#ringed city critical

[mrslittletall]

I am still slowly playing myself through the Elden Ring DLC and I find it kind of sad. I don't look forward to the boss fights. The boss fights are normally a highlight in the FromSoft games. Learning the dance with them, bash your head against a wall over and over again until you finally manage to dodge every attack and punish them until you get them down either near perfect or crying, bleeding throwing up with not a single healing item left and a sliver of HP. I don't feel that in Elden Ring anymore. The bosses either feel like an unfair mess where you are only allowed to hit them once every three minutes or they feel far too easy because you summoned your Mimic Tear who can use your build 100 times better than you. And it makes me sad. There is no balance anymore. It is either too hard or too easy. And it pains me, because I love the level design! I have so much fun in the levels! Finding the way, beating the enemies on the way (minus Curse Blades! FUCK CURSE BLADES!), picking up new and exciting items, finding NPCs in obscure corners or solving puzzles. Screaming when I run into an obvious trap and reading the messages of the players warning me from corner enemies. And then I am through and have to fight the boss and know it is either a boring slog that makes me frustrated or is over in a couple tries because my spirit summon does the heavy lifting. And it makes me realize, that it also is the reserve of Dark Souls 3 DLC. I loved the bosses in Dark Souls 3 DLC! Hard but fun to fight and incredibly fair! While the levels felt too bloated with far too difficult enemies, so that I normally summon someone to get through this slog. And it makes me worried for the future of FromSoft. Why can't you do both?! Why can't you connect great level design with great bosses? You know, how the first Dark Souls was?! As clunky as it was, the first Dark Souls is still my favourite game of them for this exact reason. And yes, Bloodborne would be up there if not for the stupid blood vial farming. Anyway... I just hope that FromSoft takes a looong break from the formula and thinks how to make games difficult but fair again. Because that is not the way.

[elitehanitje]

Abadon Explains The Difference Between Sex and Gender

[ghostiedreamsz]

It’s her fuckin city

My gf: who’s your favorite Ring of Brass member, Ghost?

Me: Zerxus. No- Cerrit.

My gf: awesome 💕💖 I ✨love✨learning about you :333

Me: I fucked up it’s Laerryn

[zentendo]

Metacritic Awards the Dubious Crown: 2023's Worst Games (Featuring a Switch Surprise)

Metacritic, the critic-aggregating oracle, has spoken. The year’s best games might still be debated, but the dust has settled on the dubious honor of 2023’s worst gaming offenders. Brace yourselves, adventurers, for this list packs a punch of critical disappointment, and even Nintendo Switch owners aren’t safe. So, without further ado, let’s unveil the Metacritic bottom-feeders (as of December…

[kerosene-in-a-blender]

It's been interesting coming into Campaign 2 as a newcomer whose been hanging around in the fandom for a minute because it means I'd heard the criticisms of the early campaign as being "directionless", but eight episodes in it's really ringing as untrue? Like the Mighty Nein have had clear goals and motivations the entire time, even if they're as simple as "Caleb wants to visit a large city with a good bookstore" or "Jester wants to find her dad but in the absence of concrete leads (though she does have a ledger of her mother's clients, of which her dad was one) has decided to make it her mission to help Fjord reach and enter the Soltryce Academy" or "Beau thinks the Baumbauchs are dicks so she stole their mail and found herself fascinated by this one contact called 'The Gentleman'".

What I think people were clocking about these early episodes, and describing as "directionlessness" was actually the lack of a big central Plot Goal that all the characters were working towards. The Nein at this stage of their careers aren't working to stop any wars or cults or slavers or sentient cities, they're traveling together because being together is convenient and all their individual goals are pointing them in the same direction (or no direction in particular so might as well stay with the group). Whereas the early episodes of Campaign 1 had the Plot Goal of "find and rescue Lady Kima" and, once that was achieved, "help Kima recover the Horn of Orcus". The individual members of Vox Machina had their own personal motivations that intersected with this common plot goal, but it served as something the whole group was reaching towards. The early Mighty Nein episodes don't have the same sort of overarching plot framework, as Matt opened up the world after the initial run of episodes in Trostenwald and left it to the players to decide where the pursuit of their individual goals would take them.

But every character pursuing an individual goal did give the early Mighty Nein a direction; they were all pulling towards something and making choices in hopes of being brought closer to it, even if those goals varied between the group's members. The absence of a Plot Goal didn't result in the group having no direction. Indeed, as Campaign 3 would later demonstrate, the presence of a Plot Goal doesn't guarantee a group will have direction. It's the ability of the characters to turn motivations into goals and actions that creates this momentum.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ young and beautiful ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x wife!reader headcanons

¡!being cho sang-woo’s wife and the mother of his children would include¡!

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! this story is set in one in which sang-woo did not participate in the squid game!

╰┈➤ you met cho sang-woo shortly after moving to south korea for university, a change that felt both exciting and overwhelming as you navigated a new country, culture, and language. he was older by over two decades, and already well-established, but what stood out was his willingness to help when no one else would. he was the first person to offer help, whether it was explaining local customs, recommending places to visit, or simply showing you how to get around the bustling city. over time, you found yourself drawn to his intelligence and quiet charm, while he couldn’t help but admire your determination and work ethic. though feelings grew between you, he hesitated to pursue anything. his age, his position, and the way others might perceive it held him back, until one evening, seeing you laugh with one of his business associates stirred an unfamiliar jealousy. it was that day he decided he could no longer let his doubts keep him away from you. one tentative date became another, and soon he realized he couldn’t imagine life without you. when he proposed, it was grand and heartfelt, affectionate words filled with sincerity and a shimmering marquise diamond ring that left you breathless

╰┈➤ as a senior banker at joy investments, he was a man of considerable wealth, known for his meticulous taste and generosity. when you began planning the wedding, he insisted that no expense be spared, telling you to choose anything your heart desired, venues, dresses, flowers, all of it. yet, you surprised him by requesting something modest, intimate, and elegant, surrounded by your closest friends and family. it wasn’t the lavish wedding he had imagined, but he agreed immediately, because your happiness was his priority. the ceremony took place on a lovely winter day, a serene snow-covered backdrop that felt almost dreamlike. you wore a gown of delicate lace and flowing silk, understated but breathtaking. as you walked toward him, for one of the rare times in your life, you saw sang-woo, your composed, polished husband, unable to hold back his emotions, his eyes misting as he whispered how fortunate he was to say you were his wife.

╰┈➤ his mother’s disapproval was the only dark cloud over your union. she pictured her son marrying someone more mature, someone of wealth and prestige, a perfect complement to his status. you, young and from a different background, didn’t align with the future she had foretold for him. sang-woo deeply respected his mother, but for the first time, he went against her wishes, defending you against her cruel insults and snide remarks. although, the tension was palpable, and to keep the peace, he made the difficult decision to limit how often the two of you interacted. though it hurt him, he believed protecting you from her criticism was more important than maintaining appearances.

╰┈➤ your honeymoon in paris was something out of a storybook, a city you had dreamed of visiting for years. he spared no expense, booking a suite with a view of the eiffel tower and planning luxurious dinners at michelin-starred restaurants. each charming outing was magical, from strolling along the seine hand in hand to sipping coffee at quaint cafés. despite your lack of interest in designer brands, he couldn’t resist spoiling you, filling your wardrobe with elegant dresses, shoes, and jewelry from the most exclusive boutiques. he loved seeing you wear them, the way they highlighted your natural beauty, and though material things never mattered to you, his joy in giving made you happy to indulge him. it was during that trip that you realized how deeply he cherished you, not for how you looked or the labels you wore, but for who you were and how you made him feel.

╰┈➤ domestic life began shortly after your marriage, a chapter marked by sophistication and routine. sang-woo continued his demanding career at joy investments, managing high-profile clients, navigating the complexities of stocks and portfolios, and keeping the firm’s reputation impeccable. you, on the other hand, settled into the role of a housewife. though you had earned your degree in literature, your dream had always been to live a life of comfort, dreaming to create a warm home and eventually building a family. the estate sang-woo provided was grand yet cozy, a blend of modern luxury and understated grace, perfectly mirroring the life he anticipated for you both.

╰┈➤ despite his serious and composed demeanor in the office, sang-woo was tender and loving at home. mornings began with him pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaving for work, a soft ritual that made you smile. evenings were punctuated by tender affection, his arms wrapping around you while you cooked, his chin resting on your shoulder as he asked about your day. you became his sanctuary, the one person who could ease his troubles after the stresses of work. in your presence, he shed the weight of his career, revealing a side of himself reserved only for you. to him, you weren’t just his wife, you were his heart, his home, and the person who gave meaning to his otherwise complicated and burdensome life.

╰┈➤ yet, nothing in life was perfect. sang-woo’s devotion to his career often consumed him. he was a workaholic to his core, and while you admired his ambition, it came at a cost. late nights at the office became common, and he’d frequently stay later than expected with little warning, leaving you waiting at home, dinner cold on the table. business trips overseas became routine, and there were mornings when you woke to find his side of the bed already empty, a brief note on the nightstand apologizing for having to leave. the loneliness crept in slowly, settling akin to an unwanted guest in your posh estate.

╰┈➤ whenever you voiced your feelings, the conversations often turned heated. you told him how much you missed him, how the empty spaces in your life couldn’t be filled with flowers or jewelry, no matter how extravagant. yet, despite the arguments, his apologies always came, his voice soft and regretful, his eyes filled with guilt. he’d arrive home with bouquets of your favorite flowers or delicate pieces of jewelry that sparkled like promises, as though material gestures could mend the strain in your marriage. while you appreciated the thought, it wasn’t enough to replace his presence, the comfort of having him by your side. still, you stayed, believing in the love you shared and hoping that, someday, he’d learn to balance the life you built together with the career that often stole him away.

╰┈➤ it wasn’t long after settling into married life that you discovered you were expecting your first child. the news brought a visible change in sang-woo’s attitude and priorities. once so deeply consumed by his career, he began to shift his focus to you and your growing family. he cut back on his grueling overtime shifts, started declining overseas business trips, and even made the effort to reduce his smoking, something you had been urging him to do for years. suddenly, attending every prenatal appointment with you and ensuring you were comfortable and cared for became his top priorities. while his care was thoughtful, it sometimes bordered on overbearing, his constant checking on you, his insistence on preparing every meal himself, and his planning for the baby’s arrival left little room for you to so much as breathe. but his concern came from a place of genuine love and devotion, which made it impossible for you to be upset with him. he personally oversaw the construction of the nursery, situated just across from the master bedroom, carefully selecting every detail. though he openly expressed his desire for a son, you reassured him that you’d be happy no matter what, and deep down, you knew he would be, too.

╰┈➤ pregnancy took a toll on you physically, leaving you exhausted and often unwell, which only added to sang-woo’s worry. as your due date approached and the strain on your body grew, he made the decision to take paid leave from work to stay home with you. it was a rare and unexpected move for someone so career-driven, but to him, nothing mattered more than your health and the safety of your baby. he doted on you endlessly, even when you protested that you were fine. he rarely left your side during that final, difficult trimester.

╰┈➤ after nine long months, you gave birth to a healthy, beautiful baby girl. the day he saw her, sang-woo’s face lit up in a way you had never seen before. you had worried he might be disappointed not to have the son he had hoped for, but all those thoughts disappeared the second he saw you holding your daughter. the exhaustion in his eyes melted away as he gently cradled her in his arms, overwhelmed by the sheer joy of becoming a father. to him, she was perfect in every way, and he promised to be the best father he could be.

╰┈➤ as time passed, sang-woo returned to work, though he made a conscious effort to balance his career with fatherhood. he rearranged his schedule to ensure he could be home in the evenings, often taking over baby duties to give you some much-needed rest. he would rock your daughter to sleep, bottle-feed her in the middle of the night, despite his initial clumsiness. seeing him so involved only deepened your love for him.

╰┈➤ for the first time in years, you saw sang-woo’s mother again. after the tension she had caused in the past, he had kept her at a distance to protect your feelings and sanity. however, for the sake of your daughter, you allowed her into your home. while her attitude toward you remained cold and judgmental, her demeanor softened the moment she held her granddaughter. she doted on the baby in a way that made the visit bearable, and despite her lingering disapproval of you, she seemed determined to be part of the child’s life.

╰┈➤ there were instances when your insecurities crept in, especially as you adjusted to motherhood. sang-woo worked with many beautiful and graceful women, and their flirtatious comments or longing gazes at him often left you feeling inadequate. but sang-woo, perceptive as ever, always reassured you. he’d tell you, in his gentle, earnest way, that no woman in the world compared to you. “they’re nothing to me,” he’d say, the two of you laying in bed, your head resting on his chest. he told you of how he would ignore their salacious advances with indifference. “you’re the only woman i see, the only one i want.” his words, paired with the devotion in his eyes, reminded you just how deeply he loved you, silencing any doubts you had.

╰┈➤ sang-woo adored your daughter, showering her with gifts and affection from the moment she was born. nothing was too extravagant when it came to her happiness, he filled her room with every toy imaginable, dressed her in designer gowns that sparkled like a princess’s, and even had a custom-built playground constructed in the backyard. though his generosity was touching, you often worried that this endless indulgence might cause her to grow up materialistic or take such luxuries for granted. when you gently brought this up to him, he would smile kindly and say, “i only want her to have the best.” despite his protests, you encouraged him to invest in her future as well, suggesting academic tutors alongside the dollhouses and dresses. he quickly agreed, hiring the finest educators to foster her growing mind, proving once again that he wanted her to have not just material wealth but a strong foundation for success.

╰┈➤ just a year after your daughter was born, you gave birth to a son, the child sang-woo had initially hoped for. this second pregnancy was far easier on you than the first, and while he didn’t need to take as much time off work, sang-woo was just as attentive and loving as ever. every evening, he would return home from the office, setting aside his briefcase to embrace you, his hand instinctively resting on your growing belly as if to remind himself of the life you carried. “i can hardly believe you’re real at times,” he would whisper, kissing your forehead with adoration. when your son finally arrived, sang-woo’s pride and joy were unmatched. though he was thrilled to finally have the boy he had dreamed of, his love for both his children could not be described in mere words, they were the light of his life.

╰┈➤ as the years passed, your life became a comfortable and fulfilling routine. mornings were spent preparing breakfast together, the sound of your children’s laughter filling the house, while evenings were reserved for family dinners and quiet moments in the living room. your daughter was preparing to start school soon, and the thought left you with mixed emotions. as a mother, it saddened you to see her take her first steps into the wider world, while sang-woo, ever the protective father, was filled with worry. “she’s still so little,” he would mutter, clearly uneasy about letting her out of his sight. meanwhile, your son, still too young for school, remained at home, following his father around the house with wide, admiring eyes.

╰┈➤ professionally, sang-woo’s career flourished. over the years, he had received numerous promotions and had become a well-respected name in his industry. he began to consider starting his own investment firm, an ambition he had steadily nurtured since his younger days. he often sought your opinion on the matter, valuing your insight as much as your adoring support. no matter where life led, you knew your place would always be by his side, as a loving wife and mother to the family you had built together. together, you and sang-woo had created a life of love and stability, one that neither of you would trade for anything.

a/n: let me know your thoughts or if you have any requests! also i promise more cho sang-woo fanfictions are coming soon, i am prioritizing requests as i write these for you all!! 🤍

[monster-effer]

Your Melody is My Favorite Tune – Sylus x reader

Summary: Who would have thought that a little white lie would lead to this? Content: Reader and Sylus are dating, fluff, a little bit of teasing, karaoke (1.1k wc) A/N: This was inspired by Sylus’ Melodic Weave Tender Moments. Also, this is my first fic so constructive criticism is welcome, but please be kind and enjoy <3!

It has been a few months since the disastrous night Sylus joined you and the UNICORNS for a team building outing of karaoke and pool. Sylus and you can now share a laugh over how one white lie about his identity did nothing but add fuel to the fire that was your coworker's interest in the mysterious “Mr. Skye.”

After enduring weeks of Tara and your other coworkers asking when “Mr. Skye” would join one of their nights out again, they have finally taken the hint to give up on that dream. You gave the excuse that he is busy with his multiple businesses, which is truer than not.

Since that faithful night it has become a tradition for you two to meet up at one of the various karaoke bars spread across Linkon City when both of your busy schedules happened to line up. And tonight was one of those nights. The stars themselves seemed align because the both of you were free on a Friday night. Which meant Sylus was already on his way to your apartment to pick you up.

Just as you finished getting dressed in a tight pair of black jeans and a deep v neck top, you hear your cell phone ringing from the other room. As you quickly pick it up, you see Sylus is calling.

“Are you here, karaoke partner?” you ask when you accept his call.

Sylus’ chuckle is heard over the line as he answers teasingly “Why don’t you come downstairs and find out Ms. Hunter?”

“I’ll be down soon,” you answer before hanging up, putting on your shoes, and heading down to the lobby of your apartment.

Once you exit the building you see Sylus leaning on a wall next to his parked motorcycle. As you approach him you notice he is holding your motorcycle helmet that is adorned with cat ears and the riding jacket he ordered for you.

Sylus smiles fondly as you approach him and takes in your outfit for the evening. “Well, aren’t you dressed up tonight kitten?”

He begins to hand over your riding gear. “Here, I brought your helmet and jacket with me. Someone left them at my place because they were in such a rush to leave for work.”

You wryly smile at him as you place the helmet on your head. Before you have a chance to, Sylus is fastening your helmet’s chin strap. Then he rubs your back affectionately before helping you put on and zip up your riding jacket.

Once he is satisfied that you are geared up correctly, he puts his helmet back on then climbs on his motorcycle. Then he turns to you and says “Hop on, I’m taking you to a new karaoke bar tonight.”

You instantly feel curious. In lieu of a response you nod your head because you can tell Sylus is in one of his mysterious moods where he won’t give you a straight answer. You climb on his motorcycle behind him and lean your body forward as you wind your arms around his waist.

The ride to the karaoke bar felt like it was over in the blink of an eye. And soon, Sylus steered the motorcycle into a parking space.

Sylus stood up to extend the kickstand. Then you got off the motorcycle first followed by him. You waited for Sylus to unclip your chin strap then he gently removed your helmet from your head. This resulted in your hair being a hot mess. He did not try to hide his smile at your attempts to fix your helmet hair before seeing you huff in disappointment and accept your fate.

“You know, I could have met you at the karaoke bar. It would have saved you time and most importantly saved my poor hair.”

Sylus tilts his head to side and gazes at you with his carmine colored eyes, it feels as if you two are the only people out tonight. After a few moments he replies, “And deprive myself of this free entertainment? I don’t think so kitten.”

You roll your eyes as he grabs your hand and pulls you towards a nondescript looking building. Once you step inside the lobby’s décor exudes something dark and classy. Not what you would expect from a karaoke bar.

As soon as the greeter spots you two walk in you see their eyes widen for a split second before they warmly welcome you inside.

“Mr. Sylus, it’s lovely to see you! Please follow me to your private room.”

You turn towards your companion and raise an eyebrow at him in response to the enthusiastic service. But before you can get your question out, he hums then gestures for you to follow the greeter. You decide to keep your mouth shut, for now.

It’s not a usual occurrence for you to be impressed by a karaoke room, but you can’t help but admire the amenities in the room you’re led into. It has plush seating, a large flat screen TV, and microphones set in the middle of the room.

Before the employee can give you a rundown on how to order food and drinks to the room, Sylus raises his hand to dismiss them. Then he glances at you expectantly once you are alone.

“Well, what do you think?” he asks you.

“This is the nicest karaoke bar we’ve ever been in! How have I never heard of this place before?” you answer honestly.

Sylus has a pleased look on his face as he mentions “You haven’t heard of this place because it wasn’t open until this week.”

You feel your suspicion rising. “And how did you hear about this place?”

“Consider this venue a new business venture of mine.” He says lackadaisically.

You felt yourself do a double take “You OWN this karaoke bar?”

“I do, is there a problem?” Sylus asks with a small conspiratorial smile.

“No, I’m just surprised.”

“I am a man with complex and varied tastes sweetie.”

Considering the conversation over, he walks over to one of the tables in the room and grabs the TV remote. “I’ll let you choose the first song of the night. Then, we can sample the food and drink menu. How does that sound?”

You shake your head at his nonchalant nature and smile brightly. “First up, a pop song! I have a lot of energy to burn off.”

It amuses you to no end that Sylus always find ways to surprise you, even after months of dating. As the night unfolds you think of all the things you are thankful for. Tonight, your list includes Sylus’ unique singing, the delicious appetizers on the menu, and the time you get to spend together.

[occamstfs]

No Need to Apply

Here is my 1K special! Though admittedly it is nothing much out of the ordinary- Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts but especially the anonymous suggestion that spurred this transformation of a desperate twink into a cocky slob! -Occam

Brock really needed a lucky break. He had been staying with his ex since they ended it, but now that he’s sleeping with someone it’s clear that Brock needs to get his own place. Unfortunately the market is not being quite so accommodating to his urgent needs. Given that he is now to be living alone it’s evident he also needs the place on the cheap. He had been denied all reasonable accommodations that he could afford and was beginning to contemplate moving back in with his parents when he suddenly received an email from an apparent realtor he’d never met.

It was an invitation to an open house at some ritzy downtown apartment that he was sure was out of his price range. Rather than just tossing it to his spam folder though, he finds himself looking at the handful of images with a voracity, whether it’s simple curiosity or a fantasy to have such clearly luxurious housing Brock reads through the whole listing. Reaching the end of the invitation and looking at the specs he finds the rent impossibly labeled as just under half his monthly paycheck.

Nearly spitting up coffee all over himself in shock, Brock’s eyes flutter to find exactly when and where this open house was. Surely the demand for this place would box him out but god wouldn’t it be nice to just check it out and dream. He sends an RSVP and far too quickly the realtor, Lucas, thanks him for his prompt response, wishes him well, and signs off saying see you soon. Brock went about the rest of his day as normal, if not a little cheerier than he’s been for some time as he keeps finding his mind drift to that almost-too-perfect apartment’s view over the city.

Fortunately off from work the next day, Brock took the bus to the open house, stopping by his favorite cafe that just so happens to be nearby. He grabs a drink and finds himself preoccupied with thoughts of what a convenience, what a windfall, this break would be. He heads inside and takes the elevator up to the suite and hesitates before entering at the door. Odd that there is no one else here, he double checks the room and floor and puts his ear to the door to see if perhaps other visitors are inside already.

In his untrained attempt to eavesdrop he puts his weight squarely against the door, pushing it open and stumbling in, nearly spilling his coffee over the pristine floors as he crosses the threshold into the apartment. Light streams in through the blinds, only magnifying the manicured state of the spotless room around him. The floor is clean enough to see his reflection, mouth agape, staring at how impossibly clean the apartment is. The only record at all that the place had ever been lived in is the furniture that had clearly been procured by someone of great means, though one lacking any critical eye or desire for design. He sees framed posters of some real red flag movies near a large TV and some sports trophies lined on a shelf. Brock can’t help but wonder what could cause someone to leave such personal artifacts behind and feels a chill in the air. 

He wanders away from the entrance to stand at the large windows, his phone ringing as he takes in the view of his town. Answering without checking the ID he hears a man’s voice he doesn’t recognize. Though he knows this must be the mystery realtor on the line, “How do you like the place Brock?” he begins to reply before being cut off by Lucas, “Have you seen the view yet, it’s quite something else.” 

Brock feels something flicker through his mind as he gazes at the city blocks around him, below him. His eyes briefly catch on his reflection in the glass, though not long enough to see his eyelids droop slightly as he is able to reply, a tad slower than he usually likes to project, “uhh, yeah I know right, how could I not apply to live here? It’s almost too good to be true right?” There is another chill in the air and his body shivers before tensing up, shocking him back to reality and awareness to something strange afoot, “Excuse me actually, I’m so sorry, how did you get my phone number?”

Lucas clicks his tongue and speaks with an almost sickly sweet tone, “Now Brock come now, what can I do to get you to move in today?” Shaking his head in shock Brock is immediately, regardless of the clear sinister air to this man, he really cannot afford to pass up this chance. He clams up as he clambors to express interest, “No I uh! Of course I want the place, just send the lease over so I can read through it.” There is a real weight to Lucas’ words as Brock hears them, the cloying tone impressing itself on his mind, “Wonderful! That is all I needed to hear!”

It is suddenly dark in the apartment, but wasn’t he looking out the window? He can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed but he cannot see. Brock tries to move his head around to see, to feel anything, he strains his mind reaching for any muscle to flex, any tendon to pull, limbs to controt. He loses track of time and reality as he sits in the darkness, trying to grasp anything beyond his own consciousness, unable to affect anything. He feels his right hand move in a familiar way then he feels a warmth, almost a burning, completely engulfs it. He can almost see the shine of a smile, stark perfectly lined teeth that seem eerily inhuman and suddenly there is once more light. He gasps, coughs, and spits up over himself. Immediately grateful that he can feel anything at all. After feeling his body, and seeing the world almost entirely like it was before he lost consciousness, besides a copy of some contract with his name signed at the bottom.

He takes deep breaths feeling his lungs stretch and he starts to read whatever he has gotten himself into in that stupor. He reads the first few lines before he loses where he was on the page. Going again he finds his eyes suddenly dry, doing an uncharacteristically heavy blink that he can’t quite recall ever doing before and as he wonders this he again forgets his work on the contract. He slams his hand on the thigh in a rare show of aggression and gives it one last go. Brock makes even less progress this time as he is almost immediately overcome by a headache. As soon as he looks away from the sheet though, it disappears. 

Brock groans as he feels himself starting to lose control of his senses before he hears his stomach grumble, and he finds a purpose he can immediately resolve. He starts to the fridge, clearly something has happened, an episode or something, he can figure it out later, he just needs food in his stomach now. He doesn’t stop to realize that there should be no food in the fridge since no one’s been living there. Though he finds there is no need as in the fridge, under a note labeled: “To Help Moving In -Lucas,” Brock sees at least a week of prepped meals. The thought that this is bizarre beyond imagination, as well as the concern at his missing time, is immediately pushed from his mind as his stomach rumbles once more, his mouth watering as he sees his soon-to-be dinner.

Brock swiftly heats it up and begins to scarf it down, throwing something on the paying no mind or care to the thought that he’s using the account of whomever the previous tenant was. He quickly scans through seeing a handful of shows and movies that he wasn’t quite interested in before stumbling on a reality show he was watching with his Ex. He grimaces and almost loses his appetite as he thinks about his boyfriend for the first time in what feels like forever. He sets his meal down on the coffee table and crashes down onto the couch. He continues to stew in ire at his ex, palming his crotch as his feelings become more passionate. He rolls his eyes in irritation at himself and that jerk, he’s not going to masturbate to that asshole. 

He reclines in the couch and hears the sound of paper shifting in the cushions, pulling it out he finds a crusted magazine lodged in the couch. What can he do besides shout “what the fuck” and toss it across the room. How could they have possibly missed that in their cleaning? Brock’s eyes shift across the room suspiciously, though he notices nothing amiss as the room is illuminated by only the television. He looks at his hand that grabbed the porn and blushes, wanting to joke about the absurdity to calm himself down. Though his body makes its priorities known once more as his cock pulses and he looks past to see the magazine once more. He did want to masturbate to anyone besides his ex right? 

He shuffles to pick it up, the discomfort and anxiety from handling something covered in a total strangers cum only heightens his pleasure as he sits back down. He grimaces as he sees this is a real hetero-bullshit magazine, he quickly flips through to find something he can work with. His cock keeps demanding his attention as he flips through, almost impatiently pulsing as if to suggest he doesn’t need the magazine at all, just give it your attention. Though soon enough he finds an ad for some protein powder made to emasculate the reader into buying, that almost immediately helps him lose control. 

Soon after he once more fades from consciousness, his cum joining the plethora of other stains in the magazine as he tosses it behind the couch. He finds himself in a darkness that this time feels almost familiar and pleasurable. He once more feels his hand, this time though it is wet and warm. He feels it scratching in briefs that are too tight, through pubes that are too thick. He hears snoring breaking through the silence of his sleep, but that can’t be right? He would know if he snores, surely that fucker of a boyfriend would have complained. He feels his head grow warm as if he’s got a fever, though he knows it is a rage. He feels his hand feel even tighter in his briefs as his cock begins to grow in them. He continues to think of every slight his ex made, every shortcoming he was made needlessly aware of, and of how much better things are going to be now.

The heat shifts from his mind through his whole body and as light begins to break through the windows. That is not what wakes him up though, rather it is the heavy scent coming from his now sweat stained clothes. He rolls off the couch onto his face, quickly removing his hand from his briefs to catch himself, landing the stinking hand too close to his face to not smell just how loud his underwear smells. He feels his clothes sit weird on his body as he starts to rise, while his shirt just feels like it’s hanging weird, surely from the sweat, it is impossible to not see how strained his underwear is. He groans as he feels them pull strangely before he just discards them and makes his way to the bathroom. 

His eyes immediately latch onto his now exposed crotch, he does a double take as he notices that it seems distinctly larger. He also would have sworn that he shaved his pubes far more recently than it seems. He scratches through them, blushing as he sees dried cum flake off curls that are longer and thicker than he ever remembers them begin. Rather than hoping in the shower like any reasonable person would do he instead tosses on some boxers, not questioning why clothing that isn’t his would just be lying out, or why he would ever put them on. Instead choosing to focus on how right wearing them feels. He pulls them tight and turns wanting to see just how his ass and bulge fill them out, though is waylaid as his shirt blocks the view. 

He sneers as he takes off the sweat-stained shirt and tosses it to the floor, stretching high as his reeking body feels the air on his skin. He smiles in shock as he sees the body he has now exposed, he sees hair spreading across his stomach and torso and sweat dripping off of pits that were sure to stain every shirt he is to wear from now on. Beyond that he feels a body that is indisputably powerful, where there wasn’t even fat on his body before there was now muscle accompanied with weight in all the right places. His eyes then trail down to see the weightiest part of him by far as it bulges even lower in his boxers.

He feels an urge to move, to flex, to stretch, fill him as he hungrily takes in every new change in his body. His eyes trace their way past muscles contorting to land on his face, seeing a jaw that could certainly do with a shave. He sees his eager grin begin to turn into a cocky sneer as he begins to stretch once more, trying to will his torso even longer, trying to force his body even taller. His voice grows even deeper to his barely-aware ears as he closes his eyes to stretch, not seeing his throat force itself thicker and longer. There is once again a flicker in his mind as Brock is in darkness once more. Where there was once discomfort and fear there is now only hunger and an eagerness to grow even more.

He feels an itch burn across his body. He feels his hands dig deep into his pits scratching as hair grows thick enough to hold an odor that would never dissipate. He smells as even in this dreamstate he raises his hands to his nose to give them a post-scratch whiff. He feels the same itch cry out from his chest and pubes, from his lower back and his ass. He feels himself move his jaw as it squares up, a rumble in his throat as he feels his groans grow even deeper. He feels his mind thicken and slow as his muscles flex in his sleep. His arms do rep after unconscious rep as he feels biceps that should not be rub against a chest that has never been there before.

Finally he wakes one last time, his hand as it apparently always is, shoved in his pants, once more barely fitting despite wearing the spacier boxers. Brock blearily looks to see lines of takeout containers covering his coffee table. He scratches his beard using the hand from his crotch and he deeply inhales, two birds one stone after all. He sets out to get started with his day, tossing over in his head if he should masterbate again or not, a stain from a wet dream clearly showing through his boxers. Instead he throws Drake on his speakers and starts getting an early workout in, seeing to every part of his body getting a pump as he feels the hunger in his crotch grow only more urgent. 

Going about this workout Brock feels totally at home in this apartment. After all he’s lived here for? Uh? His mind empties as he looks around and sees weeks of piled up detritus and filth. He sees dirty clothes and cum stains on his couch. Looking past them there are his American Psycho and Fight Club posters, discarded underwear hanging off the latter, as well as the trophies he distinctly remembers winning back in college wrestling. He smirks and flexes tilting his head to sniff his pit. Beyond feeling at home in his apartment he also feels unequivocally at home in this, in his body, duh. He jumps to his feet with ease, his stomach rumbling as he once more goes to meet a basal need.

Throwing some of his favorite protein powder in a blender with some milk and eggs he hears his phone go off. There are a string of messages from some bitch asking him to come back and for the life in him Brock can’t remember who that little fucker is? Hearing his shake finish blending he stares at the profile picture of whoever this twink is as he starts to down it, wiping his lips on his sweaty arm as needed. The twink he doesn’t know calls him Brock and his eye twitches, ugh. Why is this dude calling him by his, uh? Is that his middle name? Or no he was Brock right?

He finishes the shake, tossing the blender onto the pile of dishes in the sink and his mind finds itself deeply conflicted. As ever though, his body is more than happy to assuage him, the phone vibrates once more and his cock begins to bring him clarity, demanding his attention once more. Brock’s a little bitch name. He smirks as he looks around at his sty of an apartment, not remembering how neat it once was. Peeking from under a particularly dirty dish there’s a contract that he remembers that he meant to have a look at. 

Bringing it to his face however he simply can’t find the motivation to even start. Why worry about this when he can masturbate, or fuck maybe he can get that whiny bitch to come over? His eyes trail to the end of the paper and see his signature, written clear as day “Adam.” He guffaws at this, god how stupid can you be, he basically forgot his own name after that twink called him uh, whatever that bitch name was. He feels his crotch grow tight again, that is kinda hot though? He moans to himself, pawing at his crotch and texts whoever this man is his address and to come ready to fuck. Adam feels no real attachment to whoever it is, nor should he, a hole is a hole after all. Saying that thought he can’t help but feel this hole is due to be taught a lesson.

If you enjoyed this I also recommend @fredwkong's The Voice in Your Head which explores a similar idea in quite a unique and captivating way!

[wasitforrevenge]

oh sweetheart

pairing: boxer! ellie williams x f reader au

word count: 1.9k

rating: 18+

warnings: boxer!ellie, drinking, smoking, cursing, creepy guy but ellie comes to ur defense!! ellie has lots of tattoos, fighting, threats, idk if im missing anything (no character description or anything specific)

summary: you didn't expect to meet her on this night out.

authors notes: hi friends! this is my first time writing and posting on here hopefully you enjoy, please reblog, like or follow! lets be mutuals :) anyways feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated! ellie williams has me on my hands and knees!!! i hope you enjoy! i like the idea of making this a series if it works out and ppl like it, so pls let m know!! thank you :)

PART 1 | part 2

series masterlist <3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

loud. everything is loud. the smell of sweat and blood stains the air around you. the sounds of people cheering and shouting towards the center of the large room. the lights are buzzing above you as you are walking into the entrance of the shitty run down gym your brother, jesse, and his girlfriend, dina, ended up dragging you to tonight.

you didn't mind coming along with him but this wasn't what you expected to be doing tonight. after a long shitty week of unpacking your new apartment, you kinda just wanted to end up a hole in the wall bar and drink your stress away but he had other plans. which including watching grown men beat the shit of each other for their cut at the end of the night.

it was intimidating, walking through the crowds of people you didn't know until you finally make it to where his friends were waiting for you guys. they were sitting at a table with a clear shot of the fight which was surprising since the whole place seemed to have more people in it then it could fit. you make your way awkwardly to the empty seats saying a gentle "hello guys" to your brothers friends who you didn't knowl. you sat next to dina as jesse made his way to the bar with your drink orders.

after you graduated highschool, you moved to new york and spend 4 years there working in a small cafe you lived above but now at the start of the summer, still not sure what you should be doing with your life. now you're 22 and you've moved to the city of jackson to be closer to your older brother and his girlfriend. you were excited to start fresh in a place where no one knew you yet, you were ready to leave your old life and those toxic things in the past. but you wondered if it was even possible.

you spend the next hour talking with dina and catching up on the things that have happened since you moved, "have you started looking for jobs yet?" she asked as you both sipped on the second drink of the night that jesse went and brought back a bit ago. you've only met a couple times in person since they started dating about 2 years ago but you loved her, she was making this night a lot better. "not much luck yet, i don't know what to do, luckily i have some time to figure something out." you responded. she went to say something but then the loud speakers around the room started blaring music and the countdown to the match that was about to start.

jesse tapped dinas shoulder to go watch with the rest of them. dinas eyes met yours and asked, "are you coming up?" you started getting nervous as the people started getting louder and crowding towards the center ring and told her that you'll stay here and watch. they both nodded and said they'd be back when it was over.

you took this opportunity to finally go get some fresh air since the crowd isn't all over anymore and it was a straight shot to the door you came in, you walked over to the side of the building, definitely feeling the drinks you had, you let your back rest against the concrete wall, finally cooling you down on this hot summer night. there's people standing outside talking but they payed no attention to you. you stayed against the wall as you pull out the cigarette pack from the pocket of your thin dark green jacket and the lighter out of your back pocket in your jean shorts. you cursed yourself for not buying more but its a bad habit and you know it. you pulled one out and put it in your lips as you brought the lighter up and took a drag, finally letting the anxiety go as you stared off into the sky.

"excuse me miss, you shouldn't be out here alone, a beautiful girl like you," a man with a rough voice said but you didn't move to look, suddenly wishing you never left your apartment to begin with, "hello i'm talking to you, its not nice to ignore people, ya know," he slurred his words as he spoke. you turned your head as you went to tell him to leave you alone but instead, he was standing in front of you before you knew it you dropped your smoke and now he's practically cornered you.

he was so close you could smell the alcohol on his breathe as he spoke again, "now are you gonna talk to-" you leaned away from him as he was interrupted by the sound of a door opening a few feet away, he looked towards it but then turned back to you just as quick, almost touching you as he went to speak again but he was beat to it.

"get off her." you didn't even realize the door had opened until you heard her.

the man looked back towards the door to the figure in the light, he squinted and when he got a good look, he suddenly backed off and put his hands up. "hey hey i wasn't doing nothin- it was nothing!" he shouted back to whoever was next to the still open door, light shining into the alley.

the door slams and the light fades as the figure walks closer towards you and your eyes meet the deep green eyes of the person who just saved you as she turned to the man who was just cornering you against the wall.

"it doesn't look like nothing, i mean, really? you're fucking joking right?" she questioned him as she looked him right in the eyes.

"i said it was nothing- she was flirting with me and-" he was cut off as she laughed loudly. "yeah you're full of shit, get the fuck out of here and don't let me see you again or you'll regret it." she said as she stepped closer towards him, almost at the same height, he looked scared of her. "okay, okay- fuck 'm leaving!" he slurred one last time as he turned around and headed the opposite way of the run down gym.

you stood there as the interaction happened, not sure what to do or say yet, you were silent as he walked off, and those green eyes met yours again and you saw her lips moving as she was speaking but you caught nothing she said. "hey, you okay there?" she asked you as she went to stand in front of you, looking you up and down, checking if you're psychically okay while she gave you a second to process before she asked you again.

"hey sweetheart, you okay?" she asked and grabbed your arm, not in a way that the man would have but like she was actually making sure you were okay, and this time you finally heard her.

"h- yes im okay, just- fuck- yes thank you." you said finally getting a good look at her now that she's up close and touching you. her eyes were greener than you thought, her short auburn hair with some pulled back into a bun, the big moth tattoo wrapped around her right forearm that was still holding onto yours, other tattoos littered her arms and some poking out under her t-shirt she was wearing. she was so close to you and it sent butterflies through your body. now is not the time, you thought to yourself.

"are you sure- 'm sorry that happened, fuck him." she said roughly, not towards you but him.

"its okay, thank- thank you for helping me" you said gently to the girl who was still looking into your eyes. you had been so focused on hers that you didn't even see the tiny scars, small healing cuts and the bruises that were fading until you looked over her face again.

"yeah of course, are you here alone?" she asked you curiously still holding on to you, you weren't even phased by it. you told her you were here with your brother and she nodded her head towards the door, "lets get you back to him before anything else happens sweetheart" she said as she guided you to the door, hand on your back, as you swallowed and went first.

suddenly all the sounds that you had not realized you had been blocking begin again, smells of the sweaty bodies surround you again and you felt too hot, either because of her or the summer heat trapped in here. once you made it inside, she moved her hand off the small of your back and told her to go find your brother and to get home safe. when she walked away, you realized you didn't even know her name.

you saw dina, sitting along with a few of jesses friends and made your way over to her. the match must've ended while you were outside. you walked through the gym to sit back down, moving carefully to avoid touching anyone. once you made it to the table, dina wondered where you had ran off too. "oh just went out to get some fresh air," you said back to her smiling, not wanting her to worry. she told you jesse went to get more drinks and after the encounter outside, you needed it.

jesse came back a few moments later, holding a round of shots for you three. "here you ladies go," he spoke with a happy look on his face. you smiled slightly back and took the glass as dina laughed at him. you took the shot, trying to forget what happened outside with the man but not what happened with her. you wondered if you would see her again. is she here to watch? could she work at the bar? is she here with friends too? your thoughts were interrupted by an announcement over the speaks that the final match was gonna start soon.

dina and jesse were telling you, "its the last one tonight and the last ones are always the best so lets go!" you would rather sit and order another drink, but what if something else happened cause you were alone? so reluctantly you got up with them and got closer to the middle ring, you heard the loud speakers announcing the boxers as they entered the ring. you weren't even paying attention, nothing could stop your mind racing with thoughts about the girl outside.

you shake yourself out of the trance when dina reaches over to you to touch your hands that were shaking but you didn't even realize, you look to her and give her smile that she returns, then she looks back to the ring and you turn your head to follow her eyes to the center. and your breathe caught.

thats her.

thats the girl who saved you outside.

the girl with her hands wrapped in tape and the mouthguard in.

the girl who wondered if she'd ever see you again either, not that you knew that, but she hoped it wasn't the last time.

you wondered what she thought as you both stared back at each other. you heard the coach start the countdown. you just watched her.

...5

...4

...3

...2

as the buzzer started, she smiled directly at you then turned to throw the first punch.

[saintsroww]

TITLE. All I Have IN SHORT. clingy!jinx X reader "I Can't lose you too." | made with WLW in mind. CROSSOVER. Arcane: League of Legends X Cyberpunk 2077 WC. 1,555 CR. official art [ Arcane: League of Legends ] this is the outside of jinx's place that i tried my best to describe lmao TALKING. first ever fanfic. send any healthy criticism, i'd love that! at first it was ripperdoc!jinx but i had no idea where i was going with this tbh so i just went with clingy jinx lmao. and apparently jackie died differently in this teehee. might seem ooc, yikes. did I eat with this one yall? lmk :( PROJECT BEGUN. 11/30/2024 this took me awhile HAH! ACT. iii

Night City was bustling with people cheering and yelling, the disruptive revving of car engines speeding down the wide streets, the cool night air whispering past your skin, your hands comfortably resting in the pockets of your pants, your right hand holding onto your keys hidden inside the pocket, and your head slightly lowered as you stride past other people on the packed sidewalk. Your knuckles carry a faint throbbing ache that you're awfully familiar with. The night sky makes the ads displayed practically on every building look more vibrant than in the daytime. Your heart felt heavy, burdened by an overwhelming wave of sorrow and distress, while your composure dangled precariously, clinging on by the slightest thread.

You slip past multiple distracted spectators watching the race in Little China, occasionally bumping into others as you make your way through the other side of the crowd. Headlights whipping by, the smell of body sweat and alcohol invaded your nostrils. Your left-hand rises from your pocket to push a bystander to the side, finally making it out of the crowd to the other side, your main focus on reaching out to someone you held dear after a hot minute of your absence.

The street life drained you in ways you knew you'd be in if it meant you'd stay afloat in Night City. As the days went by including you sending little to no messages to Jinx, backstabbers were left sniffling the ground you walk after you're done with them, biz dealing with individuals where you can't always put your guard down, foolish gangoons pushing their luck with you. Being protective of what's rightfully yours, or taking from the more fortunate, getting to the top meant having every advantage you could get, and then you'll have a better chance to get far in this line of dangerous work.

After another minute of walking alone, the sounds of the people's voices faded as you made a right turn, chip bags, bottles, garbage bags, and papers lightly blown about, all this junk on the ground was a normal sighting in this inescapable city. As you walked further into a narrow alleyway, you stood in front of a gate that stopped you from moving forward, cyberpunk lighting coming from the street lamp behind it brought the otherwise dreary alleyway into.. something somewhat lively, and homey. You can give it that.

At the end of the alleyway were colorful chalk drawings of angry cartoonish monkeys and smack dab in the middle of the wall was a portrait of a little girl beautifully drawn by You and Jinx's hands on the brick wall. Pink wires as the background, and the two words "POW POW!" written above her head were drawn in a sprite shadow font. A soft smile touched your lips, the drawing carried a heavier purpose of memorabilia after little Isha's passing, and the relationship you three shared, you and Jinx cherished it. Pulling your right hand out from its pocket, multiple keys held together by a ring jingled from your hand movements, eyes scanning over all of them to land on a basic, silver key.

Holding it between your thumb and index finger, you insert the key into the slot and steadily turn it to unlock the gate. Shoving the keys back into your right pocket, you push it open with your forearm, stepping through the gate door, you close it behind you and quickly move toward the steps, the soles of your worn-out shoes softly thud against the concrete as you walk up the short set of stairs. You halt all your movement when you stand right in front of the entrance to Jinx's place. Rock music booming in the confines of the room's four walls was muffled by the metal door firmly standing in your way.

Letting out a barely audible breath, anticipating the argument you're going to walk yourself into. You swiftly repeat your actions by unlocking the door to her place. As you step through the threshold of the doorframe, slamming the door behind your back, your eyes are immediately met with a woman's slender figure in the middle of the room, aiming a gun your way that'd gradually lower to her left side as your recognizable appearance instantly brought her eyebrows to rest from its tight frown, her wide stare softened faintly. Her expression gradually faded into something resembling ease and a drip of irritation. The lightly worn-out leather chair behind her spun, showing the urgency and haste in her movement when met with anything that could quickly lead to life or death.

"Ah, Y/N." Drawing your name out with false unenthusiasm and unrestrained annoyance that had an underlying sense of harmlessness to it. "Popping in after ghosting me for three days?" Her voice was raspy, her upper lip subtly curling upwards. Violet-red eyes holding you in your place, her head tilting a little to the side, her jagged side bang obscuring her right eye, making her dark eyebags more notable because of the pink lighting in the room. She placed the gun in her left hand on the metal table beside her, turning down the rock music playing through the phone with the same hand without delay. Her hands clasped together behind her back as she sauntered over to you, stopping her movement when she was just a foot away from you, her head leaning in a tad bit, her right hand rising to roughly press her index finger against your chest.

"Why were you gone for so long? You know I don't like it when you're gone for that long." It was heavy, the unblinking stare and the want simmering in her heart urging her to close the gap between the both of you.

"Fixer hooked me up with a job that included insane amounts of eddies but- a lot went wrong. And I…" You held it together in the first half of your sentence but you couldn't hold it together forever. Every single second you were left alone with your thoughts the morning after the job was finished, losing Jackie that night, the man who earnestly stood by you since you started doing biz, a man you trusted, the gunfight following as soon as the brief, intense, and loud burst of noise of a pistol going off, the bullet hole left in his forehead, blood seeping from it. He was gone, in such a short time-frame. You'd spent time outside of work with him, fought together, and saved each other from sticky situations- This loss on top of Isha's was a pierce to your solid heart harder than you prepared for.

Just speaking on anything relating to losing someone important to you, first Isha, now Jackie.. You had to see Jinx, after going through that, you couldn't sit alone in your apartment that felt so void without anyone occupying it other than you, and being alone with your thoughts wasn't ideal. "Ahh… I just can't lose you too, Jinx. I'd rather it'd be me in harm's way, y'know?" Your eyes heat up. Darting, staring anywhere but at the woman standing right in front of you. Your bottom lip curls in for your upper teeth to bite down on it for a moment. Tears threaten to spill out.

She's all you have left.

A palm, warm to the touch, cups one side of your face, tenderly ushering you to look at her, tugging you out of the deep pit that is the fear consuming you. Her eyes meet yours head-on, a weak, close-lipped smile adorning her lips, her bottom lip vaguely trembling, her face expressing the same pain you held, understanding well how you feel at this very moment. Her thumb moves in smooth, circular motions upon your cheekbone. You gently grasp Jinx's upper arm, the arm using the same hand that tenderly strokes your cheek.

Neither of you could stall it any longer; both of you sought solace in the only person left willing to offer an hour of reprieve: each other. It was Jinx who moved first, ending the last shred of space left between you two to wrap her arms around you into a hug. Her nails digging into the back part of your shirt, Jinx's nostrils flare when she deeply inhales the scent of your vanilla fragrance with a hint of sweat, nestling her face further into your neck. "Just… Don't do that again, Y/N…" She spoke in a hushed tone, her lips slightly parted as the tension in her body melted from the comfort of your body heat.

"It was like.. I had no one when you were gone. You didn't even send me a message."

You couldn't bring yourself to respond, skeptical that your voice would shatter if you were to utter another word again. Your arms are wounded around her waist leaving Jinx's mind empty of anything negative leaving only tranquility you unknowingly bring to her already deteriorating soul. Choosing to gently nod your head as an alternative, your right hand slithering up to lay upon the shaved side of Jinx's head, your other hand moving up to plant itself on the small of her back. "Ha… 'msorry." Your voice was feeble, your breath tickling Jinx's nape.

"Heh, deep down, you're still a softie." A full smile graced her lips, her hold on you unyielding.

[lazysoulwriter]

just friends, right? - pedro pascal.

requested! hope you like it, like i did! - requested are open.

-

It started with a selfie.

Pedro posted it on Instagram without much thought. A casual photo of him and you—both smiling, both a little too close, both bathed in golden light. The caption? Just a simple:

pascalispunk: brunch with my best girl 🤍

And the internet lost it.

-

Twitter Thread – pedropascalupdates 📌 Pinned Tweet

🚨 Okay but Pedro Pascal and Y/N have been “best friends” for like… a decade?? and yet they’ve posted more soft couple content than ACTUAL couples. A thread 🧵

1 - This is them at a premiere last year. Hand on lower back, lingering eye contact, the whole thing 👀 📸 [image attached] 2 - Pedro flew to Paris for literally no reason the same week Y/N was filming there. Coincidence? okay. 📸 [screenshot of Pedro’s IG story + Y/N’s BTS photo] 3 - They wore matching rings at the Critics Choice Awards. Like… the SAME. EXACT. RING. 📸 [close-up of both their hands] 4 - This pic 😭 📸 [screenshot of the infamous brunch selfie]

-

Instagram – yourusername

📸 carousel post:

blurry mirror pic of Pedro tying your shoe

sunset through a car window

wine glasses clinking

Pedro's hand reaching across a table for yours (captioned: “my favorite view”)

comments:

pedropascalfan27: that’s HIS HAND. I RECOGNIZE THE VEINS 😭 chaoticpedrogirl: okay but is this a soft launch or a hard launch??? besties4life: y’all are really just gonna keep playing with our emotions like this huh 😭 pascalsource: it’s giving “we’ve been married for 7 years but you don’t need to know that” user123: can we get a timeline please??? this is mental gymnastics

-

Interview Clip – Red Carpet Moment

Interviewer: “Pedro, you and Y/N have such an adorable friendship—fans love seeing you two together!” Pedro (grinning): “Yeah… she’s the best. Been putting up with me for years now.” Interviewer: “Any chance it’s more than just friendship? People have… theories.” Pedro: laughs, rubs the back of his neck “People love a good theory, don’t they?”

-

Instagram Story – @ pascalispunk 📸 blurry photo of a breakfast table 👤 tagged: yourusername (but barely noticeable in the corner)

-

Fan Tweet – @ pedropascaldefenseunit

no bc at this point I’m convinced they’ve been in love for like ten years and are just vibing and letting us slowly lose our minds over it

-

They never confirm it. They never deny it either.

But when Pedro posts a grainy polaroid of you both sitting on a rooftop, your head resting on his shoulder, with the caption:

pascalispunk: home.

...no one really needs confirmation anymore.

-

The notification buzzes on your phone, but you already know who it is. Pedro.

He’s on the other side of the couch, wrapped in the blanket he insists on bringing every time he stays over, glasses sliding down his nose, the glow of his phone lighting up his face. He posts the photo without saying a word. Just smiles at his screen, soft and content. You can see it in the way his eyes crinkle.

"You posted?" you ask, laughing as you throw a pillow at him. "Maybe," he replies, trying to play innocent. "Pedro!" "What? It's cute!" — He flashes the screen at you. The caption: Home. The picture: you and him on your rooftop, your head resting on his shoulder, city lights behind you.

You shake your head, grinning, and crawl over to steal his phone. "Now everyone’s gonna know. Again."

Pedro drops his head into your lap, looking up at you like you’re his whole world. "Let them. They’re not wrong, anyway."

Your fingers drift through his hair, absentmindedly. "You sure? About… us being out there like that?"

He grabs your hand, holds it tight. Lifts it and kisses each finger one by one. "I’m sure about you." "Cheesy." "True."

Another buzz — comments flooding in. "You wanna read?" he teases. "No. I just wanna stay here with you."

He smiles again, that sleepy, safe smile you know too well. "Just us."

And for now, that’s all you need.

[goldsainz]

❝ SO LONG, MONACO ❞

MASTERLIST!

pairing . . . charles leclerc x reader

◦∘｡ﾟ. warnings . . . use of y/n (once, i think), cursing, a whole load of angst, charles is an asshole, rushed ending, barely proofread.

◦∘｡ﾟ. summary . . . you love monaco, but it has run its course just like your relationship has.

◦∘｡ﾟ. note . . . i am obsessed with ttpd, i don’t care what anyone has to say, it was a masterpiece and i will not take criticism about it. this is based on so long, london i really recommend listening to this while reading, or just listening to it in general if you need a good cry. i have been writing this for months now, so i hope you guys like it and please dont mind the ending it was the best i could do 😔💙

[ word count: 3,4k ]

You walked through the streets of Monaco, mystified by how bright the city looked even in the night. The street lights were enchanting to witness, and the chatter of people made you appreciate the small country even more. So private, yet so lively, like a hidden spot you had loved so much you just had to make it your home. 

The walk to Charles’ apartment is more calming than expected, you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’ve been pulling at a thread that is almost undone. No matter how hard you tried, there was no use in pulling him tighter when he had already pulled out of the relationship.

You were, in all honesty, tired. 

You swore your back almost hurt from all the efforts you made to keep him with you. It’s like you both had settled for conformity, for the monotony of not bothering to do anything. You were together for the sole sake of how harder it would be to separate, but not because of the love you had for the other, simply because of the aftermath of breaking up after 6 years of relationship. Moving out, telling your friends and family, the whole world scrutinizing what went down when really nothing had gone down. There was nothing that could go down, to begin with. 

Your relationship had become more of a commodity, one that was draining you while your boyfriend continued his life like nothing was going on. Maybe that was your problem, you simply cared too much. 

And so you stopped trying to make him laugh. Stopped making those small efforts that had amounted to hundreds of gestures that went unnoticed by him. Maybe you were selfish for that, for wanting his undivided attention to things that weren’t that great. After all, he had his own things to wallow over, things that were simply greater than you.

You tried to blame Ferrari. Ferrari that always was the topic of conversation. “Can you believe they made pit so late?” Yes, I can. “Do you think I’m putting to much faith in the team?” Yes, you are. You don’t tell Charles all the things you should, you share his sadness and give him a shoulder to cry on, just to receive that small amount of affection. 

His sadness gives you the taste of what once was and now isn’t. You can’t find in yourself to blame him for becoming dependent on Ferrari, because haven’t you become the same way for him?

It isn’t long before your walk is over, and you have to face the moment you want to dread, but instead there is relief that surges in your heart. A feeling you resent but equally embrace. 

You step into the elevator, pressing the button for his apartment that you wonder when you decided to let everything go on for as long as it did. That is something you incriminate Charles for. Did he really think you’d be willing to stand in the rain for him forever? Eternally condemned to wallow his sadness, were you supposed to be sad for as long as he was? And for a while you did, you shared his sadness but you didn’t have much more in you to give him. There was only so much pity you could feel, so much empathy you were willing to subject yourself to. 

The elevator rings, a sign that you should get off and take whatever is yours and get away from Monaco.

You put the key in the keyhole, and enter what once was your home and now looks almost like a staged apartment, ready to be shown off and sold to the highest bidder. It feels eerie, what once was so familiar is now a distant memory you’re ready to get over.

Most of the boxes are all closed and ready to be sent away, with a few things left in shelves and drawers. You remember calling your family and asking if you could stay with them a few days, you felt ashamed at how you left everything behind just to come back to it so unexpectedly. 

“Chérie, you don’t have to leave. I can stay with Joris until you find your own place.” no more ma chérie, just chérie. It seemed you’d both unconsciously already made the graves for your relationship. 

“This is your place, Charles. I’m not going to kick you out of it.” you smoothly respond, trying to focus on taking whatever is left on the shelf by the TV. 

Your hand brushes against an old photo of the two of you. His hands around your waist, you looking up at him with a huge smile on your face, with Monaco as the landscape behind you. 

“This was our place, I don’t even—” he stops himself, like it pains him to say whatever is on his mind, resigned he sighs and changes his answer, “I might have to sell this, it’s too big for just me anyway.” 

The implication of his words would have sent you down a spiral a few months ago, now you don’t even reminisce on the what-if.

“Either way, I’ve already arranged a place to stay. I really don’t want to inconvenience you, this is your home not mine.” you say, and you watch as his jaw clenches and his eyes dim, but it is too late now to go back. You’re both too far gone. 

“Okay, then.” he sighs, and although you’ve made peace with the end of your relationship you want him to fight for you. It is his nonchalant way of going about life that makes you mad, and what sealed the fate of whatever remains of your relationship were left.

You’ve fought so hard and for so long, you want to make him feel what you felt. Retribution comes to you in his resignation, and yet it is simply not enough for your greedy, broken heart.

It pisses you off how so much of your youth he got to witness, how he got all the special moments of your life and now you cannot even recognise the girl you once were. All those dreams, all that naïveté, has long since died and is now buried in Monaco.

“It’s late and I’m really tired, so tomorrow morning I’ll have them pick up and ship off my things.” 

“Where are you staying?” he tries to be casual, tries to hide the desperation in his voice, but fails to do so because you know him too well. He fears you know him better than anyone ever has. 

“A hotel nearby,” you easily answer, 

Don’t let me go.

A beat passes, he opens his mouth and closes it shortly after, like he’s not sure what to say or how to act.

Please, don’t let me go. 

“Do you need me to take you there?”

“No, I’m okay, it’s a short walk from here.”

And so you put away the few things you were holding, brushing past him like he’s a stranger in the street. You’ve seemingly packed up your whole life in a few boxes, and you feel oddly calm about it. Hopeful about the future, all resentment you could have has turned into motivation. 

You seal the last open box, and it’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. There are no scores to settle, no need for revenge, this chapter of your life has been sealed and you are ready to continue with whatever the story of your life has prepared for you.

“Text me when you get to the hotel, yes?” you pause at his words, and a part of you wants to curse him out for being the way he is, because despite everything he is a kind man. You just wish he could've been as kind to the old you as he is to the current you. And you wonder why you're given all this kindness, when you have both your feet out the door and every single remainder of your love has been tucked away. It is not fair, but nothing really is when it comes to love.

“Sure,” you say as you nod, a small smile gracing your face, though you're sure it looks close to a grimace. 

You walk out of the apartment, leaving your copy of the keys on the table next to the door. As it closes, you let out a sigh and go out the same you came in, calm and collected. With the broken, bloody pieces of your heart in his hands and you with the same blue heart of his you know so well.

You don’t text Charles when you make it to the hotel. 

You twist and turn in your bedsheets, not being able to sleep once again. You can't remember the last time you had a good night's sleep. And so you do what you've been doing for months, you go over every step and stone of your relationship.

Although sleep doesn’t consume you, the memories do. Those unforgiving, wretched memories about the downfall of your relationship. As you lie awake, the weight of your thoughts presses down on you, each recollection sharper and more painful than the last. 

You reminisce on the brighter days, filled with laughter and pure love, where every touch was like electricity on your skin and every word a promise of a future together. You recall all those moments you fought to make him laugh, to bring back the warmth that had once been effortless. But those bright memories are quickly overshadowed by the darker ones— the fights that grew more frequent, the silences that stretched longer, the love that slowly turned to resentment. 

Every detail is vivid in your mind— he look in his eyes as he drifted away, the chill that settled in your bones each night he didn't fall asleep beside you. You replay the conversations, the accusations, the desperate attempts to salvage whatever was left. But despite your efforts, the spirit of the relationship was long gone, leaving behind a shell of what once was.

As the memories flood back, you feel the anger and sadness welling up inside you. You gave so much of yourself, your youth, your energy, only to be left with the empty shell of a broken dream. You think about how he swore that he loved you, yet the proof was never there. 

You recall that last fight, by then the stitches of your relationship had come undone, the fabric of your shared experience torn beyond repair. There was nothing left to cling onto, nothing more than your delusion and the memories you held close to your heart. 

“Mon amour, why did you stay awake? You know how long I take at the factory.” he whispers, almost cooing at you but also filled with exhaustion. Like you being awake is another burden you're placing on him, now that he has to deal with your awakened mind. 

“Couldn’t fall asleep, I guess.” you answer, playing with the ends of your hair, not daring to look at him. 

You watch as he places his stuff on the ground, taking off his shirt and entering the bathroom to wash his face and prepare for sleep. It is quite a shame you have no intentions of sleeping, or to let the misery you're living through go on.

“I’ll join you in just a moment,” he calls out from the bathroom, his voice muffled from the ajar door between you.

“Okay,” is all you come up with, all you can muster to respond.

The silence in the apartment grew heavy. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to echo through the room, each second stretching out into eternity. 

As you listened to the sound of water running, you traced patterns on the bedsheets with trembling hands. You couldn’t shake the feeling of suffocation, of being trapped in a life that wasn’t quite yours. The dreams you once nurtured seemed distant, obscured by the everyday struggles and compromises.

When Charles emerged from the bathroom, the lines of fatigue etched deeper into his face. His eyes met yours briefly before he turned away, pulling a worn t-shirt and slipping under the covers beside her. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, yet you could see the coldness that he seemed to reserve especially for you. He made no effort to kiss you, to hold you, those miniscule actions were like finding gold nowadays.

It was now or never, you had decided. You had gained courage all day to finally speak your mind, the least he could do is listen and try to fight for you. For the remains of your love that hadn’t yet dusted away.

“You know,” you begin tentatively, your voice almost shaky with emotion, “it feels like we’re drifting apart. I miss us, Charles.”

He turned to you sharply, eyes flashing with something like shock and annoyance. “I’m tired, Y/N. Can’t we talk about this tomorrow?”

“But we never talk about it!” you exclaimed, frustration boiling over. “Every day, it’s the same thing. You come home late, exhausted, and we pretend everything’s okay. But it's not okay! It hasn’t been for a long time, and I need more than this.”

He sighs heavily, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Sure you are,” you retort back, voice tinged with bitterness. You knew he would dismiss your feelings, but it still stung.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m always second, Charles.” you retort, “I stay awake each night wondering if you still care, if there is even some part of you that misses me like I miss you.”

“You always find something to complain about, don’t you?” he turns to you with his eyes narrowed, “You know how much I’m dealing with Ferrari, I thought you’d have some empathy for me, at least.”

“I’m not complaining, Charles. I’m trying to talk to you!” your frustration has now reached its peak, “I miss us. I miss the days when we actually talked, when you actually listened.”

“I’m exhausted,” he says, ignoring your words once more. “Do you think this lifestyle pays for itself? Because, news flash, it doesn’t. You signed up for this, don’t put this on me now.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” you ask, resigned to your situation and the emotions that have overtaken you, “You're never here, Charles. I feel like I’m living with a stranger instead of the man I fell in love with.”

“Well, maybe if you didn't make everything so difficult,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin. He doesn't dare to look at you, he can't bear to see the expression on your face.

You feel tears stinging in your eyes, a mix of anger and hurt washing over you. “I’m not making things difficult. I’m asking for us to work on our relationship, to make time for each other.”

“I don’t have time,” Charles shot back, his voice cold and distant. “This is the life we have now. Deal with it.”

“Is this really what you want?” you demand, your voice rising. “A relationship where we just coexist, where we’re barely holding on?”

He turns away from you again, his silence cuts deeper than any words ever could. You feel the despair, the realizations sinking in that your relationship might be beyond repair.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper, voice cracking with emotion.

“Then what do you expect me to do?” he retorted, his frustration matching yours.

“I expect you to fight for us, Charles!” you exclaimed, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I expect you to care enough to try.”

He doesn’t respond, the silence a stark reminder of how far you had both drifted apart. You wiped your tears away, feeling the weight of your crumbling relationship pressing down on your chest.

“If you can’t even talk to me, then maybe we’re already done.” you say quietly, the finality of your words hanging in the air.

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t reach out to you. You turned away from him, curling up on your side of the bed, feeling the emptiness of your once vibrant love surrounding you. As you stared into the darkness, you wondered if you had reached the end, if this was all the closure you would get.

As you laid there, enveloped in the silence that now seemed thicker than ever, you realised that something inside you had shifted irreversibly. The pain of his indifference cut deep, but so did the clarity that you couldn’t continue living forever like this, forever under the blue of his days.

The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air, you couldn’t bear it any longer. With a shaky breath, you gathered your resolve and spoke softly into the darkness, voice trembling with both sadness and determination.

“I think… I need some time,” you began, your words tentative yet resolute. “Time to figure out what I want and what’s best for me.”

He turned to you then, his eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and resignation. “What are you saying?”

You struggled to find the right words. “I’m saying… I’m saying that I’m done, Charles. I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not. I deserve more than this.” 

His expression hardened, a flicker of frustrations crossing his face. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”

“I’m not giving up,” you shot back, “I’ve been fighting for us for so long, but you… you're not even here, I can’t keep begging for your attention, for your love.”

Charles doesn't respond immediately, his silence echoing loudly in the room. You felt a wave of sorrow wash over you as you realized that your love had turned into a battlefield of neglect and misunderstanding.

“I thought we could fix this,” he finally murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe we could have,” your heart breaks with every word you utter. “But it’s too late now, I’m exhausted, Charles. I’m exhausted from trying to pretend like you care and for trying to fix something beyond repair.”

He sits up at your words, finally looking at you, the weight of your failed relationship heavy in his eyes. “I’m sorry, mon ange. I never meant for it to end like this.”

“Neither did I,” you replied softly, “But I can’t keep living like this. I deserve happiness. We both do.” he reached out to touch your hand, but you gently pulled away, the gesture feeling hollow now.

You sat there in silence, you knew that walking away would be the hardest thing you had ever done, but you also knew it was the only way forward.

Without another word, you stood up from the bed. Looking at him, the man you loved with all your heart but who had drifted away from you.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” you tell Charles, and he doesn’t fight you, just wordlessly nods and longingly looks at you as you step away and into your living room.

You stood at the window of the hotel room, staring out at the city that had been your home for so long. The cobblestone streets, the azure waters, and the gentle hum of luxury. This place, once your sanctuary, now felt like a prison of memories that had soured with time. A reminder of a love that couldn't withstand the weight of reality.

Outside, the familiar sights and sounds of Monaco stirred memories that tugged at your heart— lazy afternoons by the beach, candlelit dinners overlooking the harbour, stolen kisses beneath the starlit sky.

But today, as the plane ticket lay on the table beside your suitcase, you knew it was time to leave Monaco behind. Despite the love you once felt for this place, you couldn’t ignore the ache in your chest, the realisation that your time here had run its course.

As you walked out of the hotel and down the winding cobblestone streets towards the waiting car you had called, you allowed a tear to trickle down your cheek because despite everything you really fucking loved Monaco. For so, so long.

But you’ll find somewhere new.

[juustokaku]

Confidentiality - Chapter 8. - yandere!ATEEZ OT8 x f!reader

Introduction: Joining a peer support group for mentally ill was a good idea for the last two times you were there. Then it's only natural for the third time to go well too, right?

Pairings: yandere!Hongjoong x reader, yandere!Seonghwa x reader, yandere!Yunho x reader, yandere!Yeosang x reader, yandere!San x reader, yandere!Mingi x reader, yandere!Wooyoung x reader, yandere!Jongho x reader

T/W: This story will include talk about mental health struggles such as body dysmorphia, paranoid thoughts and more. Possessive and obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, violence. Dark themes are to be expected. A brief situation of harassment (not by any of the members) in this chapter. A/N: Forgive me for the long wait! I hope the chapter won't be disappointing or incoherent... I like writing this story but my own judgmental thoughts honestly are a kill of joy. I'm happy to receive feedback, be it constructive criticism or positive words. I hope someone will enjoy this <3 Word count: 4 062 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once again, you held the phone to your ear. The sound of the phone ringing was quiet and stable but it did not lessen your anxiety at all. Eventually it stopped ringing, leaving you in heavy silence. 

Jongho hadn’t answered this time either. You had tried to call him at least 20 times in a span of couple days, but it was like he had disappeared from the face of the Earth. Despite being upset at him, you were more worried than you wanted to admit. You also missed him, his stoic nature, and the unexpected moments of sweetness. 

Frustrated, you tossed the phone away. Was Jongho so childish and stubborn that he hid from you on purpose after you had kicked him out of your home? Or could he be in danger? You couldn’t help but feel bad for banishing him. That was how he probably wanted you to feel, but there was nothing to do about the feeling. 

Spring, the season of hope and new beginnings, was near so the weather was warming up. Still, it was already late in the evening. The nights at that time of the year were still cold, and you grabbed a warm jacket; one that did not attract attention. You feared the possibility that some creep would notice and follow you in the dimly lit streets of the little city you lived in. 

Maybe in another life you would have liked walks outside. But this world was evil. If you already hated being outside even in the daylight, when the moon rose on the sky, your senses were heightened to a maximum. 

The walk to Jongho’s place wasn’t practically that long despite it being on a completely different area of the city. He actually lived in a house instead of a crappy, crampy apartment like you did. 

You were always astonished by his house. It was of an appropriate size but screamed how rich he was. A slightly annoyed huff fell from your lips as you thought about how he had said you couldn’t go ice skating for it being too expensive. Dude lived in the most prestigious area of the city but complained about the cost of ice skating. The memory made you smile nonetheless. 

There was a gate separating his yard and house from the street. You rang the doorbell on it, wishing sincerely he’d let you in or at least talk to you. 

The weather wasn’t windy but you still felt cold. Maybe Jongho would see you shivering and let you in out of pity. That is if he was even alive anymore. 

The house stood dark and tall in front of you, and the only thing separating you from Jongho was the gate. Your heart clenched at the unbearable thought of having lost him forever. Losing his friendship felt even harder knowing that you had never had much friends in the first place. 

After 10 minutes, you walked away from the house, steps heavy with disappointment. You had driven Jongho away with your anger. It was difficult to remember in that moment that your anger had been completely justified. You just wanted to see Jongho again. 

As if the situation hadn’t been depressing enough already, small, cool drops of water fell on your skin. Even the sky was crying with you.  

You kept walking, bravely telling yourself that you didn’t care about the rain turning into a downpour. But eventually, it started bothering you too much. It was cold, wet and dark, and you felt yourself getting frustrated. 

You found a shelter next to a small grocery store that was nearing its closing hours. Sure, it would have been wiser to go inside the store to warm up for a moment, but you were just going to stay in the shelter for a moment for the rain to stop. 

Some people walked past you out of the store occasionally but you were too deep in your thoughts to pay attention to it. Then a voice of a man clearly talking to you snapped you out of it. 

“Waiting for the rain to stop, huh?” 

“Yeah,” you glanced at the man quickly, not wanting to give him too much attention. 

Noticing that the middle-aged man was dressed up in dirty clothes and reeked of alcohol made you already uneasy. But the look in his dazed eyes was more concerning; he eyed you up and down, and smiled at you. It was not a kind nor inviting smile. It was a predatory smile flashed at you with yellow teeth. 

“I can wait with you so you won’t be lonely.” 

You felt your heartrate speed up. There was no way that man had good intentions with the way he shifted closer to you. 

“Thanks, but there’s no need to... Your groceries should be taken to your fridge quickly before they get bad.” 

Your attempt to politely refuse his offer didn’t work. 

“Oh, sweet girl. Don’t worry, I don’t have any purchases that need immediate care,” the man grinned and moved closer once again to show the contents of his plastic bag. 

It didn’t surprise you to find the bag was filled with beer bottles. You had to come up with a new excuse. 

“What about your wife? She’s surely waiting for you already.” 

“Hm? You’re prettier than her. Not so wrinkly and not always nagging about my drinking.” 

You felt disgusted on so many levels; the man had no right to talk that way about his wife when he looked like a malformed abomination of a rat that had escaped from the sewers. Hell, no man should talk about their own wife like that, no matter the looks. 

“A pretty girl like you deserves a man like me. Young men nowadays are so feminine and sensitive,” the man smirked arrogantly, “A true man knows his own power and how to use it to his advantage.” 

Your hand slipped inside your pocket. It was not for warmth but for reaching the pepper spray. Everyone used to laugh at you for carrying that because you’d probably never have to use it. But you’d have the last laugh. 

“What are you hiding in your pockets?” the man’s eyes were directed at your hands, a deep frown settling on his face. 

“J-Just warming up my hands.” 

“Bullshit. Are you trying to call the police on me?” 

If you were afraid before, now you were definitely terrified. How could you even use the pepper spray when your hands were trembling in fear? 

“You stupid bitch. What did I even do? Women don’t appreciate compliments these days anymore!” the man shouted angrily, and instead of standing lazily like before, he turned his body wholly towards you. 

You couldn’t freeze in that moment. No way in hell were you going to let that man touch you. 

But as you were about to pull the pepper spray from your pocket, a familiar voice caught both your and the man’s attention. 

“Step away from her.” 

Your head snapped into the direction of the voice, and you noticed; Yunho stood there, firm and commanding. For the first time in your life, you saw him in a good light. The long coat he wore could have been a superhero cloak, that’s how grateful you were. 

“Who are you to command me like that?” the drunkard scoffed at Yunho. 

But as Yunho walked closer, the man seemingly realized how much taller Yunho was, how much at disadvantage the man was. 

“I’m telling you one last time to step away and leave immediately.” 

“Pfft. What are you? A policeman?” the man attempted to assert dominance and show off his fragile masculinity. 

“In fact, I am. Although I’m off-duty, I have a couple weapons with me,” Yunho said, clearly not intimidated at all, “I won’t shoot you but I can guarantee that getting tazed doesn’t feel pleasant either.” 

To emphasize his words, Yunho pulled out a taser and swung it in his hands. The other man’s defiant expression morphed into a pathetic look of fear. 

“Sorry, man. I’ll go,” the man rushed away like there was a tail between his legs. 

You looked at Yunho with admiration. Even the guilt for doubting his intentions and nature before didn’t shake your mind at that moment; you just needed desperately to show your appreciation for him. 

Still, the best you could do was look at Yunho with wide eyes and utter a few words. 

“Thank you.” 

Yunho smiled, looking almost giddy when you talked to him, “I just did my duty.” 

“Your duty as a policeman?” 

“Yes, but mostly my duty as your personal protector.” 

A little giggle left your lips at Yunho’s comment. There was a warm feeling of gratitude in your chest. Yunho had never been a bad man after all although acting quite weirdly occasionally. 

“I’m more than just grateful. You saved me from a dangerous situation.” 

Yunho’s cheeks flushed and an adorable, sheepish smile spread on his lips. Having been always suspicious of him, you hadn’t realized before how sweet he looked every time you talked to him.  

“Let me walk you home. You must be scared after meeting that creep,” Yunho extended his hand out for you. In his other hand he held an umbrella which had a Spiderman print. 

What was the worst thing that could happen if you took his hand in yours? 

You felt like the company of a man who had proven his good intentions would bring you safety on your way home. You grabbed Yunho’s large hand in yours, feeling comforted yet a little nervous. 

“So, you like Spiderman?” 

Yunho chuckled at your question. He seemed overjoyed to walk hand-in-hand with you even though it was raining cats and dogs. 

“He’s what I want to become. A hero.” 

You smiled softly and couldn’t resist the temptation to say something corny, “You’re already my hero.” 

Yunho laughed heartily and glanced at you. His eyes were twinkling, replacing the stars that couldn’t be seen that night due to the clouded sky. 

“What are you doing out this late anyways?” he inquired. 

The air felt a little colder again as your thoughts wandered to Jongho. 

“Jongho has disappeared. I’ve tried to contact him but there’s no answer,” you revealed, “I went to his house tonight in hopes of finding him there, but it’s like he’s avoiding me.” 

Something flickered in Yunho’s eyes for a split second before a thoughtful look set on his face. He squeezed your hand a little. 

“That must be rough. He’s your boyfriend after all.” 

“Well, not anymore. There was an incident that led to me breaking up with him,” you muttered. 

The man next to you nodded and spoke again, “I can help you find him. I’m a policeman, you know? We may not have enough reason to report him as missing, but I have my knowledge of finding missing people as my offer.” 

Yunho’s hand may have been warm but the smile on his face was even warmer; it comforted you. 

When the two of you eventually stood at your doorstep, Yunho’s reluctance to let go of your hand was clear. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed in concern. 

“Are you okay? The man must have scared you badly.” 

You let go of Yunho’s hand to pull the pepper spray out of your pocket. 

“You’re my favorite hero but this one will come in handy sometimes too,” you chuckled. 

Yunho smiled, “Just call me whenever you need help with anything. And I mean anything.” 

You offered your phone for Yunho to type in his number. Suddenly, he frowned. 

“Why is your home screen wallpaper a picture of you and Yeosang?” he asked, voice a few degrees colder than before. 

It was strange to see that sweet man get so worked up over a simple picture. 

“Yeosang is practically my only friend. I like to have a reminder of that now I have someone to rely on.” 

The embarrassment in your voice was clear as you were forced to explain your sad situation of friendships. At least Yunho’s expression softened. 

“I’ll be your friend from now on. Make sure to spend time with me... and change that wallpaper,” Yunho spoke. 

The next week Jongho wasn’t at the group therapy meeting. Just like the week before, he was gone, leaving you worried. But at least now you had someone who would be able to help search for him. 

The room felt so empty without him but no-one else seemed to care. 

Charlotte didn’t even question Jongho’s absence that time, just moving straight to the activities of the day. 

“Find yourself a pair,” Charlotte guided with a mysterious smile, “I won’t tell you what the activity is yet.” 

Wooyoung and San paired up immediately, and Seonghwa and Hongjoong glanced at each other in agreement. They had found their cliques, the person who they got along with the best. It was beyond your understanding though how someone as sweet as Seonghwa could like Hongjoong. 

You didn’t even have time to get up from your seat when Yunho had appeared in front of you like out of thin air. You felt a little intimidated and small while he stood over you, but the fear you used to feel around him was gone. He was just a gentle giant, the hero who had saved you from a situation that could have escalated. 

“Be my pair,” Yunho requested. 

His request was tempting but there was someone else standing a little farther away, looking at you longingly; it was Yeosang. 

“I think Yeosang wants-” 

“Please,” Yunho said, voice soft and almost vulnerable. 

You didn’t want to betray Yeosang but Yunho’s sad look tugged at your heartstrings. It didn’t take too long for you to give an apologetic look to Yeosang and a nod for Yunho. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Yeosang walk over to Mingi and pair up with him. You’d apologize to Yeosang later. 

Yunho sat down next to you, his long legs brushing against yours briefly. Now that he was sitting next to you just like the first time you met, he seemed satisfied. 

“The topic of today is relationships to other people. Discuss with your partner about the person who has the most meaning in your life right at this moment,” Charlotte revealed the task. 

That was the hardest topic for you so far. There had never been much people to start with who would have cared about you as you cared about them. It was a curse to love but to be unable to be loved. Sometimes you wished upon the stars that you could stop caring about people. However, no matter how much you cried after lost friends, the universe just brought more people to lose into your life. 

Maybe that’s why Jongho’s disappearance bothered you so much. Losing another friend was expected but the way he had completely vanished was slowly breaking you apart. You couldn’t help but blame yourself. It had been completely justified to kick him out of your apartment that day he threw the plate on Yeosang’s face; you shouldn’t feel ashamed. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” 

Yunho’s voice brought you back on Earth, saving you from your drowning thoughts. 

You might have lost Jongho’s friendship but you gained Yunho’s. It was just the matter of time when you’d mess up that situation as well. 

“I’m okay. I was just thinking what to talk about in this topic,” your smile was weak yet reassuring enough. 

“If it helps you, I can go first,” Yunho suggested. 

At your nod, Yunho began to talk about the person who meant the most to him. His eyes practically shined like he was passionate about the chance to finally tell you about the love of his life. 

“There’s a woman who stole my heart a couple years ago. I haven’t been able to think about anyone else after she caught my attention.” 

It was honestly adorable to hear Yunho ramble about the woman. A hint of jealousy gnawed at your insides; for someone to love you like Yunho loved the woman was a dream. 

“The way she walked out of the police station, the way she talked to the other officers, scared and needing help... It made me realize the meaning of my life isn’t to protect all the people. It’s to protect her.” 

Yunho was clearly devoted. His words were sweet at first. The way he talked about her was a clear indication of how much she had affected his life. But suddenly his words took a slightly darker turn. 

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe and happy in my arms. It doesn’t matter if I have to burn her house or the whole world as long as she runs to me for safety,” Yunho spoke, his voice loving, the complete opposite of his words. 

“Wow, she’s one lucky girl,” you chuckled nervously. 

Surely Yunho must have meant it as a joke. He was a man of justice, not an arsonist. 

“She’s my lucky girl,” Yunho smiled softly at you, “So, who is the person you hold dear to your heart?” 

You still hadn’t come up with a good answer. The only friends you had in that moment were Yeosang and Yunho, but you knew neither of them well enough. Jongho had grown quite close with you, at least you liked to think so, but he was gone now. 

“I don’t really have people who are close to me,” you admitted reluctantly, feeling unsure if you should tell these kinds of things. 

“Just say anyone.” 

“Well, I think Yeosang is the closest to me right now.” 

Yunho’s encouraging smile turned into a frown. It baffled you; there was always a chance that you could be the woman Yunho loved, but he had mentioned having met her a couple years ago already. 

“Yeosang? Why him?” 

“I think he’s kind to me, and we’ve hung out a lot.” 

Your murmured explanation didn’t satisfy Yunho. It was obvious how hard he tried to control his facial expressions, to hide how upset he was. 

“Haven’t I been kind to you?” Yunho inquired. 

“Yes, you have but-”  

“Did you change your wallpaper yet?” 

“I-I forgot,” as soon as you answered, Yunho grabbed your purse and started going through the contents of it. 

Your eyes widened as he took the matter of changing your wallpaper into his own hands. He was rummaging through your little bag, and you couldn’t let that happen. A woman’s purse was a private thing, especially when that woman was slightly paranoid at the excuse of valued safety. 

“Hey! Give it back,” you reached for your purse. 

Yunho didn’t care and kept taking things out of it, letting them fall to the floor. Some makeup, a hairbrush and wallet were already in everyone’s sight. 

“Yunho, give Y/N her bag back, please,” Charlotte finally tried to stop the situation but her spineless words meant nothing to Yunho. 

You tried desperately to gather your things before anything too personal would be revealed, but Yunho just kept throwing things out. 

“What is this?” Wooyoung grabbed an object from the floor, inspecting it in his hand. 

Your face heated up at the sight of Wooyoung holding something private. Gazing at him angrily from the floor, you were about to demand him to give it back. 

“That’s a woman diaper!” Mingi exclaimed, shocked at the unbelievable, astonishing, mind-blowing sight of a menstrual pad. 

You couldn’t believe this was happening. All your stuff on the floor for everyone to see and judge, and now Wooyoung and Mingi had humiliated you with their discovery. 

“No, Mingi. That is called a menstrual pad,” Charlotte spoke softly like talking to a child. 

You wished Jongho was there to knock some sense into everyone. Most likely, he wouldn’t have even done that, but you liked to believe he would have defended your honor. The honor that went down the drain like your appreciation and respect for Yunho. 

San snatched the pad from Wooyoung’s hands, clearly frustrated. With no hesitation he walked to you and kneeled down on your level. 

“Let me help you,” he said quietly and gave you the pad. 

It was just a mere hygiene product, but to you, it felt like he was giving the prettiest flower bouquet ever. In your moment of helplessness, he had wanted to help you. 

San started gathering the objects from the floor to their rightful place, your purse. His lips were pressed tightly together like he was feeling annoyed. 

“You don’t have to help if you don’t want to,” you spoke quietly, feeling exhausted because of the emotional rollercoaster. 

“I want to help,” he looked up a little to give you a gentle smile, “What kind of a person would I be if I didn’t?” 

“Apparently the kind everyone else is.” 

San chuckled at your bitter mumble. You could see he was holding back his own irritation to calm you down. 

Soon, Yeosang joined in to help you and San. You were grateful for those two; the only people in the room you respected. Seonghwa had the potential to be one of those as well, but his friendship with Hongjoong made you mentally avoid him. 

Once all your belongings were back in the purse, you turned to Yunho. It was hard to be angry at people whether you knew them well or not; if you knew someone well, you were afraid they’d leave you and if you didn’t know them well, you were afraid they’d be violent. That’s why expressing your feelings of hurt felt dangerous. 

You snatched your phone away from Yunho. Surprisingly, the wallpaper hadn’t been changed. 

“Why is the wallpaper still the same?” you were gritting your teeth as you spoke. 

“I couldn’t unlock your phone,” Yunho’s expression turned guilty, “Look, I’m sorry-” 

“Save it. I’m going home.” 

You had gone through that terrible moment just for Yunho to not even change your wallpaper. Sure, you should have been glad he couldn’t unlock your phone, but it felt somehow so futile. 

As you rid the bus home, you couldn’t help but think; the group therapy didn’t feel helpful or healing at all. You had found Yeosang and Jongho through it, but at what cost? One of the members was a stalker for God’s sake. 

Speaking of which, you hadn’t noticed much signs of the stalker in the near days. Would it have been naive to think that fake dating Jongho could have scared him away? Probably yes. 

You got off the bus and started making your way back to home. Usually, it was darker at that time of the day, but the seasons were changing. You wished you could change too. You wished you could put an end to your sickness and struggles, to live a normal life, so you wouldn’t have to deal with the sickos at the group therapy. 

Maybe it was time to stop going to the therapy. You’d rather live without the social assistance of the government than step inside the nightmarish room of armchairs and supposedly therapeutic talk again. 

As you arrived at your door, you reached into your purse like you did every day. A twinge of panic twitched inside your chest as you couldn’t find your keys. They were most likely just deeper inside the purse, and you’d have to look again. 

But no matter how much you searched, the keys weren’t there in your purse, jingling like they always did. There was no sight of them even when you emptied the whole purse. 

You were positive you, Yeosang, and San had picked up all the objects from the floor. All your other belongings were with you but the keys were gone. It would have been more pleasant if the damn pad had been left behind, but now you were denied the access to your own apartment. 

It was possible that someone took your keys when they were still on the floor.  

But now the most important thing was to find a place you could sleep at. You didn’t trust your neighbors and you couldn’t afford a hotel room. After some thinking you realized your only option was to beg Yeosang to let you sleep in his apartment. Such a splendid idea to have a sleepover with a man you met in a therapy group for mentally ill.  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ <- Chapter 7. Chapter 9. -> Masterlist ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Taglist: @devilzliaison @lover-with-dolar-sign-is-a-loser @passerbyforfun @gigikubolong29 @peqchplvto

[yaeverse]

city lights | kmg

a/n: first time writingg 😭 😭 😭  (pls don't mind the grammatical errors, if you find some) anyways, enjoyy!

summary: having a walk with your idol!boyfriend Mingyu when he suddenly talks about settling down

warnings: none

Walking through the streets hand in hand as the two of you savor the cold breeze. It has basically become a routine for you and your boyfriend to have a walk around the city for time's sake.

"Baby.." he called, "What if we get married?"

You look at Mingyu at the sudden question, "Why are you suddenly talking about it, babe..?" You reply with a calm laugh

He hums as he tightens his grip on your hand, "No reason... Just thinking about getting married and finally settling down with you makes me happy.." he smiles

"Our relationship have been a really wild ride," he continues with a light chuckle, "Dealing with all the paparazzi and stuff, but you stayed, even with all the backlash you faced at the start of our relationship, all the criticisms, the hate, the negative comments.. all that you endured for me... for us.."

"I know this might not look much, but.."

He then brings out a red velvet box and kneels down as he look up at you, opening the box revealing the prettiest yet a simple ring.

"Gyu.." you gasped as tears fill the corner of your eyes,

"y/n, will you make me the happiest man and be my wife?" he says with the most gentlest and loving voice, his eyes filled with nothing but determination, adoration and love,

"Will you marry me..?"

You nod excitingly as happy tears fall down your cheeks, "Oh my god, yes..!" You instantly wrap your arms around his neck as he hugs you by your waist, snuggling his face on the crook your neck

"I love you, gyu.." you exclaim,

"I love you more, y/n.." he reply with a warm smile of satisfaction as he slides the ring to your finger, "Fits you perfectly, Mrs Kim.."

[ranikyani]

Semper Fidelis

Summary: Your husband and high school sweetheart joined the Marines immediately after graduation. After over 10 years of service you’re ringing in the new year celebrating his accomplishments and saying goodbye to the life of a military wife.

Note: This is my first time writing anything and I need a major distraction after Aaron's spirit tunnel. 🫣 open to constructive criticism. Word Count: > 1k

Read Volume II

The grand room on the rooftop of their luxury apartment needed minimal decorations as the floor to ceiling windows provided the perfect view of the inner harbor. From this high up they’ll be able to see all the fireworks in the city. The music is bumping, champagne is flowing endlessly, and everyone is dressed in their absolute best. Waiters circle the room passing out hors d'oeuvres and refilling any empty glasses. Between the drinks and the good food she knows tonight will be a night that many will remember for years to come.  

The audience’s applause fills the room as Andrea steps up to the podium. A wave of warmth and nerves swelling in her chest. She takes a deep breath to ground herself as she looks out over the sea of faces gathered to ring in the new year and celebrate her husband’s retirement from the Marines. After over 10 years of dedicated service, Terry is finally transitioning to civilian life. A life she’s dreamed of sharing with him, complete with new memories, new beginnings, and hopefully children they’ve both yearned for. 

“It’s almost time to ring in the new year! As the year begins anew and we prepare to step into this new season I’d also like to thank you all for gathering here today to celebrate my husband’s incredible military journey and honor him as he embarks on his next adventure,” she begins, her voice steady yet tinged with emotion.

“But let me tell you,” she says, her tone turning playful, “of all of his accomplishments, the best thing Terry ever did wasn’t on the battlefield. And it wasn’t in the line of duty. No, his greatest feat was finally asking me on that first date. Now, that took some serious bravery! It took a while but I’m glad you finally mustered up the strength, Honey - Now look at us!”

The room laughs, and Terry shakes his head with a sheepish smile, his cheeks tinged with a bit of color as he makes his way closer to the podium in the middle of the room to take in his wife’s speech. 

“Thirty Two years young, and he’s already achieved so much in service to his country.” 

Her words echo across the room, met by another wave of applause as everyone in the room shows their admiration. As the applause grows, Drea’s eyes search the crowd and find Terry’s.

For a brief moment, the noises from the crowd fades, leaving just the two of them. She sees his familiar green gaze, filled with warmth and quiet pride, behind it, the future she’s imagined for so long - a home filled with trinkets from vacations they will take, laughter, children, and new dreams they’ll finally have the time to pursue together. Smiling, she blows him a gentle kiss, an unspoken promise, before turning back to her speech. 

“He’s leaving behind some wonderful colleagues who I’m sure he’ll miss, and I especially want to thank Lieutenant Mark Andrews for always being there for him to ‘watch his 6’ and make sure he made it home to our family.” She looks over to the right of the room where Mark stands. He bows, thens places his hands on his chest in appreciation of his shout out. 

“and Colonel Amara Knight who’s been more than a colleague and a partner - she’s become a true friend! ” glances over to her left to Colonel Knight, who smiles warmly, half raising her glass in a silent toast as she dabs an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye gaining a few chuckles from those standing closest to her. 

As Drea reaches for her own glass, an unexpected murmur drifts up from a corner of the room and she locks eyes with Mark. She freezes, catching the words that cut sharply into her thoughts. 

“Yeah she’ll be missed more, because they’ve been fucking.”

He was drunk, and He whispered, but you heard it. 

Drea’s hand stills around the glass stem as the words echo in her mind. For a moment, everything blurs - the bright lights, the murmurs of the crowd, the pre-mature explosives coming from the city below, and the warmth of the celebration. Her heart races, but she forces herself to keep her composure, her mind racing. Is this a cruel joke, a rumor, jealousy, or something more?

With a deep breath, she brings her champagne glass to her lips and raises it high

“To new beginnings, and to the countless sacrifices he’s made for all of us.” she says with a voice that is calm and unwavering, masking the storm brewing beneath,

“To Terry!”

As the crowd echoes her toast, she glances back at Terry, searching his expression. There in his eyes, is everything she’s ever known about him - strength, loyalty, and love. But she can’t shake the flicker of doubt that Mark’s words planted.

How well does she really know the man she loves? 

*********************************************************

Thank you for reading my little short. ✨ I have another story I'm scribbling up lmk if you want to be tagged or have any feedback for me.

I'm gonna go scurry off with all the ideas I have swirling in my head about this man and watch that spirit tunnel video 626 more times. 👀

K. Thanks. Byeeeeee. 🏃🏾‍♀️💨

[historiaxvanserra]

In Hades I Am With You | Chapter Three

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Reader is the ill-fated daughter of a cruel Lord of Night; plagued with prophetic dreams and cursed with rare, arcane gifts. Azriel is the stoic spymaster; forged from violence, lethal and honed to a fatal sharpness. The pair find themselves bound to one another through readers strange, prophetic dreams.

Tags: Forced proximity, strangers to lovers, Night Court lore, Priestess reader, discussions of SA and abuse, discussions of sex work, criticism of misogyny, sexism, and general abuse in all its forms, eventual smut, slight corruption kink, reader is incredibly romantic and horny.

I hold my hands up, as if in prayer, steam coils in feverish tendrils around the exposed curves and divots of my breasts and shoulders. The dark waters roil and spill over the lip of the turquoise pools as I surrender myself to their warmth.  From here, the world is obscured by the gossamer haze that glitters like spun spider-silk.  Like the veil between two worlds. An oppressive breeze cuts through the chamber like a shroud and the scent of wisteria and moonflowers smothers the putrid smell of the city in the wet heat of a summer storm. 

The cruel laughter of the other court ladies rings like a siren song in my ears. A symphony of high-arching sound that echoes off the moonstone pillars. I filter it out; focused instead on my own trembling hands, turning them to admire my fingers which are adorned in rings of amethyst and onyx, mined from the bowels of this wretched mountain that I call home. Then another's fingers interlock with my own, breaking my reverie.

Melinoe’s voice is lyrical and velvety as she wades through the waters before me. Steam rises in columns about her hips and waist, becoming entangled in the damp lengths of her silver hair. It curls over her sloped shoulders like a white raven’s plumage, casting her in a halo of opal light.

“Where were you last night?” 

Melinoe is one of the Lord Protector’s favorites. She is tall and graceful with beautiful smoke-kissed skin and glassy, onyx eyes that mark her as a daughter of this court. Melione was once the companion of Morrigan; The Lord Protector’s only daughter. Though she had been exiled from the Court long before I was born. She had been assigned to my household when I came of age. My eternal companion. 

Though we are bound by duty, there is still something of me that is kindred to her, a shared pain perhaps. She had grown up here, as I had, she too knew the anguish and oppression of this wretched mountain. The longing it can bring. It is why when I decline to answer her question she doesn’t feel the need to interrogate me further. 

“There are whispers amongst the Darkbringers.” Melinoe starts, a conspiratory gleam in her eyes as she looks around the room. The low cadence of her voice echoes dangerously off the mountain stone when she moves through the waters with a serpentine grace. She emerges from the bubbling pools like the image of some dark Goddess, born from the sea to lure men to their watery deaths. Her voice is laden with malice as she eyes the younger girls. How they hunger after every whispered word, circling her in merry rings like dancing water nymphs, or the coiling tendrils of some monstrous chimera.

“That the High Lord will return to court by the moon's turn.” The dancing tide turns volatile and the ladies eyes glint with something dark and predatory in the pallid light. 

Long ago, the first Princes of the Night Court had made their home here, in the cruel depths of the Mountain. The Moonstone Palace had been hewn from onyx stone of the mountain. Hence its name. The facade of the palace itself was adorned with great stalactites of opal that form a series of dark coronas that line its gothic archways, and its stained glass ceilings cast the palace in a wretched emerald light. When Rhysand had ascended the throne, after his father before him, he had abandoned his ancestral seat in the Palace in favor of his ‘Court of Dreams’. 

For millennia Velaris had been shrouded by ancient night magic; kept hidden from us here, under the mountain. Even as war ravaged these lands, and Amarantha made slaves of us all. A city shaded in veins of lavender, amethyst and violet, and saturated in perpetual starlight. 

The people of Hewn City had been afforded no such grace. Left to rot and ruin under the oppressive stone of the mountains. The forgotten vestiges of a dying regime; clinging to the archaic traditions of our forebears, coveting the dark whispers of power inherited from ancestors long dead.

Now, we cower in the cruel, emerald light of the Moonstone Palace, like shadows.

“The High Lord has no tenderness in his heart for us, why would he return if not for ill?” I ask, looking up at her through dark, curious eyes. 

“Because it pleases him to impose his wrath upon us,” Melinoe shrugs, running a fine-boned hand through the tresses of her hair, that refract like smoky quartz in the cold light. 

“And because it serves him to appease the Lord Protector.” Medea insists gently, leaning down to cradle my jaw in her slender hands. The mere mention of his name is enough to bring forth the ferrous taste of blood and hatred to my mouth, and yet, any ill I’d speak against him lives and dies upon the tip of my tongue. 

“Or to bring him to heel.” I interject, parroting the words I had heard from the Darkbringers in the Jade Pearl. 

After a few aching moments, Melinoe agrees as a smoke-skinned wraith drapes her body in a robe of fine, dark silk. The garment is held together by iridescent emerald ribbons that cinched around the curve of her waist, its lapels and cuffs are trimmed with black lace and the hems adorned in the black, floral embroidery favored by the Velarian tailors. A gift from her Lord husband, and my barbarous keeper. 

None of my own garments are nearly so beautiful. My dresses are the austere, high-necked gowns of a novitiate; dark swathes of fabric that cover me like a shroud and veils of silver and alabaster to conceal my face. 

“Perhaps the High Lord and his Illyrian dogs have already fucked their way through all of the dreamers in the so called ‘City of Starlight’ and hope to find some solace here, in the dark where they belong.” Venom laces her words, though her tone is pleasantly breathy and she smiles prettily when she speaks. 

Melinoe only ever speaks to me like this here, in the quiet of the bathing chambers, where the words we speak are our own. Her mother had told us once, a long time ago, that a woman’s first blood does not come from between her legs, but from biting her tongue. I hadn’t known what she meant then but I think I do now. The women of this infernal court are like well trained bitches; obedient, meek, and loyal. I was taught young not to bite the hand that fed me. Taught me how to beg prettily, how to crawl on my hands and knees and throw myself down upon a man’s mercy. 

And there is so little mercy in this world for women like us.

“He is afterall, his father’s son.” I hum lightly, musing on her words and I sink further into the misty wakefulness that usually speaks to a coming vision. 

A few beats of silence pass between us and then the bathhouse is a cacophony of liliting voices and girlish chatter as the other girls dress; whispering and dancing across the tiled floors of the bathhouse at the prospect of our High Lord’s return. 

“So…are you going to tell me where you were last night?” 

“I was here.” I say lowly, as I gesture to the bathing chambers. These apartments are one of the view places I am permitted to be without one of my sworn Darkbringers.

When I was a girl I wandered the Moonstone Palace at my pleasure; I knew every narrow corridor of these hallowed halls. The statue of Astarion that lay beneath the Palace itself, the desecrated temple at the foothills of the mountain, the botanical gardens which held blossoms of foxglove and dhalia’s, and arches of wild flowering jasmine and climbing ivy, the atrium with its stained glass ceilings, through which I observed thousands of constellations that painted the black tapestry of the sky like threads on a loom, and the High Lord’s personal libraries, its high paneled walls holding tomes and scrolls as ancient and arcane as the palace itself.

Over the years. Those freedoms had been stripped away from me for one infarction or another. 

“I came here - after Aelios left - you weren’t here.” Melinoe says dangerously, a thin brow arching towards me. My heart hammers traitorously against my chest. 

If Aelios had sent her it would be under the instruction of my guardian and the Lord Protector of the city. If Keir had the slightest idea of my transgression I would have been summoned by now.

“Did Aelios send you?” I ask tentatively. 

“No - when do I ever do as that barbarous fool asks?” Melinoe retorts, an air of offense on her beautiful face.

“I thought I heard you leave your apartments. I wanted to make sure you were well.” Melinoe approaches the lip of the tub and takes my hand in hers. She touches me gently then, her eyes full of care and affection. 

“The dreams have been getting worse, haven’t they?” She was right, though, that was not the reason I ventured out unseen last night. 

Melinoe runs a fine boned hand through my damp hair, and coos softly. 

“Please don’t tell Aelios.” I beg her, feeling guilt coil in my chest for the sympathy that lights her eyes. 

These visions that plague me are prophetic and dangerous, they speak of sacrifice and sacrilege, of war and ruin. I know that Keir covets the power I possess, I know what this foreknowledge could bring about, in the wrong hands. His hands are mottled with rage and cold with death. 

“I won’t,” Melinoe swears solemnly, “and where did these visions lead you this time?” 

I look up at her through dark, curious eyes from my place in the bubbling pools. Unsure if I should tell her. 

“Th-the lower city.” Melinoe’s eyes widen, sparkling like starlight in the blue light. 

“You mean…you went to the pleasure houses?” She asks aghast. She takes a deep breath and pushes away from me, pacing in circles on the tiled floor. 

“How?” 

“I-I borrowed some of Leda’s clothes - left through the servants quarters - no one saw me.” 

“How can you be so sure?” She asks her voice low. 

“If anyone recognised me I would have been dragged before the High Council and exiled before I even had the chance to tell you.” 

After a few aching moments of silence Melinoe softens, her head tipping towards me. 

“What was it like?” She begs for something tangible to cling to. Some small sliver of knowledge of what lies beyond these castle walls. So I tell her and the whole while she stares at me enraptured. 

I tell her of the whores, who swarm merchants like sirens, singing sweetly to them. I tell her of the sailors and the smell of the ale, the bawdy songs they sing and the vulgar words that color their language. I tell of of the games, coins minted with the faces of our High Lord glint in the light as it changes hands. 

“I-i can’t believe you went out there,” Melinoe sighs enthralled. “Did you see anyone from the Palace?”

“I saw a few of the Darkbringers - I didn’t speak to them though - and…” I hesitate, unsure if I should tell her about my encounter with the Shadowsinger. Who touched me with reverence, whose lips had claimed mine so devoutly. 

That night, I returned to the Moonstone Palace filled with such strange…longing. For what, I am not entirely certain but the Shadowsinger has opened something within me, some old wound, festing and aching for touch.

“And?” She asks. 

I want to tell her. I want to kneel at her altar and confess that his kiss tastes like cedar and night-blooming wisteria. That his eyes hold the darkness from which we were born, and to which we will one day return. The confession dies when she looks at me again. 

The vows I had taken were solemn ones. Last night, I had forsaken every one. If my keeper ever discovered my treason I’d be exiled as Morrigan had been. Disgraced and forced to debase myself amongst the High Lord’s court of whores and tyrants.

What’s more is that kiss, sacrilegious and sacred as it was, belonged to me. A secret contained between myself and the city.

“The soldiers were talking about the war.” I exhale slowly, swallowing the fallow lump in my throat. “An-and the High Lord’s return.” 

I cast my gaze out of the large, gothic archway that exposes the city in the wet heat of the storm. A dark mass of shadows bleeds across the vast black tapestry of the sky until the world is veiled in black. 

Was the Shadowsinger out there? 

Somewhere in the depths of this mountain with the same longing in his black heart?

Melinoe strides towards my discarded clothes, draped over the tiles as she coaxes me out of the baths. Her slender hands glide over the heavy swathes of fabric and she procures my veil from the pile. The elegant spider-silk is almost iridescent in the sapphire light of the Moonstone Palace. It is a cruel reminder of my place here. I feel its heaviness settle over me like a shroud.

Beneath my faded robes I observe the champagne silk of the slip I had worn last night. It was trimmed with lace and tailored to fit my body. It had been a Solstice gift. Imported from Velaris. I wonder if its usual scent of jasmine and bergamot had been tainted with something darker. 

Wisteria and frozen pine. 

“The City Watch said that there had been trouble on the borders,” Melinoe offers. She did this a lot; always hearing whispers of one thing or the other. “Apparently the Princes on the Continent are working with him.” 

“With who?” I ask, tucking back a loose curl.

“The Death Lord.”

“The Priestesses say that The Lord Protector is willing to join them…for a price.” Melinoe says grimly. 

“What could possibly be worth such a betrayal of our traditions?” My stomach turns, a warring and violent storm. Anxiety coils around my throat like the tendrils of some monstrous creature borne from the depths of the ocean. 

“That’s what it is to thrive in this world, sweet girl.” Her voice is softer now, a whisper of gentle night. 

“To make your black deals in the dark and decide what you will trade for power.”

I knew very little of power. 

But I know this: I had forsaken sacred vows at the mere suggestion of it. So what might desperate a desperate man desecrate to know the kiss of that dark, ancient power that bleeds from the infernal heart of this land. 

“I probably shouldn’t have brought it up.” Melinoe turns away from me.

“It- it’s just that with the High Lord’s return…” She stalks towards the open windows, taking in the view of the city from this height, “and your dreaming…does it not speak to something - a coming storm?” 

In truth it had never occurred to me that my foresight might serve as anything other than a shackle. That it might be a warning from out of time. Of things yet to come. 

“Come, sweet girl,” Melinoe coos kindly, turning from me, “it is not for the likes of us to worry about.”

“I will follow in a moment,” I acquiesce, reclining further into the water, running a cloth over the junction of my neck and collarbones and loosing a sigh as the steam envelops me once again, “I will take the waters a while longer.” 

She lingers for a moment more before taking her leave, the other court ladies following her in a daze as they trail out of the bath chamber; in a throng knotted curls and flashes of laughing violet eyes that glint in the seraphic light.

The vision comes with the quiet, fleeting images of the blue light of a bleeding star and a dark-winged angel.

“Are you quite alright, my Lady?” The voice of my handmaiden, Leda, cuts through the arid heat of the bathing chamber. The young wraith's fingertips dig into the tender flesh of my arms as she drags me upward and out of the scalding waters. Leda is a lithe creature, with yellow eyes and thin, arched brows that she furrows when she casts her amber gaze on me in the cruel light. Her features twist grimly at the alabaster film that shrouds my vision, a testament to the fleeting visions and prophetic dreaming that haunts me in my waking hours. 

“Another dream?” Her voice is accusatory and laced with concern. The wraith’s touch is careful and deliberate as she cradles my chin in her cupped palm. A reflexive hand tightens around her as she runs a hand through the loose tresses of my hair as my ragged breaths soften to a gentle exhale. 

“The worst of it has passed, I think.” I assure her, smiling lightly, though I am sure it does not reach my eyes. The wraith looks at me warily and there in the darks of her irises I find a small flicker of courage that coaxes sound from me again.

“I- I dreamt of a winged angel -- a blue star that bleeds over the mountain.” I say gravely, my voice wane and ghostly. My body feels like a conduit of someone else's pain. A vessel of nerve endings and synapses that sear white hot with the last tremors of the dark power that lives in me. 

“Dreams may yet be just that, sweet girl.” Leda embraces me thoughtfully, the crease in her brow deepens and the set of her jaw falls into something akin to sorrow. She wraps me carefully in a dark navy robe, the soft cotton against my skin working to untether me from the ether. 

“Now get dressed.” The wraith speaks gently into my unbound hair. Leda’s voice is stern but her face unserious, one brow arches high and her eyes glitter with devilment in the fireglow.

“The Lord Protector wishes to speak with you.” I falter then and Leda watches carefully as my fingers descend upon the discolored flowering bruises that mottle my skin.

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