him who he was couldn’t hide behind the skull mask.

You couldn't decide which one was worse though. The silence or the moments you caught him struggling with himself and what he did. But the worst part. The thing that kept you up at night, tossing and turning in a bed that felt more like a grave… Was that you had started feeling sorry for him. For the way his dark eyes would catch yours when you least expected it, as if they were silently begging for forgiveness you didn’t know if you could offer him.

Maybe that was the worst part. There being a chance to be able to forgive, but never forget. Missing his touch and dreading it all the same. The way he tainted something both of you needed. Severing a conection both physical and emotional. Needing him and hating him. It was the same fight within yourself and it made you angry, until you began yearning again. Your own personal hell, a cage he viciously hand crafted to fit you.

I hate you, Ghost. 

It was a mantra. Maybe soon you would start to believe it.

But as night fell on the fourth night, the repetition wouldn’t preserve your sanity. The common area was eerily quiet, devoid of any operative in your wing. The faint hum of the overhead light was the only sound as you sat on the worn couch, eyes scanning the documents in your hands. They were sending you out again. A covert operation. Then, the bitter taste of reality hit you again as you saw his name typed out on the call sheet under personnel.

I hate you.

“I’m sorry.”

You jumped instictivley at the sound of his voice, your head jerking in his direction, slightly to your left, standing within the door frame. His words were clumsy, raw, but there was hesitation in his tone. Like he was scared. Scared of what he did, scared of what you thought of him now. The silence between you both stretched like a taut wire, brittle and poised to snap.

For a fleeting moment, something in your chest softened—a crack in the icy wall you’d built between the both of you. But it was brief. So brief. The softness evaporated almost as quickly as it came, replaced by the old familiar coil of tension in your gut. You straightened, pulling your walls back up.

“So, he speaks.”

“I didn’t want to push you,” he said, his gruff accent thick with something unspoken—uncertainty, regret? You weren’t sure anymore.

You laughed bitterly. “But choking me out is fine.”

Your words were sharp and unforgiving. A hard accusation that was meant to hit him in the chest. The tension was unbearable now, like the moment might snap any second. He didn’t move though, didn’t back down. But you saw it—his jaw tightening, his fists clenching at his sides, the way his eyes flickered to the ground. The frustration was there, the guilt too, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. He was struggling, you could see it.

He hesitated. “I fucked up.”

Raw. Unpolished.

But you weren’t so forgiving.

“You think?” You spat back, your voice filled with sarcasm, every word laced with the bitterness you couldn’t shake.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to excuse any of it. I was a paranoid motherfucker and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

His words landed heavier than you expected. You almost wanted to let you anger slip. To take the edge off, to relax into the moment, maybe even believe him. But you couldn’t. You’d betrayed yourself by awarding him with your forgiveness. Your nostrils flared at the turmoil you felt in your chest, your fingers digging into the documents in your hands with a fierce grip as you attempted to counterfocus the tightness.

“I don’t know what to do to make this right,” he confessed, knowing his words weren’t right. And they never could be. They didn’t carry the weight of what he had done. “I rarely ever apologize. If ever.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “So that should make me feel special?”

“Hardly,” he stated, wincing at your sarcasm, the impact of your words sinking into him like a punch. “I’ve made an even bigger mess of this. I can’t fix it. I know I can’t. I just—” 

—miss you.

You could almost hear it in the rawness of his voice, in the way he faltered. The silence was heavier with the words he didn’t dare utter hanging there. And that just made the anger swell in your chest. The more he held back, the more it stung, the more it fed your fury. The air felt thick around you. Heavy. Your breath shallow, your chest tight, and every beat of your pulse was a reminder of everything he had done. Everything he hadn’t done.

“Yeah?” You locked your gaze with him, the intensity in your eyes unflinching, your voice colder than you thought you could manage. It was steady, but laced with an undeniable edge. “Well, I fucking hate you, Ghost.”

The words slipped out, more venomous than you intended, but they felt good to say. They felt earned. You could see it in his eyes—the flicker of hurt, the way his shoulders slumped a fraction, as though your words physically struck him. But he didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to defend himself. He couldn’t. Not anymore.

The silence stretched, thick and unbearable, but it was better than what had come before. At least now there was nothing left to say.

Nothing left to break.

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

A couple of things that I love and adore about Sylus ♡♡

(For even more things, go here)

His eyes. They are so beautiful and expressive. They so often convey his inner thoughts and feelings without him having to say a word. Such as how they twinkle and light up when MC touches him, and at other times soften or widen with love as he looks at her.

His smile. I adore the way his face is transformed by it, how his sharp features noticeably soften, and how unguarded he looks for once. It's also adorable how you can sometimes glimpse his teeth. He kind of resembles Toothless ^^ His eyes closed smile is also really cute, it makes me think of this.

He is a lover and a yearner with every fiber of his being. He couldn't be further from the toxic mafia dom that booktok likes to pretend he is (on the contrary he represents healthy and secure masculinity at its best).

His way with words. He can drop the most gorgeous, poetic lines you've ever heard in your life just like that. Without them ever sounding cheesy or too much. They always feel like they come directly from his heart.

He can't hold a tune. He can't peel oranges in one go. His luck is abysmal. He uses Mephisto as a (veil thin) excuse to see his gf time and again. He gets sad when he can't find MC's hair tie. He bumps his head on MC's furniture b/c he's burj khalifa sized and then wants her to blow on his boo boos. He uses up all of her shampoo to smell like her. etc. What I'm trying to say is that he is a loser loverboy in a 6 foot something body. And it's incredibly endearing <3

His draconic traits – his affinity for treasure, his greed, his need to hoard, his desire to mark and be marked by MC, his striking proportions and size, his specific ways of showing and receiving affection.

He is so freeing and healing. MC can always feel whatever emotions she wants and needs to when with Sylus. He tells her outright that she never needs to hide a single thing she's feeling from him, and that he wants to provide a safe space for her to show her "vulnerable belly". She is able to be open, unguarded, and honest around him. Another thing that he encourages and cherishes is her playful and childlike side, and I adore how carefree she is able to be with him. He has created a space for her where she is free to be wholly and unabashedly herself.

His banter and sass. He's funny af. Even if some of the things he's said in his text messages and in the café have lowkey made me want to smack him on MC's behalf ijbol. Overall I love his sense of humor and how playful he is with MC.

The sounds he makes when he's kissing MC. He is so breathy, so love drunk. It's a big contrast to his usually smooth demeanor.

The fact that he is a biker and a mechanic. What can I say, it's attractive as hell.

His moral ambiguity and complexity. He is not a character that can be boiled down to either or (ie morally white or black) or simplified, and to try to do so would be to do him a disservice imo. He is incredibly well written and hugely rewarding to analyze and deep dive into.

His habit of one arm carrying MC every chance he gets.

His love for animals and nature.

His singing. I know I make fun of him for it a lot but I honestly adore it and wouldn't trade it for anything. Not only is it sweet and uniquely him but to me it's also symbolic of doing and enjoying things that you aren't necessarily good at. Because as long as it fulfills you and makes you happy it doesn't matter how proficient or talented you are or aren't. Be like Sylus and never stop doing what you love doing, regardless if others think you aren't "good enough" at it.

How sincere he is in his way of showing love. You can tell that he truly means every word he says, every gesture he makes.

[voltronisanobsession]

I saw your child of aphrodite imagine, and it got me thinking, imagine a child of ares as the opposite. They are the most put-together looking imaginable, have a sort of cutsey or croquette aesthetic fashion taste, and are the most kind, loving, and gentle person you would ever meet. So when the assumed aphrodite kid absolutely demolishes the opposing team in capture the flag and gets claimed by ares everyone looses their goddamn minds.

Reader being the Opposite of a Child of Ares

OMG I LIKE THE WAY YOU THINK‼️ I actually really love this AHHH

Not proofread 💯

Another entirely unexpected arrival at camp, campers think it’s the most obvious place where you belong, the Aphrodite kids are ready to accept you into their cabin and everything when you get claimed.

The way reader is so put together has everyone entranced. You always pause to find a reflective surface to fix your hair during camp activities, making sure it falls and frames your face perfectly. Walking with grace and avoiding any muddy puddles to avoid ruining the loafers you walked into camp with. Even when you walk by some campers they can smell how fresh and expensive the perfume you wear is. Even your outfits look expensive and flattering on you, the unique style capturing your natural beauty even more!!

So many people think you’re gonna get claimed by Aphrodite by the end of the night, but everyone is surprised when they don’t see the familiar symbol of the goddess when dinner ends. I mean, she usually claims her children by the first day after all!

Nonetheless, the campers are sympathetic towards you, patting your shoulder as they wish you a goodnight while you’re just confused.

“It’s ok, maybe Aphrodite will claim you tomorrow! Don’t let it keep you up at night.”

You don’t even get a chance to tell them you already have a mother before everyone just disperses to their cabins. I find it hilarious to imagine that reader knows Aphrodite isn’t their godly parent while everyone else is just convinced she is cuz they don’t even know who your mortal parent is (kinda sad if you think about lowkey💀)

You’ve just given up on correcting people cuz you’re too nice (and kind of a doormat💔), using your own time to figure out who your real parent is while people keep yapping about Aphrodite.

Despite that, you’re know as a kind, social butterfly. Whenever someone needs help, whether it be from choosing an outfit, doing braids on the younger girls hair, or needing a sparring partner, you’re quick to volunteer. You’re kind to everyone even the Ares cabin even if they sometimes let snide remarks slip on what you’re wearing that day.

Fast forward to Friday😍 pass dinner again and you’re STILL not claimed people just assumed you’ve somehow angered your supposed mother.

It was revealed that the game for the night is capture the flag earlier in the week and everyone is bustling with life. I feel like Ares!Reader lives in some form of constant confusion since no one tells you anything so when people excitedly give you the run down of the game, they’re surprised when you want to play as well!

Usually the Aphrodite kids sit out on harsh games like this so it catches them off guard when you start putting on armor and grabbing a weapon so you can join the game.

As much the campers like you, the leaders are hesitant to choose you for their teams since they believe that you won’t be much help😭💔

Putting you as defense with some other campers for the flag, nobody really expects you to fight well if enemies make it past their offense group. Lowkey kinda hurts you that they think you need to be watched after but you still stand your ground, tense as you hear yelling eachoing throughout the forest.

When you see campers from the opposing team come running into sight, you get ready to clash against them until your partner tells you to guard the flag instead. While watching them fight, your skin practically ITCHES to join.

Your heart beat fastens watching them, gripping the sword harder as more enemies trampled from the forest, your own teammates stumbling after them. When one camper, Percy you learned his name was, managed to wiggle through your teammates, many of his team fought through the barrier as well.

Raising his sword, you finally gave into your urges to fight, swiftly meeting and blocking him with your own sword. He didn’t have much time to react before you forcibly shoved him backwards which caused him to stumble into the people behind him. With everyone surprised with your new fire, this gives you an upper hand as you begin swinging your sword at the green eyed boy in front of you. You’re all offense now, forcing him and his team into defense as you push them further away from the flag.

You’re absolutely merciless and fast that you manage to fling Percy’s sword from his grasp and continue to pick out his teammates one by one once he’s no longer a threat. Like it’s not even funny, you’re like a bull as you swing your sword like a maniac.

Everyone is in chaos as they try to get away from you😭😭 your own team doesn’t even know if you’re on their side or not LMAO💀 and from the corner of your eye you see that same boy you taught earlier climbing up the rock your flag was on. So without a second thought you disarm the person in front of you and fling the sword at Percy with as much force as you can.

People gasp as it goes straight into the rock beside him. Had you aimed a few more inches to the right you would have definitely killed him, no doubt. He could only stare back at you in shock, the friendly face he was used to seeing twisted in an unfamiliar, threatening look. The way you looked at him made it feel like you were going to pummel him into the ground if he even dared to continue going for your teams flag.

Even as the sound of a horn faintly echoed in the background, the group of campers were captivated by the bright red symbol glowing above your head. Glancing up, you could only breathe out a soft “Ares” before it slowly faded away into nothing.

It was quiet for a moment before someone jumped on your back and started yelling with joy. Everyone quickly surrounded you, cheering and screaming at how amazing you were. No one saw it coming and that’s what made them even more excited.

Coming out of the woods, campers would still surround you and praise you for your amazing fighting skills!!! When you revealed you never even held a sword before this week, no one believed cuz nobody could just do all that without any training!

Now that Ares claimed you as his, I think reader would have difficulty adjusting to the harsh and brash atmospheres of the Ares cabin.

You’re very different compared to them despite having excellent combat skills and fighting tactics. Your overall appearance and personality makes you stand out against your siblings, which is something they sometimes target you for.

They’ve seen you get stepped on by other campers though, so in their weird way, this is them kinda trying to toughen you up. They’re lowkey proud when they see that you have more witty comebacks whenever they throw comments at you.

Clarisse is one of the few campers that treat you the same, still throwing sly remarks and insults your way, but she does acknowledge that you are one of the strongest, if not the strongest, people in the cabin.

Overall I think Reader is the only camper that everyone gets along with that’s in the Ares cabin! Whenever there are group games or activities that involves fight, everyone is calling dibs on you. You still manage to keep your grace and loving nature even when surrounded by your siblings. Your open personality scares them at first since they’re not used to being fretted over and showing emotions, so it’ll take them some time to get used to your affections!

Ares!Reader shows others that you can be a badass fighter on the field while being a kind person off field! Love this reader tbh😝

[alohajix]

Marked by Midnight [1]

Main Masterlist

Marked by Midnight's Masterlist

Summary: in the fog-drenched town of Willowridge, [Y/N] has always felt the pull of the supernatural. She doesn’t know why—only that it thrums beneath her skin, whispers in her blood, and haunts her dreams. She’s spent her life searching for answers, for meaning in the symbols and shadows that call to her… and then she meets him.

Harry Styles is the last living heir of a bloodline the world believes to be extinct. A hybrid born of vampire and wolf, he’s lived in silence, hidden behind the iron gates of Styles Estate, a crumbling estate thick with history, power, and curse. He doesn’t take mates. He doesn’t fall in love. Not anymore.

But fate doesn’t care for rules.

When she stumbles into his world, a bond awakens between them—raw, ancient, irreversible. What begins as curiosity spirals into obsession. And as secrets unravel and darkness rises, one truth becomes terrifyingly clear: she was his long before they ever met, and now… she may never leave.

[Chapter One] Warnings: this chapter contains mild psychological unease, including feelings of being watched, supernatural elements like a mysterious sigil and unseen presence, implied tampering with personal belongings, a subtle fear of the unknown, and emotional isolation as [Y/N] navigates these events alone.

[Chapter One] Words: 4,519

***

Chapter One — The Sigil

The house was quiet. It usually was in the mornings, especially before my aunt woke up, but today it felt different—like the walls were holding something in, or maybe waiting for me to notice. I couldn’t put my finger on it, and maybe I wouldn’t have, if everything else hadn’t felt so normal.

I wrapped both hands around my coffee, the chipped mug warming my fingers. The glaze was cracked near the handle, but I couldn’t bring myself to use anything else. I made it when I was a kid—my aunt still had the matching one, though hers didn’t have the lopsided base or the faded blue streaks that never quite came out right. It was one of those things I held onto, like the books on the shelf or the music I played through the same half-broken earphones. Little things that didn’t matter to anyone else, but kept me steady.

I moved through the morning like I always did, careful not to make too much noise. My aunt liked to sleep in when she could, and I liked having the house to myself for a little while. I opened the window just a crack, letting the cold air curl in and wake me up more than the coffee did. It was colder than yesterday, with that edge of late-autumn that always made the mornings sharper. Familiar. Easy.

I sat where I always did, tucked into the corner near the bookshelf, legs curled under me, notebook in my lap. The pages were half-full of notes, scribbles, thoughts from class or things that stuck with me after reading too long at night. I studied what most people didn’t take seriously—occult sciences, old symbols, the kind of history no one talked about out loud. But it never felt strange to me. If anything, it made more sense than the rest of it.

I didn’t open the notebook right away. I just sat there, earphones resting in my lap, letting the morning settle. The house was still, no creaks from the floorboards or sounds from the street. Just quiet.

But it didn’t feel right.

The clock on the wall ticked louder than usual, or maybe I was just listening harder. I glanced over at it, then to the small table by the window. The photo frame was still face down, exactly where I’d left it. I didn’t need to flip it over—I knew the picture by heart. My aunt, younger then, standing next to my mom. My parents. It’s the only photo I have of them together. I never met them, not really—just stories and that one image, frozen like they’re still here. Like the world hadn’t already taken them before I had the chance to know them.

Some days I wondered if they’d get it—the way I was drawn to things that didn’t make sense to anyone else. The symbols, the old texts, the strange pull I couldn’t explain. My aunt didn’t talk about them much, not more than she had to, but I always felt like there was more she wasn’t saying.

I shook the thought away and finally flipped open the notebook.

It wasn’t where I’d left off.

There, in the corner of the page, just beneath some half-finished notes from class, was a mark I didn’t remember making. Sharp lines, layered in a way that looked deliberate, too precise to be random. I stared at it for a long moment, thumb brushing lightly over the edge of the paper, like maybe it would feel familiar if I touched it.

It didn’t.

But still, there was something about it—something I couldn’t pull away from.

I stared at the mark, waiting for something to click. It wasn’t the first time it had shown up—this wasn’t new. I’d seen it before, tucked into the margins of my notes, half-formed in dreams I couldn’t fully remember when I woke up. Sometimes, I thought maybe I’d drawn it without realizing. A nervous habit, a strange piece of something I’d read that stuck. But it wasn’t just a doodle. It never had been.

This time, it felt sharper. Closer.

I ran my fingers over it, slower now, tracing the edges without meaning to, like I was trying to pull something out of the paper. It was still ink, still flat—but it didn’t feel like it. Something about the lines felt… deeper, like they weren’t just written. Like they’d been waiting.

Why now?

I didn’t remember putting it there, not today, not ever. And it wasn’t just the mark. It was the feeling that came with it—this low hum in the back of my mind, steady and constant, like a sound just out of reach. It hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had, and I was only hearing it now.

The air shifted. Not cold, not sudden. Just… aware. Like the room wasn’t empty anymore, even though I hadn’t heard a sound.

I looked up, eyes flicking to the hallway, then the window. Nothing. Just the same soft light, the same stillness pressing in from all sides. But my skin prickled, and I held my breath without realizing it, waiting for something to move.

Nothing did.

I glanced back at the notebook, but the sigil didn’t change. It just sat there, dark against the page, like it was watching me. Like it had been waiting. Like it knew me.

A sharp pulse ran through me—not fear exactly, but something close. Recognition, maybe. Or the edge of it. Something about the mark stirred a memory—not a clear one, more like a feeling. Like I’d seen it somewhere else, maybe before I ever picked up a pen, maybe in one of those half-formed dreams that slipped away the second I opened my eyes. A place I’d never really been. A voice I couldn’t quite remember. I didn’t know what it meant, but I felt it. Deep. Heavy. Like a name I’d forgotten but was still mine.

Maybe I was overthinking. I did that sometimes—let my mind get ahead of me, especially when things didn’t add up. I wasn’t one of those people who believed in fate or signs, not really. But the longer I stood there, the harder it was to believe this was just… nothing.

The air felt heavier now, pressing against my skin like humidity, though it wasn’t hot. A tightness coiled at the base of my neck, the kind that came just before a storm. The light through the window seemed duller, like the house itself was holding its breath.

My aunt used to say that some things don’t make sense until they already matter. That by the time you ask why, it’s already too late. I’d always thought she meant people, choices. But now I wasn’t so sure.

I shook my head, trying to break the weird weight that had settled over me. This wasn’t anything. It couldn’t be. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe I needed to get out, get some air, shake it off before I lost the whole day to whatever this was.

But part of me didn’t believe that. Not really.

I told myself I could leave it here, forget it, just walk away like it didn’t matter. But the thought sat wrong, like a stone in my chest, too heavy to ignore.

I closed the notebook, slower than I meant to, and stood. The floor creaked under my feet—normal, expected—but the sound still made me jump. I told myself it was fine. Just nerves. Just the quiet getting to me.

Still, I grabbed my jacket from the hook by the door, the old denim one I always wore when I didn’t want to think too hard about what I looked like. The notebook went into my bag without a second thought, the page still burning in the back of my mind, even with it closed.

I lingered by the door longer than I meant to, hand tight on the knob. If I left now, it would be easy to forget. Pretend it didn’t mean anything. But part of me knew, as soon as I stepped out, that nothing was going to be the same when I came back.

I tightened my grip on the doorknob, heart knocking louder now, as if leaving would answer something I wasn’t ready to ask. One step, just one, and I could forget the way the mark still pulled at me from inside the bag. But as I stood there, the house seemed to shift again—not loud, not obvious, just a faint creak behind me, like it had exhaled.

Or like something in it had finally let go.

I stepped outside before I could change my mind.

The air hit me differently than I expected. It wasn’t colder, not exactly, but it bit sharper against my skin, curling down my spine like it was looking for a place to settle. I paused at the edge of the porch, pulling my jacket tighter around me, the weight of the notebook pressing against my hip through the canvas of my bag. It didn’t feel distant now—it felt like it was still open, still pulling.

I hadn’t meant to go anywhere. I told myself that as I took another step, and another. I just needed air. Just a little space. But the pull didn’t ease up. If anything, it got stronger the further I moved away from the house.

I followed the narrow path that curved around the back, past the old fence that never stayed upright for long, and into the edge of the woods. My feet knew the way, but nothing about it felt familiar now. The trees seemed taller, like they’d grown overnight, their branches heavy and close enough to scrape against each other with every shift of the wind. Only… the wind didn’t follow me here. It stopped somewhere behind me, like it wasn’t allowed past the line I’d just crossed.

I glanced back, half-expecting to see something, but the yard was still. The house stood quiet, exactly as I left it, but it didn’t feel like it belonged to me anymore.

I turned back toward the woods and kept walking.

The sound changed first. My footsteps didn’t crunch like they should have—not on the leaves, not on the soft dirt that had always marked this trail. Everything dulled, like the world was closing in around me, muffling every step, every breath, every reason I had to turn back.

I didn’t know where I was going, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. The path wasn’t clear anymore, but my feet still found it, like it had always been there, waiting for me to follow.

I passed trees I should have known, the ones I used to see every time I came this way, but now they looked older. Worn in a way I couldn’t explain, like they’d been watching for a long time. The air thickened as I moved deeper, the kind of weight that didn’t press from outside but from within, settling into my chest with every step.

I tried to tell myself this was nothing. That it was just a walk, just a way to clear my head. But I didn’t believe it. Not anymore.

A memory flickered—something I’d read once, a line from one of the old texts I kept meaning to return to. “Paths chosen by the heart, not the eyes.” I didn’t remember where I’d seen it, but it stuck now, sharper than before, like it belonged here.

The deeper I went, the quieter it became.

No birds, no wind, not even the rustle of leaves beneath my feet. Just the steady beat of my pulse in my ears and the low hum that hadn’t left me since I’d seen the mark. The kind of quiet that felt deliberate, like something had made it so.

I stopped, hand resting on the rough bark of a tree, trying to catch my breath. I could turn back. Right now, before I went any further. Nothing was stopping me. But even as I stood there, the thought of leaving felt… wrong. Like I’d be missing something. Like I’d already gone too far to pretend I hadn’t.

The trees ahead shifted, pulling back just enough for the path to open wider, and there—just beyond the line where the light didn’t quite reach—I saw it.

The gate.

It wasn’t grand, or new, or even fully intact, but it rose from the ground like it had grown there. Twisted iron, dark and worn, wrapped in ivy and shadow. My breath caught, not from fear, but from recognition. I didn’t need to see the center to know what was there. I could feel it already, humming through the air the same way it had in my notebook.

Still, I stepped closer.

The vines tried to hide it, curling tight through the bars, but the sigil was there. Carved into the metal, sharp and perfect, like it had been waiting for someone to see it. For me to see it.

I reached out, not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t have a choice. My fingers brushed the iron—cool, rough, alive—and the hum deepened, wrapping around me like a second skin. It wasn’t pain, but it wasn’t comfort, either. It was knowing. The kind that didn’t need words.

Something was waiting on the other side.

I stopped again, this time longer, my breath catching in my throat like something wanted to push its way out. The air around me was thick, the kind of thick that made it hard to move, like I was wading through something invisible, heavy. I pressed my hand against the nearest tree, grounding myself, trying to shake the feeling that I was being drawn forward—not by choice, but by something older than thought.

The path ahead darkened slightly, not with shadow, but with stillness. Like light didn’t want to go there. Like sound had already given up.

I could still turn back. My feet hadn’t crossed yet. I could leave this—all of it—pretend it was a mistake, a strange dream I hadn’t fully woken from.

But I didn’t. Because even though I didn’t know what was ahead, part of me already knew it was meant for me.

And that scared me more than anything.

The gate opened without a sound.

No creak of iron, no rust flaking off the hinges—just a slow, smooth shift, like it had never really been closed to begin with. The vines pulled back as if by their own will, loosening their grip just enough to let me pass, then settling again, wrapping tight around the bars like they hadn’t moved at all.

The air on the other side was different. Heavier, but not oppressive. Warmer, like the sun had reached here even when it hadn’t touched the rest of the forest. I stepped through before I could think too hard about it, and the moment my foot crossed the threshold, the quiet deepened. Not empty, not hollow, but full. Like I’d entered into something alive.

Ahead, through a thin mist that clung low to the ground, the manor came into view.

It wasn’t ruined, not like I expected from something buried in the woods. The stone was dark, but whole. Vines crawled along the outer walls, creeping up the sides as if the house had grown up through them, not the other way around. The roof was steep, shingled in black slate that shimmered faintly even in the muted light, and the windows—tall and narrow—were intact, though most were clouded over by dust and time.

It stood waiting.

Not abandoned, not forgotten. Just… paused.

I took another step, my boots sinking slightly into the softened path, no longer gravel or dirt, but something in between—stone worn smooth by years, maybe centuries, of footsteps just like mine. The trees here were set back, their trunks arching like ribs over the path, and the air didn’t move. Even the mist seemed to hold still, wrapping the ground in quiet.

Every instinct I had told me to be cautious. But something else—something older, something deeper—told me to keep going.

The front steps were worn, but solid, leading up to a heavy wooden door framed by black iron hinges that spiraled outward like roots. I paused at the bottom, eyes tracing the carvings along the edge of the doorframe—symbols, almost like the one I’d seen, but different. Older. More complex.

I didn’t touch them.

Not yet.

Instead, I stepped off the path, moving slowly along the side of the manor, my fingers brushing against the stone wall, cool beneath the ivy. The silence followed me, but it wasn’t empty. It was expectant. Like something was waiting for me to reach a place I hadn’t yet found.

The windows here were lower, some of them open just a crack, as if someone had left them that way on purpose. I leaned in closer to one, trying to peer inside, but the glass was too warped to see through, just shapes and shadows behind the smear of age. Still, I felt something stir beyond it—a shift, faint, like breath.

I pulled back, heart thudding harder now, but not in fear. Not exactly.

It felt like I was supposed to be here. Like every step I’d taken had led to this, even if I hadn’t known it until now.

A faint sound caught my ear—a rustle, soft, like fabric brushing against stone, just beyond the corner of the house. I didn’t move at first, listening, holding still as the air seemed to pull tight around me. The sound came again, a little closer, a little more deliberate.

I rounded the corner, careful, eyes scanning the garden that opened behind the manor. Overgrown, but not wild—flowers still bloomed here, though faded, their colors muted beneath a layer of dust and time. Stone benches sat in a half-circle around what must’ve once been a fountain, now dry, its basin cracked but not broken.

The air thickened again, almost humming. The sound came again. I turned toward it, breath caught, and froze.

A figure—just for a second—half-seen through the mist near the edge of the garden. Tall, still, watching.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. The figure didn’t move.

Then, like smoke in the light, it was gone.

I stood frozen, the silence roaring back around me, but it wasn’t empty anymore. It pressed in, full of something I couldn’t name.

I stepped forward, slowly, into the garden’s center. My hand brushed the edge of the fountain’s stone lip—it was cold, rough, but whole. The moss that clung to its sides felt damp, alive, as if time had passed differently here. As if this place had never truly been abandoned.

A breeze lifted, soft but insistent, carrying a weight with it, curling around my shoulders like it meant to turn me back. And then—the voice. Not loud. Not whispered. Just there.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

The words hit like stone, dropping into the silence between my ribs, heavy and sure, like they belonged to this place more than I did.

It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t fear. It was something older, deeper—inevitable. A truth I hadn’t known I was walking toward, but now that I’d heard it, I couldn’t unhear it. Couldn’t step away from it.

I turned, breath tight, searching the garden’s stillness—but there was no one. No shadow. No shape. Just the weight of knowing I’d crossed into something I wasn’t meant to touch. But it had touched me now.

The silence stretched, thick and full, long after the voice faded.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. Every part of me felt like it had been caught in something unseen, held tight not by force, but by the weight of knowing—something old, something certain.

The air shifted again. It wasn’t just around me now. It was behind me. I turned slowly, every breath sharp in my throat, eyes scanning the space I knew was no longer empty.

He was there. Not in the shadows this time. Not half-hidden by mist or distance. Just… there. Standing at the edge of the garden, where the stone met the trees, his frame still, his gaze fixed—on me. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. It was him. I knew it, somehow, the same way I’d known the mark, the same way the gate had opened for me like it was always meant to.

He stepped closer, not fast, not threatening, just enough to pull the space tighter between us.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said again, softer this time, but no less heavy.

I swallowed, breath catching. “I didn’t mean to.”

A flicker of something—pain, regret, I couldn’t tell—crossed his face before it settled into something harder.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

The wind stirred behind him, catching the edge of his coat, pulling at the leaves that lay scattered across the stone path. But he didn’t move. His eyes never left mine.

“Who are you?” I asked, the question barely more than a whisper.

His jaw tightened. “That’s not what you need to know.”

“Then tell me what’s happening. Why I’m here. Why—why this keeps pulling me back.”

He looked past me then, toward the manor, toward the trees that held the garden in their grasp. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, threaded with something almost like sorrow.

“You were supposed to stay away. You were supposed to stay safe.”

I took a step forward, heart pounding, the cold of the air forgotten now beneath the heat rising in my chest. “Safe from what?”

He didn’t answer—not right away. He only watched me, as if searching for something in my face, some reason to turn away. But he didn’t.

“They’ll know you’re here soon,” he said, quieter now, as if the trees might listen. “And when they do, I can’t stop them.”

I stared at him, heart racing, every nerve screaming for me to move—to run, to speak, to do anything but stand here waiting for the rest of a warning that didn’t make sense. But I didn’t move. I didn’t want to.

“You keep saying I shouldn’t be here,” I said, voice steadier than I felt. “But I am. I didn’t plan this—I didn’t even know this place existed. So stop talking in circles and tell me why it’s pulling me. Why you are.”

His eyes flickered, something behind them sharp and sudden, but it wasn’t anger. It was something heavier.

“I don’t want this for you,” he said, the words barely more than breath, but I felt them, like they landed beneath my skin.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

I took another step toward him, the space between us narrowing. The closer I got, the more real he became—not just a figure in the mist, not a voice out of nowhere. Flesh. Breath. And something more.

“Then tell me,” I pushed, desperate now, the weight of everything pressing in. “What is this?”

His gaze dropped for a moment, his hand flexing at his side like he might reach for me, but didn’t.

“It’s already started,” he murmured, almost to himself. “The mark wouldn’t have called to you if it hadn’t.”

My throat tightened. “The mark… you know what it is?”

He nodded once, slow, reluctant. “It’s not just ink. Not just something you dreamed up. It’s a bond—an old one. One that shouldn’t have touched you.”

“But it did.”

“Yes.” His voice hardened, like it hurt to admit it. “And now, you’re part of something you can’t walk away from.”

The silence stretched again, thicker now, not just between us, but around us—as if the air itself was listening, waiting for me to understand something I hadn’t yet seen.

“I might not have a choice,” I echoed, voice lower now, steadier. “But neither do you.”

His jaw tightened again, the muscles working like he wanted to argue, like he wanted to deny it—but something in his eyes shifted. A flicker of something raw. Familiar.

For a breath, we just stood there, caught in the tension that wasn’t fear, wasn’t curiosity. It was something else. Something deeper. Something that felt like it had always been there. I didn’t know him. But I knew him. And he felt it, too.

I stepped closer, the space between us barely there now. The air pulsed once, low and strange, like it recognized us before we did. He didn’t step back. His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for me—but still, he didn’t. His eyes never left mine.

“Why does it feel like this?” I asked, the question no longer about the manor or the mark or the warnings. Just this. Us.

His breath hitched, barely.

“Because it’s not just starting now,” he said, voice rough, like the truth cost him. “It’s been happening longer than you know.”

A shiver ran through me—not from the cold, but from something deeper, something I couldn’t name yet. I could feel it in my chest, in my hands, in the air between us, like a string pulled tight. Like I’d waited a lifetime to find him. And maybe… he’d been waiting, too.

The space between us felt fragile, like one more word, one more breath, might tip it into something we couldn’t take back. I could feel him, not just near me—but in the pull that hummed low under my skin, in the way the air seemed to bend around us, waiting. His eyes darkened, like he felt it too. Like he didn’t want to.

“I don’t know what this is,” I whispered, the words falling between us, unsteady but true.

He did. I saw it in the way his hand finally lifted, hesitating, hovering just near mine—but not touching. Not yet.

“You’re not ready to know,” he said, voice barely there.

But just as the air tightened, just as the moment stretched too full—the ground shifted. A sound cracked through the trees—sharp, wrong. Like something tearing through the quiet that had held us.

His head snapped toward it, eyes narrowing, body coiled.

“They’ve found you.” And just like that, the pull between us snapped. “Run.”

***

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