#she had glimpses of compassion for the people around her and then it was just to ripped away from her

[solarityk]

I'm loving season 5 of miraculous so far. it's very interesting. The story is ramping up, and I love it, but I'm absolutely mourning the character that Chloe bourgeois could have been if she were actually handled properly.

[gguk-n]

Dreamer's compass (Max Verstappen x Reader)

Summary- In a world where soulmates exist. Some people can see glimpses of their soulmates in their dreams. Max is happy his soulmate is also a cat mom.

Y/N grew up not really thinking about soulmates until she was nine or ten when she had the most vivid dream of being in some sort of racing car. It didn't look or feel like a car but it was going fast, really fast. There was no one on the track, just her soulmate, going round and round at a really high speed. She woke up startled because this wasn't her thought of a nice day or even a fun activity to do with her friends. She recounted her dream to her best friend and they tried to decipher what that could've been. Until, her brother told her what she was describing was a kart and her soulmate was probably into karting, professionally or recreationally. She couldn't wrap her head around why someone would do that, but to each their own.

The second time she saw her soulmate was many years later. She saw her soulmate in a racing set up. It was on a chair behind a screen. After a quick google search, she found out that was called a iracing set up. She was glad her soulmate had moved on from driving out by himself. This seemed a lot more safer. His house looked big and luxurious; he must be a streamer. She did try to find people who would fit the bill, but there were a lot of streamers and this was proving a lot difficult than she had hoped.

Max spent his whole life racing. For him, he knew nothing but Formula One. So, being able to see parts of his soulmate in a dream was a breath of fresh air. The first time he saw his soulmate was when he was seven or eight and she was singing songs, they were songs you hadn't heard on the radio but songs about the mundane tasks she was performing. She sang about watering her fake plants or cleaning up her toy area. Max woke up with a smile, thinking about his soulmate.

The next time he saw her, she looked beautiful. The sun's ray's were shining down on her, he couldn't make out her face properly but she was sat with two sheets in hand, as she strum her guitar, she wrote down the lyrics and the notes. She looked like she was having fun and laughing along to the lyrics she was writing down. He didn't want to wake up from that dream because from some of the words he could make out, she was writing about him, her soulmate.

Max had had a tiring day and fell asleep as soon as he got home. The scene that greeted him when he awoke, gave him a shock. There were not one, not two, not three but five cats in his living room. The five of them were doing there own thing. He knew he had a problem but he didn't remember picking the other two up. He was about to scream when a voice called out; "Dinner's ready" and Max turned to find his soulmate; in his house, cooking. He knew this was a dream; one he would think about till he met his soulmate. The pair chatted, her face still not clear, he could barely make out the features. To Y/N too, who was simultaneously in the dream, watched as her soulmate interacted with her cats. But she couldn't see his face, what cruel fate. The two enjoyed the domestic bliss that would be their reality if they met, until they woke up. Y/N woke up with a smile but was deeply saddened as to why she hadn't met him yet. Max felt like he hadn't felt this happy in a really long time. He wanted to meet his soulmate as soon as possible.

Just like that one of these days, Max came around a petstagram for two cats called pbndj with a brown and a orange cat, who looked eerily similar to the cats in his dream. He ended up following the page and as he found out more about the owner, only glimpses in the post but his heart felt like she was the one. He ended up dming her that he was her soulmate. She was rightfully shocked but when she found his iracing set up, it looked very similar to the one in her dream and decided to believe him. They ended up chatting for a really long time.

Eventually, they were able to plan a meeting time. They decided to meet at cafe. Max was nervous, he had reached earlier. He waited for her, checking every time the door dinged. Finally, Y/N walked in. Max stood up from his seat, when their eyes met, they knew. They were right, it was like all the memories of their dreams cleared up and they saw the face in their dreams clear up. They knew it was them. They walked towards each other and awkwardly shook each other's hands, soon falling into a comfortable conversation.

"I never understood that dream of you strumming your guitar and writing down something" Max stated, months after they met. "But now I do" he explained. "It's because you're a song writer" he smiled. "Bingo" she cheered. "I can't believe I have to deal with anxiety about your profession" she laughed shaking her head. "I'm so good, I'll manage" he cocked his head. "Sure you are, four time champion Max Verstappen" she smiled kissing his lips. "I just wish you were actually a streamer. You look hot" she stated. "Not while racing" he pouted. "I can't see you at all. You're a bobble head" she said. Max laughed deeply and nodded, "Agreed" he said. "You're coming right?" he asked. "If I can find a cat sitter" she stated. "Let's take them too." Max said throwing his hands up in the air. "That country has too many regulations. It'll take us months" she replied. "Mood kill" he stated. "Practical" she replied. "I'll make it. Don't worry" she kissed him on the cheek. Max smiled at her while she helped pack his bag for the next race.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

MW2 Reaction to You Asking Them to be Gentle

Warnings: 18+ (Just To Be Safe), Non-Graphic Depictions of Smut, Implied Consensual Dub-Con, Dominant MW2, Jealous MW2, Slut-Shaming, Strap-On, Shock Collar, Implied Infidelity (Nobody’s Actually Cheated, it’s Just for The Bit), Age Gap (Price), Restraints, Slight Implied Dumbification, Implied Threesome, Petnames, Profanity No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Ghost

“Aw, am I hurtin’ you, Love ?” he asks, ceasing his pace for just a moment. His body is hot and thick behind you, a wall, a barrier.

When you nod, your eyes glistening with budding tears and your hands gripping the bed sheets, Simon places a hand upon your cheek. Gentle. His thumb strokes your chin, and his eyes are kind.

Until they aren’t.

They sharpen in an instant, and, without warning, he pulls back, inch by inch, and slams back in. You yelp, winded, wincing at the pain revitalising in your lower half. But he doesn’t let you flee, grabbing you by the shoulders and forcing you to take all of him.

“Should’ve thought about that before practically sitting on Johnny’s cock, you little fuckin’ whore,”

It doesn’t matter how many times you try to tell him that Soap had pulled you into his lap as a joke – a gesture of friendship, not a phallic item or intention in sight  – Ghost isn’t having any of it.

“You won’t even be able to sit down without thinkin’ of me,” he says. His eyes dark, he growls, pulling back for the killing finish. “Or I’ll just have to put the fear of God into you again,” And he slams in, harsh, unflinching, sharp. And you scream, your vision turning white as you reach your end.

König

“I know, Engel,” he says, breathless. His eyes are piercing, fire and ice. And a thin, cruel smile stretches across his face.

Before you can react, even hope to retaliate, he takes your wrists beneath his hands and pins them above your head. You writhe and you struggle, only to be met with a low moan from König.

“Don’t tempt me, Darling,” he says. “Or I won’t be able to control myself when I snap,”

You can tell by his tone that he’s not letting you off easily. Not after your ‘flirtatious’ conversation with the barista from your excursion into town earlier.

When you feel tears prick your throat, König shushes you.

“Oh, shh, Engel, it’s too late for tears now.” You swear you see his eye twitch. His body bears down on yours, scorching and heavy and impossible to fight.

He lowers his head beside your ear, and, sibilant, licks the shell.

“Besides,” he whispers. He grinds into you. Slowly. Warning.

“You wouldn’t want to encourage me now, would you ?”

Soap

“Oh no, Bonnie; the time for kindness and compassion is over,” Johnny said as he tightened his belt around your wrists, pulling it so escape was a distant dream for you. He had you caged beneath him, a smile curved with a certain brand of unscrupulousness only he could wear at his lips.

“After all, what did you say to Simon again ? That I’m ‘gentle as anything’ ?” The second you’d said it, no matter how innocent your intent, you knew you shouldn’t have. If Simon’s gaze flickering to your boyfriend, who loomed just over your shoulder, was anything to go by, you knew the end was nigh.

“Do you know,” he took your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him, making you wince. “How many people I’ve killed ?”

Your heart dropped. Soap – for this was no longer the Johnny you’d come to know and love – released a brief, almost incredulous laugh. “D’ya think they’d call me gentle ? Loving and sweet ?”

Shaking your head, you hoped that by playing along you could negate whatever was coming next. Of course, any and all efforts would be in vain.

“Well,” Soap glowered, his hand encompassing your jaw, gripping you. He ground against you, growled. “I suppose I’ll just have to give you a demonstration, won’t I ?”

Valeria

“Oh ? Gentle ?” she says. Her voice is low and dangerous – you know because you’ve accidentally seen – heard – glimpses of her interrogation tapes. You know what’s coming for you – especially when she has your face pressed against her desk, her strap-on dangerously close to penetration, though hanging just out of frame. A threat.

“Is that what you thought I was going to be when you let that slimy, arrogant prick of a bartender slobber all over you ? Practically let him bend you over the counter and fuck you raw,”

Negotiation with Valeria is impossible – something else you’d gleaned from her tapes. And denial is even worse. But admitting to what she was accusing you of would be the signature on your death warrant. And she knows she has you cornered.

You can feel her tip prodding your hole. She didn’t even bother to lubricate you or prepare you.

“Shouldn’t need to. What, with that bartender already having done that for me.”

She knows the bartender did no such thing, but feeling you cower beneath her is too euphoric for her to even comfort you.

Without warning, she slams into you, only stopping halfway when your body refuses to take more of her, her obscenely long strap-on too thick for you to even fathom as you cry out, scream, tears falling to the desk’s surface beneath you.

Price

“You think, after all you’ve done, that you deserve my mercy ?”

Price’s grip on his belt was palpable, tightening, making the leather whine and whimper in his grasp. You could feel his teeth gritting, his stare hard. His voice held a cynicism you’d scarcely heard in his tone before. Not directed towards you, anyway.

“You go and chat up another guy and you have the audacity to believe that you’re worthy of even an ounce of my sympathy ?” 

The context behind Price’s upset was all rooted in misunderstanding; he’d seen some younger, attractive guy chatting you up, and you, trying to be polite until your boyfriend returned, smiled. Which, in John’s eyes, was reciprocation. And now, you were paying the price.

“Tell you what,” he said, his stern features shifting to portray ill intent, an idea sparking in his mind. He lunged, grabbed you by your ankle and pulled you down the bed – closer to him. His belt remained gripped in his other hand.

“If you can take – say – twenty lashes, and count them – without missing a single one – I’ll think about being gentle.”

He brought his belt down on your thigh, making you cry out. “And then you can tell me all about how he’d be gentle with you – how he could unravel you like I can.” His gaze, dark with the oncoming storm, narrowed. “How he can have you like this.”

Horangi

“Is that what you said to König when he had you like this ?” Horangi hissed. He had you pinned beneath him, eyes blackened with the false conviction of your infidelity.

And, try as you might to ease his misunderstanding, to remind him that he’s the only one you love, you hear something.

The squeak of hinges, the swinging of the bedroom door opening.

You couldn’t see – think – for Horangi’s frame bolted to yours, but through the rushing of blood and Horangi’s beration, you heard a most unmistakable tone.

“Liar, liar, liar,” came König’s voice, punctuated with three broad, heavy steps. He loomed over Horangi’s shoulder, arms behind his back, the smile of deceit a tune upon his face.

A slinking, sly smile threaded Horangi’s lips as he kept his eyes on you, turning his head to address König. “I’ll see how much truth I can get out of (Y/N) first,” he said, and, like a soundtrack, the sound of König’s belt sliding from his pants lay a dark undertone – the instrument. “Then it’s your turn.”

One hand collecting your wrists, the other tearing the belt from his jeans, Horangi gave you his full, undivided attention. As did König. “Seeing as you’re so desperate for another man on the side,” said Horangi, “Let’s see how you take both of us.”

Alejandro

“Don’t lie to me, mi Corazon,” Alejandro says, ignoring your plea, one hand around your throat, the other on your thigh, grasping, groping, grabbing at your skin.

“I saw you – whispering in his ear, telling him God-knows-what,”

Alejandro is on top of you, his weight an immovable object, his stare dark and unforgiving. You can feel him sat just out of reach of your epicentre, but not out of bounds.

What he’d seen was you, smiling, whispering into Rudy’s ear about something sultry. What had actually happened was you were confirming the details of Alejandro’s surprise birthday party with him, smiling because you were so excited to get it organised.

But you couldn’t tell Alejandro that; it would ruin the surprise !

When Alejandro’s more tame efforts to get you to talk proved fruitless, he took to his preferred method of extraction.

He ground against you, letting out a low, shuttering moan.

“You can’t hide the truth from me forever,” he said, with all the conviction of one who has only ever known truth. “So if you’re not gonna tell me while you still have your faculties,” He squeezed your throat, his other hand slithering up your thighs, stopping shy of your centre and unbuckling his belt.

“I’ll just have to force it out of you. Break you down until you’re nothing but a fuck toy.” His eyes are almost black now. “My fuck toy.”

Rodolfo

“Next time you want someone gentle, why don’t you go running to Alejandro, seeing as you seem to like having him slobber over you.”

You couldn’t argue back, couldn’t defend yourself, your mouth gagged with a t-shirt Rudy had tied around your head. You couldn’t even unravel it, Rodolfo’s hands pinning yours beside your head as he pressed into you from behind.

“Hm ? Got nothing to say, mi Corazon ?” Rudy sneers. “Pity, seeing as you couldn’t shut the fuck up around your boyfriend earlier.” 

As if to drive the point home, to hit the nail on the head, he rammed into you, making you whine, the shirt soaking up your cries and your drool. Your eyes shone with tears, but you dared not cry – not around Rudy. Not while he had you at his mercy.

“You won’t stop until you have all of us wrapped around your little finger, will you.” he said. It wasn’t a question, nor did he allow you to answer as he slammed into you again. “Luckily for you, I’m a good man. One who knows how to handle injustice when he sees it.” His grip on your thighs was almost painful, and were it not for the reluctant euphoria building within you, you’d have tried to break free.

“It’s up to me to force it out of you – to erase that entitled mindset of yours.” He pulled out, forced all of himself back inside, sharp. His breath shuttered while yours choked, your scream caught in your throat. 

“Don’t worry, Ángel,” he breathed, lowering himself so his lips were to your shoulder, pressing a deceptively soft kiss there. “By the time I’m done, there won’t be a single thought left in that brain of yours apart from me.”

Graves

“Don’t you fucking tell me what to do, Whore – you lost that privilege hours ago,” Graves says, threat heavy in his voice. He stands over you, face awash with a dense egoism you know is only worn when he has decided to take his frustrations out on you.

And today is no exception.

The collar about your neck is a reminder of all that you stand to lose should you fail to comply with Graves’ vision – your freedom; made excruciatingly clear to you by the locked bedroom door behind him, the key hanging in the lock.

No matter how you try to reason with Graves, he is having none of it.

“Shh, Sweetheart, now’s not the time for tears–” he says. The threatening tone in his voice remains, only the name he calls you changes. And the more endearing they become, the closer to danger you are.

He slides open the bedside table, reaches in and withdraws a pair of silver handcuffs, clinking together with a deceptive veneer of gentile.

“If you wanna get on my good side again, you have to do exactly as I say, precisely when I say so.” He cocks his head, a slim, coy smile spreading across his face like a disease. “Y’understand, Beautiful ?”

Gaz

“Gentle, gentle – is that all you have to say for yourself ?” Gaz spat, pacing back and forth before you as he kept a keen, sharp eye on you. “After everything you’ve done tonight, you think I’ll let you off easy ?”

The ‘everything’ Gaz was referring to had been your efforts to get a reaction out of him. Bending over at inopportune times, accidentally only wearing one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers while the rest of your clothes were in the wash (or had mysteriously vanished.

And, your worst offence, sitting under his desk while he held a very important online call with Captain price. All the while, you’d poked and prodded and stroked him, tested his resolve, his patience.

And, evidently, you’d gone too far. 

With the remote to the shock collar squeezing your neck attached to the very fibres of his hand, Gaz held all the cards, your sanity the Ace of the deck.

Before you could try to defend yourself, a thin spark sent you yelping, made you jump. Your hands flew to the collar, trying to pull its rounded teeth — the conductors – from your skin.

Gaz only smiled. “Oh no, Love – I won’t be gentle,” his tone was low, a serpent in the grass, his visage matching as he lowered himself to your level, eyes aglow with a piercing darkness. “If only you’d behaved, it wouldn’t have come to this.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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[spookwriter-xo]

Coppélia

Chapter 6 - The Kim Estate

Chapter Summary - A little bit of Y/N's backstory and her family's history. She gets a tour of the Kim Estate from San and Wooyoung and gets a brief glimpse into the boys' private lives.

warnings: San does get a little violent towards the end, and Wooyoung cracks a few sex jokes (MDNI)

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The house I grew up in was nothing short of a prison. I had all the luxuries of high society, yes, but that didn't mean I felt the same warmth and compassion children should be surrounded with.

My father owned a fashion company, Belluxe, one of the biggest in our part of the world. He had a lot of ties with some dangerous and powerful people, and as I got older I realized how much it had really gotten to his head.

The power. The greed.

I was forbidden to talk to him when I was young, only if we had guests. If I did without permission, he'd get angry. He had only gotten physical with me once, and that was when our family bond broke forever.

I was nine years old, home from boarding school with Christmas like I normally would be. My younger sister was ecstatic to have me home, finally having someone other than our mother to play with. Our older sister, she wasn't around this time. I figured she'd stayed at school for the holidays, but as I got older I found out she had run away.

I went by a different name back then, first and last. I'd changed it once I was disowned at 17, wanting to leave that old life behind. It was a lot easier than it should have been, all things considered.

I remember we were sitting at the dinner table, the only sound coming from our cutlery scraping across the porcelain plates. My mother had asked briefly how school was, and I gave a short but honest answer; "It was alright."

My father leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty seat where my sister should have been. He cleared his throat, causing us all to turn our heads in attention.

"Chariya, you'll be the next heir." He says simply, my old name, it felt weird hearing it even if it was just a memory. "Since Chalita has failed to exceed my expectations."

My family was Thai on my mother's side. She'd named us all after members of her family still in Thailand, bringing a piece of her old life with her.

Mother and Father married after father knocked my mother up with Chalita, the eldest. My mother used to say he was a kind man until she gave him too many daughters and no son. I think she just used it as an excuse to hide the snake he really is.

"My love, she is too young-" My mother states before she is cut off.

"Enough! I told you not to speak against me." He shouts, slamming his fist down on the table. My little sister, Chaluai, begins to cry at the sudden noise. My mother bows her head and stands, taking Chaluai with her as she exits the dining room.

I stare down at my plate, hearing the sound of his chair creaking as he leans back.

"Your mother doesn't understand the ways of this world." He says. "But one day you will."

I was startled awake by a knock on the door, causing my body to jump from my skin.

"Hello?" I call out groggily, sitting up.

"Uhm... Y/N? It's San." A muffled voice from the other side of the door calls out.

"Right..." I murmur, the events from the last few nights creeping their way back into my head. I stretch and swing my legs over the side. My feet hit the wood as I shuffle towards the door, opening it slowly.

San stands there on the other side, wearing a suit a little different from the one he wore last night. His eyes widen as I open the door, quickly looking up.

"Just thought I'd wake you... Wooyoung and I are home whenever you want that tour." He says, finding the ceiling very interesting.

"Oh! Just give me a few minutes and I'll come find you." I say, fingers gripping the door. San nods before hurriedly rushing down the hall and towards the stairs. I watch him go before closing the door. He was a lot shyer than last night. Maybe something was on his mind.

I walk into the walk-in wardrobe and look around at all the luxurious clothes hung up for me. There was a cabinet in the center, inside millions of dollars worth of jewelry for me to choose from. I feel a shiver run up my spine at the sight. It had been so long since I'd seen anything like this, and it felt wrong.

I hadn't worked for it, I didn't buy it myself. These men had only met me last night yet they were already willing to spend millions on me. Why?

I settled on a simple top and skirt, slipping on some fluffy slippers that were positioned neatly beside my bed before making my way out into the hallway.

The eery silence shared with the darkness of the hallway settled a sick feeling in my stomach. It was so quiet, that no chatter or thumping of footsteps could be heard. I figured Wooyoung and San were downstairs somewhere, praying that they weren't the type to jump out and scare me.

I head towards the staircase, the scenery getting brighter as I peek down at the pretty white marble that now glittered in the sunlight. My hand slides down the railing as the stairs take me to the lower floor. I gaze at the paintings on the wall, one of all 8 of them positioned on and around a fancy-looking couch, and another with a younger-looking Hongjoong, who I assumed to be his mother, father, and brother.

I didn't know he had a brother, I wonder what happened to him?

I glanced left and right once I reached the bottom of the stairs, the house felt like a maze, going on forever in both directions.

"San? Wooyoung?" I call out, my hands finding my elbows as I glance around. I decided to go left, entering what seemed to be the main living room based on the three couches and the fireplace with a television situated above it. I reach my hand out and press my fingers into the plush cushions, feeling the soft fabric beneath my skin.

"Y/N?" A voice makes me jump, I turn around to see Wooyoung standing in the doorway I just walked through. He had a grin on his face. "Scared ya?" He says with a light cackle.

I splutter for a moment before crossing my arms tighter. I watch as he scans my figure, admiring my figure.

"Eyes are up here, Wooyoung." I tease, as he stares a little too long at my legs.

"Yeosang picked your wardrobe well." He says, ignoring my words and stepping a little closer. "Would prefer you don't wear it around me though."

I hold my hand up and stop him from coming any closer right as San enters from another door behind me.

"Hongjoong said we should give you a tour." He says gruffly, his hair looking a lot messier than it was when he visited maybe 20 minutes prior. I glanced at his knuckles, noticing the light bruising that had begun to blossom before he quickly hid them in the pockets of his jacket.

"I'm ready to start whenever you are," I say, offering him a smile which he hesitates to return.

"Well, this is the main living room. Pretty obvious since it looks like a living room." Wooyoung chirps, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "Don't mind if San is a little quiet. He gets grumpy when he has to work early."

I glance back at San as Wooyoung starts to lead me through another archway into a large room. I gasped as the realization hit me that this was a ballroom. A large and grand ballroom, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. There was a grand piano on a small platform tucked away into a corner, floor-to-ceiling length windows with a matching door that led out to the backyard and a large diamond-clad chandelier dangled from the ceiling.

I could feel Wooyoung's grin as I slowly moved away from him, my jaw hanging slightly as I walked to the center. There were mosaic patterns that formed a lily flower on the floor under my feet which made me smile.

"Seonghwa told us to open the curtains for you, they haven't been opened since Hongjoongs parents were alive. The only person that uses this room is Mingi when he wants to play piano." San says from behind me. "Hongjoong's mother painted the lily flower herself."

"It's a painting?" I ask, turning to look back at both of them in surprise.

"Doesn't look it right? She was extremely talented at making things look different than what they are." Wooyoung says, the same grin on his face.

The tour went on, and every room amazed me more than the last. The kitchen was huge, almost twice the size of my bedroom with a dining room attached to it which was just as big. My mind wandered to all the grand dinners they must have hosted when Hongjoongs parents were still alive. Did they host balls too? It would be foolish not to considering how beautiful the setting was.

There was a pool, a greenhouse, and even a golf course in the backyard. I glanced over the hill and caught a glimpse of a tennis court on the far side of the golf course. I wondered how many acres this house was on. We weren't that from the city, however I couldn't see any other buildings for miles.

Inside on the first floor, there was a two-story library, another 2 smaller seating rooms, and laundry/housekeeping quarters behind the kitchen. The hallways were twisting in all directions, as if intentional. Was the layout meant to confuse people? Maybe intruders?

It would be smart if it was, all things considered. The house was intimidating from the outside just on its own, getting lost on the inside felt like a terrifying idea.

"Do you guys have maids?" I ask my arm now linked with Wooyoungs. I'd hate to be a worker here, having to clean this house would have to take days. Not only that but cooking? Laundry? Maintenance work would be a nightmare too.

"We do, they have Sundays off." Wooyoung answers, leading me back to the main stairwell. "Upstairs is mostly bedrooms and bathrooms. Hongjoong's home office is at the end of the hall on the right." He adds.

I nod, my neck craning to look at the paintings lining the walls once again. There was a painting of a woman, a beautiful woman with long black hair and piercing green eyes with freckles dusting her cheeks. I stared at the painting for a moment, getting a sinking feeling that she was staring back.

"That's Aurora." Wooyoung murmurs, eyes on the painting too. "She was... The one before you." He hesitates to say, glancing down at me before looking back up at the painting. I let go of his arm and climbed a few steps to stand directly in front of her painting.

"She's beautiful... Pretty name too." I say softly, my eyes softening as more details reveal themselves.

"You would have liked her," San says, his arms crossed as he looks at the painting, a sad look in his eyes. "She was like you, not a dancer though... More of a reader."

"If you wanted to find her she'd only ever be in the library," Wooyoung says with a small chuckle. "Most of the books in there were gifts for her, from us." He says.

"What happened to her?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I turn back to them. They're both staring up at the painting, Wooyoung lowers his head and lets out a soft, pained sigh once he registers my question.

"We'll tell you in time. You should get settled first." San answers, his voice low.

Oddly enough, I didn't feel an ounce of jealousy. It was obvious she wasn't in the picture, whether she was alive or not. However, the pained look on Wooyoungs face and the behavior of the other boys when she is mentioned made me think it was the latter. I felt sad for them. It was obvious they loved her, maybe more than I would ever realize or truly know.

A part of me was envious of that fact. To be loved so unconditionally was something I had dreamed of since I was a little girl. But, another part of me was scared. Did their work have something to do with her death? It made sense in a way.

A loud crash made me jump from my thoughts. I look to San and Wooyoung who are suddenly on high alert before San grumbles something and storms off into the direction of the main living room. I glance at Wooyoung as I step down the stairs to follow but the man stops me.

"Don't follow him." He says in a hushed voice, gripping my hips in a tight hold as I glance behind him. My eyes widened, the door San had entered through at the start of the day was wide open with a man stumbling through. San grabs the man by the back of the neck and practically drags him back into the darkness beyond the door.

The man lets out a string of curses and begs as San slams the door shut behind them both, his cries fading into nothing the further they go.

"It's the basement," Wooyoung says, answering my question before I even had to ask. "It's the only place in this house that you are not allowed to go. Understand?" He says, his expression void of any playfulness I had come to associate with his character.

"I understand," I say, staring back up at him with the same wide-eyed expression.

"Good girl." He says with a grin, hand cupping my cheek briefly before moving away, heading towards the staircase. "Come, I'll show you everyone's rooms."

I glance at the door to the basement for a moment before following Wooyoung up the stairs.

I've decided to update the story consistently every Tuesday at 12 am (AEST). A Christmas special is being planned which will be set a few years after the events of this book.

I urge minors to not interact beyond this chapter, for it's going to start getting heavy from this point. I will be checking profiles to make sure so please have something to prove your age on your profile! I don't want to traumatize children <3

Also, I closed the taglist a little early however I'll be going through the comments and the past few posts and making sure I didn't miss anyone. If you aren't on it when this chapter is posted, I'll add you to the next one.

taglist:

@bellaptv @arilevenatz @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @hecateslittlewitchling

@neuviloved @monstacheol @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

@vtyb23 @bigbabygremlin @professormingiglasses

@pinuspot @astral-trashcan @ateezswonderland

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Gay Cheerleaders AU

Y'all knew it was coming.

I'm thinking Lena would be the... third(?) year veteran, who is a legacy. Her mom Lillian was also a cheerleader, and then became the head honcho in charge of the cheerleading division. Lena grew up with the expectation of eventually joining the organization as a dancer, and naturally becomes a group leader (the youngest 1st group leader in the history of the organization?) through her sense of responsibility, magnetism, and compassion, even if she remains a little distant-- she doesn't share her whole self with the team, as she's constantly aware of needing to present the image of a perfect cheerleader, a perfect leader.

Kara would be the rookie, immediately awed by Lena's performance during tryouts. She's not in Lena's group, but her own group leader faces some... personality challenges, lets say, that have Kara taking on more of a responsibility than would normally be allocated to a first year dancer.

But when Kara and Lena end up bumping into each other in the studio for some solo practice, they agree to share the space and work together. Of course they end up bonding, and those practices lead to coffees, lunches, some movie nights.

They eventually become the darlings of the team, inseperably so. Young fans try to catch glimpses of them standing together on the sidelines, loving to see Kara acting herself (aka goofy) and seeing Lena laughing in response. Behind the scenes they become romantically and sexually involved, but they keep it hidden because while it's not explicitly forbidden, they do cheer for a very conservative state, and they know it would impact not only their squad but the team overall.

In their day jobs, Lena is a children's dance teacher-- she wants to do more, but Lillian wants it for the community-service image it presents. Kara would be a fitness trainer I think, something lucrative but flexible and reflective of her athletic and exuberant nature whereas Lena is a bit more reserved.

Kara and Lena span multiple seasons/classes, and in the off season Lena pops up on Kara's instagram a little bit here and there, which only fuels the quiet online rumors about them. Like, the people who clock them are also queer in a conservative region of the country, so it's not a mass pop-culture phenomenon-- yet.

That all changes when one night Lena is grabbed inappropriately by a cameraman or other stadium employee, and can't manage to extricate herself despite her obvious and vocal discomfort. Kara sees red. She slugs the man right across the jaw with a proper right hook. The cameras had only just started to pan over to Lena's commotion and catches the exact moment Kara lunges for him and spins Lena out of his reach.

Kara is the champion/brute of the moment, depending on who's talking. Some laud her for both her protectiveness of her teammate and her technique, while others condemn her for unladylike vigilantism. Why didn't she let the security team deal with it, she serves a role model for young girls what is she teaching them the thug life?

Most importantly-- and most dire, perhaps-- is that it clues Lillian into the deeper nature of their relationship. She corners Lena, and interrogates her as Lena tries and tries to deflect. Lillian all but tells her that she'll be watching Lena through a microscope, and terrifies Lena to the point she breaks up with Kara in an attempt to protect her tenure with the organization.

Kara doesn't really care about all that, but when Lena says it's what she wants, she respects that. Until the team goes to the superbowl, and in the height of emotions at the winning touchdown, Lena forgets herself and throws her arms around Kara's neck and kisses her.

She's stunned at herself, horrified even, but before she can even try to apologize Kara recovers and kisses her again, this time long and slow. The cameras not on the players or stadium stands are focused on them, and the next day and weeks they are the only ones anyone can talk about, for better or worse.

Lillian uses Lena's next year, her fifth and final, as leverage. Apologize publicly for her lapse in judgement, confirm it was only ever friendship, condemn Kara for assault-- or she's out.

Lena listens calmly, then smoothly rises.

"Then I'm out."

She walks out without a second glance.

[helluvabinge]

I absolutely loved Ghost Fuckers!

This episode paired with Hell’s Belles gives such important context to Millie’s character and her relationships. Now I want to go rewatch the show to see how Millie’s stories fill out with this backstory.

Loona and Moxie are an underrated comedy duo and I need more of them.

I also realized that I need more of Loona after this episode. Loona is nearly always antagonistic towards those around her, but we get a lot of glimpses into the types of things that bring down her walls and allow her to actually show love and compassion towards the crew. We know why the walls exist, but I want to see more of her discovering ways in which her family is different than the people in her past and learning that she can be different too without getting hurt.

And of course Blitz is getting a chance to grieve this episode. I know some people will probably be annoyed that he’s not just moving on, but the last two episodes dug up things that he probably has previously tried to move on from too fast. He was moping in a really unproductive way when the episode started, but by the end he finally had a chance to mourn the relationships he has lost. Not just Stolas, but all of them. He has always had a lot of guilt around losing those relationships, but it was always buried under an endless supply of bravado, so it was nice to finally see that stripped away. Without taking the time to feel that grief, you can’t really forgive yourself or move on, and I’m glad that the show took the time to do that. It didn’t have to. I think people would have accepted a much quicker resolution, but boy am I happy they decided to make time for this.

[artist-issues]

How many times do we have to say:

Create characters with strength of virtue, not strength of skills.

I just finished A Tale of Two Cities with the character Lucie Manette, who "does" nothing but love the people around her and extend compassion toward everyone within her sphere of influence. She makes no "choices" that contemporary audiences would award the stupid badge of "giving her agency" to. She doesn't make a speech that saves Charles Darnay's life. She doesn't lead the victims of the French Revolution into a counter-revolt. She doesn't fight off the soldiers that come to take her husband, or beat up Madame Defarge when she threatens her child, or even come up with the escape plan to flee Paris.

She makes none of those kinds of choices. (You know who does? Madame Defarge. But the compare-contrast between those two can wait till another day.)

But she makes these kinds of choices:

She'll give her honest testimony in a trial for a potential traitor to the crown, and demonstrate her compassion and grief for a near-stranger, wearing that vulnerability on her sleeve in front of a huge court of people clamoring for blood.

She'll be compassionate toward Sydney Carton, even though he's rude, careless, and brings a bad attitude into her happy home.

She'll spend the energy of her life making that home happy.

She'll stand for two hours in any weather on the bloody streets of the French Revolution so her husband might have a chance of glimpsing her and getting some comfort from the prison window.

She'll trust the older men in her life when they ask her to.

She'll allow an old woman to care for her and go everywhere she goes, and treat her like a child, as long as it makes the old woman in question happy.

And what, WHAT is the consequence of these kinds of decisions, choices, that some ignorant people call "passive?"

That old woman is allowed to love Lucie Manette so much that she defeats the villainess in the climax of the story, holding Madame Defarge back from getting revenge with sheer strength that comes directly from that love.

Her father is allowed to draw strength from the fact that Lucie believes she can depend on him--because she chooses to let her father take the lead and do the work of saving her husband, Dr. Manette is fully "recalled to life;" he doesn't have to identify as a traumatized, mentally unstable victim anymore, because Lucie is treating him like he can be the hero.

Her husband does see her in the street, and does draw strength from that--just that--instead of losing his mind the way her father, starved for a glimpse of his loved ones, did during his own imprisonment.

Lucie's home is so full of the love and kindness that she fills it with that not only does her father return to remembering who he is after his long imprisonment--but Mr. Lorry, a bachelor with no family, can feel at home with a full life, there. Miss Pross, whose family abandoned and bankrupt her, has a home with a full life, there. Charles Darnay, whose life of riches and pleasure as a Marquis was empty, has a home with a full life, there. In Lucie's home, because she spends her life making it the kind of home others can find rest in.

Sydney Carton, a man whose whole life has been characterized by a LACK of "care" for himself or anyone else, suddenly cares about Lucie. When he thought it was impossible to. And he doesn't care about her because she's pretty. Her beauty was just a source of bitterness for him--one more pleasure he could've had but can't. Until he "saw her with her father," and saw her strength of virtue, of pity, of compassion, of self-sacrificial love--then he felt that she "kindled me, a heap of ashes, into fire." He started caring about life again, where it was associated with her, because she brought to life every good thing. Just by being a woman of good virtue. And we know what that inspiration led him to.

Without Lucie's strength of virtue, and the decisions that naturally came from that, none of the "active" choices other characters made would have happened. Sydney would not have been redeemed. Darnay would not have been saved. Her father never would've been recalled to life. Miss Pross and Mr. Lorry would've had no light or love in their lives. Even Jerry would've had no occasion to learn from his mistakes and resolve to stop abusing his family.

A character like Dickens' Golden Thread, who does what a woman should do, inspires the choices other characters make. That makes her more powerful, in her own way, than the heroes and any decisions they make. Because she's the cause. She's the inspiration. She's the representation of everything good, right, precious, worth fighting for.

Lucie Manette's not the only character like this. Cinderella. The original Disney Jasmine. The original Disney Ariel. Lady Galadriel. Jane Eyre. Amy March.

"Behind every great man is a great woman," indeed! Absolutely! Bravo!

Hang on! Hang on to those kinds of characters. Those a real "strong female" characters. The muses, the inspirations, the reminders of The Greater Good. The people who make fighting the dragons worth it at all. Who cares about fighting the dragon? That's not so great, without her.

Don't forget those kinds of characters! Reading Dickens just makes me desperate for our generation to keep up the reminder: make characters that the next ten generations can learn from: strength of virtue is much more important than silly little strength of skill.

[bestworstcase]

Could you elaborate more on if Summer and gylinda (sorry if that's spelled wrong) were narrative foils? That sounds really interesting!

right so from what little we know about what glynda’s been up to since the fall of beacon is that she is, to all appearances, the ONE member of the inner circle who took a deep breath after ozpin died and kept her shit together. the others:

lionheart, already a traitor, continued to ask how high when salem said jump

ironwood exacerbated the global crisis by withdrawing his troops and closing the borders, thus inflicting deep economic pain on mantle and eroding international trust

qrow imploded and had to crawl back up from rock bottom after his faith in ozpin was destroyed

theodore refused to act until it was almost too late to prevent the crown’s coup because he was preoccupied with the more distant threat of salem

but glynda? she took point on the effort to reclaim beacon academy from the grimm and whenever she wasn’t doing that she was personally rebuilding vale. the last we see of her in v3, she’s on the brink of collapse working herself to the bone in vale. but in ‘after the fall’ she’s holding things together, even if just by her fingernails; she’s on top of it enough to have team CFVY’s academic transcripts and a letter of recommendation ready for them when they decide to apply for transfer to shade. in v4, half a year after beacon fell, port and oobleck seem optimistic about the situation at the beacon (“there is still much work to be done at the school” says busy and difficult, but the mood isn’t dire). and when we glimpse her again in v8, it’s apparent that normalcy has been restored in downtown vale; the dust shop is open for business and the streets outside are not overrun by grimm.

glynda had a hellish nightmare situation thrust into her hands as the de facto new headmistress of a fallen school and the person all of vale turned to for protection and guidance in the wake of this horrifying tragedy, and within a year she managed to pick up the pieces and restore peace and safety within the city, even if she couldn’t take back her school. that is astounding, and especially striking in context with the rest of the inner circle crumbling.

what made her different?

this is speculative. but i think that glynda, like summer rose, is a true believer in the ideals that huntsmen are supposed to uphold: compassion, mercy, cooperation, striving for peace, defending those who cannot defend themself. she trusted ozpin, but unlike the others, her loyalty was not for him but for the things he claimed to believe… so when everything fell apart and the burden of leadership landed on her shoulders, she acted in accordance with those ideals. reached out, brought people together, trusted in those who offered their help, and kept widening the circle until the great burden had been shared between many hands. and after salem razes vale? she does the same. goes to find help.

(i don’t think she told anyone about salem, but rather she put her faith in humanity’s capacity to pull together rather than try to shoulder everything herself. this is in contrast to qrow during the haven arc and ironwood, who bring new people into the loop but see the world as hopelessly divided and riven by distrust.)

if i am right about this and also on the mark with regard to summer rose, this would position them as reflections of each other: both huntresses who believe in and embody the true ideal of what they are supposed to be, both guided in their choices by this staunch moral conviction. summer discovers that she is complicit in enacting a horrific injustice and without hesitation turns around to stand with the victim against even her own family; glynda weathers a catastrophic tragedy and stands tall while every other pillar of ozpin’s circle collapses because she puts herself among the people and inspires them to keep pushing with her. both of them Do What’s Right.

which makes it very narratively compelling to juxtapose them with each other, because they are opposites—fighting on opposite sides—but they are also the same.

furthermore, summer has been holding beacon academy against glynda’s siege for the last year-and-a-half or so; either summer has been able to avoid notice during this time, in which case glynda is due to be hit by a freight train of a moment of realization, or glynda has seen her and knows that her opponent is summer rose—a woman who may once have been her student or her classmate, depending how old glynda is supposed to be, and certainly someone she knew and worked with fourteen years ago when they both believed in ozpin.

if that isn’t grounds for a very personal enmity in the vein of cinder and winter or qrow and clover, i will eat. my. hat. summer was there the night beacon fell—she’s the one who left ruby alive when she scraped cinder off the tower—fighting on the side of the grimm. she’s the one who’s been steadily drawing grimm to the school on salem’s behalf! that is glynda’s home! those were her students who died that night! and in reverse, it is almost certainly glynda who knows the secret of the vault’s location, glynda who remains steadfastly loyal to the divine cause of subjugation-or-annihilation, glynda who upholds the system summer fights to tear down. DO YOU SEE MY VISION… the disciplinarian and the revolutionary…

[hxzxrdous]

The School for Good and Evil

Platonic Lady Lesso x Clarissa Dovey x reader

TW: None, I was in a goofy and silly mood when I wrote this

CLOSE YOUR EYES

(This gif made me cackle)

The creaking of the wooden bed filled the air as you settled in, all ready for sleep. However, your tranquility was abruptly shattered by the distinct sound of heels clicking and a cane rhythmically tapping against the floor. Before you could fully comprehend the situation, Lady Lesso burst into your dorm room unannounced. Without uttering a word, she grabbed you by the hand and pulled you with her as she walked down the hallway in silence.

Confusion laced your voice as you tried to comprehend the direction in which you were being taken. It soon became evident that your destination was the infamous Doom Room. You had heard whispers about this ominous chamber, but what had you done to deserve such punishment? Could it be your grades? "Ma'am?"

"Silence, child," Lady Lesso hissed through clenched teeth as she swung open the door to the Doom Room, promptly seating you upon a chair positioned on the elevated podium. As you surveyed your surroundings, your eyes locked onto the two chairs placed in front of you. The room itself was adorned with an array of weapons, their ominous presence sending shivers down your spine. You nervously swallowed, anticipating what awaited you.

Yet, nothing could have prepared you for what unfolded next.

The dean of the neighboring School for Good, located just across the bridge, entered the room, clutching a blanket and a bag. The evil dean coughed awkwardly, casting an assessing gaze in your direction.

"Dovey told me about a certain incident that occurred in the clearing during lunch, when she was on duty," Lady Lesso spoke, her words tinged with a mix of apprehension and concern. Her eyes roamed around you, taking in every detail.

Your eyes widened, realization dawning upon you. This was because you fainted from the lack of sleep the other day? Were both deans planning to punish you for displaying weakness?

"I'm really sorry," you blurted out, shaking your head in an attempt to convey your remorse.

Silence!" Lady Lesso snapped, her voice cutting through the air with a sharpness that demanded your immediate compliance. After a brief moment, she sighed, as if momentarily relenting. "Before you continue babbling, let me finish," she continued, her tone now carrying a touch of weariness. "Dovey informed me that prior to your arrival to this... hallowed institution, you relied on something called ASMR, on some sort of device to help you sleep every night."

Her voice softened as she spoke, revealing a rare glimpse of understanding. However, her stern demeanor quickly returned. "We are all well aware that improper sleep will lead to students not performing their best. This, in turn, increases the likelihood of the forces of Good triumphing over Evil yet another year," she explained, her words laced with a sense of gravity. Meanwhile, Professor Dovey stepped forward, presenting you with the blanket, her expression conveying a mixture of compassion and concern.

"So, let me make it clear that I am not undertaking this task for your sake," Lady Lesso declared, her voice regaining its steely resolve. "I am doing it for myself, for the sake of maintaining our standards of excellence. And... if you tell anyone, you'll win yourself a second trip to the Doom Room."

You watched in confusion as Professor Dovey retrieved a book from her bag, placing it in Lady Lesso's hands. Lady Lesso began tapping her silver-painted nails against the book's cover, displaying a touch of exasperation. "This is ridiculous. Why don't people simply read th-" she began, but her words were swiftly interrupted by Dovey. "Just do it, Leonora," Dovey interjected, her tone firm yet gentle. The good dean turned her attention back to you, offering a warm smile as she assisted you in wrapping a soft blanket around yourself. The soothing scent of lavender wafted from the fabric, instantly calming your senses. Returning her focus to the bag, Dovey delicately produced a glass slipper. "I borrowed this from Cinderella," she whispered softly. "I'm not sure about your fashion preferences, being a Never, but I believe it's quite beautiful." Dovey knelt in front of you, bringing the glass slipper closer so you could examine it more closely. "It's difficult to fully appreciate its sparkle in this dark room," Dovey murmured, redirecting your gaze to Lady Lesso, who continued tapping on the book behind Dovey. "You have a talent for this, ma'am. ASMR seems to be your secret skill," you confessed, feeling a blush color your cheeks. "Is that so?" Lady Lesso furrowed her eyebrows, momentarily taken aback, before clearing her throat. "Well, I suppose I excel at many things," she stated, lifting her head with pride and opening the book, slowly flipping through its pages. Meanwhile, the other dean settled into the second chair, tapping the glass slipper lightly. "I hope Cinderella won't be upset if it gets stained," Dovey whispered softly to herself. Carefully, she returned the slipper to the bag and repositioned her chair closer to you. "May I touch your hair, dear?" she asked, her voice gentle and kind. You pondered for a moment before nodding in agreement. Slowly, Dovey began stroking your hair, her touch gentle and soothing. The good dean's whispering voice was barely audible, but as Lady Lesso began to read from the book, you discovered that Lesso's whispered words were the one that were the epitome of calmness. Her voice had a silvery quality to it, with just the right amount of hoarseness and breathiness to suit your taste. "You can close your eyes, sweetheart. Don't resist it," Dovey whispered, her hand caressing your cheek. Soon you began to drift off to sleep when you felt being lifted up by one of them. You sleepily leaned your head on their neck.

"I can't possibly carry her up the stairs to her dorm, Leonora," Dovey whispered, her hand gently resting atop your head. "Let's take her to my chambers instead. It's just this way," Lady Lesso responded in hushed tones. Before long, you found yourself lying upon a comfortable bed, the softness enveloping you. The sound of their conversation drifted into your sleepy consciousness. "Now, where's the kiss you promised me, for doing this, Rissa?" Lady Lesso's voice carried through the hallway outside the room.

[littlenightmares2]

continually pointing towards the harm that six and mono inflict upon the monsters within the little nightmares universe as evidence of their moral ambiguity (or lack thereof) is an inherently flawed manner of exploring their characters and values.

killing the monsters is a means of survival. neither of them actively seek out confrontation- each one of the entities relentlessly pursue the children with the intention of harming them in some way or another. the brutality of how the children manage to dispatch the monsters doesn’t matter either.

slicing off the janitor’s arms or lighting the doctor on fire are not actions that can (or should) have morality attached to them. every interaction six and mono have with the cast of antagonists is a largely cut and dry case of ‘kill or be killed.’

we know that everything in the nowhere exists with a purpose. there is a distinct emphasis placed upon this by people who have worked on the game. (for example, “the maw exists because hunger exists, and the pale city exists because the need for escapism exists.”) each monster plays some kind of role within the maw or pale city that is critical to perpetuating the cycle that the realm encapsulates. beyond this, they are harmful, unreasonable and actively malicious. their lack of humanity and inability to be appealed to is something else the developers have confirmed.

the only way to judge six and mono as characters with any degree of fairness is by examining the interactions they have with other unfortunate children. even this perspective has to be heavily scrutinised and take into account the abnormality of their circumstances. we have to continuously reframe the picture to ensure we are empathising with the fact that their circumstances will cause their emotional reactions to be distorted by trauma.

mono met one other child during his journey- six. he reached out his hand from the very moment they first met. over and over again, he extended kindness, compassion, a gentle disposition, active concern for her, and active desire for her company.

six met mono before she set foot on the maw. from the jump, her reaction to mono’s presence appears to be one of apprehension to say the very least. she turns away from his attempt to reach out and runs ahead. while understandable, this is already very telling of the differences in their characters. trusting and open, distrustful and avoidant.

over the course of the story, we see glimpses of compassion and a desire for company begin to manifest in six too.

she opens up to the idea of working together upon realising there are things she can’t do alone. she is the one to initiate handholding when the two of them are creeping through the tall grass around the hunter. she gestures to mono to be quiet and crouch down when they’re first sneaking past him.

when mono saves her from the bullies, he approaches her. it seems he wished to help her up, or offer some kind of comfort or reassurance. six almost seems to turn away from the offer and rebuff it somewhat. again, she isn’t being faulted for this at all- she has just been through trauma. but to me, it suggests that at this point in the story, mono is still being kept at an arms’ length.

one of the most notable shifts for her character is when the thin man breaks free from the screen. mono is pressing himself against the television, and she is lingering for him in a way she never had before, to the degree that it actively endangers her to do so. she stays beside him, she reaches out to him, she desperately urges him to follow her in fleeing- and she only begins to run away at all once the danger is no longer escapable if she remains.

then, of course, we have everything that transpires with monster six, which i believe undoes all the work she has done emotionally that allowed her to trust and care for mono as closely we she did. no matter your interpretation of why she did it, what she did to mono remains the same. she knowingly and deliberately dropped him to his death, and she did not look back. nothing implies remorse in that specific moment.

when we next see her, after the events of the pale city, she is in the maw. six has no interest in helping other children. she pulls on cages with other prisoners inside to climb and access higher places. (i’m not going to confuse outright inaction with six’s purposeful choices, because we don’t know her thought process, so i won’t get into the logistics of her not waking the children in roger’s room or helping children seen caged around the maw). she can hug the nomes if we so choose, but embracing every one of them results in an achievement that stipulates “kindness will be [her] undoing.” she also ends up sinking her teeth into one to sate her hunger. another necessary act, born of survival, but to a degree it shows an empathetic disconnect for another vulnerable creature all the same.

at her core, six values survivalism, self-sufficiency, independence and pushing through trauma. mono, in direct contrast, appears to engage in a degree of dependency with her, and seeks out companionship and support where his counterpart would just as rather go it alone.

[linkemon]

Beauty and the Beast (Bakugō Katsuki x Reader) 3

ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏ ᴋᴀᴛꜱᴜᴋɪ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄᴜʀꜱᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ʙᴇᴀꜱᴛ. ʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄᴀꜱᴛʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄᴀʟ ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴜʙᴊᴇᴄᴛꜱ, ʜᴇ ꜱʟᴏᴡʟʏ ʟᴏꜱᴇꜱ ʜᴏᴘᴇ. ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ, [ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ], ꜰᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ'ꜱ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛɪᴍɪᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴏᴠᴇʀʜᴀᴜʟ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴇꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀꜱᴛʟᴇ. ɪɴɪᴛɪᴀʟ ʀᴇʟᴜᴄᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ, ʙᴏʀɴꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴ��ᴇ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱʜɪᴘ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ, ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɢʀᴏᴡꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ.

The whole series can be found here. Part 1 | 2 | 3 here | 4

When he saves your life

[Reader] stood in the dining hall, unsure of what to do. Apparently, King Katsuki had no desire to see her. She shared the sentiment. The relief she felt when he disappeared from her sight was immense.

— Come with us, dear, we’ll get you into something dry — Ochako encouraged her.

Featherduster eyed the girl’s thin clothes with concern. Water dripped from them in heavy droplets. Snow melted in the warmth of the nearby fireplace.

And so the objects paraded through the palace as a company. The only human trudged at the very back to avoid blocking their way with her height. Most of the enormous glass windows were hidden under thick curtains. Through a few, though, one could glimpse the dark sky. The storm had passed. The world was covered in white, shimmering under the moonlight.

[Reader] passed many doors. At first, she tried to memorize the path but she lost track after the seventh turn.

She studied the walls until she noticed what exactly felt off. Just like in the dining hall…

— The portraits are missing — she remarked to the staff.

— Everything that depicts people — Kirishima clarified.

He twisted his clock hands toward where statues must have once stood. Plenty of empty columns and bases remained.

— Our lord is very…— He hesitated. — How to put it… He has…

— A defect! — Denki finished proudly.

— Stop it, or he’ll hear you! — Gentle scolded him.

— And we wouldn’t want that. Oh no! — added La Brava.

— He’s just irritated by the sight of something he’s lost — Ochako concluded quietly.

[Reader] couldn’t help but notice how somber they all grew at this statement. After all, they suffered just as much as their king. It had to be cruel.

Her gaze fell on a landscape featuring a massive red dragon and a white stallion. They seemed to be fighting, though it made little sense. How could they possibly face each other? The lack of a rider stood out. The painting felt out of place compared to the others. It reminded her of what she’d left behind in the courtyard.

— My horse! — she stopped abruptly.

— We’ve taken it to the stables — the clock assured her.

[Reader] didn’t know how they’d managed it but she figured she should stop being surprised by the things around her. The mere fact that she stood alive and in one piece was a miracle. She still didn’t completely trust anyone but she had no choice but to follow her guides up the stairs.

By the time they reached the final floor, her boots were covered in dust. Thick, red carpets begged for a proper beating. The ornate wooden balustrades needed cleaning too. She sneezed the moment she touched one.

— This is my old room — Ochako headed toward a door. — I lived next to the queen so I could serve her. It was a great honour. I liked being a maid. If only Her Majesty hadn’t died…— Her voice grew sad.

Everything might have turned out differently, she thought to herself. After the queen’s death, no one could tame the prince. The king had never ruled with a strong hand. His wife had always handled difficult matters, including raising a rebellious son. His Majesty left the world of the living just weeks after her funeral. It was suspected he fell ill from grief over losing his beloved Mitsuki.

Young Bakugō didn’t show sorrow. He took the reins of the kingdom as expected. Yet the smile vanished from his face. Everywhere he went, he wore a mask of indifference. Truthfully, he cared about nothing except combat — the one thing he excelled at in life. He never had the chance to learn compassion or humility. All the values he placed on a pedestal were somehow tied to strength. He became an orphan far too young. And he could have accomplished so much — together with Midoriya. If not for him, Izuku might still be alive.

— Make yourself at home. — Featherduster wagged her tail. — It’s a bit dusty but I’ll tidy it up. You can sleep here. There should be something in the wardrobe. Her Majesty’s gowns are in better condition but we’re not allowed to touch them.

The chamber in question was sacred and untouchable. No one had the right to disturb anything there. Everything remained exactly as it had been on the day Mitsuki passed away. The enchanted objects believed Katsuki coped with her loss this way, though he didn’t want to show it.

The chandelier flared brighter than before and lit the wood in the fireplace. Flickering tongues of flame slowly consumed the logs, lighting up the room. It was nothing special — a bed, a chest, a table and chairs. The only interesting feature was a small balcony overlooking the back of the palace, offering a view of the forest.

— Should I introduce myself? — [Reader] asked.

— To whom? — came a chorus of voices.

— The wardrobe… or Lady Wardrobe? You know…— She stood before the ornate piece of furniture.

— Only we are cursed — the teapot gurgled.

— The rest are just ordinary objects — added the teacup helpfully.

The longer she listened, the more she understood that they were a duo. They went everywhere together and always finished each other’s sentences. However, they didn’t look like a matching set. The sharp red didn’t pair well with the dark purple.

— Cursed? Does that mean you can be uncursed? — the new servant asked with interest.

She received a series of unintelligible murmurs in response. The staff gathered in a circle and started a discussion. She tried eavesdropping but to no avail.

— We won’t answer that question — they finally declared in unison.

They didn’t want to lose their chance to break the spell. The feeling had to be genuine. If their hope knew the truth, it might lead to love out of pity — or worse, out of obligation. Of course, it could turn out differently but for now, they wouldn’t utter a word.

Ochako managed to deal with most of the dust and pulled a dress out of the wardrobe.

— Don’t you have any pants? — The girl took the black fabric in her hand.

A maid’s uniform. She should have expected that. It came with a white apron and decorative bows. The idea of wearing it every day didn’t appeal to her.

— Unfortunately not. Perhaps in the king’s chamber but I’d rather not ask…

— Let me help with the cloak — Denki enthusiastically waved his candles.

But he forgot to extinguish one of the wicks. The garment caught fire in an instant. Extinguishing the small blaze angered everyone. They shouted and stomped on what they could.

— My sister made this for me. — [Reader] inspected the burnt edge angrily.

Eri was a world away from here. Yet she still felt her presence in this gift. She’d collected bits of colourful threads for her sister to embroider the pattern. The multicoloured flowers seemed to dance on the gray background. She loved them far more than the expensive dresses Overhaul had made her wear.

— We’ll fix it! Like real men! — Kirishima announced. — And you should get changed.

Everyone obediently left the room, leaving the girl alone for the first time that strange day.

Reluctantly, she changed into the odd outfit. While waiting for further developments, she decided to inspect the small room. All she found were lots of sheets, a few decorative dresses moth-eaten and worn and some trinkets. The most interesting find was a hidden portrait of a young boy with extraordinary green hair. Somehow, it had survived the purge of artwork in the palace and avoided the sad fate of other pieces.

She decided not to ask. There had to be a reason someone had gone to such lengths to wrap it in rags, pack it in a box and hide it.

At some point, whispers reached her ears. She approached the door and pressed her ear against it.

—…sharpen the knives. It has to be delicious. And His Majesty likes his meat bloody…— The sentence was cut.

But she didn’t intend to find out what came next. It sounded very clear. She was playing the main course. Surely, they thought that if they behaved normally, she wouldn’t notice. There was no way, after everything she’d been through, that she’d let herself get eaten in some remote palace. Years spent in the orphanage had taught her to keep a cool head. She looked out from the balcony. She was three floors from the ground. Too high to jump but just right for a rope descent. She didn’t have one but she could make one. She began skillfully tying strips of fabric together. She threw them over the railing. She’d never climbed down from such a height before but there was a first time for everything.

She barricaded the door with a chair, hoping the makeshift construction would hold for at least a moment.

She took the first step. She avoided looking down — it was always a trap. Step by step, she descended. The cold wind tugged at her short outfit. Her hair blew wildly, obscuring her vision. She tried to move as fast as possible, swaying left and right. Blood rushed in her ears. Several times, she slipped, momentarily losing her grip. She was halfway down when she heard a shout.

— [Reader], what are you doing? — Featherduster had evidently overcome the makeshift barricade.

She sped up, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline. Only a few meters remained. Below, part of the staff awaited her, while others peered down from above. But she knew they couldn’t stop her. At most, they’d splash her with tea.

Then, suddenly, she felt the rope elongate. The fabric of the moth-eaten old dress couldn’t handle the tension and tore away from its colourful neighbour. The girl grabbed at a protruding sandstone block.

— Damn it! — Her hand began to slip.

Then she fell. Someone caught her. Strong, heavy hands kept her upright. Her hands were scraped from sliding on the stone and she cradled them to herself. Her hair was all over her face and her ribs heaved in and out as she tried to catch her breath. Her weight shifted forward. She didn’t mean to lean against him but her legs felt like jelly. Then came the most unexpected sound.

— You idiot! — came a deep growl.

She didn’t want to believe it but it had to be him. She glanced up hesitantly. He looked different than before. His hair was untamed. His broad shoulders trembled under his heavy fur coat. But the familiar, piercing gaze was there. The corners of his mouth curled down.

He was furious.

She lifted her eyelids. Only a few centimeters separated her face from the beast’s snout. Hairy, bristly arms had caught her just in time.

— Let go of me! — she shouted, struggling to free herself.

— Be my guest — the king mocked.

She tumbled to the ground, landing in a snowdrift. Her short dress instantly soaked through and wet hair clung to her face. It felt as though her tailbone had been ripped out. She was sure she’d bruised herself badly.

— I hope you'll choke on my bones! — she snapped, pulling a knife from her boot.

It wasn’t much but she wasn’t about to let herself be eaten without a fight.

Katsuki growled, ready to strike.

—Wait, no! — his subjects cried, clutching at his legs.

— No one wants to eat you, [Reader]! — Ochako exclaimed, clearly horrified by the notion. — It’s all our fault, Your Highness! We were preparing dinner and Denki said a few poorly chosen words, and then...

She didn’t need to finish. Everyone was processing the situation. An awkward silence fell as they all tried to grasp what had just happened.

The girl felt terrible. Sure, she was here against her will but her new companions had shown her kindness and hospitality. And besides, Bakugō could have simply let her fall to her death — but he hadn’t. He’d saved her life.

She hated doing it but she forced herself to say it.

— Thank you. And I’m sorry. — She extended her hand.

The king looked at the hand before him. Much smaller than his own, far more delicate. He could have crushed it if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to admit how much his new servant impressed him. Sure, he was angry that she had tried to escape — but what a way to do it! And then, at the very end, she’d still had the nerve to draw a weapon, despite knowing she couldn’t win.

She didn’t wield a sword. She couldn’t possibly match him — neither when he was young nor now. It was a different kind of strength than the one he knew.

It made him feel strange. Was that... admiration? A feeling he hadn’t experienced in so long he’d forgotten it existed?

She did everything differently. Strangely. Just like someone else he tried so hard to forget.

He shook his head lightly, driving away those thoughts. A sly smile spread across his face as he spat on his furry paw. He fully expected her to recoil in disgust.

But to his surprise, [Reader] did the same, clasping his hand firmly.

— That’s highly unrefined — the clock remarked.

— Gross — added the chandelier.

— Don’t try that again — Bakugō growled. — Next time, I’ll let you fall. As punishment, you’ll clean the garden.

With that, he turned and left.

She didn’t care. She had plenty of places to tidy already. One more wouldn’t make a difference. She sneezed loudly. She was soaked to the bone, just as Ochako had feared. She needed to warm up, or she’d spend her first day of work bedridden with a cold.

— Tea time, right, Gentle?

— Indeed, La Brava.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

There was this thread on r/asoiaf the other day that was complaining about how ASOIAF stans seem to lose all creativity when it comes to theorizing about Dany’s endgame. The OP argued that people are so sure that Dany’s story can only end in death even though nothing is set in stone and the story would still be very good if she lived to the end.

Predictably, the comments in the thread proceeded to double down on why Dany is 100% “doomed” and marked for death, which is very funny because not only did they completely miss OP’s point, but they started citing statistics that I have personally never heard of. How can anyone except George R.R Martin know what is 100% Dany’s endgame? Are there some mathematic equations I need to be aware of? Can someone share with the class please…

See, I agree with that OP big time. It’s a bit annoying to go through fandom spaces and have to see the same old posts about how Dany is an instrument of death and so she needs to be put out at the end of the story. Others will try to argue that she will die a hero as a means of being a bit more charitable. It seems that everywhere I go, Dany’s endgame always ends in death. There really is an obvious lack of creativity when it comes to speculating about her endgame.

I have an issue with using death to define Dany’s story because she is so much more than that. People get so caught up in the “bride of fire” and “daughter of death” aspects that they forget about what Dany actually does. She goes around liberating people! Yes she brings death…to those who harm others and deserve it. She is not bringing death wholesale to innocent people but she is bringing death and destruction to corrupt institutions. That’s the whole point of her character. She is a liberator. She is a savior! She is a dragon and the dragon cleanses. To the slaves she is the Breaker of Chains. To those who have glimpsed of the coming Long Night, she is the Prince(ss) That Was Promised. To all, she represents hope for the future. Hope for life and liberation from death.

Dany gained so much power throughout her arc so far and she could have taken a ship straight to Westeros, but she used her new found abilities to free people from slavery; she chose to liberate them from death. Really, that’s how I view Dany’s campaign against slavery. Slaves aren’t treated as people; their humanity is discarded, they have no will, no future, no hope. It’s almost like a death of the person though they may not physically be dead. Then in comes Daenerys Targaryen, a young girl with nothing but her dragons and her compassion, who says to them “you may not matter to them but you matter to me and I will save you”. Where the slaves didn’t have free will before, Dany gives it to them. I’m remembering the unsullied who didn’t even have names but Dany gave them the ability to pick and choose their own; which seems like such a small act but means so much more because names are important in humanizing people. She represents new beginnings.

Dany’s crusade across Slaver’s Bay is a big deal. She didn’t have to do it but she did it anyway. There was no personal gain for her but she did it because she cares so deeply about people. And then she gets to Meereen and decides to stay there because her “children” need her. She cannot and will not abandon strangers to a fate of death. And the people know that.

I’m just thinking of this quote:

“I am no lady,” the widow replied, “just Vogarro’s whore. You want to be gone from here before the tigers come. Should you reach your queen, give her a message from the slaves of Old Volantis.” She touched the faded scar upon her wrinkled cheek, where her tears had been cut away. “Tell her we are waiting. Tell her to come soon.”

- Tyrion VII, ADWD

And this one too:

“I told you, I know our little queen […] this Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer. The girl who drowned the slaver cities in blood rather than leave strangers to their chains can scarcely abandon her own brother’s son in his hour of peril.”

- Tyrion VI, ADWD

These people have never even met Dany but to them, she is hope and freedom and life! She is salvation, and that’s the point. She has spent much of her arc fighting slavery which is in preparation for her ultimate destiny as a savior to defeat the Others. Because they not only bring death to the land but they also threaten to enslave humanity through death. However, they cannot triumph over the Breaker of Chains; the great savior that is Daenerys Targaryen! That’s what her story has been building up to. And it’s not that Dany is saving people and peacing out (e.g., dying in a sacrifice). The point is that she herself persevered. And because she persevered, her people will too. It’s that her constant survival ensures that of others.

Dany grew up penniless, homeless, hungry, and even started out as a 13 year old slave to Khal Drogo. She could have given up but she didn’t because through everything, she is resilient. She is determination and perseverance in the face of death. When she walked into that funeral pyre she could have died, but she lived and emerged as the Mother of Dragons - these dragons that have been instrumental in freeing slaves and will ultimately be important in the Other’s defeat. She “died” in that pyre and was “reborn”, and this rebirth is moving her closer to ensuring that the rest of her people overcome death as well.

That’s why it’s more thematically meaningful for Dany to survive the Long Night, in my opinion. She, more than anyone, represents what it means to constantly fight against the odds. She represents what it means to go through all the worst life can throw at you and then not only come out on top, but turn around and use her own survival to ensure that of others’. She has lived through so many trials and persevered; she is the very embodiment of what it means to survive. Because her survival means that where death could destroy, it didn’t. Instead, life prevailed.

If she survives the Long Night, she remains a constant symbol - a beacon if you will - of what’s to come which is better days. Those who are suffering can look to her and see how she went through hell and lived. This would go a long way in boosting morale especially in the aftermath of the Long Night. Because think about it, the people fought against the Others and overcame death, but now they have to survive what comes next. I think Dany is needed because she has already gone through this cycle and will not only be an important figurehead during the War for the Dawn, but she will also be important as the people try to find a will to live beyond death (winter and the Others).

The last book is called A Dream of Spring so I assume this means that it will still be winter - though the Long Night may be over. People will still be hungry, they will be homeless, and they will be tired. They will not know what comes next only that they have to move forward and survive through this new hardship. And you know who has personally experienced these things and knows what it’s like? Daenerys Targaryen! She has survived through it all. So imagine just how powerful it will be for those who survive the Long Night to look at young Daenerys and go, “you know what, I think we’ll get through this one too”. And it will be even more poignant for Dany to lead them to that rest and restoration. Because it’s not just the people who need rest after fighting for so long, Dany does too:

“It is such a long way,” she complained. “I was tired, Jorah. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl.”

- Dany X, ADWD

People take the “dragons plant no trees” part that comes after to assume that Dany will remain stagnant for the next two books and it really is a pity. Someone pointed out a while ago (and I cannot for the life of me remember who this was) that Dany tends to pivot at the end of each book. As she continues to grow and develop as a character, her plans and priorities change. So it’s a bit sad how people assume that she will constantly be in a state of warfare. Because at the moment, Dany’s didn’t isn’t over yet.

Her campaign in Essos must continue and she still has the Others to fight in Westeros. So for now, she cannot truly settle down to plant trees. But she has been learning! She tried to do that throughout ADWD and I don’t see why that learning arc will be discarded at the end of the story. Especially when we consider that few others have actually been learning to lead. The only other character who has is Jon Snow but funny enough, many in this fandom think that he too is doomed to die. I’m not sure why George R.R Martin would kill the two up-and-coming leaders in the story who best answer “what was Aragorn’s tax policy?”

Ultimately, when all is said and done and there are no more wars to fight, I think Dany will finally find her peace and will learn that dragons can plant trees and watch them grow. As all the other heroes in the story, she will probably come out of the Long Night battered and bruised, but everything will be okay because she will still be alive; just like that Bran scene at the end of ACOK, which to me is the very definition of bittersweet. A better ending for her in my opinion isn’t dying in the cold of winter, but rather living and healing and finding a way to build a house with a red door, even though she cannot return to the one she knew as a child. Not only that, she can also provide this house with a red door” for the homeless, beaten, and bruised who survive the Long Night. It’s certainly possible that Martin could write Dany’s death in a way that is poignant and beautiful, but my personal preference is that she lives because of what her survival means for the larger themes in the story.

This whole post has been so jumbled and I’ve rambled a bit but I hope it made sense in the end lol. But anyway….the point is, I’m 1000% Team Dany Must Live!

[sincerexsiren]

@deepseawarlock continued from X Ulysses, his arms still wrapped protectively around Trinity, felt a mix of concern and understanding as he sensed her distress. He had been aware of her occasional moments of vulnerability, glimpses into the depths of her past that she tried so hard to conceal. He knew the weight she carried, the burdens she bore, and he respected her strength in keeping them hidden. As Trinity's hands moved to wipe away the tears that had wet his chest, Ulysses gently grasped her hands, holding them tenderly between his own. He could sense her embarrassment, her desire to retreat and hide those emotions away once more. But he wanted her to know that he was there for her, that she could lean on him without judgment or reproach. With a soft, understanding voice, Ulysses replied, "There's no need to apologize, Trinity. We all carry our pasts, our fears, and our pain. It's part of what makes us who we are. You don't have to bear it alone. I'm here for you, always." He brought her hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against her fingertips. "In my time here, you've shown me so much strength and compassion, Trinity. But it's okay to let yourself be vulnerable, to let those tears flow. You don't have to hide anything from me. I'm here to listen, to support you, and to help carry the weight if you'll let me." Ulysses held her close, his embrace a comforting sanctuary in the darkness. "We all have our scars, our memories that haunt us. But together, we can find solace and healing. You're not alone, Trinity. You have my presence and my unwavering support. Always remember that." "Do you want to share what happened?"

As well adjusted and cheery as Trinity was (And she really was) you couldn’t live 200 years without some scars, somethings that dug into your conscious and lodged themselves there. She knew that, but it didn’t mean that she wanted to show them.  There were parts of her that were still childish from being trapped her all her life, from the lessons that she had learned and embodied about what it meant to be a guardian.  It was so much easier to take care of people when they saw you are part of the décor, like a pretty chair or a tree.  Beautiful but you seldom thought of the chairs past or the storms that had torn branches off the tree.  They were merely beautiful things that were useful in one way or another.  It made things simple. 

But it didn’t seem like Ulysses was interested in things being simple- the man and the guardian.  He hadn’t shown an interest in that since he’d gotten her.  True people asked questions about her when they came but she knew that it was out of being polite.  Even the darkest demon seemed to know that if you wanted something it was only right to offer that small politeness back. 

She didn’t stop trying to dry his shirt until he took hold of her hands and brought them to his warm lips.  It caused her bottom lip to tremble a bit because…well how could she take him up on that offer?  It wasn’t right to put that on someone and yet she wanted to tell him so so badly.  Even that thought brought a wave of guilt.  “That’s not how I’m meant to take care of people.”  She reminded herself with the words more than she was saying them to him. 

Still, the sincerity in her voice drew her eyes to his golden ones.  “I…I was 13 when they came for her.  Actually 13.  People back then weren’t very kind to those like us.  There were meant to be years left to study- decades even.  But in this part of the world, when they burnt witches, they really burnt them.  It was just a little church but they gathered people from the whole regions.  I thought that they couldn’t kill us.  But they could- they just couldn’t use magic.  So they came with the things that humans always do: swords, guns, fire.”  She shook her head.  “I can still smell it…I still don’t know why she didn’t fight back harder.  Maybe she was just…tired.”  She admitted softly, fingers moving over his where she held them. 

“I read about those things.  The people who came for safety would tell me stories.  But I really didn’t know that people could be so…cruel- burning a woman in front of her daughter.”  

[bluewavesofchange]

The girl and the dragon

I don't own Yugioh or it's characters, nor do I own Beauty and the best.

Long ago before the world we know today, in the country side of France was a small farming village. The people that lived there were kind and lived together in peace, no hardships were known and the village grew larger with each passing year, its wealthy and prosperity a contribution from one of the ruling families in the area…

 

If you stood on the tallest hilltop beside the river that flowed beside the village you would catch a glimpse of the towering castle in the distance. Its walls constructed out of white stone that glimmered when the sunlight washed over it when the giant ball of fire was high in the skin, giving it an enchanting glow. The building was a wonder to behold, housing grand bedroom adorned with furniture carved out of the white oak, the beds felt like clouds when you slept upon them and covered in the finest silks and furs. A large ball room with a sparkling chandelier that brought light and life to the rooms white marbled interior, bringing a magical world to life as the large parties and balls would be hosted by the family of the castle, royalty and important members of state would attend to these events, rumoured had it ambassadors from countries as far as Egypt would be there.

 

The dining hall could seat hundreds of guests and the kitchens were stocked with only the finest of foods and only those with peak culinary skills would work the stoves and ovens, producing the most delectable foods and pastries. The walls in the library were lined with shelves upon shelves of books, scripts and titles that you could only find elsewhere in the world. Any scholar would be honoured to be in such a place.

 

But the true jewel of this castle was its vast gardens, rows upon rows of white rose bushes adorned the area, intricate sculpture’s and fountains brought the space to life, the grass soft and green like a new carpet that no one has stepped upon yet. Large white oak trees lined the outer walls and in the centre of the garden stood something truly out of a fantasy story…an old cherry blossom tree that bloomed all year around, the petals of the flowers were pristine white instead of pink and rumour had it that the blossoms held healing properties that could heal any illness and disease.

 

The rulers of this palace were known as the Kaiba’s; their family had reigned over the area for generations. The current master of the house was named Hikaru; he was a tall regal man with long brunet hair, piercing blue eyes and a pale complexion. He was firm but kind, holding himself to a high standard and treated those around him with respect and dignity, even the servants and house keepers. Any person that met him would instantly adore him and fall for his admirable personality.

 

And beside him was his beauty of a wife, she was an unusual jewel in this land, her pale skin could be described as angelic, her eyes were like sapphires that sparkled with kindness and compassion, her hair white long and flowed like a water fall and her heart was just as sweet and loving as her husbands. An aura of grace and elegancy followed her wherever she went, always wearing a smile and helping anyone that was in need. Her name was Amilia but her beloved and those she held close to her heart called her Ami.

 

Whenever the couple was seen together they were happy and anyone could see the love that they had for each other. You could feel the connection and passion between the two of them. They met during a ball at Amilia’s home, her father introducing her to a young Hikaru who was a rowdy and rough young man back in his day, chasing after the ladies of the court and causing problems for his father. However the day he laid eyes on the white beauty he fell madly in love for her, his heart racing as he felt like he was flying from just being in the presence of this angel before him…and Ami?

 

Well she found him humorous and rather odd. She had had many suiters and her father was adamant to marry her to a wealthy and powerful man. But she wished to marry for love, to find the other half of her heart and soul, to live the life that was told in the books she would spend her days reading…

 

And she found that in Hikaru, at first he had tried to use his normal tactics of wooing and enticing woman with his looks and charms but she would have none of it…rejecting him every step of the way…then he started to change…he matured and grew into a man that came to care for others and be kind and compassionate. He would write her poetry, send her flowers, and ask to spend time with her in her gardens as he got to know her for her mind and heart rather than chase her for her beauty. In turn she fell deeply in love with him, she learned that he loved to ride horses and spend his time writing and dreaming of the adventures he could have in the lands beyond the horizon. And in turn he learned that she had a love for nature and could make any plant grow even if it was on deaths door. She had a love for the arts and knowledge, spending her days reading or painting exquisite murals that decorated the walls of her home.

 

They grew closer and closer every day until he finally asked her father for her hand and within a year they were married, dignitaries and royalty from all over came to witness they union between the two, their wedding taking place on the first day of winter, the first snowflake falling upon as if to bless them and their future and true enough by the next snowfall the following year Amilia gave birth to her first child, a little boy with his father’s baring’s who they named Seto.

 

He was the pride and joy of Hikaru and Ami, he was intelligent and had the same compassion and kindness as his parents, the boy spending his days with his father, learning under him about the world and the kingdom that would one day be his responsibility…while teaching him to ride horses and to write, to hold himself as a true gentlemen and ruler. And in the evenings Seto would spend with his mother, the white haired woman teaching him to read and of the arts. Unlike his mother he found painting rather dull but could sketch life like pictures and had a knack for music, he easily learned to play the harp and piano, playing beautiful songs for his mother while she painted…

 

And when it was time for bed, both parents would tuck their son in and would sit with him till he slept, his mother reading stories to him of fantastical places with dragons and magicians, his favourite tales…

 

As wonderful as the child’s life was and the love he received from his parents was wonderful but he still felt lonely. Despite his intelligence and skills, he wasn’t a very social child and wouldn’t know how to interact with others despite his father’s guidance. There was one boy he got along well with who was the prince of a kingdom in Egypt whose family would travel to their lands for trade (mostly for grapes for wine in exchange for spices). The prince was named Atem Sennen, he had a caramel like complexion with unusual red eyes and strange hair, a mix of black with maroon tips with a few streaks of blond going along the dark strands, his bangs the same bright colour.

 

Seto found the boy odd whenever their families came together; the prince was bubbly and could talk your ear off about basically anything. He was charismatic and bright with a big smile on his face, trying anything he can to interact with Seto, bugging him wherever he went. At first he found it annoying and would try to hide from the other whenever he was at the castle but Atem would easily find him and think it was all a game…and soon it truly turned into one. The boys soon became friends and looked forward to seeing each other, Seto telling the Egyptian prince about the books he had read and even tried to teach the other music, although Atem found it all boring and would rather drag the brunet to the gardens to play.

 

But even though Seto had the strange child as a companion, he still felt lonely but that would change the day his mother told him she was having another child…

 

He was 8 years old when his little brother was born whom his parents named Mokuba. He wasn’t sure about having a brother at first, the thought of sharing his parents with another didn’t sit well with him but the moment he was brought into his mother’s chambers after she had gone into labour and got to hold his baby brother for the first time, he made a vow to always protect him and do anything in his power to make sure he stayed happy.

 

And that’s what the family was for 4 years…they were happy…days spent in each other presence, laughing and spending time together, whether in the gardens or the library or in their rooms, they were always together, an over whelming sense of joy filled the castle that everyone thought would last for years…

 

However not every story is a fairy tale…

 

One day Hikaru went out riding when a giant storm hit…a flash of lightning strike the ground spooking his horse…causing it to run off and ended up going off a cliff…both man and steed plummeting to their deaths…when he was found days later the news devastated Amilia and her children, the entire castle mourning the loss of the kind and gentle man…a few days later the lady of the castle taking her own life with a blade to her broken heart…leaving behind her two sons…

 

Seto and Mokuba were heart broken and alone, the servants trying their best to help the two boys work through their grief but someone needed to take over the duties that Hikaru was responsible for…and Seto was still too young to take over…

 

So the boy’s uncle was given a temporary title and would rule till the oldest brother came of age…but Gozuburo was not a man like his older brother…he was cruel and cold, wanting nothing more than power and wealth…he didn’t care for the two boys and would’ve sent them away had it not been for Hikaru’s will naming Seto his heir…and getting rid of the brothers would make him look suspicious…

 

So he would train the boy, turn him into his image and ensure that he would keep Gozuburo as his advisor and grant him his own title and wealth someday…but as it had been said, there was not an ounce of compassion and care in the man’s heart…

 

He would enact harsh punishments upon Seto whenever he failed at a task or tried to speak back to the man, locking him in the tower for days without food or water…beating him, giving him lashings and even going as far as to brand the child with a hot poker…the warm loving home that Seto had once known became like a prison of hatred and pain, his soft heart slowly hardening as the boy he once was grew into a man that was cold and indifferent. His face remaining emotionless and harsh in his ways, treating others as if they were beneath him, focusing on the wealth of the kingdom he would soon have domain over…he became unbearable, people only tolerating him because of his position and status…

 

The only people that could stand him was Atem (who truly worried for his friend, having seen him change over the years. The bright eyed boy degraded to a depressed and cruel man) and of course Mokuba…

 

The little boy was mostly left alone, nothing more than an afterthought as Seto was Gozuburo’s main focus. Only the servants and maids would try to keep the child company to keep him from his loneliness and neglect. And even though Seto tried to keep close with his little brother it became harder as their caregiver started keeping the boys from each other, making sure that they saw nothing of each other as he wanted to isolate Seto from everyone else…

 

And Gozuburo’s plan would’ve worked…had he not laid his hands on Mokuba. It was a few weeks before Seto’s 16th birthday and Mokuba wanted to do something for his brother. Despite the fact that they had grown apart he still loved his big brother and wanted nothing more than to see him smile again. But as he was trying to get Seto’s attention while he was studying, Gozuburo struck the younger boy, raising his fist and pinching him through the face. The child fell to the ground and the man would’ve kicked him if Seto had not intervened, grabbing Gozuburo and pushing him into a wall, not saying a word as he glared daggers at the man.

 

The older man hurried out of the room leaving the brothers behind, Seto glaring at the door before turning to his little brother and kneeling down to help him up, giving the young child hope that some part of his brother had come to the surface but all Seto did was tell him that he shouldn’t show weakness in front of his enemies…that it was pathetic to show care and compassion. And with that he went back to work…leaving Mokuba with a broken hope…his brother truly was gone…

 

The following day Gozuburo’s body was found splattered in the courtyard having fallen from the balcony of his room…or maybe he was pushed out…the truth would never be known.

 

With him out of the way Seto was free to take over his late father’s kingdom…

 

On the night of his 16th birthday a large banquet was hosted at the palace with many guests from all over, including Atem and his sister Mana attended. The ball room was filled with men and woman dressed in the finest attired, dancing and socializing, servants walking around serving fine food and wine, ladies trying their best to flirt with the newest head of the Kaiba family. But none of them got further than introducing themselves as he pushed past them to greet the other guests…

 

The ball was under way when a storm came out of nowhere, lightning striking across the sky as raining was beating down on the roof of the castle, and the front doors are blown open as a large gust of wind fills the room…a hag covered in withered cloak stumbles her way into the grand palace. The party attendees looking at her in disgust as they tried to get out of her way as she made her way towards the eldest Kaiba, the tall brunet glaring at her, demanding to know who she was and why she was there. The old woman states that she was just looking for a place to stay for the night while she waits out the storm…pulling out a single red rose with black tips, offering it up to the Seto as payment for letting her stay.

 

The brunet throws his head back and laughs, stepping forward as he insults her and her offering, slapping it out of her hand and commanding her to leave. The hall is quiet for a moment before the lights in the ball room go out as a laugh echoes from the shadows…the shaking old hag slowly standing up straight, towering over the tall brunet as her cloak falls off her figure, her blood red hair flowing in the wind as her golden eyes glimmering brightly as her long black dress faded into the shadows beneath her feet, her arms covered in strange symbols covering her arms, the tips of her fingers blackened and her sharp teeth on full display as she smirked.

 

The shadows along the walls took the shape of monstrous creatures, roaring and hissing at the guests as they shrieked in fear as they ran out of the castle at the sight of these creatures and the witch that had interrupted the party…only a handful of people remaining, Atem and his sister being part of the group…

 

The strange woman grabs Seto by the throat and lifts him in the air, mocking him for how pathetic he had become and how he was unworthy of the name of Kaiba, how his father was more of a man than he would ever be as he had grown cold and selfish, thinking others beneath him…she threw him across the room, the teen hitting a wall as his brothers tries to get to him but the Egyptian Prince stops him, not wishing for the young boy to get hurt while trying to find a way to help his friend…

 

The red haired woman lefts her hand as the rose she had offered to Seto start to glow as it lifts into the air, the witches eyes starting to glow bright as well as the markings on her arms as she started to chant, her voice thundering through the halls as the remaining guests and servants are overwhelmed by shadows, the darkness seeping into their flesh as their body started to change, bones breaking, skin tearing, their screams of pain and agony fills the room…Seto is the last to become in trapped in the darkness, his body overcome with a pain he had never experienced before, not even the worst of Gozuburo’s punishments came close to this…

 

As the shadows cleared they left behind mutated versions of the people the witch had cursed, monstrous versions of who they once were…in the centre of it all was Kaiba…a set of large white wings protruding from his back, his arms, legs and torso covered in blueish scales, his fingers now claws, his teeth sharped, his pupils split like those of a dragon as his cheeks and jaw were covered in scales too, his hair whitened and the tips of his ears elongated into 3 webbed spikes…the witch smirks to herself as she glides over to him, dropping the mystical rose before him…saying in a sultry voice that she was not without mercy…

 

She would give him till his 21st birthday to break the curse she had placed upon him and the people within the castle…if he could learn to care and love another and get them to love him in return then the spell wold be broken…if not and his heart remained cold and selfish…then he would remain this way for eternity…the others condemned to the same fate…when the last petal falls she would return and seal his doom…

 

 

She disappeared, her dark laugh echoing across the land…her shadows and magic darkening the forest surrounding the castle, the trees itself becoming cursed as they grew tall and wicked, hiding the once glowing castle in the shadows…even the village and its inhabitants had their memories clouded so no one would remember the family and the grand structure that could be seen in the distance…

 

Seto Kaiba, humiliated and horrified by his appearance what he had brought upon those around him sealed himself away in his tower…with nothing but the rose safely put away under a glass dome and a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world (gifted his mother a long time ago)…

 

The years passed by as any hope of breaking the curse faded away…Seto giving into disappear…for who could ever learn to leave a beast?

 

 

Across the world at a port at a far off Japanese town, an old man and his two grandchildren were boarding a boat that would take them to a new land…beside him was a 16 year old girl with pale skin, blue eyes and long raven hair and on her back was an 11 year old boy with violet eyes and strange multi coloured hair that was tied back in spiked up pony tail, he looked a lot younger and smaller than what he actually was, people mistaking him for being 7 or 8. He looked sickly and pale, coughing every now and then as the girl tried to comfort her brother…she looked at the boat uncertainly as her grandfather held her hand, a soft smile on his face, promising her that leaving was the best chance that they had to finding a cure for her sick brother and that they would build their new life in a far off place…

 

She hoped he was right…

 

However she would only find what she was looking for 5 years later when she came across a dark castle not far from the village where her family had settled…coming across the monster that resided in its walls.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 21

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous chapter.

The subway rattled past midnight, a low hum filling the sleepy station. Morgan’s hand clenched tightly around the crumpled plastic baggie she’d sealed her tracking chip in, her other hand steadying herself against the subway pole. She glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of the man she’d chosen at random.

Extracting the chip had been a bitch to deal with, and her arm still ached and burned at the incision site. The amount of adrenaline that was coursing through her, however, kept it dulled somewhat. 

Trying not to be so obvious in her approach, she strode in the direction of an office worker slouched over, half-asleep in his rumpled suit. When she passed him, she brushed her hand against his messenger bag, slipping the chip inside the outer pocket with ease. She barely glanced back as she moved toward the doors, the worn metal gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

By the time she climbed the subway stairs into the cool night air, Morgan felt her heartbeat settle. She reached into her jacket pocket, feeling for the small device she’d crafted just days earlier. It was a simple-looking fob, an old car key, inconspicuous in her hand. No one at Vought had questioned her mechanical tinkering; they saw it as just another future asset. She’d let them believe that, right up until that night.

She had been leading a lot of people to believe a lot of things lately. Herself included. It was hard to say when her life had stopped being her own, but she was a far cry from who she wanted to be.

Maybe the real question was why she had let herself drift into Homelander’s orbit at all. A wise part of her had always known that he was no ordinary danger. He was volatile—a man raised in a cage of expectations, with no room for humanity or remorse. At that, he was driven by the narrative that he was above all others. 

And yet, she had looked at him and seen something different. Maybe that was why she’d stayed.

There were times when she felt like a fool for wanting to understand him, to reach for something better in him. He was a maelstrom of destruction wrapped in a powerful, lonely shell. But beneath the carnage, she could feel his fractures—tiny, almost imperceptible moments when the armor slipped and the shadows in his eyes softened. 

Those rare moments had tugged at her. They made her wonder if, perhaps, there was a chance he could become something better than what he’d been made to be. It was foolish, she knew, but it was also human. 

Hope could be a blinding thing.

Part of her felt pity for him, too. She had seen things that no one else could. There were dark memories of a boy robbed of family, robbed of choice, reshaped by Vought’s brutal ambitions. He hadn’t been given the luxury of innocence, and for that, she couldn’t hate him completely. 

Maybe that was where the danger had started. The line between sympathy and self-preservation was unbelievably thin. She could sense his pain in ways he would never admit, and it left her with a strange, and tragic compassion for him.

Morgan had spent enough time behind the walls of Vought to recognize what drove him, to know how fear could twist even the strongest into something monstrous. She’d seen glimpses of it in herself, the moments when she felt her own moral compass veering under the pressure of survival. And perhaps, on some level, her closeness with him was a mirror. It was a way to understand her own fears and the ways power could corrupt anyone, even herself.

Yet, it wasn’t just empathy that kept her close. There was a part of her, buried deep, that held to a hope she wasn’t proud of. She believed she was the only person who could truly understand him, that in her, he might find the reflection of the person he might’ve been if things had been different. She was haunted by the belief that, if she left, the fragile pieces of his humanity might shatter completely. So she’d stayed, drawn in by an ache to save him as much as she wanted to save herself.

Maybe it was selfish, too, to think she could be his conscience, his one tie to a world that held something beyond domination. But she couldn’t deny the way she felt when he looked at her, raw and unmasked, desperate for something he’d never admit he needed. The darkness was always there, but so was a flicker of something she couldn’t ignore. And even when it terrified her, it felt real in a way the rest of her life didn’t.

Somewhere along the way, pity and empathy had tangled with hope and loneliness, blurring the lines between necessity and desire. In him, she saw a reflection of all the things she tried to bury in herself. She saw her own fractures, regrets, and compromises she made just to survive another day at Vought.

But maybe that was why she knew she had to start over. She had seen the depth of his pain, but she also saw the price of staying too close to it. Loving him—if that was what it was—felt like living in the eye of a storm, aware that it could pull her under at any moment.

And maybe, it was time to let go of the idea of saving everyone but herself.

Pulling herself from her introspection, Morgan slipped through the quiet streets of Manhattan. Now her mind is churning through the details of her plan. 

She ducked into a nearby parking garage, heading for the car she’d prepped earlier, its license plates swapped and its GPS wiped clean. Settling into the driver’s seat, her hand instinctively brushed over the fob in her pocket. It was a lifeline she’d spent weeks refining. Each piece of it was made to slip her through Vought’s hold.

The city lights faded in her rearview mirror as she drove north, the night growing darker and the road stretching long and empty ahead of her. Towering trees soon closed in, their shadows swallowing the beam of her headlights as the winding path led her deeper into the woods. 

Vought had chosen well, hiding Becca and Ryan far enough from the city to keep them contained, yet close enough to remain within reach. Each mile she traveled felt heavier, her resolve sharpening as the forest thickened around her.

Finally, the compound walls loomed into view, cutting stark lines against the trees. The fob in her pocket hummed faintly, a barely-there reminder of the time ticking away as Morgan pulled up to the guard station. The suburban streets inside the Vought compound lay quiet under the streetlights, casting a muted glow over the carefully manicured lawns and houses lining the road. 

This place was built to look like a sanctuary, but she knew better.

Morgan touched the minds of the guards at the station, nudging them into a momentary lull. Their gazes unfocused and their hands settled back onto their laps as her vehicle rolled past the barrier without a hitch. 

She felt a small thrill of satisfaction. So far, the fob was jamming any surveillance from within the car, leaving her a narrow window to move unnoticed.

As she drove deeper into the neighborhood, her eyes traced the eerily perfect lines of hedges and the faint glow from curtained windows. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, each house she passed filling her with a low, simmering anger. 

This was no haven, despite its quaint facade. It was a cage made up to look like freedom, and Vought’s control was embedded in every inch of it.

Her mind circled back to the woman waiting at the end of this drive. Becca was more than a prisoner. She was a mother bound to this place by her son’s safety, tethered by a delicate fear that kept her rooted here. 

Morgan knew all too well how tightly fear could bind a person, and her gut tightened at the thought of how she’d convince Becca to break herself and Ryan away from this carefully maintained illusion.

When she finally reached Becca’s house, Morgan slowed, parking a little down the street to avoid drawing attention. She took a steadying breath, letting her telepathy stretch out like a silent knock against Becca’s consciousness, a gentle touch that conveyed a promise of safety. She couldn’t afford to startle her; every second counted.

Morgan’s feet barely made a sound as she moved up the path, her gaze fixed on the house. A faint light spilled from the living room window, casting a warm glow that felt strangely out of place against the cold, silent night. She could sense Becca’s presence inside. Her thoughts were a mixture of apprehension yet something expectant.

The porch steps creaked softly underfoot, and just as Morgan raised her hand to knock, the door opened a crack, spilling light across her face. Becca stood framed in the doorway. Her expression was a blend of caution and curiosity, as her tired eyes searched Morgan’s to gauge her intentions before a single word was spoken.

“He doesn’t know I’m here.” Morgan began, ready to put that particular worry to rest before it could be voiced. “Nobody does.”

Becca’s expression remained wary, her grip tightening on the doorframe. “You promised you’d come back, but I didn’t think it would be like this.”

Morgan held Becca’s gaze, her expression unwavering. “There’s not much time for me to answer all your questions, but I know what you’re thinking.” She said, pausing for just a moment. “I know what Homelander is. I know what he did to you, and my heart breaks for you and your son.”

The sharpness of Becca’s thoughts as her eyes narrowed almost made Morgan jump. It was hard to know what to say in a situation like that, but Morgan didn’t have time to show the equal parts compassion and deference Becca deserved. She was bound to say a few wrong things.

“And without getting too deep into the particulars, I’m here to offer you an out.” Morgan quickly continued. “I had hoped I could fix things, but I’m so far in over my head right now… Things aren’t going to get better unless I make them.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Becca asked, her suspicion interwoven with a cautiously hopeful curiosity. 

“We have to leave.” she cut straight to the heart of it. “You, me, Ryan–We all have to disappear to someplace he can’t reach us.”

Becca’s grip on the doorframe tightened, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “Disappear? You’re talking about uprooting my son, ripping him away from the only life he knows. Do you understand what you’re asking of me?”

Morgan’s gaze softened, but her tone remained firm. “I do, Becca. And I wouldn’t be here if I thought there was any other way. If you stay here, it’s just a matter of time before Vought finds a reason to bring him closer, to pull you both deeper into their control. And Homelander…” She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder as though his shadow could be lurking just beyond the porch. “He’s not going to stop at just showing up here every once in a while. He’ll take what he wants, and you know that includes Ryan.”

Becca’s eyes flickered with fear, but she shook her head. “And go where? Just vanish into thin air? They’ll come looking. They’ll hunt us down.”

Morgan took a step forward, urgency threading through her voice. “I have a plan. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but it’s a life where you won’t have to look over your shoulder every day, wondering when he’ll appear. I know how to protect all of us, but you’re going to have to put some faith in me.”

Becca’s jaw flexed as she considered Morgan’s words, a storm of emotions playing out in her gaze. “Faith in you? You’re asking me to trust you with my son’s life. You can’t just… You can’t just show up in the dead of night and expect me to say yes to this.”

With a steadying breath, she nodded slowly. “I know. And I’m not asking you to decide right now. But I need you to start preparing yourself, Becca. There’s only so much you can do here to protect Ryan. Sooner or later, Vought or Homelander will take him, and I won’t let that happen. Not to him, not to you.”

“And you?” Becca raised a brow, glancing pointedly at Morgan’s abdomen.

A hint of vulnerability flashed across Morgan’s face, but she held steady. “That’s another story, but I’m almost ready to pull the trigger on this.” Her voice dropped, a shadow passing over her expression. “I’ll have to make Vought believe I’m gone for good. That’s the only way to give you both a real chance.”

Becca looked away, the weight of it all settling in. “And how long would we have to wait?”

“Not long. I’ll do everything I can to make it quick, but until then… you have to be ready. Keep Ryan close, keep him safe. When the time comes, I’ll return, and we’ll leave this place behind. For good.”

A shaky breath escaped Becca's lips. She still looked uncertain, but that moment of hesitation told Morgan all she needed to know. “Alright. I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

Morgan contemplated reaching out, a gesture of quiet reassurance, but she refrained. “That’s all I’m asking. Just… be ready.”

With a final nod, Morgan stepped back, slipping into the shadows beyond the porch, casting one last glance over her shoulder. In the dim glow of the doorway, Becca’s eyes held a flicker of hope, mingling with doubt. Morgan couldn’t ignore the enormity of what she was asking Becca to consider.

As she walked back down the quiet street, her hand instinctively drifted to her abdomen, a gentle pressure reminding her of everything that spurred this plan. With each step, her chest felt like it was pulling tighter and tighter. It was a dangerous path forward, one that would sever every connection she had. But maybe, in that finality, she’d find the freedom they all deserved.

She would do whatever it took to see this through. As much as she wanted to hold out hope, as much as she wanted to cling to the tiniest slivers of silver linings, she knew better than that. They were playing by the house rules. 

She couldn’t let Vought win.

Song: Once Upon Another Time by Sara Bareilles “Once upon another time, Before I knew which life was mine.” Author’s notes: So, I don’t actually have much to say on this chapter. The pieces are all set, and the next few chapters are all pretty solidly in place. Some minor things to note! I added some cover art to the first chapter that matches a playlist I’ve curated of all the chapter titles. On that note, I’ve also forged ahead and put the next few chapter titles into the playlist as well. You’re welcome to check it out and speculate on what comes next!

Next chapter.

[amiratalks]

Amira’s family didn’t celebrate Christmas, not in any traditional sense. Though religious in their own right, they didn’t prescribe to any particular culture’s chosen entity. Their belief system relied less on a specific higher power and more on human nature. It felt more fitting to say that their faith depended on kindness and compassion. For Amira, her code of belief was that the ones who saved you, the ones who could grant you peace in whatever afterlife may exist, were those who remained behind; the ones who stood with you, loved you unapologetically, and reminded you of your place in the world. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in some sort of God, not by any stretch. She liked to think there was somebody up there, watching over her, guiding her along her journey. But her hope had slowly waned after what Pierre had done to her, moreso after her time on the streets. She found it hard to reconcile with the idea that there was somebody up there, aware of her plight, and making no efforts to save her. Perhaps that’s what Killian had been; some sort of saviour, a message from God, sent to keep her safe. She supposed she might never truly know. 

Amira was perched on the edge of a high-rise in Harlem, about 3 blocks from her old apartment. Her feet dangled over the edge, a fact that would have been sure to terrify Killian if he could see her now. He hated heights; if Amira could gorge herself on the look of unease that slid onto his features whenever she slipped out onto their fire escape, or dangled herself from her Aerial silks, she would be fed for years to come.  

Her gaze was fixed on an open space directly below, in the heart of Marcus Garvey Park. A huge marquee filled the space, large signs on each side that read Pace’s World of Whimsy. She knew it was dangerous, returning to the scene of the crime. Their arrival into the city had been the very thing that had driven her away, the sight of Pierre enough to send her spiraling. Yet now, she was transfixed; there was no sight of the boy who had hurt her, but instead her mother and father, welcoming punters with warm smiles on their faces. They’d aged in the years since Amira had seen them last, naturally, but they were still the parents she loved so dearly. She’d watched them set up the ticketing booth just an hour before, just 6am ready for their early bird first arrivals of the day. They worked hard, even over the holiday season. Their troupe had always been content to stop in bigger cities over the holiday period – never because they thought they’d make a killing off of tourists and families alike, though Amira knew their profits were through the roof at Christmas; parents and grandparents alike eagerly searching for ways to keep their children distracted and entertained for a couple of hours at a time. No, they did it because they genuinely enjoyed it, felt peaceful knowing that they were bringing joy to the lives of others. 

In a few days, with the New Year rolling around so soon, she knew they’d be gone. It might have been risky, stupid even, to come out to see them once last time, but she knew she’d regret it if she didn’t. She couldn’t live with herself if she hadn’t allowed herself one, lasting look at the two people who had given her life. She felt a pang in her chest as she thought of her brother Deen, disappointment clinging to her skin at the knowledge that she hadn’t managed to catch one glimpse of him, all grown up. She would make do with what she had, with the knowledge that the three of them were safe and sound, or as safe as anybody could be under the same roof as that monster. 

The silence was comfortable for Amira, her thoughts distracted as she watched them work, until a grating sound pulled her back to the roof. She heard the tell-tale creak of the fire escape door behind her, Amira’s hearing sharp and unrelenting even from a distance. She stiffened, wondering who could possibly be joining her up there; it was doubtful that another person had gotten the same idea as her, wanting to sit atop a 75-foot tall apartment complex, but it occurred to her that she might be about to get into some semblance of trouble. It was unlikely she was even meant to be up there. Amira twisted where she sat, surprised by the sound of pebbles underfoot; the sound was gentler than most footsteps, as though the person behind her was treading with care, trying to gain the upper hand. 

One palm flat against the edge of the building, she swung her legs up, slowly turning as she brought them back onto the safety of the roof, never losing purchase. Even weak and underfed, with trembling hands and an ache in her bones, she was steady on her feet. She’d never lost her touch, no matter how long she’d been away from the circus – if anything, a life on the streets had allowed her to hone her skills further, always looking over her shoulder, nurturing a gentle foot should she need a quick getaway. 

Content that she was now far enough away from the edge, she turned her attention back in the direction of the fire escape, lifting her head to see who had joined her. She had no idea who she’d been expecting, but the sight of Killian knocked the wind from her, Amira’s eyes widening in shock. 

“Kill?” she gasped, almost certain she was seeing things.  

She veered back, just an inch, the heel of her foot teetering off the edge of the building. She winced, gravel spilling down off the roof from impact, the sound of it rattling against windows like nails on a chalkboard. She steadied herself and took a few, slow steps forward. 

“What are you doing here?