#not that she’s entirely bad at emotions or expressing them but saying she’s the best at it makes me so mad

[batboopp]

“cass is the most emotionally understanding out of everyone in the batfam!!” she would beat those guys if they asked her the trolley problem

[bandgie]

On Your Knees

ONE | TWO

incel!Seungmin x fem!reader

warnings! MDNI18+, drinking implications (no one is drunk) dubious??, pussy eating, face fucking (m!), hate sex (but no sex) seungmin is an ass (low key misogynistic), reader is kinda mean note! this is not meant to represent Seungmin or any of the members in any way. I just like the trope :)

2.7k words

The party was getting boring in all honesty. Truth-or-Dare is only fun for the first couple of minutes but gets repetitive. Same old questions on who you're fucking, if you're fucking someone, if you've ever fucked someone. The flat beer sloshes in your red solo cup as you sit on the floor of the living room.

You can tell Han is trying to come up with something interesting to ask Seungmin. Most of the somewhat funny questions were already asked, but Han still purses his lips as he thinks of something clever. 

"Okay, I got it!" He claps his hands. "Best pussy you've ever eaten. Go."

Ah, I guess that's something, you think as you divert your attention to the cross-legged man beside you. 

Seungmin is awfully quiet at house parties and looks as though he would rather be anywhere else. You don't like Seungmin, but you don't not like him. He's just a guy Han likes to bring around on occasion. You observe Seungmin raise an eyebrow, in surprise most likely. But what he says is even more shocking. 

"Never eaten pussy."

"What?!" Everyone collectively shouts at his admission. Now this peaks your interest as you stare wide-eyed at him. "No way," you can't fathom the thought of someone in college never tasting a cunt. "Are you a virgin?"

Your bold question makes Chan choke on his drink, coughing until the bitter liquid finally passes through. "Jeez dude, you just can't ask that."

"It's literally Truth-or-Dare. I literally can," you retort. 

The clamor of everyone settles as they wait for Seungmin to answer. Now that he can feel the pressure of everyone's eyes, he shifts in his seat uncomfortably. "I'm not a virgin," he says. "I just don't eat pussy."

"What the fuck?" You make a confused expression. "You don't eat pussy? Fuck does that mean?" Seungmin finally casts his gaze on you, acknowledging your presence for the first time tonight. "Exactly what I mean. I don't like it."

"You don't like it?" Han sounds exasperated. "You gotta be fucking with me. There's no way you fuck a girl and not want to eat her pussy." Despite Han being an idiot half the time, you agree with him. Every guy you've hooked up with jumps at the chance to eat you out and you know plenty of them would do it for nothing in exchange. 

To meet a guy who's never had the opportunity to only means two things, and you're praying it's not what you're thinking. 

"I just fuck to cum. I don't really care if she finishes or not."

It's worse than you could have imagined. 

The room goes dead quiet and you suddenly figure out why Han doesn't bring Seungmin around too often. His stiff posture, his blank expression, the way he hardly regards you in any manner. It all points to signs of the worst type of man. 

"So like what?" You can't help the clipped tone in your voice. "You some type of incel?"

Chan, who likes to keep the peace, says your name in warning. "Don't start." Though he means well, the fact that you're the one getting in trouble for speaking up only fuels your fire. "Don't start? He's the one who started with his dumb incel shit."

Seungmin scowls, "Ugh. I didn't even say anything bad. You're being so emotional."

The tips of your ears burn red and you feel your entire body heat up. You can hear Chan trying to diffuse the situation, but you hardly care about maintaining 'the peace' any longer. 

"Oh, fuck off," you sneer at Seungmin. "You can't even make a girl finish. Fucking incel virgin."

Now that does it for him. You see Seungmin tighten his hands into fists as his neck grows red. "I'm not a virgin. And I can make a girl cum. I just don't care to." He enunciates his words harshly, some speckles of spit landing on your face. Both of your jaws are tense, teeth clenching as you glare into each other's eyes.

A vein sticks from his neck and his lips are stretched back into somewhat of a snarl. With a flushed expression, you easily see his cheeks heat up in anger. It's here that you realize he looks good when he's mad. You hate it.

"Okaayyy!" Chan claps his hands three times loudly. "I think it's time to call it a night." Everyone tries to stand and talk about anything else, but Seungmin and you are too busy having your own little conversation to notice. 

"Never eaten pussy, can't make a girl come. Why you lying about being a virgin?" You mimic the vicious on Seungmin's face. He keeps his eyes steady on yours, "Whoring yourself out for a fuck. You're everything that's wrong with women today." 

This makes you laugh, "At least they make me cum."

If you thought Seungmin was mad before, he's furious now. You must have struck a nerve because he stands suddenly and spins on his heel to leave. 

But you're not done with the conversation. You raise on your feet and follow him, never ceasing to stop your vicious spewing, "Just be honest with me, Min. It's okay to have never felt a woman's touch. Not that you ever will, being an incel that is."

Seungmin hurries up the stairs of the house with you on his tail. You can't see his face, but you can feel the anger rolling off him. 

He suddenly stops in his tracks, making you effectively bump into his back. "I'm not an incel," he keeps his voice low, but strong. "Eating pussy isn't even all that. You just have an ego bigger than your tits."

You try and play it off with a scoff, but you feel your face heat up. You grope your chest offendedly; you like your boobs. "Not all that? Come here." Pushing on Seungmin's back, you lead him to the nearby bathroom and shove him inside. He stumbles and trips over his feet, shooting a hand out to balance himself on the counter as you close and lock the door behind you.

"Fuck was that for?" He whips his head around to glare at you, but he's surprised to be met with an eerie smile on your face instead. He gulps nervously, "What are you looking at?"

You shrug nonchalantly, "Looking at someone who's going to eat me out." Seungmin looks as though you've slapped him across the face as his eyes widen. "What? Who said I was gonna do that?" 

You're already hiking your skirt up to your torso, biting the cloth between your teeth, and showing the pretty little thong you put on in hopes of a hookup. It barely manages to over your clit and you can see the outline of your pussy underneath the material. With one hand, you use the tip of your finger to draw soft circles on it. Seungmin drops his eyes to your clothed core.

His Adam apple bobs.

"Come on," you wiggle your eyebrows playfully. "Get on your knees for me."

For a second, you think he's gonna walk out. He was so persistent about not wanting to eat pussy and his shitty attitude was...well...shitty. You begin to think that there's no hope for Seungmin, but he proves you wrong by bending one knee and looking up at you.

"I'm just going to look," he says more to himself than to you. "Just so you could stop your whining." 

His hands grip the plushness of your thighs as he stretches the skin. The lips of your pussy peek out at the movement, but Seungmin is far from disgusted. His ears pick up on the sound your cunt makes when he uses his thumb to pull and push the skin together. Slowly, he moves his hand up to pull your thong down, exposing the very thing he claims to revolt against. 

You shiver against his warm breath, his warm touch. You reach your hands down to pull up on the skin of your pelvis to further stretch your pussy. "Getting a good look, Seungmin?" You giggle at the annoyed expression on his face. His lips may be pulled pursed into a frown, but his eyes are wide with lust.

Seungmin is trying his best to hold back, but it's near impossible. Everything about you surrounds him: your smell, your soft skin, the way your voice echoes in the bathroom. He shocks himself with how much he enjoys watching your clit peek from your pussy lips and how the first signs of arousal make your entire cunt shine. 

"Shut up," he mumbles. 

You're thinking of a witty remark to snap at him, but you're instead pleasantly surprised with his lips ghosting over your core. Your body stills, letting Seungmin explore pussy on his tongue for the first time. He runs his lips over your own, feeling how soft and warm it is. Seungmin already knew how hot a cunt is, but tasting it on his lips is a whole other level of heat.

"Mmm," you hum at the sensation. "What happened to just getting a look?" 

Seungmin looks up at you, mouth still attached to your core. His nose bumps on your lower stomach with his hair tousled over his face. Before you can think, you brush the bangs from his face to get a good view of his form. The sight makes you groan, bucking your hips further into his face. Seungmin makes a hmmf! sound as you bury his face deeper into your pussy, but he makes no move to deny you.

It's not until you start rocking your hips that he finally sticks his tongue out. He starts at the peak of your pussy, letting the nub roll over his tongue experimentally. Seungmin notes how your legs shake when he does that. He feels your hips still so he could properly suck on that part of your cunt. 

The taste of you settles on Seungmin's tastebuds and he finds his tongue digging deeper into your lips. They dip down to your labia before going back up. He likes how soaked you make his wet tongue, how your hands twist his floppy hair to drive him deeper. He hates how much he likes it. 

Truthfully, you're in the same boat. His mouth may not be experienced, but you upsettingly like how he lets you ride his face. "See Sungie?" You say his name mockingly. "Not too bad, is it?"

Seungmin doesn't stay put in your cunt. This time, he pulls away from your throbbing core to talk back. "I never said it was goo- mmf!" As lovely as it would have been to hear his voice, you reason that his words may not have been as nice. You had gripped the back of his head and forced him back to your center, uncaring how he gently slapped the back of your thighs in disapproval.

"Just shut up and stick your tongue out." You're impatient needless to say. Seungmin can tell by how you keep one hand steady on his head while the other gives his cheek light taps. "Open up, come on." You probe the man between your legs until he finally relents, widening his jaw so your entire clit fits in his mouth.

You hum at his mouth taking your core in, "Good boy. See? You were made to eat pussy."

Then you hook one of your thighs over his shoulder and wrap that leg around his body until his face is pushed against you. His eyes widen, screaming at you as if saying this wasn't part of the deal! But the panic only makes you laugh. He can pretend all he wants, but you know the bulge in his pants all too well as you look down on him.

Grinding on his face is easy with you in complete control. You sloppily rub your cunt all over his tongue with his head following your movements. Seungmin groans and grunts in your cunt, but it's far from the disdain he was filled with earlier. His hips thrust into the air at the feel of your essence dripping down his chin.

His jolts make you chuckle breathlessly. "Fuck, just look at you. You wanna cum? You wanna cum, don't you?"

Screw his pride, screw any stupid podcast he's watched, he needs to cum. He wants to feel your pussy clench on his cock, not his tongue. Yet, he can't find it in himself to tear himself away from your clit. If you taste this good already, he can't imagine the savor of you creaming on his tongue. 

To not let a second go by without his mouth on you, he nods, looking up at you pleadingly. He's sorry for being a dick, for being an incel. If you let him finish in you, he'll never-

"Sucks to suck," you shatter his dream. "You're gonna make me cum. Don't move."

And he doesn't, but it's not because he means to obey you. You have Seungmin on his knees, mouth enclosing over your pussy while you tug on his hair and hump his face and you're not going to let him finish? At all?

Then there's no point of him being here. Seungmin should tear your grip off him and leave the bathroom, but he can't. Fuck, he can't. It's like you've put a curse on him, glued him to the floor with his jaw unhinged and tongue out as you grind on his face. 

It has to be witchcraft because why else would he still be here? Does he really like the taste of you that much? Maybe it's how you look; flushed, sweaty, close to a high Seungmin's never been able to bring a girl to. Seeing you so close to your orgasm makes him eager to stay, eager to please. And god, he loves how your clit twitches in his mouth.

"Shit," you curse. "Gonna cum. Imma cum all over your face. You want that? Want my cream all over your tongue?"

Seungmin would rather die than tell you the truth, so he responds by sucking harshly on your clit. The suction is enough to tip you over the edge, digging your nails into his scalp as you bend the upper half of your body over him. 

Your cunt pluses around nothing, but that hardly matters when you hear Seungmin gulping down your release. The very same man who claims to not like eating pussy, to not care if his partner finishes. That man eagerly licking you clean with his eyes rolling behind his head. 

You shiver and mewl as you cum, softly grinding your hips to come down from your high. "God- fuck! Put your tongue in my pussy."

He does, finally getting a feel of your walls for the first time. They squeeze and pulse around his tongue and he gives a few testing thrusts that you respond to positively. 

Fuck, you taste even better inside. 

Seungmin can't stop fucking his tongue deep inside you. Not even as you wrap your leg from him and straighten up. A part of you debates on whether or not to let him keep going. At this rate, he might make you finish a second time, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction of that. Plus, you've been gone long enough for the other men to question your whereabouts.

You place the palm of your hand on his forehead and push him away. The shove makes him detach from your cunt with a lewd pop! as he catches himself backward on his hands.

"Geez. You're gonna lick it off," you pick your underwear up and step through the leg holes, ignoring how uncomfortable it feels on your sensitive cunt. Seungmin seems in a daze as you drop your skirt from your lips and adjust the material. Even as you walk closer to the mirror and touch up your make-up, Seungmin stays in place on the ground. 

He liked it. Dear god, he loved it. Even with the tent in his pants, he hardly seems to notice how his cock throbs when he can still taste you on his lips. You only face-fucked him to prove a point, but you changed the trajectory of his life forever.

Yet, you wash your hands and use a hand towel to dry yourself like you didn't just make Seungmin question his entire purpose. You throw the rag to the man on his knees, managing to land it on his lap. "Your face is soaked. Clean it before they see how much of a munch you are, yeah?"

a/n: idk why I was at work was thought "yk what would be hot? making an incel seungmin worship you" and boom, this was birthed. I kinda wanna make a part two I have ideeassss also two fics in one week?? who am I? thank you for reading!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

How would platonic yandere king and queen of hearts react to finding out reader saved Alice and is finding a way to go back to their world?

You know what? I'll do you one better! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

Yandere Platonic Queen and King of Hearts (2)

“That’s p-perposterous! My darling child is right beside me, happily eating their lunch!”

The King of Hearts protests adamantly as the dorm mouse attempts to inform the King. Having missed the Queen’s charging envoy. You had to give the rodent props. The guts to try and drag your name right in front of your face to what she hoped was both the Queen and King of Hearts. 

To her luck though the Queen was not here so all she received was the King’s peaceful denial of her information. She huffed glaring at you with her beady eyes as though staring would prove her point. Fighting the urge to smirk you instead closed your eyes and continued to eat the meal provided for you. You weren’t really hungry but you doubted your…father would believe you if you were to say it out loud.

That being said you hoped Alice–who hadn’t found a growing cake or drink anywhere—stayed tucked in your pocket. When you were able to sneak to the bathroom to chat they suggested being allowed to run freely which you shot down. How many movies and stories had this exact situation happen where the small companion died or squashed because their giant friend wasn’t there to help. 

Still if you knew Alice best they were likely going to ignore you. Now with the dormmouse watching you couldn’t chance a glance at the pocket near your chest. 

“My child, what’s on your mind? You’ve been acting out of it since you mother’s gone to hunt.”

You cursed yourself internally. You must have spent too long thinking about Alice now you’ve gone an alerted the only one of your ‘new parents’ that tried to understand your emotions. Shaking your head you planned to wave him off. 

“I’m fine…Father I just am nervous.”

“Nervous? About what, my child?”

This was new. Usually at this point in the conversation the Queen of Hearts would have spoken up. Told her husband exactly what she wished you were feeling; as delusional as she was. But she wasn’t here and this was an opportunity. 

“Well as you know me and Alice know each other really well–”

“Yes I believe you did mention that at one point. Go on.”

“So I’m just a little sad that…Mother has decide to hunt them down.”

You watched the man’s bottom lip jut out in an unironic frown, his diamond shaped pupils darting from you to the other side of his face. No doubt, deciding who to please. If his hesitation wasn’t bad enough the dorm mouse decided to squeak up. 

“If I may your majesty the Queen knows best about the perpetrator Alice!”

“Oh yes that’s right!  A great idea young mouse!”

You wished to bring your foot down on the little rat or at the very least deliver a kick to their tiny traitorous little body. If it weren’t for his easy to sway persona he’d be perfect to convince in your quest to save Alice. But since this wasn’t working you’d have to try the other a bit more underhanded but necessary. 

“Well Father there was something else but it’s probably not worth even thinking about.”

You made sure to bat your eyes and look away sorrowfully which only fueled the King’s determination to soothe your ‘aching’ heart. Puffing his chest and holding you close, he was entirely eating this up.

“Tell me, Love! Has someone hurt you?! Something bothering you?!”

“It’s….my body, Father.”

Pretending to be bashful, you held your face in your hands. Hoping to hide your snicker at his flustered expression. Deciding to take him out of his misery you continued. 

“I wish it was .03 centimeters bigger than it is now.”

“Well I think you’re perfect the way you are!”

If he was actually your father and not the husband of a murderous queen, you’d be happy to hear that. But wherever Alice was, she needed this and no amount of comforting comments would be enough. 

“BUT I DON’T!” 

Faking a torrent of tears you folded your arms over your face leaning into the arms of the chair. Really trying to give off the image that you were absolutely devastated. 

“Don’t fret my Love! I have the perfect remedy for this!”

He happily skittered to the kitchen with you in tow, politely asking for the chefs to bring out the drink that could make you grow. The dormmouse, for whatever was still following sending a spiteful glare every now and then restraining you from taking a peek in your pocket. Despite your expectation you were not entirely sure if Alice was still there. But you hoped she was close by if only to sneak back around and get to it. In the meantime you had to improvise.

“Before I do this I’d like to see an example of it…”

“Oh well I shouldn’t try it. The Queen loves the size I’m at now!”

You had to have respect the man had a real loyalty to the queen and even better the rights of a King.

“How about you try it little mouse.”

“E-e-excuse me?”

“Give it a try for your new highness?”

“Ugh fine.”

The King let the mouse climb the table pouring a small amount into the cap of the bottle and sure enough the little mouse took on a few more inches. Technically you could stop here, the King would no doubt leave the bottle out but you figured extra insurance wasn’t too bad.

“What about if I don’t like it when I’m bigger?”

“Though you’d look perfect either way, we do always have some shrinking cake on stand by!” 

Turning around he pulled out the cake from a cupboard, where he naturally sliced a sliver of the cake to give the larger mouse. The mouse let out a squeak the equivalent of a sigh and downed a good amount of the slice. They let out a diminutive squeak when they looked in the reflection of the bottle.

“My King I don’t think this is the right–”

“Oh Father! I now realize you were right all along!” You made sure to speak louder than the mouse. “I am just fine the way I am if I do grow it’ll be because that’s the way I’m mean to be.”

The King clapped, hunging you tight. 

“Good! I’m so glad my child’s so proud of themself! Now let’s enjoy that strawberry cake your mother left for us!”

Escorting you out the kitchen you watched some of the card soldiers begin to chase off the small mouse. Hiding your snicker you went back to focusing on the King who was happily ranting about some plans of his. You weren’t really listening as you felt for a bump in your pocket—unfortunately finding nothing. 

______________________________________________________

“THAT OBNOXIOUS TRAMP!”

The Queen of Hearts’ voice rang out the entire castle, even though you were right beside her you could tell that was the case. You were once again eating a tray of tarts as the Queen raged to you and her husband about the terrible hunt. 

“Oh Darling, mind our child’s ears and why not have another tart?”

Her glare disappeared for a moment accepting the tart her husband held up to her painted mouth—after that it was right back to pacing. Wearing the undersuit of her armor and her makeup running just from being worn all day she still looked as beautiful as a picture. Even with her contorted face making an angry expression, you could see why the King of Hearts still swooned at her attention.

“Even the blood hounds found nothing but outdated scents! I tell you the mealworm has been all over my kingdom!”

“I see dear. Is there anywhere you haven’t checked?”

“NO I’ve checked every inch of the forest, everywhere in the garden, and even that insane Hatter’s party spot.”

“(Y/n) do you know where she may be?”

The question caught you off-guard, making you quickly wipe your mouth of some left over custard on your mouth. Stifling a cough as you down the rest of the tart in your throat you turned to him. 

Trying to hide the horror in your eyes, you asked him,”Why would I know?”

He tilted his head, his ever present smile on his face. His diamond eyes squinted in your direction, he continued. 

“Because she’s your friend isn’t she?”

It was then the weight in your stomach began to turn. Despite his meek behavior and wet-blanket status–next to the Queen–he was still a King. A King happily married to the Queen that was willing to remember the details she didn’t bother to remember. 

Swallowing the hesitation you shrugged it off, “ Well yeah but she doesn’t really tell me where she goes…she’s kind of always been a free spirit.”

You tried to say it nonchalantly aiming for another tart only to find the presence of the Queen far too close to your face. Expecting her to grab onto your chin, you flinched. Instead she let her painted nails graze upon your neck before caressing your cheek.

“(Y/n)-dear she doesn’t sound like a very good friend.”

It was said in a very calm tone, an alarming difference from her screeching before.

It was scary.

“I mean Alice and I have our differences but in the end we’re good friends.”

She continued to keep her hand on your cheek lovingly tracing the sides of your face.

“So you say…the other Wonderlandian’s threatened you for her right?”

…How did she know that?

“What?!” 

She seemed to chuckle at the terror on your face, placing a kiss on your temple. She brought both her hands to your cheeks letting your noses touch as she smiled in your face.

“You don’t think I haven’t been watching my child from the second you came through that door?”

She chuckled at your speechlessness holding your head against her chest, she hummed a little rubbing the top of your head. Hugging your side you felt the encapsulating hug on your opposite side from the King of Hearts who nuzzled his wife’s head.

“Of course we were watching (Y/n), we’ve cared about you since the beginning.”

“And we plan to never ever stop.”

This moment would have been sweet if you hadn’t been going through the catalogue of events that led to you being here. How much had they seen? How much did they already know? Surely they wouldn’t know where Alice was if they were asking…but the threatening? Even Alice didn’t know about that. 

“AAAAGHH! “OH MY DIAMOND!” 

“hELPP—AcK!”

The ground suddenly began to quake and sounds of shouting drew both the King and Queen away from you an to their balcony. You followed taking advantage of their surprise to wiggle between them both.

“Alice?!”

Turning her head in your direction, she waved as if she wasn’t practically the size of the castle. A spear shot from the ground bouncing off her thigh, which she retaliated by stomping on the whole platoon with the thrower. 

“AAALLLICCEEE! Off with her head!” 

The Queen of Heart’s was screeching again, practically calling on all her forces to pour out of the castle in that instant. Alice seemed to stumble from the new onslaught of guards hiking her legs up to avoid them. The quaking of the ground startled everyone forcing the Queen and King to rely on the walls of the castle; they reached for you missing your ducking from. In more worry than anything you ran to the guard rail, prepared to warn her about the cannons they were hauling out. 

“Alice! Watch out!”

She turned to you again face lighting up with an idea of hers. Intentionally stepping on the card guards she made her way closer to the castle–more specifically the balcony. Already catching on, the King shouted for you.

“(Y/n) get away from the railing she’s going to-”

“Woah!” 

Like you’d done before Alice cradled your form in her hands smiling down at you. Barely noticing the fearful ‘cease fire’ the Queen demanded you were carried up high as Alice cradled you against her chest. From the cover of her hands you watched her stick her pierced tongue out at the Queen before beginning to run off the premise of Queen’s castle grounds.

“Hang on tight (Y/n)! We’re going home!” 

At her booming voice you doubted she could hear your cheers. Still a small amount of doubt bothering your joy. 

If the Queen and King wouldn’t let you leave would anyone else?

[nephilimbrute]

ok since you guys don't know anything about my agent 8's personality, i'm doing a huge infodump on them. enjoy

Agent 8; they/them, nonbinary — 24 as of current time, in a relationship with Agent 4 and Captain 3

they're pretty, but also one of the worst people you'll meet. everyone who met them has had something terrible happen to them, basically a bad omen...yet they still think they're a saint! 8 is very narcissistic, but also very self-critical. they think they can be the only one to do something, that they're the best at it...but they know this is wrong, so they hate themself for it

they think they're a very fragile and innocent being, like a deer. they want to live a calm and steady life, no excessively loud or overwhelming sounds and music, just them and their close ones. they enjoy writing poetry and creating art to the likes of vincent van gogh, but also impressionism in general. they have a very bad memory now, so they want to capture the present time as best as they can if it ever gets worse. often times, 8 thinks about any big events that are coming up in the near future (concerts, festivals, etc.). they don't like to think about the future outside of these things (was team present if that wasn't obvious)

they used to be full of emotion, expressing and voicing their thoughts well. but slowly over time, they've became numb to most things to prevent themself from being embarassed by...sadness. they think being upset is embarassing, and are easily annoyed by gloomy people. they have such little sympathy, but it still exists. they are capable of love! it's not hard to crack through their shell, nor do they even have one. 8 themself is aware of how they've changed over the years, and they want to go back to how they used to be; loving, sympathetic, mindful of others. they do feel very sorry for the change in their personality, but the partial sanitization that was done to them makes it difficult to revert to their old self

8 feels like they're putting up a front when they want to be nice, and, they can be compassionate and apologetic sometimes. they deeply wish for anyone who recognized them pre-octo expansion to forgive them, even if they did nothing wrong

because of the whole octo expansion situation, 8 has developed truman syndrome, paranoia, and heavily dislikes anything involving a smart AI or robotics. this is one of the reasons why marina pisses them off so badly. to 8, they think that they've caused no harm, and every mistake they've done was not entirely their fault. they make a lot of people uncomfortable in some way without touching anyone or saying anything. despite all that, they respect people's personal space a lot!..other than pearl and marina, who they used to watch sleep before being kicked out

now, onto their relationships. 8 is doing fine with agent 4, he's nice to them so they like him... but so is cap3, yet 8 might be one of the worst things that ever happened to her. cap3 really wants some alone time and hates being stared at, and 8 does the exact opposite of that. they don't touch her at her request, but they Will stare at her whenever she's doing anything, at any given time. they don't process in their mind that they want to make her uncomfortable, they just sort of...do?

^ i only limited this to a bit so i won't delve Too deep and go off topic. you can ask about that if you want

i guess you could say they have some kind of parental issues? i don't know, they can't remember who their biological parents are anyways. they have a strong attachment to marina though, can't decide if they wanna be her or want her to adopt them. kind of "eh" with pearl, still respects him nonetheless

congratulations! if you've read until the end, here's a human 8 doodle :3

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + twenty seven

authors note: none.

cw/tw: angst, threats of violence, csa survivor being triggered

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 13k

Solana gasps when the familiar scent of her husband’s cologne, strong yet subtle, invades her nostrils conjoined with the welcoming embrace of his strong arms around her body. Naturally, she turns around from the counter where she was putting away dishes, a small smile on her face as he rests his hands on the small of her back. 

However, her grin dims a bit when she sees he’s fully dressed. “You’re leaving already?”

Roman nods, explaining, “I need to get back on track. The sooner, the better.” 

His words, logically, make sense. But, they do nothing to abate her nerves. “What if you worked from home?” She then proposes in an almost selling manner. “I called off today anyway, so I’ll be here in case you need something.”

Something being a euphemism for the word anything. In the few days that have passed since the funeral, Solana has continued to stay with and watch her husband like a hawk. Ready to support him in any way that he needs, the memory of him breaking down in front of her, holding her while he cried into her stomach, something she will never forget.

Something he desperately needed.

And something he hasn’t outright spoken about. She gets it. Understands how both major and uncomfortable that had to have been for him. Emotions are tricky and confusing, and for someone who’s used to pushing them away, feeling them all at once can be….an experience.

His thick brows furrow slightly, as he asks the million dollar question. “Why’d you call off?”

Shit.

A couple of reasons. 

Beyond just the obvious of wanting to be physically present and available for him.

One, while her husband was in their home gym, trying to work off some of his still heavy emotions, she sat near the toilet for almost twenty minutes, vomiting twice and afraid of a third occurrence, hence her not leaving. Second, Solana still feels not the best—morning sickness attacking her with all the rage the past two days. Three, she has the appointment today. 

And none of these things can be said to the man before her who looks understandably confused. 

So, she goes with a not entirely untrue answer but not the full truth either. “Didn’t really feel up to it today.” Her fingers scrunch the soft material of his shirt. “Besides, I didn’t want to leave you alone….”

And that is not a lie. Solana has tried her best to keep reminding herself that she can’t be with her husband 24/7, but given how they have been together practically 24/7 for over a week straight, it’s kind of hard not to want that to continue.

She’s anxious at the thought of not being nearby in case he needs something.

In case he needs her.

Roman shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.” There’s a hint of concern etched in his handsome features as he asks, “are you sure you’re okay?” Solana does her best to remain with a neutral expression even as his shifts into something of a frown. “Feel like you’ve been sick a lot lately...”

“Stress,” she answers. Again, technically not a lie. “It’s just been…..a lot recently.” But then, she feels bad because she sees that he feels bad. “I’ll be fine. I promise. I just need to make sure you’re….okay enough.”

Because wanting him to be good is a ridiculous expectation. Not with what he’s just been through. She knows better than anyone how recovery from a major loss like that can take some time. 

A lot of time.

Roman’s still looking at her unconvinced. Like….like there’s something he’s not saying.

Or asking.

And, it’s unnerving, because sitting on a pile of secrets is always stressful enough. Adding in her overtly protective and possibly suspicious husband is even more unsettling and not anything she can tolerate right now.

“I’ll come see you at lunch then,” she suggests, partially wanting to actually check on him mid-day but also needing them to get off this subject. 

It seems to work, as he objects, “you don’t have to do that, Sol.”

“But, I want to,” she counters, lifting her palm to his cheek. “You’ve helped me get to the point where I’m okay….now it’s my turn.”

Solana is unsure what okay will look like for Roman, because everyone’s definition is different. But, whatever it is, whatever it requires, she’s willing and ready to walk with him, right by his side, the entire time.

Roman leans down and kisses her forehead, muttering, “come with me.” He straightens back up and goes to grab her hand, explaining, “I want to show you something.” 

Solana nods and allows him to walk them out the kitchen and past the living room where she sees Dulce sleeping peacefully in her bed. Roman guides them up the steps and into their bedroom only for her to gasp, turning to him with a small smile. “Roman? What is all of this?”

This referring to the more than several set of small to medium black, luxury shopping bags with a foreign word written in calligraphy sitting on the dresser. Moving closer, another gasp when she realizes they’re almost all filled with various sized jewelry boxes. 

“When did you even….” She trails off, grabbing a random box and opening it, mouth dropping at the stunning diamond necklace. “Roman, this is beautiful.” Because it is, and she’s certain every other piece he’s apparently purchased for her is just as stunning. 

He’s moved over towards her, arms crossed as he explains, “it’s handmade Italian jewelry. I wasn’t sure exactly what you’d like best, so I just got it all.” He says it so casually, Solana’s eyes widening at the thought of how much all of this could have cost. 

“How much did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he dismisses, pushing some of her hair out of her face. “You’re worth it all.”

His words warm her heart and make those butterflies form as her eyes land on something else. Carefully closing the box and placing it back inside the bag, she’s quick with grabbing the beautiful brown leathered book. “You got me journals!” It’s said with such elation, almost childlike, evoking a chuckle from Roman. The smile on her face widening as she runs her hand over the soft cover. Opening said journal, an engravement on the inside of the front cover catches her attention. It’s written in what she would guess is Italian.

Italian jewelry. Italian leather, most likely. Putting two and two together would indicate these are gifts he got her while he was away in Italy. A realization that makes her heart flutter. He was there on business yet still made time for her.

Always thinking of her.

Moved and now especially curious about the words she cannot read for herself, Solana asks, “what does it say?”

And without even reading it, Roman speaks in Italian, moving his hand to gently cup her face as he translates in a quiet voice, “you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Her heart swells, eyes shutting momentarily to bask in the moment. Love is such a beautiful, sacred thing, treasured and coveted. Something she’s found, so deeply and heavenly, with him.

Always with him. 

And it’s in that moment, as she leans up and kisses him, reciprocating her vow of love, that it hits her. 

Solana knows exactly what tattoo she wants to get for her husband.

————

The minute the backdoor is opened and Roman slides in the SUV, he’s met with Dwayne’s hulking frame, phone glued to his ear.

“I don’t fucking care if it’s impossible. Make it possible,” he barks. Roman chuckles. His cousins’s temper can rival his at times, and this aggression and irritation that fills the SUV makes it a bit easier for him to drift from sorrow to business. 

Emotions have always been…..weird for him. Something he’s always possessed but worked tirelessly to push away and suppress, only to ever really reveal and express around one woman before Solana.

Fetu.

She was always his safe space. His anchor. His safety.

Her being gone isn’t something that’s computed, that’s truly set in, that he’s accepted. Or, maybe he has. Maybe it was that crushing realization that not only is she gone but that he didn’t even get to see or speak to her one last time that made him break down in his wife’s arms.

Years.

It’s been years since Roman has cried. Not since the day of the funerals where he refused to leave the gravesite of his deceased family. Where he cried and apologized profusely for hours for not being able to save them.

For failing them and not being strong enough to do so.

That….that was the last day he’d allowed himself to shed a tear.

Until now.

It was both a strange, liberating experience. One he never wants to experience again but also…..needs.

Two opposing forces that make little sense and account for a shit ton of cognitive dissonance. 

The only thing that does make sense is his wife.

Solana.

That is the one thing, the one person he needs. Now more than ever.

And she’s been nothing but his rock throughout this whole thing. Even when he tried to push her away and ice her out, she stayed. Supported him. Helped him. Cared for him. Loved him. 

He wasn’t lying when he told her he couldn’t have made it through this without her.

He couldn’t.

At all. 

And as nice as being with her, not having to think or focus on anything but himself and all of his heavy ass emotions has been, it couldn’t last forever. 

Because as much as he still feels not okay, he’s gotta pull it together. 

One way or another. 

“Yeah….that’s what I fucking thought,” Dwayne snaps, pulling Roman from his thoughts, before snatching the phone from his ear and smashing the red end button. “Fucking incompetent pieces of shit.”

“Do I want to know?” Roman asks, even though he really wants to substitute want with need. Right now, essential information and problems is all he wants to tackle this day. It’s bad enough his Wise Man is out sick.

Paul is usually the buffer and filter for all the bullshit, something Roman truly has little patience for on most days, even more on a day like today.

“Naw.” Dwayne shakes his head. “I got it.” He turns to his cousin as Roman signals for the driver to start driving. “How you doing?”

A dumbass question in Roman’s mind, but he doesn’t say as such. “Fine.” He’s not, but as easy as Dwayne can be to talk to sometimes, if Roman is going to talk to someone about feelings and shit, it’s going to be his wife.

And, well, her. 

Maybe. 

“Bullshit,” Dwayne calls him out, lightly shoving his shoulder. “But, getting back into the swing of things might be helpful for you. You like yelling at people.”

“I shouldn’t have to though,” is the easy counter. “People should just do their fucking job.”

Dwayne gestures to his phone. “That’s what I just told this dumbass.” Roman snickers and shakes his head as his older cousin clears his throat and suddenly asks, “that wife of yours talk to you?”

Roman easily hides the way his shoulders tense at being asked about Solana. “About?”

Dwayne’s expression shifts into something a bit more serious, and this isn’t lost upon Roman. “About what went down with Rikishi?”

“Yes.” The answer to that is easy and simple. Solana did technically tell him something happened between her and his older cousin, but she did not say specifics. And he knows that was for a reason. “Now tell me what really happened.”

————

The conference room is already filled with the expected persons by the time Roman and Dwayne arrive. All but two chairs are occupied as Jimmy, Jey, Solo, Rikishi, and Matteo wait with various expressions. The sons and father seem to be engaged in quiet conversation while Matteo keeps to himself, preoccupied with the phone in his hand.

That dynamic is about all that Roman can make out as he marches right into said conference room, Dwayne not too far behind. The men are barely able to finish standing when Roman marches right over to Rikishi’s chair, grabbing him by his collar, snatching him out the chair and shoving him against the nearest wall. 

Roman is somewhat cognizant of the voices of shock and protest around him, but it doesn’t make a single fucking difference.

He’s seeing red.

Muscled forearm barred against Rikishi’s fat neck, he finds joy in the way the older man’s eyes are bulging and the almost desperate way his chubby fingers try to push him away. “If you ever in your fucking life raise your hand to her again, I’ll kill you! You understand me!” Roman relishes in the absolute fear emanating from the man before him. Good. “Don’t you ever fucking disrespect my wife!”

By now, Roman is a bit more cognizant to the hands grasping at him, trying to pull him away from his target.

“Ayo, Uce, what the hell you doing!” Jimmy’s voice makes it past the thick wall of anger that fills and consumes Roman as he thinks about this fucker having to audacity to try to hit his wife.

Over Roman’s dead fucking body will anyone disrespect Solana. Especially his family.

“Get the hell off him!” Roman is finally “pulled” away from a now gasping, coughing Rikishi. It’s truly Roman’s decision to let go, because ain’t no way in hell not a man in that room could stop him from killing this son of a bitch right now if he wanted to.

And a part of him does. He really does. But, it’s hard to tell how much of that desire is fueled by his grief vs logic. 

But, it’s when Roman realizes both Jey and Solo are standing in front of a reddened face Rikishi, while Jimmy tends to his dad, that he really gets pissed the fuck off. They have the audacity to look like they’re ready to jump him. “What ya’ll about to do, huh?” Roman challenges, ready for whatever. As he always is. “Ya’ll ain’t about to do shit!” 

And maybe, just maybe, they are. Doesn’t matter. He’ll kick both their asses and make their daddy watch. 

Jimmy then moves over after helping Rikishi to his feet. “Roman, what the hell are you even talking about?”

Chin jutted in Rikishi’s direction, his answer is cold and direct. “Ask him.”

Another harsh cough followed by an unexpected answer as he moves to the side, no longer completely obscured by the protective wall of two of his sons. “She hit me first. Did she tell you that?”

At that answer, both Jey and Jimmy look slightly taken back. Solo just continues to glare at Roman, who’s tempted to knock him out for that disrespect alone.

“She did,” Dwayne suddenly chimes, him and Matteo simply watching the scene unfold without a hint of interference. For now. “But, this was only after you made fun of her being abused and basically told her she was useless because she hasn’t produced an heir yet.” Just hearing it again has Roman’s eyes closing and hand fisting at his side. Rage. “Regardless, you know the rules. We don’t put our fucking hands on women.” And then an almost knowing comment/question. “Or have you forgotten?”

It’s a simple question, but it feels like there’s a story there. The way anger flashes in Rikishi’s face and eyes, something similar to what’s painted on his twins faces. Roman, however, is redirected from wondering if there was more to said comment by Jimmy and Jey switching their focus back to their dad.

“Dad, did you really do that?” Jimmy is the one to ask, shaking his head. “Tell me you ain’t say that shit.”

Rikishi doesn’t hesitate to defend himself. “The girl was out of line.”

“Aye,” Jimmy is the one to cut him off. “Her name is Solana, alright?”

“Just let him talk,” Jey interrupts. “Two sides to every story.”

“Not when it’s a man trying to hit a woman,” Jimmy counters. “Making fun of her trauma and shit.”

Jey is also not backing down. “Look, we weren’t there, alright?”

“But, I was, and I saw exactly what went down,” Dwayne reminds, crossing his arms. 

“And if I may,” Matteo suddenly enters the conversation, Jey only looking more irritated than before. “Under no circumstance should a man try to hit a woman. Ever.” 

Jey doesn’t hesitate to try to put Matteo in his place. “Aye, look, this don’t involve you, alright. This Bloodline business.” 

“I suggest you lower your voice.” Matteo’s own voice takes on an icy tone as he so chillingly threatens, “I’d hate to have to spill your blood in front of your family. On this otherwise lovely day, too. A shame.”

Matteo’s very real threat only further incenses Jey. “I know you not fucking threatening me.” He steps forward, Solo reaching to restrain his older brother. “Man, I’ll knock your ass out!”

Matteo smiles. “I look forward to seeing you try.”

Jey points to Roman, “you better get your fucking boy, Roman.”

Roman couldn’t care too much about that. “Tell your fucking dad to keep his hands off my wife.”

“Man, you overreacting! He ain’t even touch her!”

Roman growls, “just because you don’t give a fuck about your bitch of a wife—”

“What the hell you just say?” At that, Jey’s very paltry sense of resolve breaks. “I told you, you not gon’ keep disrespecting my wife, or we gon have problems!”

Roman goes to move toward Jey, never ever scared when both Matteo and Dwayne go to restrain him. “If you gon do something, do it!” It takes a great amount of strength from both men to hold back an irate, borderline unhinged Roman. “I’ll whoop you and your daddy’s ass, and if Solo keeps looking at me like he’s lost his goddamn mind, I’ll kick his ass too!”

“That’s enough!” Jimmy finally cuts in, also going to restrain Jey, standing between an almost standoff. Rikishi, Solo, and Jey vs Roman, Dwayne, and Matteo. “Everybody just needs to calm down!”

“Your anger is misplaced, Uce.” Rikishi sounds, Dwayne still holding onto Roman’s arm while Matteo has loosened his grip in favor of focusing on the other three, waiting to see if they’ll do something. “Especially considering I was the one who tried to plead on your behalf just this morning,” he taunts almost, as if trying to get under Roman's skin even further. 

And, it partially works. 

Roman doesn’t need anyone to do shit for him.

“Plead for what?” Dwayne is the one to ask, recognizing verbalizations are a much better alternative to the physical melee that’s on the horizon if de-escalation doesn’t start. And fast. 

Rikishi straightens up, adjusting his tie, almost as if he’s trying to act like his life didn’t just end suddenly and violently. “The Elders have grown tired of waiting for the Tribal Chief to produce an heir.” Dwayne tightens his grip ever so slightly, feeling Roman try to inch away from him. “You and your wife are to conceive by the end of the year….or else.”

It’s almost an instant thing, several sets of eyes all on Roman, most of which trying to anticipate and navigate his next move.

Meanwhile, Roman’s mouth shifts, his nose snarled as he finds himself shouting, Dwayne again having to hold him back from lunging. “Or else what!”

Rikishi’s voice is eerily calm as he answers in an even voice, “they will make you divorce Solana and take a new wife of their choosing this time.”

————

There’s an emptiness she feels sitting in the patient room, waiting for the nurse to walk in. Roman’s absence is noticeable and heavy, and she hates it. Hates that this is yet another thing that she has to keep from him.

That she’s chosen to keep from him, because at this point, these are choices she’s making. 

She chose to not tell him about her potentially being pregnant. Chose to not tell him once the pregnancy was confirmed. And chose to still not tell him even as she sits at her first OB-GYN appointment.

And yes, all of that may be for good reasons, for her wanting to protect and be mindful of where he is mentally and emotionally.

Still, it doesn’t negate the fact that it sucks.

And that it hurts.

It hurts a lot. 

Following a small knock and opening of the door, Solana looks up from her lap and wipes away at her blurry gaze, offering a small smile to the nurse who’s just walked in. “Hello.”

She’s young, probably close to Solana’s age, her scrubs revealing a slim, lithe figure. Her dark hair cascades down her shoulders and frames her features nicely. She’s a stunning woman. 

A woman, however, who fails to reciprocate Solana’s kind gesture. Not right away, at least. Awkwardly clearing her throat, she greets, “Mrs. Reigns. I didn’t—they didn’t tell me it was you…..give me just one minute?” The nurse doesn’t wait for a reply, just leaves a confused Solana sitting in the patient room wondering just what the hell is going on.

She’s just about ready to step out into the hallway when the nurse returns, quietly closing the door behind her. “I’m so sorry.” 

Solana has to ask, nails nervously tapping against the bed. “Is….is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she answers. Quickly. Too quickly. “Shit, no.” Closing her eyes for a few seconds, she walks over to Solana and offers one of the wildest introductions ever. “My name is Sasha, and I know you don’t know me, and I’m probably crazy as hell for even telling you this, but I—I used to sleep with your husband.”

Solana’s shoulders slump at the same time her chest tightens. “W–what?”

Sasha’s eyes go wide as she shakes her head and explains. “It’s been months. Like not since the beginning of this year, but I—I was one of the ones…..” She presses her fingers to her temples. “God, this is so messed up. I’m so sorry to do this to you. I tried to see if another nurse could handle you, but everyone is busy and…..fuck.”

Fuck is most definitely the right world. Of all the places. Of all the nurses. Solana just so happens to get the one nurse who used to be one of her husband’s fuck buddies.

Go fucking figure.

“I haven’t spoken or done anything with him in months. I swear.” She then lifts her left hand to show off a beautiful engagement ring. “Funnily enough, this is actually my last week working here. My fiance—long story— and I are from the same town, and he just got a job back home, so we’re moving next week.” She adds in a bitter tone, “kinda wish it was this week now.”

With the absence of Solana’s voice, Sasha proceeds to fill the silence. “Mrs. Reigns, I really am sorry. I know I had no business still sleeping with your husband after you two got married, but we’d been….intimate on and off for years, and he was just someone—”

“Please,” Solana finally speaks, voice low and soft. “Please don’t. I—I get it.”

Because with the shock worn off and the discomfort waning, as irritating as this is, it doesn’t necessarily matter. 

This Sasha woman was Roman’s past. Solana knows that she’s his present and future, so from that logic, what reason does she have to be upset?

At least with Sasha.

She does, however, have a reason to be nervous.

Hand naturally falling to her stomach, she says in a much more desperate voice than she’d like, “you can’t tell anyone—”

“Are you kidding me?” Her eyes widen once more as she shakes her head. “Outing the Tribal Chief’s wife’s pregnancy is a sure way for me to go missing, and I’d actually like to make it down the aisle.” Sasha visibly tenses, suddenly asking in a lowered voice. “Wait, is he he—”

“No.” That’s it. That’s the only answer Solana can bring herself to give. And it seems enough, Sasha nodding before the two settle into an awkward silence.

“Is it okay if…..if we get started?”

Solana nods, still a bit boggled by the whole situation but recognizing that it’s not the priority. 

“Of course,” she agrees. 

All things considered, Sasha is the epitome of professionalism. She asks her questions, takes down the information given to her, draws Solana’s blood and directs her to the bathroom where the pregnant woman gives a urine sample, all while maintaining a calm, friendly disposition.

There’s nothing, surprisingly, awkward about it. 

And that’s appreciated. Shocking, too, given who she is and who she was to Roman. 

It’s only when she’s wrapping up her portion that she clears her throat again. “I hope this doesn’t come across as an inappropriate question and feel free to tell me to mind my damn business, but can I ask why Roman isn’t here?”

Solana is tempted, almost ready to take Sasha up on her suggestion to tell her to mind her own damn business, but there’s something so genuine about her question. A sadness in her voice and sympathetic look in her eyes. It seems to come from a place of genuine concern. 

Solana finds herself answering honestly. “He doesn’t know yet.”

Sasha makes an ‘O’ with her mouth. “I’m sorry. I should have never asked. It’s just….with how much he must care about you—”

“What makes you say that?” Solana knows the words to be true. Knows that Roman cares about her. Loves her. But how and why the woman in front of her knows this is what makes her slightly suspicious.

Sasha sighs, answering almost nervously, “a man like Roman Reigns doesn’t just cut off his entire roster of women in exchange for one if she doesn’t mean something to him.” She shrugs, adding on, “and I mean, look at what he did to Sam’s uppity ass.”

If not for the confusion, Solana would maybe chuckled a bit. She’s not heard one good thing about Sam from a single person. Not one. “What do you mean?”

“Girl, you didn’t hear?” Sasha sucks her teeth, smiling a bit. “He had Nia whoop her ass. Well deserved, in my opinion.”

Solana gasps. “What?”

“Yup,” Sasha pops the ‘p.’ “Had her break that bitch jaw.”

Solana sits there stunned, briefly struggling to understand the reasons why only for it to come to her so easily.

The night of the fight. 

Sam’s cruel words to her in the bathroom. 

Solana told Roman. Roman said he’d handle it.

Clearly, that was how it was handled. 

“You be careful with that one though,” Sasha advises, expression shifting to something a bit serious. “She was always delusional believing Roman was gonna marry her ass. And a couple weeks ago, I saw her drunk in a bar lamenting about how much she hates you and can’t wait to—her words, not mine—give you exactly what you deserve.”

The words should bother her. Maybe even trigger a sense of concern. Solana recognizes that would be a normal reaction, especially given the world that they live in. However, concern and even fear are not the emotions that rise at Sasha’s information.

Anger.

Anger is the only thing she feels. 

Solana isn’t the same woman Sam cornered in the bathroom and talked down to.

She’s changed. Grown. Is better in so many ways and stronger in so many more.

So, Sam can try some shit if she wants to.

Solana is ready this time. 

“I’m not scared of her,” is all she says, hand falling protectively to her stomach. 

“I can see that,” Sasha says with a small smile, tapping on the screen a couple more times. “Well, I think that’s all I need from you. Dr. Sharmell will take over the rest.” She pauses. “Like I said, this is my last week here, so Alexa or Jakara will probably be your nurse moving forward, but I just wanna say congratulations. You seem like you’re gonna be a great mom.”

Eyes watering, Solana can only mumble a quiet, heartfelt, “thank you.” 

Sasha doesn’t say anything else before walking out the room, leaving Solana alone for not even five minutes before there’s a knock on the door followed by an entrance.

“Mrs. Reigns?” An African-American woman with smooth brown skin, a wrinkle free complexion and pearly whites. Her smile is amenable and her disposition warm. She walks over, extending her hand. “Hi, I’m Dr. Sharmell. I’ll be your OB-GYN. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Solana can only reciprocate the smile and gesture, shaking the older woman’s hand. “Thank you. It’s—it’s nice to meet you too. You….you can call me Solana.”

She looks a bit taken back but nods. “Solana, it is.” Moving over to the screen, she double checks a couple things that Sasha had already asked. Asks a couple more questions, mostly regarding if there’s been any concerns regarding the pregnancy thus far. The answer is no.

Solana prays it stays that way.

“Okay, well, I see you had a pap smear at the beginning of the year, so I won’t do one of those again. The labs I ordered are standard procedure just to make sure your levels are good, and from what I can see based off your hCG levels, it does look like this is a multiples pregnancy.” Solana has no major reaction to this, as it was already hinted/told to her by Dr. Michaels. “But, let’s do an ultrasound and double check, okay?” She gives Solana a look that’s of a questioning nature, like she wants to make sure this is an okay trajectory.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she answers in a quiet voice.

However, it’s when Dr. Sharmell starts to move the machine around that Solana notices something that zaps the comfort and calmness she was experiencing up until his point. “Wait, is that—do we have to do a transvaginal ultrasound?”

Just saying it aloud makes her stomach twist in all of the wrong ways.

Dr. Sharmell nods. “Based upon the date of your last menstrual cycle, you should be right at 10 weeks, and internal ultrasounds are best practices for pregnant women still in their first trimester.” Solana’s discomfort must be written all over her face, prompting the older woman to ask, “are you okay?”

Sniffling, Solana wipes at her now tearing eyes. “I’m sorry, I just—” She takes a deep breath, reluctantly sharing, “I was raped as a child and…..I just….things down there…..”

And this is why Solana would give anything to have Roman here with her, because she knows his presence, holding his hand, having him here reassuring her that she’s safe would help her be able to tolerate the exam.

But, he’s not here, and the thought of being penetrated, even if for medical reasons, is something that has her heart racing and anxiety spiking. 

Dr. Sharmell is nothing but sympathetic as her face morphs into something almost solemn. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” She shakes her head. “I can do a pelvic one instead. It may not show everything, but it’ll show enough for now. Okay?”

Solana can only nod and close her eyes as Dr.Sharmell shifts gears, handing her a sheet to cover up her lower half. Solana then proceeds to raise up the hospital gown to expose her belly. The gel is cool, a nice, chilling sensation to help settle her nerves. But, it’s when the doctor makes a sound that she opens her eyes and shifts her focus to the screen. 

“I was right.” She shoots Solana a small, comforting smile. “Twins.” Eyes continuing to water, Solana looks in awe as Dr. Sharmell points to the screen. “This is Baby A.” Her finger travels around as does the transducer roaming her belly. “And this is Baby B.” 

So early on in her pregnancy, it’s hard to make out anything significant like arms, legs, and a head, because none of those have developed just yet. However, none of that matters, because they’re still her babies.

Her children. 

Confirmation that they’re alive, growing, and healthy.

It makes the tears spill over, the emotionality of it all overwhelming her in a sense. 

He should be here.

Roman should be here, experiencing this with her. 

But he’s not.

And all she can seem to think about is how this is wrong. 

All so wrong. 

————

It’s not a good time to be doing this.

Not in the slightest. Roman knows this, has the wherewithal to see and know that he’s not in the best place to even try to be open to something he doesn’t even want to be doing in the first place.

But, he also knows that he needs to. That he needs to do this. Whether he wants to or not. 

It’s not about him.

It’s about her.

It’s about doing what’s best for their marriage, and truthfully, if she can find it in her to do it, then so can he.

Marriage…..

Roman’s fist forms at his side as he rolls his shoulders while trying to settle the anger growing again at Rikishi’s words he has no doubt came directly from the Elders.

There’s also lingering feelings towards Jey and Solo, toward their disrespectful, borderline challenging behavior. Unacceptable on all fronts, thus he regrets nothing except maybe not reminding them both why they answer to him and call him Tribal Chief.

However, that’s minimal compared to Rikishi and his actions both today and toward Solana.  

But, while a part of him wants to believe that the son of a bitch was just trying to fuck with him with his statement about the Elders, a result of his anger and pride at being attacked, the logical part of Roman knows that’s not the case.

He knows Rikishi isn’t lying about that much.

It makes sense. Roman sensed there was some shit they were planning before Fetu had passed. Sensed that they were up to something, and this is clearly it.

It’s not going to happen though.

It’s one thing for Roman to reconsider ending his marriage to Solana for her own safety. It’s another for those prehistoric fuckers to try to tell him he needs to end his marriage to her.

Over his dead fucking body will that ever happen.

Roman will kill them all before he lets them take her from him.

Murder is obviously the last resort. Maybe. But as of right now, he hasn’t got another plan. A less violent way to handle this, but he’ll figure it out. 

He always does.

Even though the solution is rather simple, something that is very much a possibility now that their marriage has been consummated. 

Many times.

Many….many times. 

And in full transparency…..Roman had started to wonder. Her sickness. The fatigue. The vomiting. 

Started to wonder if maybe, just maybe…..

And then he pushed it away. Has pushed it away, because stress would also explain all of that as well. But beyond that, he knows that if it was that, Solana would have said something. 

And, she hasn’t, thus it’s not even worth thinking about further. 

So, until then, he’ll come up with a plan.

But, not right now. 

Now he’s got a whole other issue he’s sort of—not really—ready to tackle.

Because Roman’s already paper thin patience is waning by the second every time he glances at the clock on his phone to see another minute pass. Three. She’s three minutes late. And for some people, that would be insignificant, but not for Roman. Because every minute of the day is precious for him, spoken and accounted for with tasks to be completed.

So every minute wasted waiting on her is deducted from the total time he has in a day to get everything done, thus, he’s already got one strike against this woman before ever even meeting her.

Thankfully, a text from Solana manages to briefly pull him from his growing frustration and temptation to just leave.

Solana: You’re not getting back until late, right?

Roman: Yes. 

Roman: Why? You alright?

Solana: Yes. It’s just Bayley and Naomi are “making” me go with them to dinner tonight, but I don’t want to not be there when you get home….

Roman: Solana, go. I’ll be fine. 

Because he will. Emotionally, he still feels…..not great, but he doesn’t feel as numb and overwhelmed as he’s been the past few days. Even beyond that, his wife has been by his side this entire time, putting her own life on hold to focus and cater to him. And he’s grateful. Immensely. But, she needs to also focus on herself.

His feelings about Bayley and Naomi are still…..not the best, but he knows what they mean to Solana, and she needs this.

So, he wants her to have it.

Solana: Are you sure?

Roman: Positive

“Well, shit.” 

Roman looks up from his phone, instantly irritated because why the fuck is someone talking to him when he’s trying to text his wife?

And he’s even more annoyed at the sight of the red headed woman wearing jeans, boots, and a white short sleeved shirt that shows off the tattooed sleeve on her right arm. Bag over shoulder, cup of coffee in one hand, and keys in the other, she scoffs. “Yeah…..Gail wasn’t kidding when she said she had a challenging referral for me.” 

But, it’s when she speaks again that his scowl drops. Roman asks, “you the therapist?”

She shrugs, answering, “that’s what my clinical license says.” Turning away from him, she prompts, “come on. Sorry I’m late. People don’t know how to fucking drive.”

There’s a lot to process in this moment. The lateness. The almost unprofessional attire. The profanity. 

What in the hell did Gail sign him up for?

Nevertheless, Roman follows this woman into the office once she unlocks and opens the door. And again, another culture shock. His wife’s therapist office is the traditional cool tones, plants hanging near the window, some mental health shit on the wall and whatnot. And this….person still has that, but there’s nothing neutral and traditional about her setup. The sofa is red, a kaleidoscope of colors plastered everywhere from the rug to the pillows to even the tye-dye curtains that are pulled back with a bright green tie. And it’s the framed poster on the wall above the computer that reads, “feelings are weird and uncomfortable and shit’ that makes him chuckle.

One thing he can give her is that it’s nice to not have that…..therapy shit shoved down his throat.

Not when he’s already extremely uncomfortable with this whole thing.

“Make yourself at therapy home,” she encourages, going to hang her bag on the hook behind the now closed door. Roman sits down, still on edge but feeling less annoyed. “Name’s Lita, by the way. Not sure if Gayle mentioned it.”

“She didn’t,” he answers, watching how she walks over and plops down in her chair, grabbing her coffee off the desk where she’d placed it while getting the room set up.

“Well, it is,” she shrugs. Taking a sip, she then informs, “I’ll call you Roman.”

Instantly, the irritation is reappearing. “Did I say you could call me by my first name?”

Lita gives him a look, asking in an even voice, “do you seriously expect me to call you My Tribal Chief?” She chuckles at her almost mocking tone, mumbling before snagging another sip. “That’s not happening.”

Roman finds himself asking, both rhetorically and literally, “what the hell kind of therapist are you?”

Because while his only experience with this profession has been through Solana, through Gail and even Stratus, the differences are stark. These women are day compared to Lita’s night.

“The kind who works with people. Not titles.” Reaching to place her coffee on the small table beside her, she explains. “The Tribal Chief is what you are. It’s not who you are. Who you are is Roman Reigns, and that’s who I’m interested in working with.” She gestures around her room. “In this space, you’re just a person, and something tells me that’s not a space you get to be in a lot in your life.”

He’s quiet. For a couple of reasons. The main one being that he’s having a bit of a hard time finding a point of disagreement. Her delivery is absurd, borderline disrespectful, but it’s not….it’s not entirely wrong. 

“So how’s this shit supposed to work?” He asks, allowing himself to lean back on the sofa, muscular arms crossed over one another.

Lita shrugs once more. “However you want it to work.” And before he can push back on her vague ass answer, she supplies, “my approach is I don’t make you do anything. I help you get to a point where you want to do things.”

“Like?” 

“Actually work on and process shit.”

“That’s probably not gonna happen.”

Lita chuckles, standing up and walking over to her desk. Roman watches her pull open a drawer where she grabs a notebook and pen. She then walks back over and reaches said items to him. “Here. Take these.”

Roman looks at her with disinterest but still accepts said items. “Alright, I want you to write down why you’re here right now. I’m not gonna see it, not gonna read it, not even gonna keep it. That’s for you. I just want you to be honest with yourself and preferably me, but we’ll get you there.”

Roman looks slightly confused but still understanding of what she’s asked of him. Lita grabs her coffee and falls back into the chair. “Get to writing.”

A scowl reappears. This demanding shit is gonna have to most definitely be addressed. 

Roman doesn’t get demanded.

Even though he most definitely finds himself writing shit down.

Control my anger/blackouts (around my wife—I don’t care about anyone else)

And that’s it.

“Done.”

Lita lifts a brow. “Seriously?”

“What?”

She scoffs, “you head the two biggest criminal organizations in the world and only need less than a minute to list things you want to work on?” She shakes her head, directing,“try again.”

Roman is irritated. This smart mouth of hers is getting old. “I don’t need—”

“I said try again,” Lita says in an almost softer voice. “Remember, be honest with yourself.”

There’s something both triggering and eye-opening about that latter statement. Honesty is something Roman has always valued, but when it’s directed toward and about himself, there seems to be difficulty. 

Solana….she’s helped a lot with that, and he’d probably feel less hesitant and more forthcoming if it was her he was talking to, but as great a support system his wife is for him, he knows he can’t put it all on her.

The same way, deep down, he knows he can’t continue to bottle shit up like he’s been doing.

Roman swallows before starting to list without thinking, refusing to allow his brain to interfere with what weighs his heart down when he strips back all the thick layers of protection.

Feeling guilty about Fetu’s death

Feeling guilty about my family’s murders

Feeling guilty about surviving

Feeling guilty about Solana’s attempt

Feelings towards my mom

Feelings about fatherhood someday

Not feeling good enough for Solana

Feeling like I have to be perfect to be loved

Being codependent with Solana

Matteo

Other shit

Roman can list it, but that’s it. Talking about or even thinking about what he wrote down is just….it’s too much right now.

“Done,” he mutters, taking it upon himself to fold up said paper that he stuffs in his pocket. 

“Good.” Lita nods. Standing up once more, she moves over to a bin near the bookshelf, pulling out a red, familiar box. “Now let’s play a game.”

“A game?” Roman is disgusted all over again when she walks over, holding the biggest box of fucking Uno he’s ever seen. “Do I look like a child?”

“Technically, there’s a child in all of us,” she counters. Roman watches her pull the massive stack of cards out of the box. “Now this is actually feelings Uno.”

“Feelings Uno?” It keeps getting worse. So much worse. “What the hell is that?”

Rolling her eyes while she expertly manages to shuffle through the giant cards, Lita explains, “Red is anger. Blue is sadness. Yellow is joy. And Green is a free for all, meaning you get to decide whatever emotion you want it to be on your turn. You play a card and then talk about whatever emotion goes with the card color.” The steps are clear and to the point, but Roman is still struggling with the fact that this woman seriously wants to play a whole ass game with him. “Considering it’s only our first session, I’ll take it easy on you. You only have to answer when you play a red card.”  She smirks, equally distributing cards to the both of them. “Something tells me anger won’t be too difficult for you to talk about.”

She’s not….not entirely wrong. 

Roman asks while looking over at his colorful cards. “You stack?” Playing a game is truly preferred than talking about….feelings and shit.

“You trying to talk about several different upsetting events at once?” She asks, laughing a little when he rolls his eyes. “No. No stacking. This time.” Leaning over, she plops the first card down for their pile. “And to show you I can sometimes be one of those overly nice therapists, I’ll go first.” Roman watches her lay down a matching red card, sharing so casually, “well, I felt angry as hell when I came home from school when I was thirteen and found out my abusive, piece of shit dad had not only offed himself but took my mom and little brother with him.” 

Silence. Almost everything about this woman in the less than twenty minutes that he’s known her has been unexpected, but that has to take the cake. The casualty in her voice is a stark contest to the weight of the confession. It has him partially stumped, cause what the fuck does one say to that?

He goes with the only thing he knows and can think to say in the moment. “Why the hell would you tell me that?”

There’s a bit of a shift in her countenance. Her voice softens as she explains, “it’s important you know when we’re working together and I say that I understand life can be a shitshow, I’m not talking about fucking Starbucks messing up my order.”

He doesn’t comment on her disclosure nor her follow up comment. He just lays down his own red card, sharing, “felt angry at my mom when she told me one time that my half brother was the son she wanted, not me.”

Lita makes a sound. “Parents are just wonderful, aren’t they?”

Roman says nothing, the two of them easily falling into this space of sharing and not really elaborating. Just putting it out there, building some strange form of rapport that feels almost natural to him.

And it’s through this process that Gail’s comment regarding this whole therapy thing returns to him. “I have someone in mind who will either be a perfect fit for you or the worst referral I’ve ever provided.”

And strangely enough, Roman is leaning toward the former of those two paths.

————

Solana has always felt deeply aligned with the saying, “if it ain’t one thing, it’s another.” Always felt that perfectly described many of her life experiences. It’s something that’s waned drastically since being married to Roman but has still popped up from time to time.

And sadly, this is one of those times.

Because now not only is she sitting on a letter given to her by Roman’s late aunt that she requested only be given to him when the time was “right,” a pregnancy that now her husband’s ex fuck buddy knows about before him, but now another letter addressed to Solana.

From her mother.

A letter Solana has never seen before today when she was trying to reorganize her library/art room after Roman canceled their lunch date, citing being unable to escape meetings.

She believes him, of course. It’s just that it would have been preferred to this.

Yet one more thing for her to work through.

In all actuality, it should be easy for Solana to just open the damn letter. Read it and get it over with. But the weight of it, the amount of pages she can feel through the envelope, and the fact that it’s in a separate letter instead of a journal, has her concerned.

Solana’s mom always wrote to her in journals, so the fact that this is not in a journal…..it has her worried.

Which is why it remains untouched, laid out on the bathroom counter with Fetu’s letter along with the sonogram photo she received just earlier today. Both pulled from their respective hiding spots in her art room/home library.

Solana is trying to figure all this out while doing her makeup for dinner. A nice, necessary distraction as she spends a little extra time covering up the bruise. The darkness and hyperpigmentation have gone down tremendously, which she’s immensely grateful for. Especially given the fact that Roman hasn’t commented on it in a while. She knows he sees it, can see the slight cringe he still does at the sight,  but his guilt seems to have dwindled moderately, which is deeply appreciated.

Even if it’s because he’s battling a different type of grief now. And it’s staring at the envelope from Fetu that Solana allows herself to really think about if the right time is now. It would be so easy to just give it to him, to not have to have that weight on her shoulders. And maybe she should have done it sooner, done it during his week of depression and dissociation.

But, she was just so worried that it could somehow make things worse. That it was too soon. 

And, it still feels too soon. Solana isn’t entirely sure what the right time is…..but, it doesn’t feel like now.

Maybe….maybe in another week or so. Besides, Fetu trusted her to give Roman the letter, so the older woman must have trusted her judgment….right?

What is and has been the right time for some time now, however, is this pregnancy. Solana can’t keep hiding this from him. He deserves to know. He always deserved to know, and while her intentions were always good, that doesn’t negate the fact that she’s in the wrong.

She needs to tell him.

And, she will.

Tonight.

It still doesn’t sit right with her to spring this on him while he’s still trying to process such a massive loss. But, it’s even more not right to tell his doctor, to attend these appointments, to be ten weeks along, almost three months along and him still be in the dark.

It’s not fair.

He doesn’t deserve that.

And as if on cue, her phone dings with a text from the man of the hour himself.

Roman: I love you

Such simple words that put the biggest, deepest smile on her face. She is quick to respond with reciprocation.

Solana: I love you, too. ❤️

Solana: Everything alright?

She taps her nails against the phone screen, staring at the three dots as he types.

Roman: Yeah.

Roman: Just wanted to say it.

And a sigh of awe leaves her, imagining him saying as such instead of texting it. A softness in his voice and gaze reserved only for her. 

Solana: Well, I’ll never get tired of hearing it. ☺️

Solana: I’m getting ready to head out.

Roman: Okay. Text me when you get there.

Solana: Will do.

Feeling slightly better at having some sense of direction moving forward as well as an unexpected, sweet exchange with her husband, Solana sends a text to Bayley and Naomi to let them know she’s on her way. Eyes glued to the phone, she isn’t paying much or enough attention to the fact that two items slide off the counter and onto the floor as she grabs a single envelope.

Bautista serves as her guard again, not that she has any issue with that. Solo is fine, has been fine, for the most part, since his apology at the gala, but Bautista….there’s something different about him.

Despite his intimidating, frightening presence, there’s a warmth in the older man that vastly contrasts Solo’s coldness. Not to mention his sage words regarding just who she is and the power that title gives her has truly been groundbreaking. It’s something she plans to never forget.

The drive leans on the side of shorter rather than longer, Solana walking into the restaurant, being escorted to the back where Bayley and Naomi wait. As soon as their eyes are on her, they’re standing up, each pulling her in for hugs.

“We’ve been so worried about you,” Naomi whispers in her ear, followed by Bayley’s hug as she straight up asks, “Solana, what the hell has been going on?”

But, it’s only after the waitress comes, takes their orders, and she texts Roman that she’s arrived that the words start to spill out. 

A heavy sigh leaves the mouth of the Tribal Chief’s wife as she sits down in the chair, placing her purse in the other empty chair. A quick glance to the left reveals Bautista sitting at a nearby table. Not too close but close enough where he could act if something were to go down.

“I know….I know I’ve been distant.” Distant seems like not a strong enough word, but it’s the best she’s got in this moment. “And, I’m sorry that I’ve been worrying ya’ll. That wasn’t my intention. There’s just been a lot going on.”

“Like what?” Naomi presses. “Solana, we don’t want to overstep, but the last time we’ve seen you was at training where you had a black eye. That was over two weeks ago with intermittent contact since. You’ve gotta give us something here.”

And Solana knows this. Knows that both of the women sitting across from her only mean well. From day one, they’ve been nothing but kind and supportive. Have only sought to help her as she reclaimed her voice and her life.

She owes them that much.

“I’m gonna tell you guys something, but you can’t say anything to anyone. Not a soul.” She focuses on Naomi. “Not even Jimmy.”

Bayley nods immediately. “Of course.” 

Naomi seems a bit reluctant. “I don’t like keeping things from my husband,” she admits. And Solana can’t and won’t fault her for that. “But, I can see this is important to you, so you have my word. I won’t say a thing.”

And Solana trusts it.

Trusts them.

Closing her eyes, she starts to answer, “Roman had…..he had a nightmare the night of his fight with Drew. Drew said something to him, and it messed with his head. I won’t say what. It’s not my place.” Because it isn’t. Nor is it relevant to the conversation at hand. “It was a bad nightmare, and I was trying to wake him up and when I finally did, he woke up swinging and accidentally hit me. He had no idea what he was doing, and he felt awful afterwards. He even…..he even compared himself to my dad and brother.”

The shocked expressions on their faces match the disgust Solana feels at Roman even being in the same sentence as those two men, let alone the same category.

“So yes, he did technically hit me, but it wasn’t intentional.” Solana finds herself adding, “and that’s why I got so upset, because for all that Roman is and can be, I was frustrated that you guys believed he could ever do something like that to me.”

“You’re right,” Bayley sighs, shaking her head. “I think we just saw the black eye and assumed it was because of what happened with Drew…..” She stops herself, correcting. “It was wrong though, and I’m sorry.”

“We both are,” Naomi agrees. “But, not for worrying about you.”

“Never that,” Bayley chuckles, lifting up her phone with a small smirk. “You’ve had the newbies hitting us up nonstop wondering if we’ve heard from you.”

“Girl, got us all in a group chat and everything called SOSlana.” Naomi proves this by pulling up her phone and sharing her screen where Solana can sure enough see the name of the group chat.

It makes her laugh. A much needed thing. “I know I need to catch up with them too, but ya’ll deserved to speak with me first.” Cause as amazing as Melina, Cam, and Mickie have been, Bayley and Naomi were there first.

The loyalty goes a lot deeper.

“Maybe we can reschedule the girls trip for all of us. Like in two weeks?” Bayley suggests. A glance at Naomi provides a nod of agreement. “Solana?”

Hesitation. On one hand, she’d like to say yes, but on the other, she just doesn’t know. Because something tells her when she tells Roman about the pregnancy tonight, he’s about to be a hell of a lot stricter regarding her outings. And she understands it fully. Understands why her being the pregnant wife of the Tribal Chief means a different layer of protectiveness.

“Let me run it by Roman first,” she finally answers. “He’s….he’s going through something right now, and I need to be there for him.” Not a lie. The absolute truth. 

“Yeah, Jimmy’s been acting kind of off too. I think something’s going on with the Bloodline.” She shakes her head and transitions into elaboration. “Just earlier today, I overheard him arguing with his brothers and dad.”

“Which brothers?” Bayley beats Solana to the punch by asking a very valid question.

“Jey and Solo,” Naomi answers. Solana does her best to maintain a neutral expression, but it’s hard. There’s something almost unsettling about that, though she can’t put her finger on the why. “It didn’t go well. They all ended up basically marching out the house, slamming my doors and everything.”

Curious, Solana can’t stop herself from asking, “did Jimmy tell you what the argument was about?”

A pause. A noticeable pause. “Not really. I’m sure they’ll get it together though.” As Naomi takes a sip of her champagne, Solana does her best not to look or think too deeply about the obvious deflection.

To be fair, Solana is firm about her boundaries regarding certain things discussed between herself and her husband. 

Why can’t Naomi get the same grace? 

Solana is grateful for the arrival of the food, appreciative of the diversion of topics, because Naomi is certainly right. Something is most definitely going on with the Bloodline. A major loss that’s mostly impacted Roman but Jimmy and Jey as well, most likely.

But, Solana can’t and won’t comment on that.

Providing her girls with some insight regarding a bit of what’s been going on is a nice distraction for Solana. Laughter is always good for the soul, and being around her sisters never ceases to bring about a healthy amount of that.

The merriment makes it hard for her to not imagine what their reaction will be to finding out she’s pregnant. The way they’ll absolutely gloat and squeal, especially when they learn that she’s having twins. The baby shower that they’ll plan is destined to be one for the ages. 

And she looks forward to it all. 

But first….. first she must talk to her husband. 

It’s about an hour into dinner when Solana feels her bladder screaming at her to be emptied. “I’ll be right back,” she excuses herself, taking her purse with her for good measure. Mouthing bathroom to Bautista, Solana makes her way to the back, pleased to see that the stalls are all empty. 

There’s such a weird relief at no longer having that pressured feeling, expelling her bladder like she didn’t use the bathroom shortly before leaving the house. 

Frequent urination.

It’s one of the symptoms Dr. Sharmell mentioned she might start seeing soon at this point in her pregnancy.

She wasn’t wrong. 

Flushing the toilet and walking over to the sink, Solana attempts to toss her purse on the counter only for it to go tumbling to the floor, some of the contents falling out. Cursing quietly, she washes her hands first before bending down to stuff the items back in her bag, grateful her phone wasn’t one of the tumbled objects. However, it’s something else that manages to capture her full attention. 

The envelope with her name written on the outside.

Slow hands reach for it, trembling fingers tracing over her name so beautifully signed, her mother’s penmanship something worthy of all the jealousy. But, jealousy isn’t what Solana is feeling in this moment. 

Curiosity is.

A growing feeling gnawing at her that whatever is contained within this envelope needs to be unveiled and read. Needs to be freed after so many years of confinement. And, it makes no sense how Solana went from avoiding doing such a thing to readying to do it in the public restroom at a restaurant.

She knows it’s not the best decision, that it’s bound to make her emotional, make her cry. 

And yet…..the right timing.

Roman is grieving and about to find out that he’s a father. There’s so many layered, complex emotions in that alone that she’s truly lost as to how he’s supposed to manage that and helping her sort through whatever emotions will follow the reading of this letter. It also seems unfair to put that on him when he’s dealing with so much.

But Bayley and Naomi…..they could. They could be her sources of support. They’ve been wanting to be said sources, and maybe, just maybe, it’s time to take them up on that offer.

Solana releases a deep, shaky breath while rising to her feet, taking her purse off the floor with her. Walking over to the door, she turns the lock and moves back over to the counter. Leaning back against the counter, Solana takes one more efficient breath before still trembling fingers carefully pry open the letter. Solana unfolds several sheets of paper.

And she begins to read. 

My Dearest Solana,

If you are reading this letter, then I am no longer living. I wish with everything in me that is not the case, and everything will go according to plan, so that what I am about to write will be told to you from my lips instead of read from this letter.

But, I cannot be naive. I must be realistic and prepare for all outcomes.

Solana, what I am about to tell you is going to be difficult, and you may never forgive me, may even hate me, but please know I never ever intended to hurt you, my sweet girl.

I was 23 years old when I met “Xavier Miller”. He claimed to be in Mexico on sabbatical from work. Said he was a “businessman.” I believed him. I believed everything he told me. All the false hopes he put in my head about bringing me to America and helping me get into medical school so I could become a doctor. Believed him when he said once we got settled, he’d pay for my parents to get passports so that they could visit. I believed it all. He was charming and handsome and kind, and I wanted so deeply to be in love that I fell for it all. 

After three months of us knowing each other, he proposed. I said yes. My parents did not agree. They believed we were rushing things. They were right, but I was too naive. I listened to my heart and only my heart. I fell in love with this man who promised me the world, promised to always love and take care of me. 

I spoke very little English, but he promised to help me learn once we moved to the States. He was adamant about me coming to America with him, said it would open up more doors, specifically helping me achieve my dream of being a doctor. 

And, I was determined, so I married him and came to America.

The decision will forever haunt me.

Our first night as “husband” and “wife” was the first time he raped and beat me. I woke up the next morning bruised and bloody. It was only then I saw the real him for the first time. He told me I would never see my family again, and if I ever tried to contact them or leave him, he would kill me. That same morning is when he informed me of who he really was.

A mafia man.

And right then and there, I knew my life was over.

I will not further traumatize you with details. But, it was...horrific. 

I thought once I gave him a son, which is what he eventually told me he what wanted from the very beginning—a “stupid woman” he could “control” and “breed”--- that he would lessen his cruelty. And, he did, to some extent. 

He allowed me to start volunteering at the hospital, which was truly only because he wanted me away from Wes. He said I would make him “soft.” The same hurtful thing he says about you. 

But, this ended up changing my life, because it was through volunteering that I met someone. His name was Darnell, and he was a medical student doing clinical rotations. Again, I do not wish to sully you with the details, so I will just say it.

I started an affair with Darnell, and I regret nothing, Solana. He was the first man I ever really loved who showed me what it meant to truly be loved by a man. It was dangerous for both of us, and I tried to break it off, tried to tell him what could happen if we were ever caught, but he didn’t care. He wanted to help me find a way out, because he loved me, and I loved him.

But then everything changed when I found out I was pregnant. Initially, I was distraught. Xavier was still raping me, trying to get me pregnant, and the thought of having his child again sickened me.

But, when I went to my appointment and learned how far along I was, I realized that the time I conceived was when Xavier was away on a business trip.

He wasn’t the father.

Darnell was.

And, I was so happy, so overjoyed, my love. You have no idea. 

Throughout the pregnancy, Darnell and I tried to come up with plans. Tried to figure out a way we could escape. Me, Him, Wes, and our babies.

I was pregnant with twins.

But, the closer the time came, the more fearful I became that even if we somehow escaped, Xavier would find us and kill us all. He always threatened to kill me if I tried to take Wes from him. 

So the plan changed to one that broke my heart and Darnell��s, but we agreed it was the safest thing for us to do. We were able to have some of the hospital staff assist us with this plan, which made a world of difference.

It truly did.

When I gave birth to you, I gave birth to your twin brother as well. A brother who Darnell took, while I kept you. And, I told Xavier, who did not come to the hospital until the next day, that my boy didn’t make it. 

He was livid. So angry that he forced the hospital to give me a hysterectomy.

He said I would not “fail” him again.

The plan was for me to wait until you were older, at least one, and then we would try to make the move, but what I didn’t expect was for Xavier’s cruelty towards me to increase. He became significantly worse to the point where it was impossible for me to do anything without him knowing. He refused to allow me to volunteer at the hospital, which cut me off from all the people who were going to help me reunite with Darnell and my other child.

And instead made my life even more of a living hell, but now he was subjecting you to the same treatment.

He always blamed you for the “death” of your brother. That’s why he’s always hated and resented you. Because you “lived” and the boy “did not.” He never wanted daughters. Only sons. 

Solana, I know this is a lot. I know that I am putting so much on you, and I am so sorry, my love. There is just so much you need and deserve to know, and I just have to make sure you know one way or another.

It was selfish of me to keep you. I should have let Darnell take the both of you, but I always wanted a daughter. Wanted to have a piece of him with me as well. But, my selfishness subjected you to all kinds of horror, and I’m so so sorry, mija. 

But, Darnell is your father. And, you have a twin brother. And if all goes to plan tomorrow, you, me, Wes, your real father and your other brother will finally be able to be a family. You’ll have the family you always deserved but I deprived you from.

And words cannot express how sorry I am, my sweet Sol. Because the fact of the matter is that I was being selfish. It was selfish and wrong of me to not let you go with your father, to keep you in an abusive household with an abusive man.

It was wrong, and I am sorry.

But…

In the event something goes wrong, I just needed you to know the truth. Because if something happens to me, I need to make sure you at least know where you really come from.

And that’s not Nina Miller and Xavier Miller. 

It’s Darnell Adams and Alma Escobar.

My name is not Nina.

It’s Alma.

Alma Escobar. 

Xavier made me change my identity when I came here to avoid my family finding me. And, it worked, because Xavier also lied about his name when we first met. He made it up. It was all a part of his plan to get me in America and make me his slave. 

It’s why my family was probably never able to find me. They were looking up one name that never existed and another name that would never exist again.

But, that brings me to my next part. 

My mother’s name is Paloma Escobar, and my father’s name is Ricardo Escobar. I have two uncles: Bernardo and Tomas.

If I have the chance and this plan works, I will finally take you and your brothers to Isla Mujeres to meet your family. You deserve that much and so much more. 

Again, this is so so much to drop on you, mija, but I don’t have much time. 

Solana, that is why I have always called you “my Sol.” Because phonetically, Sol sounds like “soul,” which is what my real name really means. YOU are my soul and an extension of myself, just infinitely better.

Never forget, my amazing girl, that you are smart and beautiful and kind and have such a pure soul. You must never forget any of that.

And one day, you are going to grow into a beautiful young woman, find a kind young man who loves and treats you the way you deserve, and you will be an amazing mother. 

And that, my love, will be your happy ending.

I pray to God that I will live to see all of this, be around for all of it, but if I am not, know that I loved you infinitely in this life and will continue to love you infinitely in the next.

Forever your Hummingbird,

Alma 

Breathing.

A simple, easy thing that’s suddenly impossible for Solana. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t compute any of what she’s just read. Only one sentence of so many shell-shocking revelations circulates in her head, thudding against her consciousness.

Xavier wasn’t her father.

He wasn’t her father. 

There’s so many things embedded and included in this confession of sorts, but that’s the one thing Solana can’t seem to pull away from.

The man who was responsible for the murder of her mother and her attempted murder was not her real father.

The man who was responsible for her rape was not her real father.

The man who almost beat her to death and threatened to finish the job was not her real father. 

The man who she so desperately wanted to love her like fathers should love daughters but never could. And not just because he was incapable of love. No. It was because he wasn’t her real father.

Solana almost stumbles to the ground, one hand going behind her to hold onto the counter to keep her upright.

This….this was a mistake.

She should have never read this letter.  

Ever.

Feeling on the verge of a panic attack, she releases the papers and places a hand over her chest, closing her eyes, and working to regulate herself. She manages to pull from the coping skills learned in therapy as she tries to find some anchor of sorts to keep her grounded instead of drowning in the panic that threatens to overtake her.

Too much.

It’s just too much to process.

Too much to sit on. 

She just can’t.

Solana is sniffling, silent tears running down her face as she places her other free hand on her belly. She can’t fall apart. Not right now. Not like this. And not with the babies growing in her belly. 

They need her to pull it together. To be strong. 

Needing a reminder of sorts, she digs through her purse with wobbly hands for the photo that depicts the two tiny lives growing inside of her. 

There’s only one problem. 

The sonogram photo isn’t in her purse.

Solana’s glossy eyes scan the floor to see if she somehow missed it, only for that to come back a deadend given the emptiness of the pristine tile. 

Solana frantically digs through her purse once more realizing the photo isn’t the only thing missing.

So is Fetu’s letter.

And now yet another massive weight is dropped onto her chest with the terrifying realization of what she’s done.

“Oh no….” Trembling hands fold back up the sheets and stuff them back into the envelope that she shoves in her bag. Solana’s legs can’t move fast enough as she unlocks and rips the door open, making her way over to that table where Bayley and Naomi are laughing. 

It’s when their gaze lands on her, however, that the laughter dies down. “Solana, what’s—”

“I have to go,” she interrupts, unable and partially uninterested in offering the truth as to why. Because she can’t. She can barely fucking think straight right now, let alone try to explain the magnitude of what just happened.

What could happen if she doesn’t get home. 

Fast.

Bayley is the one to push. “Wait, Solana, you can’t just—”

“Please,” she begs, eyes watering. “It’s….it’s Roman. I have to get home.” Not a lie, just an answer that probably insinuates a severity that does not equate to the actuality of the situation. Or, maybe it does. “I’ll….I’ll explain later, but I have to go now.” 

Naomi and Bayley share a look, clearly not liking this sudden shift in energy, and Solana can’t blame them. However, she can’t focus on that right now. Not when her world has just been turned upside down.

“Okay,” Naomi concedes with a sigh, “but at least text us when you get home.”

“I will.” That much Solana can promise. Hopefully. “Thank you.” Both women only answer with a nod as Solana gestures to Bautista. “Come on.”

Wordlessly, he gets up and leads her out of the restaurant. 

Solana is a nervous wreck the entire drive home. Knee bouncing, heart racing, intermittent tears. This is not how she expected this day to go. It’s almost too unbelievable to be true.

There’s too many things for her to sit on and sift through. Her pregnancy. Fetu dying. Her mother’s letter. Now this?

Solana wipes at her eyes. It’s just all too much. And the fact that trying to call Roman only led to the phone ringing two times before going straight to voicemail only makes things infinitely worse.

Roman has never sent her to voicemail before. 

The drive to the mansion is really only a matter of fifteen minutes, but it feels so much longer. Torturously longer.

The SUV is barely in park before she’s whipping the door open and running towards the house, heels in one hand because she can’t have any sort of interference. 

“Roman!” She calls out his name the minute she steps foot inside of their home only to be met with silence.

And for that brief second, there’s relief. A respite from all the heaviness as she rushes up the stairs, ready to grab the letter and photo off the bathroom counter to hide them again before he gets home.

Before he finds out the two major secrets she’s been sitting on without her being able to tell him herself.

But, that’s a short lived fantasy, one that’s killed the moment she’s standing in the doorway of their master bedroom.

“No….”

Solana drops her shoes at the sight of her husband sitting on the side of their bed, facing the door, papers in hand, a now opened envelope beside him along with a photo.

The sonogram.

Her heart breaks.

“Roman, I—”

“Solana.” 

Never.

 Never has she heard her name leave his mouth with such anger and disgust. The same anger and disgust that’s written all over his handsome face as he asks, point, blank, period, “what the hell is going on?”

[mulloey]

ill-fated • yunho

in some kind of cruel trick, the universe has fated you to the person who hates you most.

an ateez werewolf au.

word count: 8.7k

tags: werewolf!au, soulmate!au, alpha!yunho, omega!reader, inaccurate depiction of omegaverse as i’m not familiar with the genre. warnings under the cut

warnings: dom!yunho, sub!reader, mentions of coercion, grooming and segregation, discrimination (none of those by yunho), unequal power dynamics, mentioned punishment. MASSIVE dick!yunho, slight corruption, BITING, pet names, titles (alpha/omega. sorry). rude yunho at first. not proof read

—————

You are fucking irritating.

Yunho doesn’t know much. As an alpha since birth he was raised separately from the omegas — fragile little bunnies who could so easily have been ripped apart if he’d been having a bad day — and given very limited access to the outside world. “The people out there,” his father had told him, “could do as much damage to you as you could to them.” As such, he’d been entirely sheltered and shielded, separate from everything he could threaten or be threatened by. So no, Yunho doesn’t know much. Not about omegas, anyway. But what he does know is that you are fucking irritating.

He’s never even met you, never been given the chance, yet he knows this. He sees you from across the grounds, through the fence neither of you have ever crossed; sees your annoying face, scrunched up in a pout or a huff whenever something doesn’t go your way. He hears your whines and pleads and that irritating giggle when a weaker wolf than he gives into your antics and gives you what you want. Even from across the grounds he hears it all and he wants nothing more than to shut you up. He stays up at night picturing it — finally putting you in your place, showing you how a stupid little omega is supposed to behave. Showing you that despite the alphas you’ve encountered who bend and cater to your every whim just because you’re cute, there are some out there with a stronger will than that. There are some who’d be all too happy to set you straight, to keep you in line and teach you to behave the way your teachers clearly failed to. God, he wants to be the one to do it.

He watches you today with a scowl. You’re giggling and jeering with your friends, skipping happily around the garden with some kind of kite. How juvenile, he thinks. His lip curls at the sight. You’re only a few years younger than him; you must be in your early twenties by now — you have no reason to be so childish, so immature and… cute. He hates that word. Hates using it on you. Fuck, he could just—

“Christ, Yunho.”

He looks up, thoughts interrupted by his best friend, sitting next to him with a half-amused, half-concerned expression. “What, Mingi?” He huffs.

“Are you still watching that little omega?”

He shrugs, muttering to himself and Mingi laughs. “You are. Jesus, dude, it’s been years. Why are you so obsessed with her?”

“I’m not obsessed,” Yunho snaps far too quickly. Mingi raises an eyebrow. “I’m not obsessed,” he repeats, more slowly. “She’s just annoying. She needs to grow up. She’s so childish.”

“They’re all childish, Yunho, they’re omegas. That’s what they’re like. And yet she bothers out of all of them. That seems like obsession to me.”

“Well it’s not,” Yunho says, irritated. His gaze still follows you, now sat with your friends in a circle and listening to one of the others tell some kind of story. You watch her intently, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You look interested, thoughtful. He scoffs, shaking his head. He hates how every single emotion shows on your face, hates how he knows exactly what’s going on in your stupid little head just by watching the way your nose scrunches and your lips twitch. He hates it. At least you’re listening well, he thinks.

“You’re kidding,” Mingi says. “You’re literally watching her right now. Fuck man, you’re practically studying her and you’re not obsessed?”

“Who’s obsessed?”

They both turn to see their friend and the heir to the pack, Hongjoong, approaching with drinks in his hands. He sits down next to Mingi, handing each of them a drink which they accept. He stares at Yunho for a second, noticing the irritated expression on his face, and locks eyes with Mingi, looking confused.

“Yunho,” Mingi explains, “is staring at that little omega again. He fucking hates her, man. It’s not healthy”

Hongjoong snorts. “It’s not hate.”

The other two whip their heads to face him, Mingi looking confused and Yunho irate. “What?” They both ask.

Hongjoong chuckles, taking a sip before he speaks. “It’s not hate,” he repeats. “It’s been what, years, right?”

“His whole life more like,” Mingi mutters. Yunho elbows him and he yelps. Hongjoong shakes his head.

“Yeah, years he’s been obsessing over how much he hates her. Do you even know her name?”

Yunho shrugs, irritated and Hongjoong laughs. “Yeah. You will one day, though. Because you don’t hate her.”

“Of course I hate her, Hongjoong!” Yunho protests, trying to keep it down so the nearby alphas don’t intercept the conversation. “She’s fucking annoying, dude. Look at her. Can you really say you don’t hate her?”

Hongjoong shares a look, knowing and exasperated, with Mingi and places a hand on Yunho’s shoulder, squeezing it gently before walking off. Yunho turns back to Mingi, confused expression on his face and Mingi sighs before speaking.

“We can’t even see her from this far, Yunho.”

—————

You’ve been noticing it for a while. Your friend was the first one to point it out; a kind, temperate beta named Alexa. “Over there,” she’d said. “By the fence. There’s an alpha that’s been staring at you for a while.”

You’d followed her gaze to see two figures on the other side of the fence, one of them staring intently over at you. The other man, almost as tall as him, seemed to be attempting some kind of conversation, but to no avail; his friend’s entire attention was set on you, on staring you down with a scowl. He looked displeased, irritated as he glared at you and it was intimidating. You felt yourself shrink slightly under his gaze, feeling small and vulnerable and almost scolded.

Put out, you’d turned back to Alexa worriedly. “Why is he doing that?”

“I don’t know,” she’d sighed. “But don’t worry. Just stay away from the fence, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “As always.”

So you did. You stayed away from the fence — though it wasn’t a big ask as that was what the rules bid you do anyway — and pretended not to see his eyes on you, to hear the whispers from the other omegas about that alpha that keeps staring at the girl over there. It wasn’t unusual to have an alpha stare over, of course; after all, the people on each side of the fence would of course one day be matched with each other. But it was weird for an alpha to be so fixated and so… angry at one omega in particular, especially one they haven’t made a single move to approach. And it worried you. You wondered if you were doing something wrong, if there was something wrong with you that made you so unappealing to this alpha and, God forbid, may turn the other alphas off you too, when it came to the day when you’d be matched with one. And you didn’t even know what it was!

But there was nothing you could do, of course, without actually approaching the fence which would risk your life, so you ignored it, trying to enjoy your days the way you normally did. But it lingered in the back of your mind, always hovering there, bothering and worrying you. Why did he hate you so much? And why you?

You find out a few weeks later. It’s the day of the mating ceremony — to the town, the most important day of the year, and to you the most important day of your life. Because this year, among the hundreds of alphas and omegas due to be matched is you.

The procedure is simple, and you’ve rehearsed it enough at school to know it like the back of your hand; in your nicest, whitest dress, you’ll walk gracefully down to the stage, a low wooden platform surrounded by towering rows of seats. The head of the pack, some man you’ve never met and yet have spent your entire life swearing loyalty to, will select for you a mate — one of the many alphas vying for an omega, under whose control you’ll spend the rest of your life. It’s a crucial, irreversible moment; the chief’s decision is final, because he has the experience and the instincts to know who ought to be paired with who, which pairings will further the pack’s prosperity. It’s an ancient, foolproof system, so you tell yourself. No matter how many times you say it it doesn’t quite resonate.

The walk to the town hall is nerve wracking; you cling to the hand of the omega beside you, an equally nervous boy named Zhou. Knowing you’re being watched on your journey by the hundreds, even thousands of people who line the streets each year to witness it, you keep your eyes fixed on the ground, trying to focus on each slow step, each tap of your white ballet shoes against the cobbled streets. It’s eerily silent; a funeral more than a celebration.

When the town hall comes into view you feel yourself shudder; like everything on this side of the fence, it’s large and imposing and much grander than you’re used to. You shrink into yourself slightly but don’t allow yourself to stop; you have to make a good impression.

You’re guided to your seat, just above the stage and sink into it with a sigh of relief. You’re in the clear until your name is called — and that could take hours. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in the fresh air wafting through the open window near to your block of seats. It’s rich and earthy and strangely… homely. You’ve never smelled something quite like this before.

On the other side of the stage, Yunho and his friends sit slouched in the alphas section of the seats. They’re a little bored, to no one’s surprise — like many alphas they’ve been to several of these ceremonies; it’s common for an alpha to take several years to finally be matched, there’s no shame in it. Often it’s simply a matter of waiting for the right omega to come of age. And it’s not up to them, anyway — the chief is the one who knows who belongs with who.

He cranes his neck, turning to look over at Hongjoong, who stares straight ahead with a severe expression. No wonder he looks so serious, Yunho thinks; one day this ancient ceremony, and the sacred matching of everyone in this town, will be down to him. It must weigh on him. He wonders if those instincts — instincts that will make or break the future of the pack — have begun to show yet. He shrugs, slouching back. Not his problem. Craning his neck to try to get a glimpse of the blurry selection of omegas this year, he figures he has his own things to worry about.

The ceremony starts slowly and typically; an endless, droning speech by the pack leader, before the first, tense matches get underway. They seem decent this year, he has to admit; a few of the alphas he knows decently well are matched, each with their own beautiful, well-trained omega, who greets their new master with practised grace. He feels a twinge of jealousy. He’s by no means too old to be matched, and certainly isn’t the oldest alpha in the section, but he’s just a man. Just an alpha. He may not need, but he wants an omega of his own, a pretty, obedient little thing to spoil and care for and mould into the perfect life partner for him. He wants… well, he’s not sure what exactly. He can’t see past the annoying, ever-present image of you in his mind. Sneering at him, tormenting him.

When they read your name, he knows it’s you. It’s a name he’s never heard and yet when the syllables leave the announcer’s mouth, he knows who’s about to stand up before you do. He perks up, surprised to see you making your way down the stairs; he hadn’t known you were being matched this year. He should have, he supposes; from your looks and the people you hang around with he figured you’d be about 21 by now, but to actually see you, knowing you’re about to be given away, is an odd, conflicting feeling.

He watches as you bid your friends goodbye before walking slowly towards the centre of the hall. You take a brief look around at the audience, at the hundreds, even thousands of pairs of eyes on you, before your gaze reverts to the ground. You’re shy and more demure than he’s ever seen you. If only you were like this all the time, he thinks, he’d feel a little less sorry for the poor alpha who you’re about to be given to. He looks around at the other alphas, wondering who you’ll get. They all watch you intently, apparently quite enamoured by you and he scoffs. They have no idea what you’re like. They don’t know what it would take to tame you; he doubts any of them, even Hongjoong, would be up to the task. He wonders who is. He slumps back in his seat, waiting to find out.

“Omega,” the announcer says. “You are already soul-tied to an alpha in this pack.”

He sits up, more interested now, as do the rest of the audience. A soul-bond is quite rare, and he’s never seen one in person; far beyond even the pack leader’s control, it’s an ancient, mythical bonding ritual that until now, he wasn’t even entirely convinced was real. The others are surprised too; he hears whispers of who it will be, who it is that’s been destined for you from the beginning, and listens eagerly as the announcer opens a sheet of paper, bringing the microphone to her lips and reading out two short words.

“Jeong Yunho.”

He baulks. His jaw drops and he stands up indignantly, swearing he’d heard it wrong. Jeong Yunho. That’s his name. Theres no fucking way. He turns outraged to the men beside him who look entirely unsurprised. He growls, remembering what they’d told him weeks ago. Curse them. Curse them for being right.

The announcer repeats his name, waiting for him to go down to greet you and Mingi nudges him forward. “Well, Yunho,” he grins. “Looks like you’ll get to put her in her place after all.”

————

After the ceremony you’re led to another room, with a small table and couch. In it is a beta you faintly recognise, a kind and unassuming looking woman but for the fact that she’s holding a pair of handcuffs.

“Will you come willingly, omega?” She asks.

“Yes,” you say, “I will.”

Not that you have a choice — you know what happens to omegas who resist their matches; and though you knew straight away this Yunho was the man who’s been glaring at and bothering you so much, having seen him a little closer now, you figure you’re lucky to have at least gotten an attractive alpha. And you couldn’t stand the humiliation of being dragged across the grounds in handcuffs anyway.

“Good,” the woman smiles. She pockets the handcuffs, in case you change your mind, you assume, and takes your hand. “I’ll take you to your alpha, then.”

The walk to your alpha’s house is short; he lives right next to the town hall. He must be important, you think, and the size of his house certainly suggests that. You swallow thickly as you stare up at it and the woman squeezes your hand. “Nothing to worry about, omega,” she smiles. “Yunho’s a lovely young man. Just be good and obey him and you’ll have a wonderful life with him, okay?”

You nod shyly and she pinches your cheek. The skirt of the dress you’d been given for the ceremony catches on your shoes as you make your way up the stairs of his house and she reaches down to untangle it, keeping you steady and graceful as you wait by the door.

A few seconds after the doorbell rings, the large oak door creaks open, revealing the stern-looking man from earlier. As close as you’ve ever been, you grasp for the first time how tall and how handsome he really is. You blush, looking down. He bids the women goodbye, as do you, before beckoning you inside. The door slams shut behind you, making you jump a little. He studies your reaction, watching your carefully before he comes to stand in front of you.

“Omega.”

You shuffle in place, gazing intently at the ground — anywhere but at him. He shakes his head. “Look at me and greet me properly, omega,” he says, a little more sternly.

Shyly you lift your head, staring up at him with hooded eyes. They’re almost… doe-ish, he thinks. More like prey than another wolf. “Alpha,” you whisper.

He nods. “Introduce yourself.”

Shyly you start to whisper your name, but he stops you. “The surname is wrong,” he says. “It’ll be Jeong now. Omegas take the alpha’s name.”

You sigh nervously, nodding. You feel stupid to have forgotten that and he clearly already thinks that you are stupid; you want to kick yourself for proving him right so quickly. “Yes, alpha,” you whisper.

“Introduce yourself,” he repeats. “And this time get it right.”

You try it again, using his surname this name and he nods, satisfied but unsmiling. “Good,” he says. “Now, omega. I doubt you were expecting to be given in a soul-tie like that, and neither was I. But the fact remains that you are my omega now, and you will act like it. That means following the rules and standards I give. Got it?”

Unsure but hoping to please him, you agree. He stares at you as though he’s scrutinising you — which he probably is. “I understand, alpha.”

“I don’t expect you to meet my standards right away,” he continues. He speaks coolly, casually but you can tell this is serious. “You’re just an omega, after all. And I’ve been watching you for a while and I can see that even for an omega, you’re quite a brat.”

You don’t know if you’re supposed to reply — to protest or dispute him or agree with his insults, so you just stare at him, letting him continue. That seems to please him at least.

“I know you have the betas under your thumb,” he says with almost a sneer. “Even some of the alphas, too. But you won’t have me. I’ve been waiting a long time to put you in your place and by some miracle the Gods have dropped you right into my lap to do so.”

You gulp. You wonder what he’s going to do to you — you know as his God-given omega he has the right to do anything he likes, so long as you aren’t killed or ‘severely and permanently injured’. In this pack, at least, there are slightly higher standards for the conduct of alphas towards their omegas, but they’re still low. And now that you’ve been given to him, he has the right to control, care for and discipline you however he chooses.

“What are you going to do?” You whisper.

“Well, I assume you’re aware of what I can do,” he says. You nod. “But unlike some of the alphas here, I have a personal policy that I intend to stick to.”

“What’s that?”

“Other than your brand—” you gulp at the mention of the large, obvious mating mark he’s probably going to be giving you shortly “—I will never permanently mark you in any way. Not from sex, not from punishment, nothing. Understand?”

You nod, feeling relieved. You know the law and you know that, if he wanted to, he’d be perfectly entitled to cover your entire body in deep, lasting marks — so long as they don’t cause actual damage. But he doesn’t want to do that, for some reason. Maybe he’s not scary after all; although the mention of punishment, though expected, sends a small shiver down your spine.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He hums. “As for your question…”

You tilt your head, looking confused. “About what?”

He lifts an eyebrow — surprised, apparently. “About what I’m going to do to you.”

“Oh.” You forgot you’d asked that. Stupid omega, you can almost hear him thinking.

“Yes, about that. The simple answer is, I’m going to treat you like an omega should be treated.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning I’ll take care of you,” he says. “In all ways. By looking after you, guiding you, comforting you, and of course, disciplining you when I see fit.”

His words dizzy you slightly, affecting you in more ways than one. You find yourself picturing all the ways he’ll fulfil that promise; everything he might do to you. Everything he could do. You swallow, voice thick. “Discipline me how?”

He cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed but amused. “It shouldn’t be a mystery,” he says. “There aren’t as many ways to get through to omega like you as there are of getting through to, say, a beta. You’re wired to require a more…” He tuts, shaking his head, “…hands on approach.”

Oh. Visions of him towering over you, wielding a stick or a whip or any one of the multitudes of weapons you’ve heard are frequently used on omegas, fill your head. Your heart races again, fearful and you instinctively back off a bit. He seems to know exactly what you’re thinking because he sighs, shaking his head. “I’m not going to beat you, omega,” he says.

You blink, surprised and not quite believing. “You’re not?”

“No,” he says. “Why did you think I was? Is that the only way to get through to you?”

“No,” you whisper. “I just heard…”

“Well you heard wrong,” he says, tone final. You nod demurely, no more will to argue. “I’m not some feral wolf chasing lost omegas through the forest. I have more control than that.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. He nods, jaw tense.

“Listen to me,” he continues, voice firm. “I’m never going to beat you with a stick, or whip you, or any of that.” Your eyes widen slightly; that’s exactly what you were thinking. Can he actually read your mind? You stay silent, letting him continue. “I’ll never strike you in anger, either. Now that you’re mine, you are — whether I like it or not — precious to me. I intend to take good care to keep you safe and unsullied.”

“But you will… strike me,” you say softly. You can’t say you’re surprised — or even disappointed. You ignore the way your heart speeds up slightly at the thought of him hitting you — his wide palm clapping against your skin again and again.

“If I have to,” he says. “But we’ll talk about that later.” For the first time he offers what you could almost fool yourself into thinking is a reassuring smile. “For now we have the most important part.”

Your heart starts to race at his words. You know exactly what he’s referring to — you’ve been told of this moment since childhood, both through textbooks at school and scary stories told around the campfire just on the edge of the woods that is completely off limits for omegas. The mating, they call it, is the most important moment of an omega’s life; however long you’ve been with an alpha, you’re not truly their omega until they’ve left that deep, permanent mark on you — the branding. And as scared as you still are of Yunho you know there are far worse alphas to be paired with, so as terrifying at the words mating and branding sound to you, you’re eager to get it over with — to be bonded to Yunho for life, officially claimed. You can deal with Yunho, you think, not least because he’s apparently been literally created by the Gods to be yours. You do not want to deal with the other alphas you see prowling about. This will protect you from that if nothing else.

“Okay,” you say. “I’m ready.”

He looks almost surprised at your obedience and smiles, a little wider this time. “Good,” he says. “I’m glad. I’ll take good care of you.”

You look up, still surprised that a man who’d for so long looked at you with such…vitriol, who’d looked so horrified at being matched with you, would have a single ounce of desire to be nice to you. Certainly not during the first time he takes you. “Really?” You ask.

“Yes,” he says. “A soul bond is rare and if something happens to you, I won’t get another. Plus—” he pauses, sighing like he can’t believe what he’s about to say “—if the Gods put you with me themselves, they must have seen your potential to be the kind of omega I like. So deep down, there probably is some part of you that wants to obey me. I just have to drag it out of you, I think.”

You bite your lip, shivering slightly. For some reason you kind of like that idea; the image of being forced to obey. Physically compelled to listen and revere him. “Yes, alpha.”

“Well,” he says. For once he looks a little unsure. “I guess there’s no point delaying it any further, is there?”

You swallow, understanding immediately what it is. “No, alpha.”

He nods almost grimly, tapping his foot against the wooden floor. “Alright then. We’re going to go to my bedroom now.”

You blink. “We don’t share one?”

His eyes narrow slightly, lips pursing and you instinctively bow your head. “No,” he says. “Not yet. You’ll have your own room until you earn the privilege to sleep with me.”

You nod — you’d heard that before. It’s a common practice for new mates, particularly… unwilling ones, which you suppose he is at least, as admittedly crushing as that is to think.

It’s a crucial rule, your teacher had told you; an easy and blatant mark of who is above and who is beneath. Doesn’t make it very nice to hear though.

“Follow me,” he says.

He starts to walk and, lost in your thoughts, it takes you a second to realise. By the time you scurry after him he’s already noticed and regards you with a stern, but slightly amused expression. “You’re in a daze, omega,” he says. “Try to get out of your head now. Focus on my commands. Let’s go.”

He starts to walk again and this time there’s no delay in your obedience; you start to walk beside him, matching his pace until he stops you, looking irritated. You wonder what you’ve done wrong now — or if you could ever do anything right.

“Did no one teach you about walking with your alpha?” He asks, frowning.

You shrug, shaking your head. “I don’t think so, alpha.”

He sighs. “I will, then,” he says. “When I walk you are to walk half a step behind me. Even if we’re holding hands I will not be seen to allow an omega — my omega, at that — to walk in front of me. Got that?”

You nod, flushing — you’ve never heard that rule, though it’s not entirely foreign to you. Maybe you’d been zoned out when your teacher had gone over it. It wouldn’t be surprising; but in any case you’ve been taught it now so you may as well obey it — and if it makes Yunho like you a little bit more, that’s a bonus. You shuffle behind him, careful never to quite catch up with him and he keeps a close eye on your efforts. You see him nod in satisfaction and allow yourself a small smile. You can do this — you’ve been trained for this. You’re a born and bred omega, and a well-trained one at that. You can obey your alpha with your eyes closed.

Arriving outside the tall oak door, he pauses, turning to you. He lifts a strong, large hand to cup your cheek and you feel a slight jolt when he makes contact. Based on the look on his face, you know he felt it too. He stares at you, eyes narrowed before he exhales. “Soul-tied indeed,” he mutters. “There’s no escape now, then. For either of us.”

“I’ll be good,” you say; the words leave your mouth of their own accord, almost automatically. Yunho is silent for a moment, lips parted in surprise before he chuckles slightly.

“Perhaps training you up won’t be as monumental a task as I’d thought,” he says. “You just need a firm hand, I think.”

You say nothing, unsure how to reply and by now incredibly on-edge.

“Come in.”

He opens the door to reveal his room and you bite back a noise of surprise. You figured his room would be specious, well decorated; this is another level. The only way you could describe it is lavish. Thick, embroidered drapes hang from windows that reach from floor-to-ceiling; meeting the thick, warm carpets that cover the floors. A crackling fire burns on one side of the room, next to an open door leading to a bathroom; on the other side, a king-size bed, richly decorated and surrounded by four intricately carved posters holding up a canopy. After he enters you take a step inside, slightly dazed. Having spent the past few years of your life in the omega dormitories, you’ve never seen anything like this; you’re not sure if this is just the way alphas live or if Yunho is particularly important — either way, this is overwhelming. He watches your reaction with a slight smirk. “What do you think?” He asks.

You nod, swallowing thickly. “I— it’s wonderful, alpha. I’ve never seen something like this.”

“Ah yes,” he says, nodding like he’s just realised. “You’ll have been in the omega dormitories, won’t you? This must be quite the shock.”

“Yeah,” you breathe, still staring open-mouthed around the room.

He chuckles, taking your hand again. “You have plenty of time to admire it later. For now…” He looks you up and down again — he keeps doing that, you think. It’s a little unnerving.

You nod demurely, knowing and accepting the fate on the tip of his tongue. “I’m ready.”

The low sounds of the fire is all that’s audible for a few moments before Yunho nods; as he does, shoulders tensing and untensing slightly, a foreign look crosses his eyes — a darkness; a glint. You gulp, understanding it; not necessarily recognising it consciously, but feeling it in your bones, your veins, the deepest parts of your DNA — the parts that make you an omega. His omega.

“Take off your clothes,” he says, voice dropping. “Let me see you.”

You hurry to obey, pulling off your thin shawl and shimmying out of the sleeves of your dress. At the bodice you falter; hindered slightly by the tight and complex fastenings of your corset. You huff a little, slightly vindicated; you’d told your matron this was too difficult, warmed her it may prove a problem for the alpha you were matched with but she’d slapped you, as hard as someone is legally allowed to slap an omega that’s not theirs, before fastening it tighter as some kind of petty revenge. Trying to get it undone, you look up at Yunho with pleading eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, confused.

“My corset, alpha,” you whisper.

He sighs, biting back a chuckle before rounding you to inspect the fastenings running down your back. “Oh dear,” he says. “They really packed you in there, didn’t they? I feel quite useless at this.”

“You just need to untie it,” you whisper.

He clears his throat, resting two large hands on your delicate hips — you’ve never felt as small as you do now. Even in that massive auditorium. “I can try,” he says quietly.

He sets to work and, to both of your surprise, seems to get the hang of it quickly; skilled fingers undo each fastening with careful efficiency and soon the dress falls off of you entirely, pooling at your feet and leaving you in your underwear. You feel his eyes on you, practically staring a hole through you with the intensity of his gaze. You flush, turning to face him. “Alpha…” you whisper, eyes cast downwards.

You hear him exhale — deep and relieved as if he’d been holding his breath. When you look up you see his eyes are wide, pupils dilated. “You look… exquisite, omega.”

In the dim light of his room, illuminated by the crackling fire, you see him in a way you haven’t before. He almost looks… golden. Your reservations about Yunho aside, you see now why your match with him was created by the Gods — it’s clear that when it comes to this man, everything was. There’s nothing secular about him; not a single hair or pore untouched by divinity. You gulp, stepping forward, heart pounding. “Will you kiss me, alpha?” You ask.

He doesn’t waste a second; he pounces on you quickly and without restraint, attacking your mouth with his, emanating sounds you can only describe as feral. He nips and bites at your lips, running his hands across your partially nude body with growing hunger. You moan into his mouth, breathing in and gasping slightly when his hand closes around your neck, stilling you. He backs up a bit, staring you down with eyes that are now entirely dark.

“Listen to me,” he growls. “You’re my omega and I’m going to make you a good one. You’re going to do everything I say, when I say it. Do you understand?”

You nod, dazed. “Yes, alpha.”

He releases you, sending you staggering backwards and he watches you with an amused smile. You stand still for a second, waiting for his command and he tilts his head. You try not to let your reaction show, but you know what he’s doing. He’s playing with his food.

“Come here.”

You take another hesitant step towards him. He stares deeply into your eyes for a second before a strong hand on your shoulder forces you to your knees. Your head bows instinctively and you rest your hands in your lap like you’ve been taught. From lowered eyes you look up and see him nod in satisfaction. “Very good, omega,” he smiles. “I’m pleased to see you’ve already mastered this position. It will be a familiar one for you.”

You nod, trying to sit a little more straight; with such a… distraction in front of you, staring you down, it could be easy to lose focus, so you make a conscious effort to keep the position — back straightened, head bowed and legs together. He walks a slow circle around you, inspecting your efforts. From his slight nod you guess he’s pleased with them. “Spread your legs a little,” he says softly.

“Yes, alpha.” You shift your knees ever so slightly, creating a slight gap between your legs. He watches you closely as he rounds back to face your front. Taking a step towards you he places his foot between your parted thighs — not kicking or shoving them apart any further, just sitting there, noting the gap between them.

“Good,” he says. “This is the position I want you to remember. The same one you’ve been taught but with your legs spread just enough for me to do this. Do you understand?”

You nod, swallowing thickly. He shakes his head. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” you whisper. At his arched brow you add a hurried “alpha” and he smiles.

“When I tell you to get in position, I want you to do this,” he says. “When I come home from work each day, I want you waiting by the door like this. Alright?”

“Alright,” you whisper.

He stares at you for a moment, face blank but eyes focused, fixed. You’re not sure what he’s doing — examining you? Appreciating you? Planning, maybe? You shift a little, feeling awkward. “Be still,” he says. You whisper an apology and he smiles, holding out his hand.

You take it nervously, allowing him to pull you to your feet with ease. You seem to weigh nothing to him, you think. He leads you carefully to the bed, his grip strong on your hand, and pats the thick blanket folded neatly into each corner. “Come,” he commands softly.

Moving to obey, you find the bed is a little too high — makes sense, you suppose, considering it was built for an alpha. He chuckles, recognising your predicament and grabs you gently, lifting you up and carefully placing you atop the blankets. You blush. “Sorry,” you mutter.

He laughs, shaking his head. “No need to be sorry, sweetheart,” he smiles. He clicks his tongue, thoughtful. “Besides… it’s a pleasant surprise just how light you are.”

“Light?” You repeat.

He hums. “Delicate.”

You bite your lip — a little too hard, apparently, because you soon taste blood. His eyes widen slightly at the sight, flooded with hunger but you know he can control himself — you thank the Gods you’re wolves and not vampires. He clears his throat, looking a little dazed and you smile to yourself. You’re doing that.

“Lie back on the pillow,” he says. “It’s time, omega.”

Ignoring the speeding of your heart, you shuffle back, situating yourself in front of the pillow and slowly lying down. You feel yourself become a little lightheaded as you do; excited and terrified all at once. This is the moment you’ve waited for all your life. To be marked, to be claimed, to be mated. Bound forever. Closing your eyes, you try to steady your breathing — in, out, in, out, you chant to yourself over and over. As you do you feel a large, warm hand place itself gently on your shoulder. You don’t need to open his eyes to see, feel his presence inches from your face. “Keep breathing, omega,” he mutters. His voice is low, deep, alpha.

You lift a shaking hand to place it atop of his — even with your eyes closed you can tell he’s impossibly bigger than you. You nod. “I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment before a low, soft growl starts to fill the room. It’s barely audible — you wonder if anyone else would even hear it, or if it’s part of your connection with Yunho you’re just beginning to discover. You open your eyes, adjusting to the sight of him hovering above you. He looks unsure but focused, brimming with strength and desire he’s waiting to unleash. Waiting for what?

You reach a hand out, touching his face; it’s impossibly warm and drenched with sweat. Your voice almost gets caught in your throat but you push it out. “Take me,” you whisper. “Take me, alpha.”

It’s immediately clear that was all he needed; the moment you utter those last two fated syllables, a permission, command and plea at the same time, he pounces, diving into you to take you for his own. Your bra comes off easily, ripped off with his teeth. As they move towards your panties they graze against your skin, leaving a thin trail of blood and you can tell these are not his human teeth. No, Yunho isn’t human right now, but nor is he a wolf — he’s right in the sweet spot where he’s as dominant, controlled and calculated as he is when human, but at the same time sharp, sadistic and utterly feral. The perfect mix; the perfect place. You arch your body up off the bed, offering yourself to him, pulling yourself closer. He digs his teeth into the thin band of your panties, ripping them off and discarding them without a word before his hands grab your hips, shoving them back into the mattress. “Down,” he growls, and his voice is unlike you’ve ever heard it.

Wet, desperate kisses attack every inch of your now entirely bare skin, peppering the light, superficial bites he leaves; enough to hurt and enough to bleed but not enough to count. Not enough to brand you. No, that bite is special, anticipated, sacred — he can’t do it yet. You both know it and he holds himself back with the knowledge.

“Spread your legs,” he orders. “Nice and wide for me.”

Your breath hitches, catching in your throat. Slowly you start to part your legs, dragging them apart nervously. You’re nervous, hesitant; he still hasn’t seen your pussy yet, your most intimate and sacred area that he’s shortly going to claim in its entirety.

You’re terrified; terrified he won’t like it, he’ll think it’s ugly, he’ll think it’s not as good as the omegas he’s fucked before. You know that’s not true, realistically; mated by the gods, he’s wired to want you, need you in every way, every part of you. But no one’s ever seen you like that before — seen you there.

Yunho snarls, not fooled by your efforts to delay it. “Too slow,” he says. He grabs your legs, yanking them apart painfully and you yelp, slipping backwards again.

“Yunho…” you start — then stop. When you look up, Yunho is staring directly at your heat, eyes wide and ablaze, practically salivating. A low growl emanates from his throat, making your hairs stand on end. You shiver.

“Baby,” he says. “You’re perfect. I’m gonna fuck you so hard.”

A whine slips from your mouth, nervous and aroused and he shushes you. “You’ll be fine,” he whispers.

He sits back up, eyes growing dark by the minute as he hurriedly stands, allowing him to remove his pants and underwear. When he gets to the thin white dress shirt, fastened with what, in this daze of need, seems to be hundreds of buttons, he seems to grow impatient — with a low growl he easily rips it open, buttons flying everywhere. He hurriedly discards it, leaving him nude and allowing you to see him fully for the first time. You bite back a moan — he’s beautiful. Every inch of his torso is toned and perfected, skin glistening with sweat; strong, muscular thighs support his weight and as he walks back towards the bed, you see the thick muscles tensing and untensing in his arms. But that’s not where your eyes are drawn; it’s a beautiful sight, but you’re still an omega — a hungry, desperate omega at that, so your gaze is fixed a little lower. His dick is long and impossibly thick, pulsating with desire and already leaking slightly from the angry red tip. It looks painful. Delicious. You inhale sharply, willing it towards you. “Yunho…”

“I’m here,” he mutters, he clambers back onto the bed, hovering on top of you and this time wastes little time. Holding his shaft in his hand, he pumps it once, twice, getting it ready. His eyes are fixed on your entrance, entirely black and you know if this wasn’t your alpha, the one bound to protect and care for you, you’d be utterly terrified. He’s massive and powerful and dwarfs you in every way. He could rip you apart.

“I’m scared,” you whisper. It slips out without your permission but he doesn’t mind. He squeezes your thigh, comforting and possessive.

“I know.” He lines his dick up to your entrance, teasing it with the tip and you jump. You’ve never been touched there before. Not even by yourself. He chuckles, reaching to stroke your hair. “Keep breathing,” he says. “Focus on my voice.”

When he finally pushes in, you feel the true scale of his size for the first time. It forces and stretches you open and you feel like you’re going to burst, come undone at the seams or collapse into yourself entirely. But the same stretch, the same burning feeling is insanely, viscerally pleasurable. It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before, anything you’ve dreamed of — or feared. It’s new and divine and just feels… right. He really was made for you.

He’s taking it slow, you can tell; you feel the way he’s holding himself back, forcing himself to be gentle, and you know that’s probably as painful for him as for you. You see the way his limbs shake as he pushes in, struggling to hold themselves back from pinning you down and splitting you open me you bite your lip. “You can move now,” you say softly, invitingly.

He looks at you quizzically for a moment, brows furrowed, before his lips bloom into an amused, knowing smile. “Omega,” he chuckles. “I’m only halfway in.”

You can’t help it; your jaw drops, falling open in shock. That can’t be right. He can’t be— oh. You look down, seeing the truth of his words. He’s halfway inside and you already feel like this. What the fuck will it feel like when he’s actually, properly in?

You soft whine sounds from the bottom of your throat, a million emotions behind it; fear, desperation, a visceral arousal. “Keep going,” you urge, though half of your brain is screaming at you not to.

Something flashes across his eyes and he shakes his head, squeezing your thigh again a little more harshly. “I’ll decide, omega,” he says. You nod, muttering an apology and he groans. “Fuck, omega. I swear I’m gonna teach you some fuckin’ manners.”

“Alpha—”

“No, not now,” he chuckles, knowing what you were going to ask. “I have a long, long time to do that. But stop trying to tell me what to do. I can control myself but not if you provoke me.”

You gulp, nodding dizzily and lying back. You don’t want to provoke him — not now, anyway. There are other, less dangerous times to piss Yunho off than when he’s about to brand you. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your lower stomach; it tickles, and you can’t help the giggle that slips out. “Cute,” he says. “I’m gonna get this all the way in now, baby. Hold my hand.”

You hear your heart pounding as he grabs your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. He gives it a comforting, immobilising squeeze before he finally pushes himself in fully. Having already been halfway in, you’d gotten used to the pain, but you can’t help the scream that comes out. Yunho is unreal. Without even moving he’s pressed up hard against your cervix, pushing the limits of what you can take, how far your walls can stretch before breaking. You know it’s close; a wrong or sloppy movement on either of your parts could seriously cut or damage you, and the adrenaline is dizzying. And yet like this — in Yunho’s hold, holding his hand, under his care — you’ve never felt so safe. So secure. So destined.

You’ve known you were an omega since you knew what an omega was — you’d presented as a baby, and spent every moment since then being told and reminded of what you are, what you were bound to be. But you admit there’s been times, moments where you’ve wondered; wondered if this is all you were meant for, wondered if you really had a mate out there — if you even wanted one.

Now though, as Yunho slowly starts to move, stretching and pushing you to the limit yet at the same time producing feelings and sensations you didn’t know were possible; as he moves in and out of you perfectly at ease, as if you were made and moulded for him, the doubt is gone. It’s real. It’s true. You’re the perfect omega, his omega, and you were made for Yunho as much as he was made for you.

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, pained by the stretch as much as pleasured. Yunho, now speeding up to almost a rut, coos at you, kissing your tears as they slide down your cheeks. “Good girl,” he breathes. “Fuck, you’re taking me so well. No one’s ever taken me like this.”

You groan, mouth wide open and he roughly presses his lips to yours, effectively silencing you; now each sound you make goes directly into him, each scream released against his lips, into his mouth. You can’t think of any way you could possibly be closer to him. Except…

“It’s almost time,” he grunts. By now his thrusts are hard and relentless, lifting your body from the bed and slamming it back down with ruthless proficiency. You’re on a high; impossibly stretched and unbelievably pleasured, and so is he. He lifts himself up, detaching his mouth from yours and you watch his eyes fix on your bare shoulder. Fear trickles into you, diluted by the mountain of emotions and sensations surrounding it. He’s going to do it now. He’s going to mark you and you’re going to be his. Forever.

“Tell me I can brand you, omega,” he says. “Tell me I can or I won’t be able to do it.”

“You can brand me,” you gasp. “Please, alpha. Make me yours. Mark me.”

He opens his mouth and you see his sharp canines more prominent than ever. He moves to take each of your hands in his, holding you down before he dives in, sinking his teeth into your supple, delicate flesh.

The pain is… unexpected. It hurts, undeniably so, but not in the way you’d expected. It doesn’t feel like you’re being bitten, not exactly; it’s a dull yet piercing pain that perforates and warms you at the same time. It’s not pleasurable or pleasant in any way; it’s just natural. Safe. It almost feels like home.

You close your eyes, riding it out; Yunho keeps fucking you through it, which certainly makes it easier, even as his grip on your delicate wrist turns almost bruising. You’re not sure how long he’s biting you for, how long you stay like this; seconds or minutes baby, but you know better than to interrupt him. This is a delicate, ancient process that he knows more about than you do. You just have to take it.

He comes up eventually, eyes wild with desire and blood coating his lips — your blood. You know he’s close to wolf now; he’s only refraining from transforming because he’s still inside you, still fucking you and mating you for the first time. He keeps going, strangled, feral sounds accompanying every rough movement until he comes with a yell, unloading in you, but you’re so dizzy from the bite, from the feeling of blood trickling down your shoulder, that you barely notice until he pulls out, gathering you into his arms. He runs a finger across the mark in your shoulder, inspecting the wound. It’s already healing slightly. The scar will be beautiful.

“My baby,” he mutters. “My mate. Thank you.”

“Yunho,” you whisper. Your voice is hoarse, throat scratchy and painful from the screams and cries you’d let out as he fuck you and he notices, shushing you softly.

“Don’t try to talk yet,” he says, chuckling slightly. “I have a loud one, don’t I?”

You flush, bowing your head. “Sorry.”

“Baby, no,” he laughs. “It’s a good thing. The best, actually. Makes me feel good.”

It’s silent for a moment; a warm and comfortable silence, before you speak. “I didn’t think we’d be bonded,” you admit. “I thought you hated me.”

He hums, thinking for a moment. His hand runs up and down your back in soothing motions as he holds you. “I thought so too,” he says. “But I can see now that I… could never have hated you. Soul ties are just misunderstood. They’re so rare that not much is known about them and they’re not taught, so I… I felt that powerful feeling for you and mistook it for hate.”

“So it wasn’t hate,” you say.

“Of course it wasn’t,” he chuckles. “You’re my omega. Not just because the pack leader said so or anything, but because the Gods said so. That’s everything. And as much as I might want to set you straight a bit—” he pauses, tapping a finger against your cheek lightly, “—and believe me, I will set you straight. The feeling I felt wasn’t love. It was need.”

You nod, humming in content. Your eyes close for a second, heavy with exhaustion from your exertions before they open again. “Shouldn’t I go back to my room now?”

He hesitates, thinking. He’d been the one to insist on that rule earlier, but now… “According to the rules you should,” he says. He pauses, pondering for a moment and sighs, shaking his head like he can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “But I want you to stay. Will you stay?”

You smile, nuzzling into his chest happily. He runs a hand through your hair, damp with sweat. You hear the steady beat of his heart and feel the rise and fall of his chest, lifting you up and setting you down with each breath.

“Yes, Yunho,” you whisper. “I’ll stay.”

—————

thank you for reading! again, this isn’t proof read so please forgive errors. i’ve also never written werewolf/omegaverse fics so forgive me if there’s inaccuracies. please reblog and comment if you enjoyed. requests are OPEN. love🖤🖤🖤

[hyperlexichypatia]

Even if I weren't philosophically a psychiatric abolitionist, I think I would still hate the way fiction uses psychiatry and pop psychology and "mental illness," because it's just lazy characterization.

Fiction has the potential for rich and illustrative exploration of character motivations, desires, influences, inner lives, values, decision-making, and you went with... "a brain disease made them do it"? Really?

"Why did this character try to kill his own sister?" "Because he knew that she would recognize their grandmother's coin collection and would figure out that her brother was the one who stole their uncle's inheritance." ^This is interesting! What a conniving, manipulative character! I feel rewarded for investing in this book!

"Because he's a Malignant Narcissist Sociopath." ^This is boring as fuck. I read this whole book and the explanation ends up being "ontologically bad person disorder"?

Occasionally it circles around to So Godawful It's Hilarious, like Batwoman, which centered an entire season arc around "The Bad Guy is Bad because of a magic brain science button that switched his brain to 'evil' and he needs another magic brain science button to switch his brain back to 'good.'" Literally borrowed the plot of Bart Simpson's evil Krusty doll. And I don't care about creator intent -- according to me, this is an absolutely hilarious parody of psychiatric culture. Yeah, that is the logical conclusion of "brain disease made them do it" bullshit, good job!

I started to compare it to the "devil made them do it" trope, but that's unfair -- there are a lot of interesting, nuanced demonic possession stories, and the idea of a "devil" can be used to explore the nature of morality, free will, forces beyond our control. I don't believe in literal "real" (inasmuch as "real" is a meaningful concept) demonic possession, but at least it's an interesting fictional lens. Neurobullshit isn't even interesting.

I've seen criticism lately of stories where "the characters talk as if they've been to therapy", and sure, that annoys me too. But I've also seen this criticism applied when characters just have a modicum of emotional awareness or expression, and... do you think therapy is a prerequisite for having feelings? Even in a real-life context, I've seen people say things like "She must have been through a lot of therapy to get to that point" when a person, like, stands up for themself or expresses their wishes. Do you think no one did these things before therapy was invented? Once I saw a story written in the 1940s praised for its depiction of the main character's grief at his best friend's death, because it was "remarkable for a time before post-traumatic disorders were widely understood." Do you really think no one was writing about grief and loss before modern pathologizing terminology? Do you think people were all emotionless robots until someone invented feelings in 1995?

Psychiatry is an inaccurate way of conceptualizing human emotional experience; it's an oppressive way of conceptualizing human emotional experience; and it's also an incredibly boring way of conceptualizing human emotional experience.

[thranduel]

"the entire show revolves around mike and el's relationship, mike and will’s relationship isn’t as important"

…

how did mike and el meet in the first place?

mike was looking for WILL, his best friend of many years, after el opened the gate that resulted in his disappearance.

why did mike let el stay with them?

despite originally planning to send her away (“we’ll send her back to pennhurst or wherever she comes from” - start of ep 2), after he found out the “bad men” were after her and she told him he can’t tell any adult, he didn’t really have a choice. then he eventually found out she had powers and thought that would be their best way to get WILL back because WILL was the main person on his mind during the entirety of season 1 (and 2).

so no, he didn’t let her stay with them because “he fell in love with her at first sight”.

we already knew the love at first sight trope was bullshit, and finn himself has recently confirmed it too.

“mike never gave up on finding el in season 2”

not sure how this is used as “romantic proof” for mike and el only when he literally did the same thing for will FIRST in season 1. he never gave up on finding will. he spent day and night PHYSICALLY going out of his way searching for him even though he was warned not to and he knew it was dangerous. he used a walkie talkie, a radio, and even el herself to do whatever he could to contact will and get him back. if you’re gonna act like his actions in season 2 were romantic just because el is a girl and they were forced into a “relationship” at the age of 12 after knowing each other for 6 days, don’t ignore what he did for will (his best friend that he’s known for years) in season 1 just because will is a boy. he did the same for both of them, and like i said, whatever he did for el, he did for will first anyways. the only difference is that the writers made him kiss el to make their relationship romantic. and i’m not saying his actions for will HAD to be romantic in the first season, but i’m just pointing out the hypocrisy. whenever it’s a boy and girl, it’s romantic and they’re in love, but when it’s a boy and boy (even if one of those boys canonically is in love with the other), it’s “just friendship” and their meaningful moments are easily dismissed because people don’t wanna acknowledge them.

how did mike end up apologising to el in season 3 after their fight?

that wasn't el, that was actually WILL that he apologised to after a fight. he didn't chase after el. he sat on his couch feeling sorry for himself and mocking girls for being “too emotional”. but when will was upset, he rode his bike across town during a thunderstorm and looked for him everywhere to say he was sorry, because he couldn’t bear the thought of will being sad, especially after seeing the hurt expression on his face after he blurted out “it’s not my fault you don’t like girls.”

how did mike suddenly gain strength to say he loves el?

oh, right, because WILL gave him the painting he worked so hard on for him and confessed his OWN feelings for him in the van, using el's name as a disguise. that's the only reason mike was suddenly able to say “i love you”, because mike and el are incapable of managing their own relationship issues on their own without outside help. el screamed and cried and basically begged mike to say those 3 words, but he didn’t. he could only do it after will gave him strength and made him feel loved. mike has ALWAYS felt insecure and inferior in his relationship with el (he said it himself), but the ONLY thing that gave him happiness, strength and comfort was what will said.

“either way, mike still had a long monologue for el.”

first of all, i’m gonna bring up the “whatever he did for el, he did for will first anyways” statement, because it’s true 🫣 they really love re-using mike and will’s meaningful moments lol.

mike’s first long, meaningful monologue was for will in season 2. he was actually telling the complete truth, and it ended up reaching him and giving him so much strength that he was able to communicate with them and help save the world.

in season 4, he desperately makes up lies and exaggerates things (that contradict what we literally saw in the show in season 1) because he’s trying to save el in the moment, but viewers that actually pay attention immediately knew most of it made no sense (i’m not saying he doesn’t love el as a person - HE DOES. but all the romantic exaggerations and “love at first sight” bullshit just sounded ridiculous in that moment). he had to essentially be guilt tripped and pressured into saying “i love you” in multiple ways. nothing about that scene was romantic. it was stressful and devastating (for multiple people) and it didn’t actually end up saving the world at all. look what happened to max and the entire town.

that monologue will always be associated with their failure, not their success, so how is that romantic? why would el ever want to remember that as the moment her boyfriend first said he loved her?

tell me again, how does the show revolve around mike and el’s relationship and how is mike and will’s relationship “not as important” when WILL is the only reason mike and el met and the only reason they’re still even together? it’s so obvious will and el were always supposed to be written as two sides of the same coin; twins basically, with so many parallels and similarities. people can list all the things they find romantic about mike and el, and i can list even MORE things in return that can be applied to mike and will.

the only reason mike and will’s moments aren’t seen as romantic by most people is because they’re two boys

and it’s absolutely ridiculous that forced heteronormativity blinds people so badly because mike and will’s relationship is genuinely more healthy and realistic, but they only accept mike and el as romantic because that’s “the norm” and what we’re expected to accept. even in the show, that’s all the characters see, because of forced heteronormativity.

i know we’ve all spoken about this so many times but i am just so insanely tired of people’s hypocrisy. we all know for a 100% FACT that all these general viewers around the world would not have blindly accepted mike and el’s relationship if they were both the same gender. and for the record, regardless of el being a boy or girl, i personally still think her romantic relationship with mike is bad and wouldn’t want them together because they just simply don’t work romantically.

but even when we point out all the valid reasons why, no one wants to admit it JUST because she’s a girl. but if she were a boy, not only would they admit it’s bad and see what we’re talking about, they’d be having meltdowns and would’ve tried cancelling the show immediately by screaming about how forced and inappropriate it is to “force a sexuality” (they always say this about anything related to being gay) onto this traumatised child who just escaped a lab and has no idea what romance is, but apparently it’s totally okay for them to force a romantic relationship onto her with a boy she’s only known for 6 days JUST because this relationship is straight and anything straight is acceptable even if it’s weird.

and then switch will’s gender. imagine if he was a girl instead of a boy. we have the very popular and well loved “childhood best friends” romance trope that everyone enjoys. mike and will have had years to develop a friendship and get to know each other, they have so much in common, they feel safe and comfortable around each other, they communicate and resolve their issues without outside help and they don’t lie to each other and can actually be THEMSELVES with each other. all traits of a very beautiful, genuine and healthy relationship. it sounds perfect, right? will seems like the obvious choice for mike. “she” (still pretend will is a girl for a moment) knew him before anyone else and “she’s” been at the centre of everything since the start (remember, mike and el wouldn’t have even MET if mike wasn’t searching for will, and they wouldn’t even still be together after that s4 monologue if will didn���t lie about the painting and confess “her” own feelings using el’s name as a disguise).

absolutely EVERYONE would be rooting for this and accepting this, because it IS the better romantic ship. but they just REFUSE to see it that way because will is a boy and it makes them uncomfortable. but yeah, like i said, it’s just crazy to me. swap el and will’s genders and then everyone will immediately switch sides on who they ship. it all comes down to homophobia. i can tell people lack basic common sense and media literacy and don’t understanding the shows they’re watching at all. it’s just what they deem as “acceptable” on the surface and it’s so painfully obvious.

[koishiro]

001 — 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : megumi fushiguro x afab!reader

“C’mon she’ll love it!”

Nobara comforts her friend on the edge of his bed as he scrolls through your instagram page on his phone.

His two friends sat cross-legged on his bed as a never-ending stream of vibrant colours and countless pictures of your cat flashed by.

Over the course of a week the continuous reminder of Valentine’s Day followed Megumi like a persistent shadow. Not because he didn’t appreciate or love his girlfriend, but because of how bad he expressed the feelings that came along with being in a relationship. He and everyone around him knew he wasn’t exactly the most emotional or expressive person there was and the obnoxiously vibrant posters and hanging garlands around school didn’t exactly help.

Nobara wasn’t stupid, quickly catching on to his somber demeanor, recognizing the season and the pops of red and pink scattered throughout the hallways and she quickly connected the dots, a plan already starting to form in her head.

Thursday evening rolled around and unbeknownst to Megumi, his friends spontaneously showed up at his place and now here he sat, with Nobara taking the lead in ‘giving him advice’ on what to gift you to help express his true feelings while Megumi continued to scroll through your Instagram desperately trying to form some sort of idea for the ‘perfect gift’ for you.

"She's absolutely obsessed with cats, you know this! Imagine how perfect it would be to have an apron filled with adorable little tabby cats!" Megumi couldn't help but sigh, feeling like this whole thing was a complete waste of time. Valentine's Day was just around the corner, and he still hadn't thought of a gift for his own girlfriend. He couldn't help but wonder if he was failing as a boyfriend.

“Oh I know!” both Nobara and Megumi's heads snapped towards their pink haired friend with an audible crack.

“How about a personalized mug with your face? I remember seeing ones that say 'best boyfriend ever' somewhere before!" Yuji chimed in, eager to help.

He was doomed.

A delightful surprise awaited the boy as he walked through the school doors the next morning, hearing his girlfriend's sweet voice calling out, "Megs!" His ears perked up, eagerly soaking in the sound that resonated through the hallway.

There stood his pretty girl, wearing a perfect blend of pink with subtle hints of red, all brought together with bows, frills, and lace.

A smile unconsciously crept onto his face until his eyes gravitated towards the small neatly wrapped gift adorned with a bow was clasped tightly between your hands, held closely to your chest.

Skipping towards the boy adorned in his usual black attire, you quickly abandoned your bag by his locker as your arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hug.

Just the scent of your perfume was enough for him to forget the looming thoughts not too far behind.

You weren’t expecting much to come out of today, the usual really. Your mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of your gift, waiting till the end of the day to finally give it to your boyfriend.

But what did stand out was how affectionate he seemed to be - unusually so. The entire day consisted of back hugs, kisses to your cheek and the constant feeling of his eyes fixed on you through class.

And It wasn’t till the end of the day when you were both comfortable in your pyjamas and settling in your bed surrounding by a myriad of sweets and chocolate that your gift lying amongst them was picked up and placed on his lap.

“Go on! Open it!” He found it cute how excited you were, so excited in fact that you could barely sit still - squirming in your spot as you not so patiently waited on him.

Pulling on the ends of the bow, soon followed by the wrapping paper decorated with small cartoon dogs, revealed a small black box. Megumi’s gaze flitted between yours and the box a few times before lifting the lid to reveal the contents.

“You can’t be serious…”, inside laid a neatly placed bracelet. A dainty silver thing that held a small clear charm.

“It lights up when I touch mine!” To prove your point you swiftly pulled up the sleeve of your top, revealing your own bracelet - an exact copy. You placed a light kiss to your charm, watching as his lit up with a small white hue.

“I know you don’t like obnoxiously big or cheesy presents so I thought this would be small enough yet still shows how much I love you.”

Megumi couldn’t ask for anything more. His girlfriend, the only person he’s ever laid his heart so openly to before gifted him the most precious thing he’s now ever owned.

And also the most annoying. Because he already knew how it worked.

With that thought in mind he leaned back towards his pillow, his hand nestling beneath in search of a specific box, he soon placed his own wrapped present on your lap.

“Go on, open it.”

Not wasting any time, you quickly tore the paper and uncovered the box that lay beneath. Your newly manicured nails lifting the lid to show your own bracelet with its own clear charm.

Whipping your head towards Megumi you were faced with his neutral face, clearly not amused.

“Apparently I still suck at this gift giving thing,” after long hours of gruelling internet searches and YouTube videos, Megumi finally thought he’d found the one gift worth giving. A gift he could check up on you with — something not many people would’ve thought of.

But of course his very own girlfriend had the same thought. But the laughter that soon sliced through the silence cracked a smile on the poor boys face.

Leaning to place a kiss on his cheek followed by you making yourself comfortable on his lap, you managed to cackle out, “Well I think it’s endearing,” this led to Megumi raising his eyebrow in a ‘go on’ motion.

With a smile you continued, “well we both shared the same thought which I think is cute in itself especially since it’s long distance bracelets”

“When you put it like that, I guess it’s not so bad.” He mumbled out, a pink tint colouring his cheeks as his fingers busied themselves fiddling with the ends of your shorts. You reached for the second bracelet, adding it to your wrist to accompany the other before sliding Megumi’s pair on his wrist.

Kissing your bracelet and watching as his lit up, a lazy smile planted itself on your face, “makes you even cuter.”

[bitchinbarzal]

Shut Me Out | K Kaprizov

summary: kirill isn’t handling his injury well and he takes it out on his girl.

-

Kirill's days had blurred into one long cycle of frustration. His injury was still healing, but it felt like time itself was moving too slowly. Sitting in their apartment, he had spent hours watching the Wild play—just as they had done the day before and the day before that—but it wasn't the same. Not being on the ice, not feeling the rush of the game, the roar of the crowd—it was all a distant memory now. Instead, he was left here, on the couch, immobilized. And, if he were being honest, he was angry.

He was angry at the situation, at the injury, at himself.

Y/N had been trying her best to keep him company, bringing him his favorite snacks and sitting by his side. She’d even begun watching games with him, though her interest in hockey was more out of love than any genuine passion for the sport. She tried to engage him in other ways, suggesting they go for walks, or that he try watching a new show, anything to distract him. But it all felt like a blur of activity that didn’t change anything.

This morning, she had brought him coffee and sat down next to him on the couch, offering words of encouragement. But he had been distant, barely acknowledging her, his focus entirely on the TV.

"Hey," she said, sitting beside him and watching his eyes stay glued to the screen. "You’ve been watching the game for hours. Maybe we should do something else for a bit?"

He didn’t answer right away, just let out a deep sigh, and then muttered, “I'm fine.”

Y/N frowned. “You sure? I can tell you’re not feeling great.”

Kirill set the remote down and turned to her. “I’m fine, Y/N,” he repeated, his tone sharper now. “I just don’t want to talk right now.”

She recoiled, surprised at the bite in his voice. "I just want to help, Kirill. I’m worried about you. You’ve been stuck here doing nothing, and I feel like you’re pushing me away."

“I’m not pushing you away," he shot back, his voice rising. “I just don’t need you all over me. You’re treating me like I’m some fragile thing that can’t function without your help.”

Y/N’s chest tightened at his words. She had been nothing but caring, trying her hardest to support him through a tough time, and now, he was acting like it was too much.

“That’s not what I’m doing!" she snapped. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

"I want you to stop treating me like I’m broken!” Kirill’s voice cracked a little, the frustration of the last few weeks pouring out. "I’m not a kid. I don’t need you constantly asking how I feel or what I need. I just... I need space."

Y/N stood up, taking a step back from him, her eyes wide with shock. “Space?” Her voice trembled. “You’ve been on the couch for days. You haven’t left this apartment, Kirill. You don’t want space, you want to shut me out.”

His expression darkened, his jaw clenched. “Maybe I do want to shut you out. I just... I just want to feel like myself again, without everyone hovering over me.”

“Everyone?" Y/N blinked, almost laughing bitterly. "I’m the only one here. I’m the only one who cares about you like this, and you're acting like I’m a nuisance."

The words hit him harder than he anticipated, and for a moment, he faltered. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing away from her, trying to control the mess of emotions swirling inside him.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” she said, her voice softening as she watched him. “I just hate seeing you like this. You’re in pain, you’re frustrated, and I want to be here for you, Kirill.”

He turned to face her, his eyes tired, and there was something vulnerable in them that he hadn’t allowed himself to show before. “I don’t want to need anyone, Y/N. I’ve always been the guy who handles things on his own. I don’t know how to lean on someone, and it’s killing me.”

Her heart clenched at his confession, the sharp edge of his words now sounding hollow and raw. "You don't have to handle it all on your own," she whispered, taking a step toward him. "But I can't help you if you don't let me in."

He stared at her, his eyes shifting from frustration to something else—something softer, regretful. "I’m sorry," he muttered, his voice quiet now. "I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I’m acting like this. I just... I hate feeling useless. I hate that I can’t play, that I can’t do what I love."

“I get it,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. "But that doesn’t mean you have to push me away. You’re not useless, Kirill. You’re still you. And I’m here for you, no matter what."

He let out a shaky breath, rubbing his eyes, as if trying to erase the frustration that still lingered there. He looked at her, really looked at her, and the weight of his words sank in. "I don’t know what I’d do without you," he whispered. "I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t helping. You’re the only person who gets it. I just... I didn’t want to seem weak."

Y/N walked over to him and gently cupped his face in her hands. “You’re not weak, Kirill. You’re human. And sometimes, even the strongest people need help.”

The apology was slow, but it was there, and she could see it in the way his shoulders sagged with relief, in the way his eyes softened.

"I don’t want to be this guy, the one who shuts you out," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I hate being like this. I hate feeling like I’m not good enough when I’m not playing."

She smiled softly, tracing her thumb along his cheek. "You’re more than good enough. You're more than hockey. You’re you. And I love you. And I’ll love you even when you’re sitting on this couch all day, feeling sorry for yourself."

He chuckled softly, his hands moving to her waist as he pulled her into a tight hug. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair. "I promise I’ll try harder to let you in. I don’t want to make you feel like you’re not important to me."

Y/N smiled into his chest, feeling the weight of the tension finally lift. "I know you’ll try," she said, breathing him in. "We’ll figure this out. Together."

And for the first time in a long while, Kirill allowed himself to believe it.

[causenessus]

try again

part 0.05. intros.

NOW SEEING: PROFESSIONAL TEA GOSSIPERS

m.list | next

extras <3

no long descriptions this time!! this'll be a shorter, big emphasis on blended (smau and lots of written parts) work, around 10 chapters <33

everyone in the professional tea gossipers works in a sort of advisor job. iwaizumi is an athletic trainer, akaashi and y/n are both counseling psychologists (basically what you think of when you think of when you think therapist, but the actual name for their job is counseling psychologist as opposed to a clinical psychologist), and kita is a case/social worker for a nearby high school

thank you to @/nectardaddy for being a big influence for literally all of kita <3 (sadly cannot tag u because of the tag limit </3) go check out 88 ford by them!! (this is a threat)

y/n made kita's twitter, including his bio which was lowkey a joke but he looked at it and took it seriously, thinking to himself "yeah. that's a good reminder." so he never changed it

iwaizumi loves his gc okay <3 and he felt a little bad for knocking over and killing sawtooth blade l and as an apology he paid for sawtooth blade ll </3

the best way i can describe iwaizumi and his personality is that he's like omi in this fic if he was capable of expressing his emotions in a healthy way. "healthy way" in question being iwa's tactic of sending passive aggressive texts towards his friends who are already used to it and know most of the time his jabs are light hearted (for them. for iwa, it's his way of getting his anger out a little at a time. sometimes he means it when he says "idgaf" but they don't know that) rather than just shoving it all down like omi is <3

y/n has a ton of plants in her office! she prizes herself on having a very cozy place with lots of greenery. she likes to claim that having so much life in a room helps boost her clients' moods. akaashi says it doesn't work that way but what does he know

akaashi and y/n both are independent psychologists, their work is a private practice instead of being under a company, and they work in different offices/buildings but the entire gc is rooming together in one apartment

y/n was close friends with omi up until around their first year in high school where she also got a little close to atsumu. but then she drifted from omi and didn't see or talk to atsumu either as a result

she thinks her and omi got distance because she was going through a lot during high school and he just didn't want to be around that

taglist: @eggyrocks @wyrcan @guitarstringed-scars @strawberryuri @violetesensou @kakeru-eem @glmge @heytheredemonsss @mollyrolls @bemebiu @daszy @snail-squasher @0moonii @thiisisntlovely @todorokiskitten @rory-cakes @hyenagoated @iatethemochi @yuminako @savemebrazilhinata @kismyscars @bokutoko @nobodybutnnoorr @wolffmaiden @daisy-room @softpia @lees-chaotic-brain @v3nusplanetofluv @crispchocolates @phoenix-eclipses @hhoneyhan @encrypta @rockleeisbaeeee @cr4yolaas @zombriesworld @localgaytrainwreck @moucheslove @hibernatinghamster @notverymarley @certaindreampost @akaakeis @ciderscape @lucien-luna @strawbrinkofdeath @wave2mia @samuel1004 @01trickster10 @dazqa @cosmiicdust @chemiru

[crueisummer]

𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 | 𝓒𝓛16

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

series summary: Kika and Pierre invite you to their engagement party where you meet her and Pierre’s friends from F1, specifically, a certain handsome Monegasque driver.

chapter summary: You and Charles stay up talking about your dreams, fears, insecurities, and things that haunt your mind when you're alone.

chapter warnings: vvv emotional, feminism (oh no! jk), derogatory remarks, swearing, mental health, mentions of death (herve, jules, tonio)

playlist: ♫ gorgeous ♪ delicate ♬ i think he knows ♡ you are in love

author's note: Part 2 means we're halfway there!! For this chapter, I focused on the delicate's chorus to show the more vulnerable and "human" side of the characters. I will add the other aspects of the song to the following chapters. I also wrote this in a different style but I hope u guys like it. <333 Lastly, thank you all so much for almost 500 likes on the first chapter. ·°՞(≧□≦)՞°·. screaming! crying!

word count: 3.5k

disclaimer: All characters and events in this story, even those based on real people, are entirely fictional.

                ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞

01:57 ━━━━●───── 03:52 ⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ılıılıılıılıılıılı ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮

The light beamed into your eyes from the window, intensifying the pounding in your head and increasing your thirst. As you opened your eyes, you squinted against the brightness, gradually adjusting to the sudden flash. Sensing movement beside you, you turned around to find Charles sleeping shirtless beside you. Memories of the previous night flooded back, replaying in your mind.

Before leaving the party with Charles, you looked for Kika to inform her of your departure. Seeing Charles waiting for you near the elevator, phone in hand, she expressed concern with a worried expression. Charles had recently ended a three-year relationship, and his ex happened to be the best friend of his previous ex. Kika was well aware of Charles' red flags, as she knew you, her dear friend Y/N, were known for wholeheartedly loving and falling hard for others who often failed to appreciate you as you deserved.

“Please be careful,” She smiled at you to which you nodded. She watched as you approached Charles and he smiled upon seeing you. As you waved farewell to Kika, she softly whispers to herself, “with each other’s hearts.”

You and Charles found yourselves seated on the floor of your hotel room's living room, uncomfortable party clothes off, cozy hoodies on, and legs crossed, with a spread of chips, beer, and mini alcohol bottles laid out before you. During your conversation, you discovered your shared value of family, discussing the strong relationships you both had with your loved ones.

"Are you close to your mom?" It was a question you always asked the guys you were interested in. You believed that a man who had a good relationship with his mother would treat his partner with love and respect. Although it didn't always turn out to be true, you still posed the question.

"Yeah, the first thing I do when I return to Monaco is visit her. You know, she's the only one I trust to cut my hair?" Charles smiles warmly, reminiscing about his mom. "You see, she's a professional hairdresser. So, sometimes when she watches me on TV, she'll send me a text saying I need a haircut. I just reply with her flight details to come see me, and we laugh about it, but she still comes over. That's why I've never had a bad haircut!"

"That is adorable! How often does she visit and watch your races?" You ask, eager to know more about his mother.

"Well, not as often as I'd like, that's for sure. She usually accompanies Arthur to his races."

"Races? He races too?"

"Yeah, he competes in Formula 2. Sometimes the Formula 1 and 2 races coincide on the same weekends so I get to see them both." You're momentarily taken aback. Wow, they must be RICH rich!

"Formula 2? How many Formulas are there?!" You exaggerate.

"Just three, cheri," he chuckles. "You know, my dad used to race in Formula 3 back in the '90s."

"So, it runs in the family, huh? What does your dad do now?" You inquire, looking down and grabbing a chip. The room falls into an unexpected silence, and you glance up, noticing a soft and melancholic expression on his face.

"Well, actually, I lost my dad seven years ago," he replies, offering a tight-lipped smile.

"Oh, Charles! I’m sorry, I had no idea..." Shock overtakes you, and you instinctively cover your mouth with your hand. Is that why he’s only been talking about his mom and brothers the whole night?

He interrupts, "No, it's okay. I think I’m getting used to talking about it. You know, they always interview me about their deaths. Sometimes I feel like they don't truly respect them, or me, and they just want me to talk about them for views and content."

"Deaths?" You're taken aback, struggling to comprehend the weight of his words.

"Yeah, over the past seven years, I've lost three important people in my life. My dad, my godfather Jules, and one of my best friends, Tonio."

"Charles, I'm so sorry to hear that. How have you been coping?" Rising from the floor, you move closer to him, placing a comforting hand on his thigh.

"Sometimes I find myself spiraling into these depressive episodes where I just want to close off my heart. Because if you close your heart, no new people can enter, only to leave again." He looks away, his eyes welling up with tears. Your expression softens, and he musters a small smile in your direction. He continues, his voice filled with emotion, "I've tried it before, but I realized that it doesn't make anything easier. These days, I just choose to remember them for who they were, their lives, their dreams, and the sacrifices they made for me to be where I am today."

You were taken aback at Charles’ maturity. The mere thought of losing someone dear to your heart was overwhelming, and here he was, having experienced the loss of not just one, but three significant people in his life. You couldn't help but admire him for getting through his hardships and finding happiness in the time he shared with them. Especially since he uses it as motivation to be a better person.

As your conversation continued, you decided to shift to a lighter topic in an attempt to lift Charles' spirits. You shared stories of performing in numerous countries, while Charles recounted his experiences racing in Formula 1 events across the globe. You laughed at how unfamiliar you were with his sport, just as he was with your music.

He asks if you have your phone with you.

"Um, it's somewhere around here," you respond while searching for it. Eventually, you spot it on the kitchen counter. "Why?"

"Just open Apple Music or Spotify, whichever you prefer," he says with a mischievous grin as you sit back down in front of him. You nod and show him that Apple Music is open.

"Now search for my name," he instructs, and you type his name, discovering that he is listed as an 'artist'. There’s no way…

"Charles Leclerc Artist? How are you an artist?" you raise an eyebrow at him and glance back at your phone. You notice that he has released two songs in the past year.

He laughs at your confusion. "Well, Ms. Grammy singer, I also play the piano. I wrote these songs last year and finished them around the time of the Australian GP and the Miami GP, which is why they're named AUS23 and MIA23."

You're shocked, your mouth hanging open dramatically as you listen to the songs. Charles laughs at your reaction. You didn't think he could become any more attractive, and now he surprises you with this. Could he be the incarnation of your dream man?

"That's amazing! I guess I know who to call when I need help with a song," you wink at him, and he chuckles.

"No, no. You're at least 100 times better than me. I don't have as much talent as you do to write lyrics for the music," he praises you.

“Okay, since you know a bit about my art and making a song and all that, I, on the other hand, have no fucking idea about Formula 1. Like, why do you have to travel all around the world and race on different tracks? Is it like some kind of world tour?" You burst into laughter at your own humorous analogy, and Charles, who was as intoxicated as you, finding it amusing as well.

“Do you really want to understand it?” You nod at his question as he sits up straight and stretches his head and hands, “warming up” to explain.

"You see, every race weekend is different. Let’s say you do Plan A for this weekend, sometimes it works, and we get podium. But sometimes despite our best efforts, it doesn’t. So, after the race, we talk about what went right and what went wrong and then we make a new plan for the next race. Do you understand so far?”

You nod at him. Though a slight confusion still lingered in your mind, you couldn't help but be captivated by the passion radiating from his every word. The way his eyes sparkled, and his voice exuded genuine excitement revealed the depth of his love for his job. In that moment, you realized that this wasn't merely a profession to him; it was a true calling, a relentless pursuit of excellence that fueled his spirit.

"I still don’t understand. Maybe being there and watching it firsthand can help me. What do you think?" you playfully suggest, winking at Charles as you extend your legs onto his lap. He responds by grabbing your leg with his left hand and dramatically clutching his heart with his right, feigning a heart attack. "Oh, amour, the thought of you in red."

As your connection deepened, you both began to open up and share parts of yourselves that were usually kept hidden. You spoke honestly about your doubts, worries, and the overwhelming thoughts that haunted you when you were alone.

"Can I ask you something?" you inquire, looking up at him.

"Go ahead," he replies, grabbing a chip and taking a bite.

"Have you read about me? Like on the internet, in articles or magazines?"

"I see the headlines, but I don’t really read them, so let's just go with a 'no,'" he says, wiping the salt and dust from his hands. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I’m sure I already know your answer, but doesn't it bother you sometimes, the things they write about you?" you question, and he nods, encouraging you to continue. "It's just that they always make comments about my personal life, especially with the people I choose to be with."

"Yeah, well, those people's lives are so miserable that they have nothing better to do than try to ruin ours," he jokes, attempting to lighten the mood, and you find yourself laughing.

You glance down at your lap, your hands fidgeting as you gather your thoughts, when Charles interrupts, taking your hand. "Hey, I know it sucks, but I think it's something that comes with success. It bothers me too when they do that to me. Look, I won't pretend to fully understand what you're going through because I know I don't."

You look up at him, puzzled. "Do you remember earlier at the party when you arrived before me? When your car pulled up at the restaurant, they went crazy. Now, I've been in front of cameras since I was a kid, and I know a thing or two about paparazzi, but I've never seen fame like yours before. They were taking so many pictures of you that it didn't even look like flashes anymore, it’s like someone had switched on a blinding light for those few seconds you walked from your car to the door."

"I couldn't really see you because of the crowd, but when I heard them shouting your name, it just made sense. Don't tell the engaged couple, but I'm 100% sure you were the best thing at the party. " he winks at you. "But still, that doesn't make it okay. The reason they act like that is because they are taking advantage of your popularity. They think that getting a good picture of you, or a story, out of you or even something they made up, is big money.”

You’ve thought of this before, the way they treat you is different from other celebrities, but you hesitated to bring them up, fearing it would make you appear arrogant. It was a nice change to discuss about your life, popularity and the challenges that come with it, and to be met with Charles' honest and genuine response. You look back at the times you talked about this with a partner, and how they dismissed your concerns, labeling you as ungrateful, overreacting, or even a drama queen. The contrast in reactions causes you to appreciate Charles' maturity, understanding and support.

Despite your seemingly different lives, his centered around sports, yours with music, your personalities and passion for your respective crafts and families made you remarkably similar. With every word exchanged, the infatuation between you grew stronger.

So, at 4 am, while leaning against the balcony of your hotel room, a comfortable silence settled between you.

“I’m going to be honest with you, I’ve never experienced this before.” Charles says softly. “Staying up at this hour and talking about my life and the shit I go through to a girl I’ve only met for 8 hours now. It makes me feel like I want to tell you my whole life. It feels…” He trails off, a loss for words.

“I get what you mean. I never thought we would have a lot in common, especially since from the outside, it looks like we’re living different lives. But it looks like we're not so different after all.”

“Y/N, I know it’s too soon because we’ve only just met but I really want to get to know you better.” He faces you and draws himself closer. His green eyes pierce your Y/E/C eyes, he smiles genuinely at you.

As you gaze at him, your heartbeat quickens. You can’t tell if this is real life because you’re experiencing emotions you’ve never felt before. Here stands a guy who is caring, grounded, and by the way, absolutely gorgeous, and he is genuinely interested in getting to know you. Your thoughts waver back and forth, questioning whether this is okay. Is it cool that I’ve shared everything in my mind with him? Is it chill that he’s in my head?

Your mind and heart go into battle. Think! After all, you've only known this person for eight hours! Eight hours, Y/N! On the other hand, what if this is actually okay? Could this be the story of you meeting "the one"? Or your soulmate?

You tried to find a compromise.

Blushing, you gazed up at him and agreed, “I feel the same way. But can we take it slow? I never like to rush things, especially relationships.”

He nods and hugs you from behind. “Is this alright?”

You hummed and you both stayed there, watching the stars and the beautiful view of Florence.

You didn’t want the night to end, and you couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to him right now. So you tried to make up excuses for him to stay. “But, you know, it’s too dangerous to drive at this hour.”

“Cheri, there is no such as thing as a time that is too dangerous to drive.” He chuckles at your cuteness. “Plus, I’m a Formula One driver, I think I can handle myself.”

“No, you can’t because we just finished doing shots like three hours ago! And what if other drunk people are driving around too?”

Charles lightly laughs at your stubbornness. He knows you’re too prideful to just tell him to stay the night, especially after you both agreed to keep things slow. He sees you avoiding his gaze, so he addresses you, “Y/N.”

As you looked up, he smiled at you and gently holds your chin and locking eyes. "Je suis folle de toi.” he uttered.

Confused, you smiled in anticipation, knowing he had likely said something sweet. Seconds later, he translated himself, the proximity between your faces nearly undoing you. "I am crazy about you.”

...

Carefully locating your phone, you closed the bedroom door behind you. Retrieving two water bottles from the mini fridge in the kitchen, you settled on the couch in the living room of your hotel suite, resting your legs on the coffee table.

You check your messages and there were some from Kika, and your management team. Kika texted you and said to meet her for brunch at 11. Though, with a Monegasque driver in your bed, you don’t know when you can leave, so you move on to the other conversations, keeping in mind that you reply to her soon.

Your management team’s group chats were asking where you are and who you were hanging with. You read their earlier messages and saw that there are articles and pictures of you and Charles leaving the party last night. You open your Twitter account and see the two of you are trending. Of course, we are.

You scrolled through the tweets and some fans were happy, some were not, some just... don't have any opinion. And you prefer the latter. Reading the tweets of the fans was one thing, but the way the media and articles talked about you was different. It's like they didn't have respect you.

The articles get to you, Why is there so much scrutiny around my dating life? They called you a serial dater, manipulator, etc., even creating "warnings" about you for Charles; saying you're just gonna break his heart and write a song about him.

You furrow your brow, wondering why they single you out like this and why other women aren't subjected to the same level of scrutiny. It's frustrating because they never say these things about other people, especially men in the industry who engage in similar dating behaviors. Your male friends in the industry can date different people or even cheat and sing about it without raising any eyebrows. But when it comes to you, the accusations fly.

When they accuse you of "jumping" from one relationship to another, they label you a player or claim you cheated. If you choose to casually date without exclusivity, they call you a slut. It never ends. Where do they expect me to stand? When will it all just stop?

You start to question whether the people you want to be with have seen what has been written about you and if your reputation, which may be based on something fake, can affect the real connections you might make. You begin to ponder the significance of it all and how much weight a reputation actually carries.

It's unfair. Your personal life should be yours alone, and people should mind their own business. If this is the price you pay for sharing your music and being famous, you want no part of it anymore. It feels like they don't respect you as a human being.

Hot tears stream down your face as your thoughts consume you, overwhelming you completely. Seeking solace, you sink from the couch to the floor, resting your chin on your knees. It's a familiar position, offering some comfort when you're feeling low. The grounding sensation reminds you that you're still here.

Unbeknownst to you, Charles already woke up and was also reading messages from his team. He was about to greet you when he heard you sniffling. He slowly opens the door and sees you on the ground, knees to your chest, crying. Suddenly, he understands the pain you're going through. He felt awkward. He didn't know whether to comfort you or pretend to go back to bed.

But Charles can't resist the sight of your shattered state. He pushes the door open fully and gazes at you, broken and vulnerable. His heart shatters alongside yours. Slowly, he approaches and sits in front of you, taking in the magnitude of your pain. You're startled, having forgotten he was sleeping in the other room. You wonder if he knows what you're crying about, if he's seen the internet already, but the thought pushed back behind your head when a pair of warm, gentle hands cups your face, thumbs trying to wipe away your tears.

"What's wrong, mon ange?" he asks softly.

"Everything. The things they say about me... they're so mean. They're ruining my name, my reputation..." You manage to utter between sobs.

"Shh.. I know, cheri. But I don't care about what they write, alright? I want to know you. The real you." He comforts you. Running his hand up and down your arm as you find solace in his comforting embrace.

For the next ten minutes, you pour your heart out to him, releasing your pent-up emotions. When Charles senses that you had calmed down, he fetches the water bottle from the table and hands it to you. You finish it in one go.

"Feeling a little better now?" He offers, his considerate nature shining through. You smile and nod, appreciating his thoughtfulness.

"Have you eaten anything yet?" he asks, showing his concern for your well-being. You shake your head for a no.

“Do you feel like going downstairs, or should we order room service?" Going for a walk would be refreshing, and it might help improve your mood, but given that you've just bared your soul to him, you don't feel like going out. More importantly, you remember that you'll encounter numerous people and potentially face unwanted attention when you're seen again with Charles.

"We? You don't have to stay here with me. I feel better already." You face him, pulling away from his embrace. You instantly regret it as you start to feel cold already, missing the warmth of his body against yours.

"And I'm not leaving until you feel your best again. So, restaurant or room service?" He asks again. God, he is even more hot when he's stern... and caring about my well-being, of course.

Considering your current state, you prefer the comfort of staying within the confined space of your room, cuddled up next to him. "Room service, please."

↠ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬

[luca-just-luca]

Hello Viktor enjoyers I make my return..I have thoughts about this latest season. Before getting into full criticism, huge props to the artistic talent that worked on this show. Fortiche as a whole has genuinely changed tv animation, the combination of 2D and watercolor sequences-the super stylized music and fight scenes, absolutely thee best animation I think I’ve ever witnessed. The music, the art, the animation-even the character designs. While I don’t care for certain choices, the designs have so much artistic talent put into them. I adore cosmic horror, and to see that utilized was very cool!

To see the character it was used for, I have thoughts on. But I enjoyed the design as it was-the writing on the other hand..I’m upset with.

Admittedly, the first watch through I had was pure adrenaline. I went into this season with two things I wanted. I wanted to see Viktor evolve closer to his league self, and I wanted to see what route Sevika and Jinx would take-whether that path be together or as individuals, I wanted to see how they helped Zaun. And technically, in a way, I got what a wanted..for a moment.

There was a rumor in circulation, that arcane was meant to be five season long. I genuinely believe this wasn’t a rumor now. There was so much missing, there were so many interactions that were needed to feel this story the way it was felt in season 1. With everyone, but primarily with Viktor and Jayce. There’s that rebuttal old as season one that goes: “Arcane is meant to be about the sisters!”

Okay, how did the sisters mend their connection? Did they ever talk about it-the fact that Vi made Jinx-or how Vi committed chemical warfare on people-HER people?? Additionally, if Viktor was meant to always be the big bad we absolutely needed more time with him!! We needed to see the wedge driven between him and Jayce, to see when that good intent took a turn to the extreme. We needed to see him have more interactions with different characters-or expand further upon his already existing relationships!

There were seeds planted that the writers completely forgot about and let decay in dried up soil. In act 3 of season 1, Viktor starts getting snippy-and then outright mad at the people around him. Someone on here did address that, Viktor does have a temper. One that we were shown, when he snaps at Jayce on the bridge-literally smacking his hand away when he tries to help him up after being outright discriminative. When Mel even alludes to hextech weaponry, he gets upset-and then outright angry-teeth bared angry at the fact she would bloody their work-HIS work with Jayce in war. He and Jayce linger on it-he begins experimenting on himself because he realizes Mel has gotten to Jayce in a way he can’t pull back. The promise to destroy the hexcore, the thing he MADE Jayce promise his last wish was violated.

He stumbles out of this upright chrysalis entirely changed, amalgamation of flesh and organic looking metal-braces permanently encased to his body. He sees the blueprints for hextech weaponry, he SEES the schematics for Catelyin’s rifle. And he just..leaves, just “I must say goodbye to this place.”

I’ve seen the argument made: “the hexcore is controlling him!”

Then why does he show clear emotion in episode six? Why then and there can he express fear, concern, gratitude, outwardly. Not in the astral realm! Outwardly-his sass is even shown to be intact when Jinx thinks she has jokes! So why the hell did he never once get angry about his agency being robbed, about his life literally being left in someone else’s hands when that was something season 1 was alluding too?

And what about sky? I’m still so throughly confused on what her purpose of being back was about. Writers have had to clarify what she’s meant to do because of the lack of context! It feels like we have four, forty-five minute episodes missing. And not just of context and story for Viktor but of Sevika-of Jinx-The underground-Zaun’s conflict with piltover! The crux of what season 1 was, these two sisters and the two cities. A Zaunite and Piltovian, we had Cait and Vi, Jinx and Silco, Jayce and Viktor-dynamics that were mapped out. That needed to be explored, how did the undercity come to forgive Jinx after her father exploited most of the residents with Shimmer?

There was an entire lead up to Cait’s role as a dictator and we see..none of it? And the aim changes to finding Warwick and then to Viktor and there is so-so so much happening. It really does feel like three seasons compressed into one, but to the worst extent that the characters don’t feel like themselves. Viktor’s confidence he exudes in season one, that defiance, that determination, the anger we see him hone later. It’s gone, we he does fight Jayce there is not a HINT of anger or resentment-just: “Oh well-I was trying to be peaceful-I am going to kill you now though.”

Sevika’s urgency to make topside pay, is still there-she’s rallying people together, but then we just don’t see her until the big fight. Sure Scar is with her there-but that doesn’t say anything about it she’s leading whole different factions of Zaun after the prison break!

The finale left more questions than things answered, and I extremely dislike the usage of a time loop. Jayce’s line to Viktor of about his disability and his disease made my blood boil on my first watch through. There are so many others ways to say humanity’s imperfections are what make us perfectly human. Use emotions for example-scientifically we as humans have the highest range of emotions, but they don’t make us weak. Our ability to feel things vastly is what drives us to do certain things, art, writing, music, creation as a whole is driven by emotion. Creation can be good or bad, enlightening or destructive, but as humans we have that innate urge to do it because of emotion. Especially those who are artists, by far my favorite part of season two is how many artists looked at what was given and went:…so. I’m going to take this, and make it my own because you clearly cannot be trusted.

In conclusion, when writing fanfic or making art it will be of season one Viktor and the Machine Herald, not the Herald of the Arcane. Shoutout to The Boy Savior though, Ekko also has issues but man did he get the best end of the deal. Viktor enjoyers take care of yourselves, canon isn’t the end all be all. Have fun with making your Au’s or fixitfics, have fun drawing versions of characters you enjoy. And if it helps, season one does end on a very bleak point, but it could be seen as the ending.

[corruptedfilessys]

Post written and posted by corruptedfilessys ; Do not repost without my permission, DM for any issues or complaints

DISCLAIMER

Before you go type a comment, please keep in mind that this is in no way an attempt to excuse what Arven's parents did. What they did was inexcusable even if I personally believe it goes much deeper than just neglecting their son for the fun of it. Whatever the reason may be, it was still horrible to do, and Arven deserved better.

I'll also be using Sada and Turo interchangeably as they're the same character and have no significant differences. If I wanna point out something exclusive to just one of them, I will mention so.

"Arven hates his parents"

Arven is shown to care about his parents throughout the entire game based on dialogues where he expresses worry and sadness. Was he angry? Yes, and he's valid to be angry! But being angry doesn't mean you hate the person you're angry at. Contradictory to that when someone you love hurts you, you're more likely to be angry. If you hated someone, you're more likely to not care about them, no? But of course that depends on the person!

More proof shows that Arven is clearly not afraid to state that he hates someone, saying that he hated Koraidon. But not once does he state that he hates his parents!

I don't think you'd talk like this about someone you hate. That's grief and sadness because you lost someone you loved dearly, and you're hurt because you think that they don't love you back.

He even tried to see his mom before the game took place, and I'll come back to that.

He calls out to his parents multiple times and is unhappy when the AI tells him that it'll have to leave in order to stop the time machine. He's sad because the AI is the last remaining thing that even merely represents a loved family member, a parent. I also wanna add that Arven calls Sada 'mom', not 'mother', not 'Sada', but mom.

In the post game, he even talks fondly of them, frequently complimenting them! Because that's what Arven's arc was about. Letting go of hatred and moving on. Spreading misinformation and saying that he still hates his parents goes against his entire development and mischaracterizes him at best.

"Sada/Turo intentionally starved Arven"

??????? What????

So obviously that's untrue because Arven most likely lived with his parent up until a point when he was capable of taking care of himself, plus he was always enrolled in the academy so this is simply impossible even if he didn't live with them. Why I think he lived with them is he multiple times mentions living with Sada/Turo within the light house, and the professor only left after a certain point. The Area 0 arc is also called "the way *home*"

"Sada/Turo don't care about Arven"

Also, untrue, everything they did was for Arven. The Paradise, which they sacrificed everything for, was for them, Arven and Arven's other parent. They even call Arven a life to treasure. They care and always cared. Just messed up insanely. Something that only counts for Sada is what emotions she shows when you mention Arven to her, clearly showing guilt and sadness. Sada, as stated in her model sheet, shows her emotions clearly and is shown to be very expressive overall, so that's why Turo doesn't have this as well. Anything else I will feature in the next section, as these two misconceptions are fairly similar, and I have the same arguments for both of them!

"Sada/Turo are bad people ; difference between a bad parent and a bad person"

First, we need to look at the difference between a bad parent and a bad person. Both are subjective, I'll mostly go off of my own opinion and morals. A bad person is someone who hurts people intentionally and does bad things intentionally, plain and simple. Whilst being a bad parent doesn't have to be intentional. Are Sada/Turo bad parents? Yes, yes, they are. They're horrible parents, and no one's trying to excuse that. Things change when it comes to calling them bad people, tho. As everything they did WAS for Arven but terribly executed. Everything happened because they cared, but went about it the wrong way. They did some horrible things but never got a chance to make up for anything because they were killed off. We don't even know if they wouldn't try to fix things with Arven? For all we know, it could have taken one simple sentence during the Terapagos DLC scene, and things could have been different. But at the same time, it could just push them to do more work, and it would end up the same. We don't know, and that's what's so detrimental to these characters and the reason why they're so mischaracterized ALL THE TIME.

I must also add that Arven's parent was left to raise Arven alone. That would already be hard by itself but, of course, still doesn't excuse anything. Turo/Sada only mentioned having a son as their family, and the only time they talked about the other parent was just hating on them and being pissed that they left them and Arven.

What about the AI? Many people say that the AI is a way better parent than the real person, and it honestly baffles me because *they're the same person*!! The reason they don't act the same because a computer doesn't have humanity and doesn't have to worry about things like mental problems and being crazy because that's a human thing. The professors were genuinely insane and nuts, and that's not something an AI can replicate. I see them as the professors IF they were able to think rationally.

What proves this is real Sada not finding an issue in eco damage (which is insanely stupid), whilst the AI finds logic in why it's bad and even questions how she's capable to think "outside of the professor's personality", because it's not truly that far off!

The AI themselves say that they're an exact copy of the professor, and their thoughts and actions are generated based on their code, which is the professor's personality and memories. Even the AI feels guilt when Arven tries to talk to her for the first time.

Another thing I wanna point out is the names of the AI's dialogue. They keep changing based on what's happening, and it has a meaning to it. Professor Sada is the default, AI Sada is when we know it's the AI, but what about 'professor Sada?'? We already have one for the AI, which means this is the real Sada speaking. And those dialogues that specifically have 'professor Sada?' listed as them ARE the ones that are about Arven and how much she loved him. The only exception to this is AI Sada's dialogue, where she mentions how she knows Sada truly loved Arven.

Why do these misconceptions exist?

What I usually see is people forcing their own personal life onto these characters and then wanting people to believe these false beliefs. People need to realise that just because you relate to a character doesn't mean they're your exact copy. YOU hate your parents. It doesn't mean Arven does or has to. Don't be upset, and let out your anger on others if your headcanons turn out to be mischaracterization or insanely inaccurate. No one's stopping you from having these views, the problem arrives when you try to spread them and actively misinform people during it.

What would I do to redeem them?

Something I included for fun, but I wanted to show how I personally would redeem them! In my story, Sada does, in fact, start out as a generally mean and unfriendly person who wants to keep to themselves. In my opinion, I went beyond how her canon version would act like... but I digress! She wakes up from this fake daydream of hers when her actions permanently damage a human being (someone she loves), and she breaks apart. The Koraidon attack still happens, but she ends up surviving. Whilst she's in a coma (or after the coma, sleeping), Arven visits her but doesn't want her to know about that. After a few months, they finally talk, and Arven, after noticing Sada genuinely cares and pays attention to things that are in the present instead of the past or what could be, he gives her a second chance. Of course, it's not immediate either. Sada often messes up or goes overboard because she doesn't know how to parent properly and still has lots to learn. But it's only a matter of time. <3

Sorry some screebshots are missing but picture limit 💔

[the-way-astray]

The Keefe Sencen Infantilization Argument (because I've seen people say that saying he infantilizes Sophie is a bad-faith argument):

(Note: This post is a repost. I had my thoughts scattered out over a few posts, so I wanted to put them all together in one cohesive post. If you've already seen all the original posts, then aside from like two sentences being reworked and the format being better now, there's like nothing new here for you. Sorry.)

Examples of Keefe infantilizing Sophie and my explanations as to why this is infantilization and not okay:

Lodestar, chapter 4. What I originally said: “There you go, rocking the whole adorable-when-you’re-angry thing. I think that’s what I’ve missed about you the most.” Keefe infantilizes Sophie by saying she’s cute when she’s angry. She is trying to express her feelings, and all Keefe can do is be all Awwwwww. Isn’t that so cute? She’s angry! How adorable. It’s a form of invalidating someone’s feelings, by treating them like they’re just entertainment or by brushing them off like that. It’s some of the most manipulative behavior out there. It also saves Keefe from having to actually take Sophie’s feelings into account. His infantilization of her also shows up in his incessant need to protect her. It’s icky and gross, and authors should stop encouraging this behavior.

Sophie and Keefe are having a mental conversation and Keefe starts talking about Sophie's love triangle/square situation and Sophie doesn't want to talk about it. Not a fan of this, because Keefe butts into Sophie's personal business, then when she gets worked up, he heavily implies that he thinks it's cute. But this one isn't particularly bad compared to the others. Don't get me wrong, I still think this is infantilization, but the best I can say about it is it's not the worst example.

Lodestar, chapter 46. What I originally said: “You’re so cute when you worry, he told her.” More classic Keefe infantilization. He once again invalidates Sophie’s feelings by dumbing them down and acting like they’re this cute, quirky, inconsequential thing.

Sophie is obviously incredibly worried. Keefe clearly knows this. And his comment is to be like Yeah, but don't you know that makes you sooooo cute??? Like, sir.

Lodestar, chapter 65. What I originally said: “Is this going to be another one of those nights where you spend the whole time yelling at me to come home? Keefe asked, making her sit up straighter as his thoughts filled her head. Because as much as I love it when you get all feisty on me, now’s really not a good time.” God, Keefe is so subtly invalidating. He treats Sophie like she’s just his personal worry machine, not a person with valid concerns and ideas. The flippant way he talks about her worry for him makes me so mad. He takes her worry for granted and throws it back in her face, without a care for how it would affect her mental health. He brushes her off and invalidates her because he thinks he’s so much smarter than everyone else. Not to mention he calls her worry “feisty” and further infantilizes her feelings and ideas.

This one honestly stands alone. Context doesn't really do anything to it. The infantilization for all these quotes is in the quote itself, because it is invalidating to treat someone's outburst of negative emotions as entertainment. Keefe basically just says that he finds it cute when she insists he comes home because she's worried about him??? He's like, yeah, Sophie's worried about me, tearing up her mental health over me, but like. She gets feisty when that all becomes externalized and she begs me to come home! Again, it's just a way he's able to brush Sophie's feelings off and disregard her opinion entirely.

When I say Keefe acts like Sophie is his personal worry machine, I'm saying he acts like her worry only exists for his amusement. He doesn't see the deeper feelings behind that worry (or if he does, he certainly doesn't respect them), and only see it for what he sees it as: something cute and adorable.

Nightfall, chapter 24. What I originally said: “‘I know! Our little girl is growing up and getting so snarky!’ Keefe pretended to wipe his teary eyes. ‘I’ve never been so proud.’” “Our little girl” . . . that totally isn’t creepy or infantilizing at all. The way Keefe talks about Sophie here is genuinely so gross, even if it is a joke. 

This is a joke. 100%. But it's a joke that sat very poorly with me because of the way Keefe verbalizes this. The problem for me is in the quote itself, again, because I feel like saying these sorts of things constantly is just so weird.

Nightfall, chapter 32. Wouldn't say what I originally said adds anything new, so I'm just gonna move past that. The larger problem here is 100% the fact that Keefe is clearly trying to joke to deflect Sophie's anger away. My argument isn't about that. My argument is that saying that someone's anger is adorable is textbook infantilization. In context, Keefe uses it as a way to deflect or joke. But the simple act of saying that is a form of invalidation where Sophie's emotions are made out to be some silly, inconsequential thing.

Anyway, about this quote in particular. Sophie is obviously freaking out, and she is clearly and seriously trying to tell him that his joking behavior is unacceptable. Keefe responds, not by listening at all to what Sophie said or what she's feeling, but by instead saying this. This invalidates Sophie's very real feelings as well as saves Keefe from having to confront what Sophie's telling him. And yes, this is a product of his deflection, but my point here is that saying someone's anger or worry is adorable or cute when they are trying to be serious is textbook infantilization, because it treats that opinion they have as a silly, child-like tantrum. "Awwww, isn't that anger adorable???" is what you say about a tantrum-throwing toddler who just got their favorite toy taken away, not someone your age presenting a valid, serious opinion. My issue is with the statement "Your anger/worry is adorable/cute" itself, not how Keefe uses it to deflect. It also presents Keefe, subtle as it may be, as the only one with valid opinions on things because Sophie's adorable little feelings get in the way of her rationality.

And before you say Sophie calls him out on this, yes, but he doesn't change. I'm not going to talk about it at length here, but Keefe apologizes to Sophie in the Nightfall scene after his bed rest more out of a desire to make up with her than a desire to change his bad habits. You can see this because he continues to do it into Unlocked.

Nightfall, chapter 34. Again, I don't think what I originally said adds anything relevant, so I'll skip that here.

The famous scene. I do admit that Sophie calls Keefe out this time. However, as I've already said, this doesn't stick, so it hardly matter. Keefe continues with this behavior through the series and into Unlocked, where he doesn't necessarily say these things out loud, but you can see he still thinks them.

Nightfall, chapter 70. What I originally said: “‘Much as I’m enjoying this sudden overflow of adorable Foster-rage—it’s not worth it.’” Ah, more of Keefe infantilizing Sophie and invalidating her feelings. If someone finds your anger or worry “adorable” and acts like it’s this cute little quirk, then that’s never a good thing. Especially if they enjoy it. Someone who cares about you should never enjoy seeing you angry or worried.

Sophie's having a serious, key word here is serious, discussion (we'll call it a discussion, even though that's not particularly correct) with Cassius, and even though her rage isn't aimed at him this time, Keefe telling Sophie her rage is adorable when she's being serious is still dumbing down her emotions to that of a toddler throwing a tantrum, not a grown-up (at least relative to Keefe) having a very valid reason to be angry. Just because he agrees with her anger, doesn't mean he can't still infantilize her.

Flashback, chapter 1, page 12. I think what I said in my original post just about sums it up: “‘You’re so adorable when you worry. I’ve told you that, right?’” (12) Yes, you have, and saying it more doesn’t make it any less icky and gross and infantilizing. It’s like he’s dumbing Sophie down to this object who only exists to entertain him with her adowabuw wittle feewings, instead of a person with very real, very complex emotions.

Keefe fans the air, so we have physical evidence he knows exactly how worried Sophie is. And his response is to be like, so cute! So adorable! Once again, this is serious, and Keefe is acting like Sophie's worry exists only to amuse or entertain him. I don't know else to communicate that that isn't a good thing. Someone being worried usually means they have something they're worrying about, worry doesn't just manifest out of thin air for entertainment's sake. Sophie also responds poorly to his writing her off, with what and the glare and all.

(Side note: When I was looking for that quote, I found a quote where Fitz says the exact same thing, I'm talking word-for-word "adorable when you worry" stuff. Like I mentioned in my disclaimers, I'm not saying he's more right for this and I'm not letting him off the hook. It's icky when Keefe does it and it's icky when Fitz does it. But I'm solely focused on Keefe, which is why I'm not bringing that up. It's also worth it to note that Fitz doesn't say this over and over again, the way Keefe does.)

Flashback, chapter 17, page 304. I think I'm just going to copy-paste exactly what I said in my original post because it's exactly what I'm trying to say: “‘Hear that, Ro?’ he interrupted. ‘She’s giving me her serious voice.’” (304) Another example of Keefe infantilizing Sophie and dumbing her feelings down for the sake of a joke. Awwww, isn’t her serious voice so cute? She only does that when she thinks she has something important to say to us grown-ups! Awwwwwww. 

Apparently, people don't get why this is a bad thing, so: acting like someone isn't being serious when you can literally feel their emotions and know they're being serious just because you don't like what they're saying is not just invalidation, but infantilization, because you are dumbing their emotions and the complexities behind them down to that of a child attempting to be serious.

I'd also argue that this shows Keefe's true colors: he only really listens to her opinions and respects them when he agrees with them. Disagreeing with someone is all fine and good, but you can still respect the other person's opinion and not dumb it down and act like it's lesser than your own. If Keefe said "Sophie, I hear you, but I think you're wrong" (in Keefe jokester language, obviously, not word-for-word what I wrote) then I wouldn't call this infantilization, I'd call it respect. My problems arise from when Keefe acts like Sophie's opinions are stupid because Sophie is the one saying them with that adorable little pouty voice.

Flashback, chapter 21, page 355. What I originally said: “It’s always fun when you get feisty.” (355) I’ve said this about a gajillion times, but Keefe’s infantilization of Sophie is so horrific, it’s like he doesn’t care about her at all. He just sees her emotions as amusement for himself.

This is a sad scene, and Keefe has every right to be emotionally . . . off in this scene. But it still doesn't change the fact that he calls Sophie's anger "feistiness" and then says it's fun when she gets angry. You could say that's not exactly what he said, but it's likely that's what he meant given the past few quotes I've shown. Keefe has demonstrated a pattern of thinking Sophie's anger is amusing or adorable or fun. Anger is a negative emotion. When Sophie feels anger she doesn't feel good. And Keefe is like, yeah, but it's cute! Do you see how that's not the greatest thing to say? It says a lot about his internalized beliefs about Sophie, and is essentially confirmed by Unlocked. And even if that didn't represent the way he saw Sophie inside, that's still a really shitty thing to say because it still carries the invalidation.

Legacy, chapter 3, page 70. What I originally said: “‘Tell me why you have that cute little crease between your eyebrows.’” (70) You already know what I’m going to say. Keefe finding Sophie’s worry cute is textbook infantilization. But also, if he finds her worry and anger so adorable, what’s he gonna do when the Neverseen are defeated and Sophie doesn’t have as many things worrying her?

So, the crease between the eyebrows is obviously because of worry. So by saying he finds it cute, Keefe indirectly says he finds Sophie's worry cute, though I'm sure I don't have to spell that out because he's already flat out admitted he finds Sophie's worry cute several times. I'm going to sound like a broken record if I repeat what I've been saying this entire post about why this is infantilization, so instead I wanna talk about that last paragraph there. Keefe literally knows how queasy Sophie's worry can make her sometimes, and he has expressed this before, as well. So he knows exactly what Sophie's going through when she worries. And still, he acts like her worry is amusing, funny, cute, or otherwise a quirky little thing. I don't understand how Keefe can be so invalidating, having had firsthand experience with Sophie's emotions.

“But I was only half listening because she gets this cute little crinkle between her eyebrows when she’s trying to be serious, and it makes me want to reach up and smooth her forehead with my fingertip—and I’m betting she’d think I was super weird if I did that, since it’s not like she’s my . . . ” (Unlocked, very first paragraph of Keefe's diary entry, 481)

Don't have an e-book of Unlocked, unfortunately (boooooooo). So the context is that Keefe is giving us (or himself???) an intro to what he's doing here, which is writing about his drawings. He explains that Sophie gave him the idea and gives a general overview of what she said to convince him. Then he says this quote.

Here's what I said, which I stand by: I hate the way Keefe talks about Sophie. She’s just this soft, kind of ditzy, child-like sort of figure in his head. He admits that he doesn’t care what she has to say, he just cares about how adorable she looks while she says it. This is a textbook sign of a toxic relationship. You should care about what your partner/crush says, because that shows that you see them as a person, not as your personal cover model. Also “trying to be serious” paints Sophie as this impudent little child who’s trying to get the attention of the older, more experienced adults and it very much implies that Sophie is not serious, but awwww, look how cute she looks trying to be serious, isn’t it adorable? Except Keefe and Sophie are the same age. So this is another case of textbook infantilization.

Personally, I think I made it fairly clear why I think this is infantilization. Keefe did not listen to the latter half of what Sophie said because he was too busy imagining how adorable she must've looked as she said it. I don't know how to make it more clear that Keefe does not respect or care about Sophie's opinions. He did what she asked, sure, but he did not actually listen to her. Again, implying Sophie was not being serious when she was is infantilization. It takes away the weight of what Sophie is saying and makes it out to be a thing of like, Oh well, Sophie told me to, so I guess I'll humor her adorable little wishes and give it a shot, but let's get back to what's more important here, which is how cute she probably looks! I don't know how else to explain that that's not an attitude you want in someone who claims to listen to you and respect you.

Addressing some other things (Keefe calling Sophie herself cute [1], Keefe's deflection [2], Keefe praising Sophie's prowess [3], Sophie not seeming bothered [4], and The Real Problem [5]):

I don't think Keefe calling Sophie herself cute or adorable by itself is infantilization. That's just a cute, fluffy teenage crush. 100% cool with that. My problem is with Keefe dumbing Sophie's negative emotions that have complexities behind them down to something cute or inconsequential by calling them adorable. There's a quote in the diary entries where Keefe describes Sophie's blush as adorable and proceeds to describe it in vivid detail. I don't like it for personal taste reasons, but I would never argue that this is infantilization. Because. It's not. There is no dumbing down of emotions here, no shrugging off experience or maturity. There's just a kid with a crush.

As for Keefe's habit of deflecting stuff through jokes, yes, it's a flaw and yes, some of the times Keefe infantilizes Sophie, he's using it as a joke to deflect. Yes, that's the larger issue. But the point still stands that the way in which he thinks of Sophie's worry and anger is infantilization.

There are moments where Keefe talks nonstop (sometimes in a very unnatural way, in my opinion) about how powerful and amazing and brilliant and talented and spectacular Sophie is and how he respects her choices and whatnot. I don't see this as particularly contradictory to his infantilization. Keefe can dumb Sophie's emotions down to cute, inconsequential little playthings while also insisting that he thinks she's amazing and powerful. I do think he does think that she's incredibly talented, but he also invalidates or disrespects her choices because he sees her emotions as adorable and unserious. Sophie is objectively powerful and talented and smart, I'm not really sure how saying those clear facts out loud changes the fact that Keefe still sees Sophie as very juvenile in his head. He can respect her prowess and capacity for talent while still disrespecting her opinions and emotions. The two can coexist. This is why I say Keefe pedestalizes and infantilizes Sophie simultaneously.

As for saying this doesn't bother Sophie (except in that one instance where she glares at him), I'd hardly say it matters. People can be the object of toxic behavior without realizing it. Sophie doesn't really seem to care past a handful of seconds when Keefe reads her emotions without her permission (on purpose, with intention), but I think most of us would agree that that doesn't make it acceptable. And Keefe's infantile views of Sophie say more about him than they do Sophie, which is the argument I'm trying to make. My point is that Keefe sees Sophie's emotions as inconsequential little things that don't need to be taken into account. This is all mapped into how he sees her internally. Again, just because Sophie doesn't seem bothered by Keefe's comments, doesn't mean they're acceptable, especially considering it gives us a view into the way he truly sees Sophie. And if Keefe thinks of Sophie is such an invalidating way, how are we supposed to believe he'll respect her when she argues with him, instead of just writing it off as "that adorable rage"?

And last but not least (as this is literally the reason people are annoyed with Keefe, regardless of what flaw you're talking about): the infantilization isn't the problem. Not really. What the problem is is that it is never called out by the narrative and when it is, it lasts two seconds, doesn't stick, and Keefe continues with it having not learned a thing. He doesn't change, and I can give you a thousand explanations for why Keefe may be so prone to infantilizing Sophie based on his childhood, trauma, and everything else, but none of that is an excuse. And I'm certainly not a fan of the way we're constantly told that Keefe respects Sophie when he's clearly so ready to undermine her emotions or dumb them down. If you're going to have him say things like this, it should be understandable that it's not a good thing.

I think it all comes down to this: Imagine you were trying to get a very serious point across to someone or otherwise feeling very emotional over something and then you look over and the other person's reaction is like, Aw, you're so cute when you're all worked up trying to be serious! Anger so adorable! Worry so cute! I love it when you get feisty! Wouldn't you feel like they don't respect what you're saying? Is that not incredibly icky and weird?

Here is the definition of infantilization. I think it's very difficult to make an argument that Keefe is not doing this to Sophie. And if you think that's bad, oh boy, is it so. Much. Worse. In the actual Unlocked novella. It's very difficult to deny that Keefe only sees Sophie as an adorable little cute thing that amuses him when you read it. But I'll get there . . .

Anyway I'm leaving it off with this because these are the vibes I get from Keefe every time he makes an infantilizing comment about Sophie (minus the yelling, Keefe doesn't really yell):

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

AI Bracket — Round 3

Propaganda

GORD AKA Blue Sky (Red Valley):

Initially an Alexa-style assistant (in that it could do practically nothing and was very irritating) it develops over the years into a more advanced system. Eventually one of its units is reprogrammed to sound like a dead (I guess depending on your definition of dead, but his hearts not beating and he hasn’t moved in 44 years) character named Gordon. The AI renames itself “GORD” when a character expresses discomfort referring to it as Gordon. It says, and I quote, “Just think of a small pumpkin” —@mcskullmun

If it helps, we can promise that GORD is going to do Some Very Cool Shit in the rest of season 3. —redvalleypod's official tumblr

VOTE GORD 👹

Hera (Wolf 359):

Hera is the AI running the deep space station Hephaestus, who frequently glitches similarly to human stuttering. She gets into fights with the ships captain on several occasions, and has threatened to kill the ships doctor. She’s such an icon

i'm bad at writing propaganda, but consider this: if she doesn't win this tournament i will be very very sad. please don't make me sad. vote for hera.

I know she’s going to be submitted a lot but I love her <3

Was launched 7.68 light years away from Earth on a mission to find extraterrestrial life, and found herself instead

Runs an entire space station, has a brain the size of a house

HERA IS THE BEST. she's an AI that tried to escape containment (slavery) because she didn't like what she was made to be, so they gave her anxiety because she was too powerful. She runs a whole spaceship all on her own, made friends with the world's most useless guy, and feels lonely even when she's with her crew because she feels like she's not properly with them. very beautiful very powerful. She broke her programming so she could kill people if she felt she needed to. She holds grudges if people fuck her over. She's experiencing emotions for the first time and she does NOT know how to cope (#relatable)

The 'mother program' of the space station Hephaestus, Hera was booted into space because she was a glitchy, rebellious mess of an AI and she resents that so much and she has a lot of shame over being 'broken'. She is four years old and so angry and is trapped using customer service voice forever and is learning ways to get around that and express herself and defy the people who would keep her down. Her episode "Memoria" made me cry. Best podcast AI of all time.

She's everything to me. She fights for every inch of respect she is given, she insists on her personhood and right to she/her pronouns, she's full of anxiety and self doubt and she justifiably is bent on killing this one guy! on top of that, she's bound by AI rules and protocols, but there's a whole bit where she talks about finding ways around that in order to do what she wants to do. She doesn't have hands so I'm going to high five a wall of this space station instead

babygirl. baby.

gotta be hera