#she only shows up briefly in fractured

[lyranova]

Cornelia Felicitas

Basic Information:

Name: Cornelia Felicitas

Nickname(s): Felicity (by Briar Rose), Cornie (by people who want to annoy her), Granny (by youngsters and Julius), Nelia (by her family), Lady of the Lake (official title).

Age: 36 (But is really over 496 years old)

Birthday: September 13th

Blood Type: B

Location: Clover Kingdom

Magic Affinity: Rock Dust Magic

Appearance:

Height: 5’5”

Build: Lean and average for someone her size

Eye Color: Amber

Hair: Violet purple, wavy due to living in water, rests just a little under her shoulders.

Clothing: 496 Years ago: A white crop top that comes up and wraps around her neck and shoulders, a pair of white shorts with a sheer white skirt over it, and a pair of sandals. Present Clothes: A strapless white top and a flowy high-low skirt with turquoise and gold trim and decorations on both, she wears a pair of large, flowy white sleeves that start from her upper arm and extend well past her hands. She also wears a pair of white, thigh-high boots with the same color and detail as her sleeves, top, and skirt.

Personality:

Cornelia is a calm woman who acts a lot older than what she is, which earned her the nickname “Granny” by people younger than her. She tends to have a strict “no nonsense” personality; however, she’s actually a big softie who has a caring heart.

She is very protective of people, even those she doesn’t know. All she wants is for everyone to be safe and cared for, even if that means she has to put herself at risk, or give up her life/things that are precious to her.

Despite her strict “no nonsense” personality, she is also a curious person who can’t help but investigate things that pique her interest and will occasionally appear childish. But once someone points that out she immediately goes back to her serious personality.

Background:

(The Lore for the Magic Stone comes from the lovely @koneko-pi !)

Cornelia was born in the Noble Realm of the Clover Kingdom. She is from a wealthy family and is the oldest of two girls, and she took her role as the elder sister very seriously.

One day, while out exploring the woods with her younger sister Emilie, she stumbled across a beautiful grey stone that was shaped like a shield but held two diamonds and a star in the center. Out of curiosity, she picked it up and began to inspect it, hoping to take it home and possibly make a necklace out of it.

However, as she and her sister were headed home, the pair were attacked by wild beasts that had come from the common realm. Due neither she nor her sister having strong attack spells, they opted to run and hide from the beasts, hoping that they could make it to the city where the newly formed Magic Knights were stationed.

But, unfortunately, they didn’t make it.

Out of desperation to save herself and her sister, she decided to use the Magic Stone’s powers to get rid of the beasts. And much to her surprise, it actually worked! The beasts had been killed, and she and her sister were safe.

Or, that’s what she thought.

After she used the Magic Stone, she suddenly felt intense feelings of anger and resentment fill her body; and a voice in her mind that wasn’t her own, began to scold and yell at her, telling her how dare she use the precious stone made and stolen from an ancient race for her own selfish needs.

And no matter how much she tried to argue with the stone, it was of no use. The anger and resentment overwhelmed her, and when she felt a hand on her shoulder, she immediately lashed out and attacked them, thinking that it may’ve been a beast.

But to her dismay and horror, it wasn’t a beast…it was her sister, Emilie, with a sword made from her Rock Dust magic impaled in her chest.

Cornelia will never forget the confusion, the sadness, and the hurt in her little sister's eyes as she died in her arms.

“ As I and my people have suffered due to the selfishness of other beings, so you too shall suffer due to your own selfishness.”

Thinking that the Magic Stone must be a cursed object, Cornelia, regrettably leaving Emilie’s lifeless body behind, ran away.

She ran through the woods, trying to get as far from civilization as possible, and only stopped when she stumbled across a hidden lake.

In anger, she began to throw the stone into the water…but paused just before she did; if this truly was a cursed object, and she threw it into the lake, wouldn’t that mean that someone else could stumble across it and accidentally use it?

With that thought in mind, she clung tightly to the Magic Stone, and walked into the lake…vowing that she wouldn’t let it fall into anyone else's hands.

For the next 486 years, Cornelia lived in that lake…guarding the “Cursed Object” from innocent people…

Trivia:

• Enjoys Wine, the older the better!

• Is a part-time healer that works with Owen

• But also works as an advisor to Julius when it comes to the Magic Stones and other things

• Is very strict, but is a big softie especially towards young people and animals

• Hates being called “Granny”, especially by Julius.

• Can’t stand anything scary

[kingofbodyrolls]

Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 2: who

You’re only human, and day by day, you find yourself falling for your neighbor—the world-renowned singer-songwriter, Jimin. But behind his dazzling smile lies a hidden fragility, a heart weighed down by unspoken sorrow. When his young daughter shows up at your door, her teary eyes and trembling voice telling you her father is crying, your heart skips a beat. Rushing to his side, you find him on the floor of his studio, surrounded by scattered papers and raw, unfiltered pain. Now, as his quiet strength falters, you’re left wondering—can you be the melody to soothe his fractured soul? Can you help him piece together the remnants of his broken heart?

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 8.8k → Warnings + triggers: mention of past bad relationships (only briefly mentioned), crying, pain, hurt (emotional), stereotypical assumptions, slight misunderstandings, protective and oblivious big brother Yoongi, Hwa-Young is so cute 😭 → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: waaaah 🤧 This chapter holds such a special place in my heart—it’s one of those moments that feels like capturing a fragile piece of the soul in words. There’s something tender, something magical about it... but I’ll let you discover that for yourself. I truly hope it speaks to you as deeply as it does to me 🫶💖 This whole story (which will be posted every Sunday for the next eight weeks) is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

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Jimin is the kind of neighbor who seems almost too good to be true. Warm, thoughtful, and effortlessly kind, he’s the type of person who lights up a space simply by existing. But there’s a shadow beneath his radiance—a quiet sadness that lingers in his faraway glances, in the melancholy chords of his songs. Despite his inviting smile, you can’t help but wonder what burdens his heart carries. Is it loss? Longing? The memory of someone who used to be here—perhaps the mother of his sweet, joyful daughter? The questions tug at your mind, but you hold them back. Curiosity simmers, yet you don’t dare pry into his private pain.

Since the day you introduced yourself, he’s gone out of his way to make you feel at home. In the past week, you’ve unpacked every last box, even posting an ad for someone to take them off your hands for reuse. And in that same time, Jimin has invited you into his cozy, art-filled home more times than you can count, eager to hear your thoughts on his lyrics. His daughter is just as charming as the house she brightens, her laughter filling every corner. Their kindness is so genuine, so disarmingly human, that you wonder how someone so well-known, so revered, could remain this grounded. You’d expected someone of his fame and talent to carry an air of distance, but Park Jimin is anything but.

“So, do you have the hots for him yet?” Namjoon teases, jabbing his fork into a helpless carrot on his plate.

The question hits like a snowball, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, turning them as pink as the cranberry sauce on your plate. “What? No!” you stammer, immediately looking away, out the frosted window of the restaurant. Outside, snowflakes swirl in the brisk wind, blanketing the streets in soft white. It’s warm inside, but the chill of Namjoon’s question lingers. Christmas is just around the corner, and yet, all you can think about is a certain neighbor with sad eyes and a voice that seems to carry the weight of the world.

When you don’t respond—don’t even lift your gaze from the table—Namjoon chuckles, the sound low and teasing. “So you do like him.”

A heavy sigh escapes you as you practically collapse against the table, your arms folding under you like a crumpled paper. “How can you blame me?” you groan, voice tinged with exasperation, though the tightness blooming in your chest says otherwise. Jimin’s face flashes in your mind—his warm smile, his soothing voice, the gentle way he looks at his daughter—and your heart betrays you, skipping a beat. “He’s just… he’s so good-looking, so sweet, so—kind. And don’t even get me started on his daughter. She’s the most precious kid I’ve ever met.”

“Wait,” you say suddenly, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though afraid the other restaurant patrons might overhear. “Did you know he had a daughter?”

Namjoon pauses, his glass of water halfway to his lips. He raises a brow. “I didn’t,” he admits, taking a sip. “But, honestly, it makes sense. The guy keeps his private life locked up tighter than a vault. I didn’t even know he lived out here in the sticks.”

You laugh softly, though there’s an edge of disbelief to it. “Right? I mean, the Park Jimin, living in some rundown neighborhood? When I found out he was my neighbor, I thought I was dreaming. But, seriously, why would someone like him live there? He’s famous. He has money. He could live anywhere—penthouse, sprawling mansion, you name it. So why here?”

The thought makes your cheeks burn, and you look down at your hands, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. You’re not sure if you’re embarrassed at the audacity of your questions or the fact that you’ve been thinking about this way too much.

Leaning forward, you rest your elbows on the table and let your words tumble out before you can stop them. “Joonie…” Your voice is quieter now, almost tender, as though you’re confessing something sacred. “Jimin seems so sad. He lives all alone with his daughter, and all of his songs—they’re so full of pain, of longing. Do you think…” You hesitate, swallowing hard, then press on. “Do you think all his songs are about his wife? Do you think she left him? Or…” You don’t finish the sentence.

Namjoon lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes as he sets his fork down with a clatter. “Slow down there, Miss Investigative Journalist.” He leans back in his chair, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. “First of all, did you even check if he had a ring on his finger? That might save you a lot of speculation. Second…” He points his fork at you for emphasis. “Why are you asking me? What do I know? I don’t have some magical hotline to his personal life. All I know is the guy is a phenomenal singer. If you’re that curious, why don’t you ask him yourself?”

His bluntness sends a blush creeping up your neck, but you manage a small laugh, shaking your head. “Ask him? Yeah, sure, Joonie. Hey, Jimin, so who broke your heart and why do you look so sad all the time? That’ll go over well.”

Namjoon smirks, raising a knowing brow. “Hey, you’re the one who’s dying to know. Maybe it’s time to stop speculating and start finding out.”

You let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the stool, the wooden legs creaking softly under your weight. “I didn’t see a ring,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “But… his daughter, Hwa-Young—she looked so sad when I asked about her parents. I don’t know. I don’t want to pry, but at the same time…” You trail off, glancing at Namjoon, your voice quieter now, hesitant. “I also don’t want to get involved in something complicated, you know?”

Namjoon doesn’t miss a beat. He throws his head back with a laugh, loud and carefree, drawing a few curious glances from the nearby tables. “You’re already thinking about dating the guy, and you barely know him?” he teases, shaking his head as he spears the last piece of chicken on his plate.

“I am not!” you shoot back, your cheeks flushing. You cross your arms, pouting slightly. “I’m just… trying to protect myself, okay? You know what happened last time. I’m not exactly great when it comes to men.”

Namjoon sets his fork down with a scoff, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Oh, trust me, I know. Thank god you never told your brother about Mark.”

At the mention of him, you groan, covering your face with your hands as a whirlwind of memories comes rushing back. Mark, with his sharp words and subtle lies that chipped away at you piece by piece. Controlling. Manipulative. Always holding you at arm’s length, but never letting you go. Everything Jimin doesn’t seem to be.

You peek at Namjoon through your fingers, your lips twitching into an incredulous smile. “Yoongi would’ve kicked his ass.” The thought is enough to make you burst into laughter, the sound coming unbidden and pure, like the first light after a storm. “Honestly, it’s probably for the best that he never found out what really happened with Mark.”

Namjoon’s grin widens as he nods, clearly enjoying the idea of your overprotective brother delivering swift justice. “Oh, no question. He’d have tracked the guy down, dragged him out of whatever hole he’s hiding in, and sent him running for the hills.”

You shake your head, laughing, the tension easing from your shoulders. The restaurant’s warm glow feels softer now, like a comforting blanket against the frost-laden world outside. You glance out the window, watching the snowflakes tumble lazily from the darkening sky, and push aside the lingering thoughts of the past.

By the time you’ve both polished off your plates, the conversation has shifted to lighter things—memories of college pranks, ridiculous holiday traditions—and the laughter between you and Namjoon feels like medicine.

After settling the bill, the two of you make your way to the cinema, the cold biting at your cheeks but doing nothing to dim the warmth between you. You tuck your scarf tighter around your neck as Namjoon buys tickets to the cheesiest Christmas movie playing, grinning like a kid as he hands you your popcorn.

The night stretches out before you like a quiet snowfall, soft and full of potential. And for a while, you let yourself get lost in it—lost in the glow of the screen, the sound of your best friend’s laughter, and the feeling that, maybe, just maybe, better days are finally ahead.

Days later, you find yourself nestled in Jimin’s living room, the soft hum of warmth from the fireplace wrapping around you like a blanket. Hwa-Young is curled up beside you, her bright, innocent energy a stark contrast to the quiet gravity of her father’s voice as he strums his guitar. The song he plays is one you heard last week, but hearing it live—here, in the heart of his home—feels different. Intimate. Raw.

“I’ll put it all on the line.I’ll be that someone she can count on.One, two, three, four, five…So many people to see.Places to go,”

His voice floats through the room, hauntingly beautiful, the kind of sound that lingers in the corners of your mind long after it’s gone. It’s even more mesmerizing live than it was over the radio. How many singers can claim that? His voice is unfiltered, rich, filled with a vulnerability that pulls you in like a tide you can’t resist.

You bop your head gently, letting the words soak into your skin, but your mind drifts, lingering on the mystery that surrounds him. Who is this song about? His lyrics feel personal, like fragments of his soul laid bare, and you can’t help but wonder about the story behind them. He’s not wearing a ring—but not all married or widowed men do. And then there’s Hwa-Young, undeniable proof that a woman once held a place in his life. Where is she now?

Hwa-Young slides closer to you, her small hands tugging at your sleeve as she giggles, her laughter light and free. “Ain’t daddy amazing?” she says, her voice brimming with pride. She flashes you a smile so bright it could rival the glow of the lights strung along the window. “He writes all his lyrics himself.”

You glance at her, then back at Jimin, who’s still lost in his music, his blonde hair falling slightly into his eyes as he leans into the melody. You nod, lowering your voice to a whisper as you reply, “That’s incredible. He’s amazing.”

And he really is. Every note, every word, every small kindness he’s shown you since the day you knocked on his door confirms it. But as much as you’re drawn to his talent and the warmth he and his daughter exude, there’s something else—a shadow in his gaze, a sadness woven into his songs. You know sadness isn’t a fault, but you can’t help but wonder if it’s a key to the puzzle of who he is and the life he’s lived.

You find yourself staring at him a moment longer than you probably should, the sound of his music echoing in your chest, making your heart ache for reasons you can’t quite name.

Jimin’s fingers glide over the strings, each delicate stroke coaxing the guitar to sing. His voice follows, soft and earnest, like a confession carried on a fragile breeze. The melody wraps itself around you, filling the room with a warmth that seems to melt even the winter frost outside.

“We never met, but she’s all I see at night.Never met, but she’s always on my mind.Wanna give her the world. And so much more.Who is my heart waiting for?Is she someone that I see every day?Is she somewhere a thousand miles away?”

The words weave their way into your chest, stirring something unfamiliar yet comforting. You can’t help but feel the faint flutter in your heart, your cheeks heating as his voice dips lower, like a secret meant for only you to hear. And in that moment, you understand. You understand why millions of people adore him—not just because he’s an artist, but because he’s an open wound made beautiful, a man unafraid to bare his soul in his music.

It isn’t just his voice or his lyrics, though both are stunning. It’s him. His presence, his kindness, his quiet humility. The way he feels so human and yet otherworldly at the same time. It’s impossible not to feel flustered under the gravity of who he is, as if he has a way of making you forget the rest of the world exists.

The song begins to fade, his voice softening, the strumming of his guitar slowing like the end of a heartbeat. A stillness settles over the room, fragile and delicate, as if even breathing too loudly might shatter it.

Hwa-Young, oblivious to the sudden weight in the air, turns to you, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Y/N, do you have a boyfriend?”

Her question feels like a pebble tossed into a quiet lake, sending ripples through the silence. Jimin’s fingers falter, the music stopping abruptly, leaving the air heavy with unspoken tension. His gaze flickers to you, unreadable, and you feel the heat of his attention settling on your already burning cheeks.

You laugh nervously, a sound that feels too sharp in the gentle atmosphere of the room. “I don’t,” you manage, your voice betraying the sudden tightness in your chest.

But why does your heart race? Why does the admission of your single status feel like something monumental here, in this room, in the presence of Park Jimin? You haven’t thought about relationships in so long—not since Mark left you in pieces, his manipulation and control carving wounds you thought would never heal. You’d sworn off men like him, sworn off feeling this kind of vulnerability ever again.

So why, now, do you feel as though a single glance from Jimin could undo all those walls? Why does the quiet between you feel louder than the song he’d just played?

Hwa-Young giggles, her innocence breaking the moment, but your thoughts linger, circling around questions you can’t yet answer.

Jimin offers you a soft smile, the kind that feels warm but weighted with unspoken thoughts. You sense his gaze lingering, yet you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. Something about the moment feels too tender, too fragile to face head-on.

“My dad is single too,” Hwa-Young chimes in, her cheerful tone catching you off guard. Your cheeks burn again, and you feel as though your entire face might combust. Is she… is she trying to play matchmaker with her father? The idea stirs an unexpected mix of flustered amusement and… something you can’t quite name. But if he’s single, then does that mean…?

Jimin shifts in his chair, resting his arms casually against the curve of the guitar, though his expression turns gentle, serious. “Hwa-Young��s mother passed away shortly after she was born,” he says softly, his voice carrying a heaviness that lingers in the air, wrapping around the room like a cloud.

The words hit you like a sharp wind. Your heart clenches as you glance at Hwa-Young, who sits beside you, still smiling, though it’s tinged with something wistful and bittersweet. She probably doesn’t remember her mother at all. And Jimin… Jimin is a widower. A young widower. You can’t help but wonder how he’s carried that weight for so long, raising his daughter with such love and kindness despite the ache that must linger in the quiet moments.

“She was daddy’s best friend,” Hwa-Young adds, looking up at you with a small, melancholy smile. Her words make your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected, the sweetness of her tone laced with an understanding far beyond her years.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you murmur, the lump in your throat growing harder to swallow as you address them both. Your thoughts are tangled, a mix of sorrow for their loss and admiration for the strength it must take to carry on.

A question bubbles to your lips before you can stop it, driven by the weight of curiosity and compassion. “Is Hwa-Young’s mother who you’re singing about?” The words escape before you can think better of them, and your face instantly flushes with regret. You bite your lip and lower your gaze, berating yourself for prying into something so intimate.

But Jimin doesn’t seem offended. If anything, his smile remains, soft and calm, like the steady rhythm of a tide. He leans forward slightly over his guitar, the warm tones of his voice easing your nerves. “Not really,” he replies with an almost bittersweet chuckle. “I just like singing about love… because I’ve never really experienced it.”

His confession catches you off guard. You blink, taken aback, his words echoing in your mind. Never experienced love? How could someone like him—a man who seems to pour so much longing and devotion into his music—have never truly felt the very thing he sings about?

“But what about…?” you begin hesitantly, the words fumbling on your tongue as you glance at Hwa-Young. You don’t know how to frame the question, don’t know how much Jimin has shared with his daughter about her mother. You don’t want to tread on sacred ground, but the curiosity burns too brightly within you.

Jimin tilts his head slightly, watching you with a knowing look, as if he can read every thought racing through your mind. The room feels smaller now, quieter, as you wait for his response.

“Oh. Jiwoo and I were never in love,” Jimin says softly, his words gentle but sure, carrying the weight of a truth long settled. “She was just my best friend.” His tone holds no bitterness, only the quiet grace of someone who has long made peace with the past.

Before you can respond, Hwa-Young slides down from the couch, her laughter light and airy as she runs to her father. Jimin sets the guitar carefully on the floor, opening his arms just in time for her to leap onto his lap. She settles there with the ease of someone who knows she’s always welcome, her joy radiating as he threads his fingers tenderly through her chestnut hair. She giggles at his touch, her laugh as pure as a bell.

The sight pulls at your heart, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest. There’s something about the way Jimin looks at her, his entire being devoted to this moment, that makes it hard to look away. You feel a small smile tugging at your lips, your eyes prickling with tears you can’t explain.

“So…” you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the delicate warmth in the room. “You’re looking for love?”

Jimin glances up at you, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. “Kind of, yeah,” he admits with a soft chuckle, and then grins, teasingly adding, “But love songs also make me a lot of money.”

Before you can react, Hwa-Young chimes in, flashing a proud smile. “We’re rich!” she declares, her enthusiasm unfiltered and unapologetic.

Jimin bursts into laughter, his shoulders shaking as he looks at his daughter. “Hwa-Young,” he says with gentle patience, “we’ve talked about this. We don’t go around saying we’re rich.” He leans down slightly, catching her gaze. “Yes, we have money. But we’re just like everyone else.”

Hwa-Young’s cheeks flush pink as she looks down, sheepishly nodding. “Oh, sorry, I forgot.”

“It’s okay,” Jimin says, brushing off her embarrassment with a warm smile. He tousles her hair affectionately, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, which draws another giggle from her.

The scene before you is almost too much—too warm, too full of love, too foreign to your own experience—and yet you can’t bring yourself to look away. Instead, you sit there, taking it all in, the ache in your chest mingling with a kind of longing you don’t quite know how to name.

This bond Jimin has with his daughter—this easy, overflowing love—reminds you of something you once had, something you still miss deeply. It’s the kind of connection you shared with your dad, back when his hugs felt like a shield from the world and his laughter made everything seem lighter. Warm and unconditional.

You swallow hard, suddenly aware of how rare this feeling is in your life now. Men have always seemed distant, their affections guarded or transactional. Whatever Jimin has in his heart, it’s something entirely different—something you haven’t found in romance and can’t help but yearn for.

And as you sit there, watching him whisper something to Hwa-Young that sends her into another fit of giggles, you wonder—not for the first time—if you’ve spent too long searching in the wrong places.

Days have blurred into weeks, a gentle rhythm forming in your life. Most evenings, you find yourself at Jimin’s house, Hwa-Young nestled comfortably in your lap, her laughter ringing out like wind chimes as Jimin’s fingers dance over guitar strings. His voice fills the room, tender and haunting, and you let it wrap around you like a warm blanket after a long day. On the weekends, when you’re not exhausted from work, you sit there longer, hours slipping away in a haze of quiet conversations, soft melodies, and the kind of peace you haven’t felt in years.

You wouldn’t call it romantic—at least not yet. But there’s something about being near him, hearing his voice, watching the way he interacts with his daughter, that makes your chest feel a little lighter, your smile a little wider. It’s enough for now, and that alone feels like a gift.

Today is a rare day off, a pause in the steady hum of life. Bundled up against the cold, you step outside to toss your trash, the crisp winter air nipping at your cheeks. As you near the bins, you notice Jimin on the same errand. His silhouette is soft against the gray sky, breath rising in small, fleeting clouds. When he spots you, his expression brightens, and he lifts a hand to wave before crossing the short distance to you.

“Not working today?” he asks, his voice warm against the chill as he offers you one of those soft, heart-stopping smiles that always seem to linger on his pink lips.

You shake your head, a grin tugging at your own mouth. “Nope. I’m on vacation until after New Year’s.”

“Lucky you,” he says, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

“I did,” you say with a nod, the memory bringing a flicker of warmth to your face. “What about you guys?”

“We had a great time,” he replies, his smile widening. “Hwa-Young’s grandparents came over, along with my parents and grandparents. It was nice.”

He pauses, tilting his head slightly as his eyes sweep over you. “Are you freezing?”

You laugh softly, though your chattering teeth betray you. “A little,” you admit, bouncing slightly on your feet in an attempt to ward off the biting cold.

Jimin chuckles, the sound low and warm, and then his expression shifts, thoughtful. “You know,” he begins, “you’ve never shown me your place. Mind if I come over and see it?”

His question catches you off guard, and your cheeks flush a shade of red that has nothing to do with the temperature. You fumble for a response, nodding quickly, your breath misting in the air as you manage to mumble, “Sure.”

“Great,” he says, and you swear his smile softens even further as he falls into step beside you, his presence as easy and natural as the falling snow.

As you lead him toward your door, you can’t help but feel a flutter of nerves mix with excitement. For weeks now, you’ve been a guest in his home, soaking in the warmth and love that radiates there. And now, for the first time, he’s stepping into your space, a piece of your world.

You let Jimin step inside, his presence filling the quiet space like a comforting hum. You’ve never known someone who could so effortlessly invite themselves over without it feeling awkward, but somehow, with him, it’s different—endearing, even. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself, or the subtle confidence in his smile. Still, you can’t help but wonder what could possibly interest him about your small, modest home.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” he says as his gaze drifts over your living room, and something about his tone makes you pause. You realize he must have known the people who lived here before.

“Oh, um, thanks,” you murmur, shifting your weight slightly before offering, “Would you like some tea?”

He nods, his smile softening as he walks to your sofa and settles onto it, as if he belongs there. “Yes, thank you,” he says warmly, his voice carrying the quiet ease of familiarity.

You move to the kitchen, the gentle clinking of mugs and the quiet hiss of boiling water filling the air as you prepare the tea. When it’s ready, you return, the cups warm in your hands, and you sit down beside him. It’s only then, as you hand him his mug and feel the heat from his arm so close to yours, that it hits you—this is the first time you’ve been alone with Jimin. Without Hwa-Young’s cheerful chatter filling the air, the room feels heavier, more intimate.

“Where’s Hwa-Young?” you ask, the question escaping your lips before you can stop yourself.

Jimin’s smile deepens, his expression softening in that way it always does when he talks about his daughter. “She’s at school. They’re offering extra classes today.”

You nod, sipping your tea, the delicate warmth spreading through your chest. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged in a way you can’t quite explain. It lingers, stretching like the glow of sunset before nightfall, until Jimin shifts slightly, turning toward you.

“I actually wanted to thank you,” he says, his voice low, sincere, and when you glance at him, your brows furrow in confusion. He chuckles at the look, shaking his head slightly before continuing, “For being so kind to Hwa-Young.”

His words catch you off guard, and your heart twists as you see the gratitude in his eyes. You can’t help but smile back, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course! She’s so sweet and cute—it’s impossible not to love her,” you say, the image of her bright smile flashing in your mind.

Jimin chuckles softly, but there’s something else in his expression—something wistful. He takes another sip of tea, his gaze drifting for a moment before he murmurs, “Not everyone finds her sweet.”

His words are quiet, almost as if spoken to himself, but they linger in the air, heavy with meaning. You blink, surprised, your curiosity bubbling to the surface before you can stop it. “Why?”

The single word slips out, unguarded, and as soon as you say it, you feel your cheeks flush. But Jimin doesn’t seem to mind. He sets his mug down gently on the table, his fingers brushing against the handle, and his gaze meets yours.

Jimin’s lips part, and you know he’s about to say something—something that feels heavy and important—but before the words can form, the faint scrape of metal against metal cuts through the moment. A key slides into the lock, followed by the soft click of the door swinging open. The chill of winter slips in, brushing against your skin and swirling into the warmth of the room. You instinctively turn your head toward the entrance, your breath hitching as your brother, Yoongi, steps inside.

You recognize him immediately—not just by sight, but by the familiar rhythm of his grumbling and the huff of annoyance that escapes his lips as he wrestles with an armful of grocery bags. Only Yoongi, you think, would crash into your life unannounced and utterly unapologetic. After all, it’s only him and Namjoon who have a spare key to your place. But still—why now? Why does it have to be now of all times?

Yoongi’s presence is as it always is: sharp-edged, protective, and oddly comforting. For a man who once told you to “be a grown-ass adult,” he sure as hell has a habit of showing up with groceries and cooking dinner for you like it’s a duty he’s assigned himself. You’ve long since stopped questioning it. This is how Yoongi loves—through the quiet, practical acts of care that speak volumes even when his words don’t.

He steps into the living room, his boots leaving faint marks of melted snow on your floor. But then he stops, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of you and Jimin sitting side by side on the sofa. His gaze flits between the two of you, sharp and assessing, and his lips press into a line.

“Hi,” he says at last, his voice low and raspier than usual, the single word carrying more weight than it should.

“Hi,” you reply flatly, trying to mask the unease creeping into your chest. From the corner of your eye, you notice Jimin glance at you, his brow furrowing in quiet curiosity. He doesn’t say anything, but the unspoken question hangs in the air.

You wave a dismissive hand toward your brother. “Just put it in the kitchen,” you say, gesturing at the bags he’s still holding. Anything to break the tension, to redirect the moment back to something mundane. But as Yoongi moves toward the kitchen, the clatter of grocery bags and the hum of the fridge door opening do little to quiet the storm of thoughts brewing in your head.

What had Jimin been about to say? Would he pick up the thread again, or was the moment already gone?

When Yoongi finishes unpacking, he saunters back into the living room with the slow, deliberate gait of someone who knows how to make their presence known. His gaze flicks between you and Jimin once more, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Aren’t you going to say thank you?” he asks, his voice light but tinged with mock annoyance.

It’s such a Yoongi thing to say—half-serious, half-teasing, his version of poking at you just to see how you’ll react. You sigh, rolling your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch upward despite yourself.

You huff, crossing your arms as you fix your brother with an exasperated glare. “Yeah, yeah, thank you so much,” you mutter, waving him off with a flick of your hand. But Yoongi doesn’t head back to the kitchen. Instead, his eyes widen, darting between you and the man sitting beside you.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, his voice low but loaded with incredulity. His gaze locks onto Jimin like he’s just uncovered a secret scandal. “Is that… is that Park Jimin?”

You groan, rolling your eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t stay stuck. “Yeah,” you reply, deadpan. “He’s my neighbor.”

Yoongi’s mouth opens slightly, as if he’s struggling to process this groundbreaking revelation. “You never told me that,” he accuses, his tone dripping with disbelief, as though withholding this information is some heinous crime.

Jimin, to his credit, sits there gracefully, his eyes flitting between you and Yoongi, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He shifts slightly in his seat, clearly unsure whether to be flattered or just let the moment pass.

You sigh, feeling heat creep into your cheeks. “This is my big brother, Yoongi,” you say, gesturing toward him with the weariness of someone who knows this interaction is going to get worse before it gets better.

Jimin tilts his head in greeting, his posture as warm and composed as ever, and then extends his hand, palm steady and inviting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice velvet-smooth.

Yoongi, of course, isn’t one to miss a beat. He grins, flashing his signature gummy smile as he takes Jimin’s hand in his own. “The pleasure’s all mine. My wife is obsessed with you.”

And there it is—that word. Obsessed. You cringe, the flush in your cheeks deepening until it feels like your face could rival the color of the setting sun. You sink slightly into the sofa cushions, wishing they’d just swallow you whole. Who isn’t in love with Jimin? you think, casting a side glance at the man in question.

Jimin chuckles softly, a sound that feels like the crackle of a cozy fireplace, and you catch a faint blush rising up his neck, settling on his cheeks. It’s subtle, but it’s there—proof that even someone as seemingly untouchable as him can get flustered. He doesn’t say anything to Yoongi’s comment, just offers a polite smile and a quiet laugh.

Yoongi, oblivious—or maybe purposefully oblivious—plops himself into the armchair directly across from the two of you. The chair creaks slightly under his weight, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as if settling in for a long interrogation.

“So…” Yoongi begins, his tone annoyingly casual. “What were you two talking about?”

You clench your teeth, trying to stave off the irritation rising in your chest. Yoongi might as well have brought a flashing neon sign reading “Third Wheel” and planted it in your living room. Couldn’t he see that he was interrupting? Couldn’t he feel the delicate atmosphere he’d just shattered?

You shoot him a pointed look, silently willing him to disappear back into the kitchen—or, better yet, back to wherever he came from with those damn groceries. But Yoongi doesn’t budge. He sits there, grinning, blissfully ignorant—or perhaps intentionally obtuse—as if his mere presence isn’t practically cockblocking you.

You glance at Jimin, wondering if he feels the shift, the way the air between you had been light and full of possibility just moments ago, only to be deflated by your brother’s untimely arrival. But Jimin doesn’t seem annoyed. Instead, he looks… entertained. Like this is some private little comedy show unfolding before him.

You can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.

You don’t say anything. The words sit heavy on your tongue, tangled in hesitation, because continuing this conversation feels too personal—too vulnerable—especially with your brother sitting there like an uninvited witness. Jimin, perceptive as ever, is quick to steer the moment in another direction. His voice is a balm, smooth and unhurried.

“I was just asking your sister if she’d like to come see me perform at my concert in May,” he says, his eyes shifting toward you, warm and expectant.

Your head snaps up, and you gape at him, blinking as if you’ve misheard. Does he mean his sold-out stadium tour? Your heart stumbles over itself, and beside you, Yoongi looks just as stunned, his jaw slack. You can practically see the wheels turning in his head—probably imagining being in your shoes just so he could make his wife’s wildest dreams come true.

“Ehm… yeah, if you want me there?” you manage to stammer, the words slipping out in a breathless, uncertain tumble. You can’t tell if it’s a question or an answer. You’re too taken aback to know.

“Of course,” Jimin replies, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips, his gaze lingering on you in a way that feels both casual and intimate. “You’ve helped me so much these past weeks. It’s the least I can do.” His hand brushes against your thigh—light, fleeting, but electric.

For a moment, your entire world narrows to the warmth of his touch, the gentle cadence of his voice. The blood rushes to your face, heat pooling in your cheeks, and you feel like you might combust right there on the sofa. If only Yoongi weren’t sitting directly across from you, his hawk-like gaze taking in every detail, his brow furrowed as if mentally cataloging the scene to interrogate you later.

“Backstage pass, too,” Jimin adds casually, as though he hasn’t just turned your world upside down.

You barely nod, unable to form a coherent thought. Yoongi, however, stares at you, his expression flitting between disbelief and muted jealousy. You avoid his gaze, knowing full well what’s going through his mind: Why didn’t you tell me Park Jimin was your neighbor? His wife would combust on the spot if she ever found out.

Moments later, Jimin rises, his presence still lingering even as he moves toward the door. “I should head back,” he says, his voice warm, though you can sense his reluctance to leave.

You trail behind him to the door, your heart pounding. “Thank you,” you manage softly as he slips on his shoes.

He turns back, his smile lighting the space between you. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

You nod, unable to do much else as the door clicks shut behind him, and the room plunges into a momentary stillness.

But the peace doesn’t last.

The second the door closes, Yoongi’s voice cuts through the quiet like a crack of thunder. “Why didn’t you tell me Park Jimin is your neighbor?” His tone is sharp, his eyes narrowing at you with all the intensity of an older brother who feels personally wronged.

You sigh, crossing your arms in a gesture of defiance. “Because I don’t want you telling your wife,” you shoot back, leveling him with a pointed look. “The man deserves some privacy, and I know exactly what would happen if you let her find out. She’d be at my place every day trying to ‘bump into him.’ No, thank you.”

Yoongi scoffs, clearly unimpressed with your reasoning. “You act like I’d tell her on purpose,” he grumbles, though his tone betrays his guilt.

“You would tell her,” you counter, your voice firm. “Maybe not on purpose, but you wouldn’t be able to keep it to yourself. One glass of wine at dinner and it’d slip out.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to argue, then seems to think better of it. Instead, he leans back in the chair with a resigned huff. “Fine,” he mutters. “But if you end up dating the guy, you have to let me and my wife meet him.”

You roll your eyes, exhaling in frustration as you grab one of the throw pillows and hurl it at him. “Get out of my business, Yoongi.”

But even as you say it, you can’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. Because for all his meddling, Yoongi is still your brother—and no matter how annoyed you feel in the moment, there’s comfort in knowing he’ll always be there, grocery bags in hand, ready to pry into your life whether you like it or not.

Still, as you glance at the empty spot where Jimin had been sitting just minutes ago, you can’t help but feel the shift in the air—the quiet sense of something new blooming, fragile and undefined, but full of possibility.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and the world outside hums with the anticipation of fireworks and fleeting resolutions, but you’ve chosen solitude. For once, you’ve turned down your friends’ lively invitations and decided against more time with family—Christmas was enough. Tonight, it’s just you, the quiet of your home, and the comforting glow of your playlist.

Jimin’s voice drifts through the room, one of his songs filling the air like a soft embrace. You sway to the rhythm, your body moving without thought, the melody wrapping around you until it feels like a conversation—a secret shared between the two of you.

Then comes the knock, sharp and unexpected. It cuts through the moment like a thread snapping, and you pause the music, your feet hesitating as you move toward the door.

When you open it, your heart clenches at the sight before you. Hwa-Young stands there, her small frame trembling, her tiny face scrunched with worry. Her lower lip quivers, and her breath fogs in the cold air.

“Daddy’s crying,” she says, her voice cracking, a heartbreaking sniffle escaping her. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

The ache in your chest tightens, but there’s no time to think. Grabbing your keys and slipping on your shoes, you pull her into a quick hug before locking the door behind you. The icy air bites at your skin as you walk her back to her house, your heart thundering in your chest.

Jimin’s crying? The thought pounds in your mind, relentless. The man who seems to hold everything together, even when the edges fray—what could make him cry? The worry claws at you as you follow Hwa-Young inside, her tiny hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

As soon as the door closes behind you, you hear it—soft, raw, unguarded. The sound of Jimin crying seeps into the air, low and melodic in a way that only he could make heartbreak sound beautiful. But it’s a beauty that twists your stomach into knots.

Hwa-Young leads you toward his studio, her steps hesitant but trusting. And there he is, seated on the floor amidst a sea of scattered paper, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed. A pen trembles in his hand, a few smudged lines of ink staining the page beneath it. Tears drip from his cheeks, dotting the paper like the punctuation of sorrow.

You step forward, slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal. Sitting down beside him on the floor, you glance back at Hwa-Young, who hovers in the doorway, her wide eyes fixed on her father.

“What’s wrong?” you ask softly, your voice a whisper meant to break through the fragile moment without shattering it. You want to reach out, to touch him, to offer some piece of comfort, but you hold back. This is his pain, his space—you can’t rush into it uninvited.

Jimin lifts his head slightly, sniffling as he swipes at his tear-streaked face with the back of his hand. “Oh,” he breathes, his voice hoarse but still laced with that quiet magic that lingers even in his brokenness. “I’m just trying to write a song.”

His words catch you off guard, simple yet heavy, as if they carry more weight than he’s letting on. You glance down at the scattered papers and see fragments of lyrics—lines crossed out, others rewritten, the ink blurred where his tears have fallen.

Your chest tightens as you realize the depth of his struggle. Writing isn’t just an act for him—it’s a pouring out of his soul, and tonight, it seems that soul is heavier than it can bear.

“Jimin…” you murmur, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, a wish to ease the ache you see in him. He doesn’t meet your gaze, his eyes fixed on the paper as if searching for answers in the empty spaces between the lines.

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes still rimmed with a faint redness, and then looks past you to his daughter. “Ah, did you get worried, Hwa-Young?” His voice is gentle, like a melody subdued by sadness, a softness meant only for her.

She nods, her small fists rubbing at her tear-streaked cheeks. “Yeah,” she sniffs, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to see daddy cry.”

Before you can react, she runs to him, her tiny arms flinging themselves around his neck with such force that he nearly topples backward. He catches her in his embrace, holding her tightly, like she’s the anchor keeping him grounded. He presses a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there as though drawing strength from her. “I’m okay,” he murmurs against her hair, his voice low but steady. “Sometimes writing hurts a little. But it’s a good kind of pain.”

“But I’m good, I promise,” he says, pulling back just enough to cup her cheek. His thumb brushes away the lingering tears as his expression softens, the corners of his lips curling into a faint smile. She studies him for a moment, her worried eyes searching his face for any cracks in the truth, but she seems to believe him—or at least want to.

“Okay,” she whispers, her shoulders relaxing.

You take her calming presence as your cue. Shifting slightly on the floor, you ask gently, “Do you want to talk about the lyrics?”

His lips press together, and you notice the way he chews on the inside of his bottom lip, hesitant. But after a moment, he nods, the vulnerability in his expression clear. “Yeah, okay.”

Hwa-Young slides off his lap, still watching him protectively, and retreats to the couch with a little bounce, her legs swinging off the edge. She doesn’t go far—close enough to keep him in her line of sight but distant enough to give you space. You and Jimin remain seated on the floor, papers sprawled around you like autumn leaves scattered by a restless wind.

“Alright,” he says softly, picking up a page and smoothing out the creases with his fingertips. He pauses for a moment, gathering himself, and then reads aloud, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. 

“Even if you try to make believable excuses again, even if you try to close your eyes and turn away, you know that it’s already broken, that it can’t be reversed.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and unyielding, like the ache of something lost. You sit with them for a moment, letting their weight settle over you, your chest tightening at the raw beauty of his sorrow.

“Do you really think some things can’t be reversed?” you ask finally, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid of breaking the spell.

He shrugs one shoulder, a small, almost self-deprecating smile ghosting across his lips. “I think... maybe some things can. But not everything. There are cracks too deep, things shattered too completely. Sometimes, you just... can’t put it back together.”

His gaze shifts downward, his fingers toying with the edge of the paper, as though the lyrics themselves hold the answers he’s searching for. There’s a quiet sadness in his words, an acceptance of something unspoken, and you can’t help but wonder what he’s alluding to.

You nod slowly, the truth of his words sinking in, even if you don’t fully understand what’s behind them. “Your lyrics...” you pause, searching for the right way to describe them, “they’re painfully beautiful. They feel like they come from somewhere deep.”

His eyes flicker back to you, and for a moment, you see a flash of gratitude—or perhaps relief—in his expression. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word simple but heartfelt. “It’s... complicated, you know?”

You glance at the chaotic scrawl on the page, the ink etched like unspoken confessions. “Do you have more?” you ask softly, your voice barely breaking the stillness.

Jimin’s gaze lowers, his lips parting as though the words might resist leaving him. But then, they pour out, raw and unguarded. 

“When falling asleep, drunk,And being unable to remember anything,I thought about it, “what am I doing now?”Why am I the only one like this—no, everyone is like this.The me who pretends to be okay every time,I find him pathetic.” 

His voice wavers, each word heavy with the ghosts of emotions too painful to name.

The weight of his words hits you like a wave, swelling in your chest, rising to your throat. You feel your eyes sting, and you blink hard against the tears threatening to spill. Is that really how he feels? Or how he has felt? The thought aches, cutting deep into you.

“It’s not really how I feel right now,” he murmurs, but his voice cracks under the strain, a betrayal of the truth that lingers beneath. “But these are feelings I’ve had before, and...” His voice falters, choked by the weight of what he’s carrying.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, your own voice thick with emotion. Without hesitation, you slide closer to him, wrapping him in a hug that feels both fragile and firm. Your hand finds his, trembling slightly, and you trace soft circles on his skin, hoping to ground him, to offer something—anything—that might soothe him.

At first, he doesn’t move, his breath shuddering as if holding back. But then, he crumbles, his head falling against your shoulder as his tears come freely. The sound of his crying is quiet but heart-wrenching, and all you can do is hold him, cradling his pain as though it were your own.

After a moment, he pulls back slightly, his face still streaked with tears but his voice steadier now. “I’ve written more,” he says, sliding another paper across the floor toward you. His fingers tremble as they release it.

You pick up the page, your eyes scanning the ink smudges that seem almost like tear stains. You take a breath and begin to read aloud, your voice catching as the words unravel before you. 

“The same day all over,goes by, yet again. How long should I endure through this? To be able to return...”

The words linger in the air, heavy and sharp as glass, and your voice falters, the ache in his handwriting so palpable it feels as if it’s cut into you too. You set the paper down carefully, as though it’s something precious and breakable, and look at him, your heart twisting.

“Oh, Jimin,” you breathe, your voice barely audible. It’s all you can say. Words feel too small for the depth of what you’re witnessing. You pull him into another hug, tighter this time, as if trying to physically piece him back together, though you know that’s impossible.

His head rests against yours, and you hear his breath hitch, feel the faint tremor that still runs through him. In this moment, you realize that being here, holding him, is the only thing you can do. You can’t rewrite his past, can’t undo the pain that shaped these lyrics, but maybe—just maybe—your presence is enough to remind him that he doesn’t have to carry it alone.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice catching on the edges of his words as he looks up at you, his eyes glistening with lingering emotion. “Sometimes writing can be... exhausting. Emotionally, mostly. It’s like digging up the past, uncovering feelings I thought I’d buried, things I’ve been trying to ignore. But turning them into music—it helps. It’s like breathing life into the pain, giving it purpose.”

You nod, feeling the weight of his confession settle into the quiet space between you. “I get that,” you murmur. “I’m just glad I can help, even if it’s only a little.”

His gaze softens, gratitude radiating from his tired but sincere expression. “Thank you for listening,” he says, his voice almost a whisper before he leans forward to hug you. The embrace feels tender, fleeting, but carries a warmth that lingers even as he pulls away. He wipes a stray tear from his cheek with the back of his hand and pauses, his eyes scanning the scattered pages on the floor. “Do you think it’s any good?” he asks, gathering the papers with a careful, almost reverent touch.

You glance at the crumpled sheets in his hands, the raw emotion woven into each line. “I think it’s painfully good,” you say, the words heavy with sincerity. “It moves you in a way that sticks—it’s the kind of raw honesty that people can’t help but relate to.”

A faint smile tugs at his lips, bittersweet and beautiful. “Sharing the pain... it makes it feel lighter somehow,” he admits, setting the papers down on the desk as though releasing a burden. The vulnerability in his voice tugs at something deep inside you, and when he turns back, sitting beside you, his presence feels closer than ever—like the warmth of sunlight just brushing your skin.

You’re acutely aware of the space between you, or rather, the lack of it. The heat of his thigh grazing yours is magnetic, grounding and electrifying all at once. You turn your head, your gaze finding his profile—delicate, yet so undeniably strong. There’s a quiet grace about him, a dainty elegance in the way he carries himself, even when baring his soul. His honesty, his unfiltered emotions, they pull at you like a tide, drawing you closer without permission.

You don’t know what this is—this invisible thread between you, taut and shimmering in the quiet. Is it just you? Are you the only one feeling this pull? Or does he feel it too, this gentle but unrelenting gravity between you? Is he always this open, this raw, with everyone? Or is this... something else?

The questions swirl in your mind, but you don’t dare voice them. Instead, you sit there, your thoughts tangled, the warmth of him beside you keeping the world at bay, if only for this fleeting moment.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex

→ Series taglist: @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @hnnnjm @flaneuseonthestreets @miniesjams32 @graydolan12

→ Author’s endnote: okay, confession time: I might have totally ugly cried while writing this chapter, and… wow, it hit hard. I’ve poured a lot of myself into Jimin’s character—like, not exactly me, but in the way his lyrics carry that raw, emotional depth (which honestly feels like the whole of Bangtan, let’s be real 😭). Anyway! I need to know—what did you think of this chapter? And more importantly, what pain do you think Jimin is hiding? 👀 Spill your theories, because my brain is doing the little ‘evil laugh writer’ thing right now 🤔✨

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[higuchisora]

As briefly explored in this post, Vi's "enforcer arc" could've gone plenty of different ways- including not at all. This actually gave me another idea, though it kind of takes some fiddling and setup.

Basing a bit of this idea once more off of @srslylini proposing the possibility of Vi becoming some kind of important figure in Zaun, I think it'd be interesting to see Vi becoming something Piltover sees as an "enforcer", but for Zaun instead. This is somewhat related to this post, though it doesn't necessarily have to be to work.

Basically, if Zaun is trying to become independent, just demanding it isn't going to work, as seen in the entirety of the show. They'd need some serious stuff up their sleeves.

Obviously they have Jinx, and even Ekko, but as established in my previous post delving into the revolution-arc-that-wasn't, Jinx really isn't the activist type. And also, strong and smart as she is, there's only one of her. She'd need assistance, even if she DID have a change of heart. (This could lead into Vi and Jinx's slow reconciliation as sisters, as well as tie into season 1's themes about cycles and their fathers and how they can't achieve anything if they don't work together, etc. But I've already discussed this in the previous post.)

In a version of Arcane in which Zaun is politically fractured instead of the relative monolith it gets presented as, Vi, as probably Vander's most recognizable child, might receive some level of (unasked for) political support from people who essentially want a new Vander. Jinx and Ekko (and possibly Sevika) might also have factions of varying sizes as well.

The thing is, they're all being supported for different reasons. Jinx's main followers are seen as "blue haired radicals" (lol) who want war, Sevika's as people who want familiarity/think she can control the Chem-Barons or Jinx, Ekko's as people who're probably tired of fighting and just want peace/are hoping he has better solutions than shimmer and gangs, etc., and Vi, as I said, has people who want another Vander, who want the relative security and quiet of that era back. In other words, they each mean something different to people. And in order to make their reluctant alliance work, they'll each have to embody this "persona"/symbolism to some extent, at least to the public.

So maybe, in line with the perception of her being the "new Vander", the next "Hound of the Underground", Vi (possibly with new gauntlets, courtesy of Jinx - shoutout @blog-i-hate-friday) takes on a "protector" type image for Zaun? Jinx is the rage/spirit of rebellion, Ekko (and his cool ass tree) is the hope, Sevika's the brains that runs their messy operation, and Vi is the defender. To Piltover, they're seen as Zaun's "council". Overdramatized stories of them repaints their stations in ways the Piltovans deem more "palatable" and "civilized", with Vi as their "chief enforcer", as she and her crew are in charge of keeping actual Piltovan enforcers off of Zaun's soil and generally protecting their fellow Zaunites. Jinx spends more time making gadgets than she does blowing stuff up, but the mark she left on Piltover makes the image of the "loose canon" impossible to shake. Ekko is more worried about implementing water filtration systems or running the Firelights- who often patrol with Vi's people- to be "terrorizing" Piltover, but they still think the Firelights were responsible for Progress Day. Perhaps he becomes, in their eyes, something of a cult leader (after all, they call him the Boy Savior, he who inspires so much hope- this must be for a reason, right?). Sevika is nothing like Silco- but it makes it easier for the Piltovans to pretend she is, than to accept that a wine aunt and her team of traumatized barely-adults are running circles around them.

Eventually, in some possible future in which Zaun's demands are finally accepted- that is how Piltover will address them, aligning with their League Champion titles (though they do not have the guts to refer to Jinx as the Loose Canon to her or her allies' faces).

[paingoes]

Rubies

First Night

welcome back everyone

(Content: fainting, reference to past captivity, blood)

=================

He collapsed onto the deck. Apollo caught him just before he could crash to the ground. The silver chains clattered loudly on the metal surface. Delta was freezing, soaked, and now fully unconscious. The ramp slammed back up just as the ship was pulling up.

“Destroy them!” Kitty cheered at the console.

“I’m working on it,” Rene looped the ship back around, letting out another volley. The airship was mostly on fire, but it still hadn’t fallen out of the sky. The last round finished it off. It went into freefall. The airship was briefly a normal ship and then just as quickly it turned into a shipwreck. The resulting column of water reached their windshield from several stories below.

“Get the collar off,” Apollo said, bending down to feel Delta’s pulse. Cass slid the bolt cutters up against his skin.

“Oh fuck, I think I nicked him,” Cass gasped. A massive psychic wave ripped off of Delta’s body as the collar was removed. All of them got electrocuted. 

“Oh my god, you people can’t do anything,” Iza put her hands on her head. 

“Throw the collar out,” Lun whispered, “Into the sea.”

Willow cracked the window open, tossing it out. It beeped miserably on its descent.

“Put the dampers on. He’s going to show up on every radar in a five-mile radius otherwise.” Iza gave the order, but she started to fulfill it herself. She slid Delta’s sleeve up, wrapping the insulating band around his upper arm. Immediately, the pressure in the ship went down. The light returned to normal. 

“The cuffs,” Apollo said impatiently. Cass cut through the chain binding Delta’s wrists. They bent down to cut off the manacles, this time just missing the skin. They tossed the cutters aside and pulled out a small ammeter from their pocket. They touched it to Delta’s clavicle. It burnt up immediately. Cass dropped it in pain.

“That can’t be right.” Willow said, a look of horror crossing her face.

“I knew it,” Apollo shook his head, “We’re so fired.”

=======================

Iza bridal carried Delta into the house. Rene held the door open for her. He walked ahead to turn on all the lights. It was an older safehouse; they’d only got it running again earlier that morning. There were still cobwebs in the corners and outlets that didn’t work, but at least it was heated. 

“I’m not getting fired,” Rene said peevishly, “I didn’t do anything. Lun should get fired.” “Lun carried,” Kitty’s sharp teeth flashed when she smiled. She wrapped her arms around Lun’s neck, “They should be promoted.”

“Don’t send the report yet,” Iza called out to Kitty, “I need a minute.”

“Just put him on the floor for right now,” Apollo said. The two of them moved into the guest bedroom. Iza placed Delta down gingerly. Apollo dug through the dresser, pulling out a towel and a clean set of clothes. He nudged the door shut with his foot, keeping the others from seeing in.

They stripped the wet clothes from Delta’s unconscious body. Apollo redressed him in an oversized shirt; it was the easiest thing they could do without having to maneuver him too much. Iza raised him up onto the bed. 

“Alright, I’ve got it from here. Thank you,” Apollo said. He looked up. A sudden urgency entered his voice. “I mean it. Thank you.”

“Happy to help,” Iza said unhappily. 

“Tell them it’s my fault,” Apollo said.

“You know that’s not how it works. I’m a big girl, sunny. Don’t worry.” 

Iza shut the door before he could argue.

Apollo sighed as he looked over the dormant form in front of him. He reached out to touch Delta’s wrist, checking the pulse in an almost self-conscious manner. Still alive. You’d be forgiven for thinking otherwise. Apollo examined the wrist; he noted its odd angle. It was fractured, if not broken. He winced as he looked closer at Delta’s face. Inflamed claw marks raked one side of his cheek. There were matching ones along his forearm. He knew the salt water had probably helped to stave off infection, but he doubted that was a painless process. Some of them were still bleeding minutely. 

He was most concerned about hypothermia. The safe temperature ranges varied across species. He suspected Delta was better prepared for it than most. Still, the plan had not been for him to fall into the ocean on a freezing night. His skin was clammy. Apollo wrapped the blanket around him. He sat next to him on the bed, taking a moment to check over vitals and jot them down in his journal. He patched up the deeper cuts along Delta’s forearms and cheek, as well as the new one on his neck. He saw the ring of bruises around where the collar had been. They were layered one on top of the other. After a moment’s consideration, he went about making a wrist splint. It was surprisingly difficult when the patient was still unconscious, but he managed to tie it up tightly. It wasn’t pretty — none of it was — but it would hold him over until they could get back to base. 

==================

“He still out?” Kitty looked up from the laptop. Her fingers still danced along it automatically. It was like they operated completely apart from her. She could carry a whole conversation while typing out a completely different one with someone else. 

“Yes.” Apollo turned the microwave off before it could beep. He removed the compress. 

“I’m gonna send it now!” Kitty’s voice rose up, carrying throughout the house. There were a few sounds of assent, some of protest. She giggled at the reaction. But as she turned back to the screen, Apollo caught the subtle way in which her smile faltered. Her tail flicked beneath her. It was all bristles. She looked up at Apollo, searching for something. Permission? Approval? Reassurance? 

He nodded, squeezing her shoulder gently. It was too late to go back now. She hit send.

Apollo felt a bit like he was cheating by hiding out in the room with Delta. It was a good excuse. When Galatea did review the report, nobody would ask to speak to him first. And if they did, well, he was obviously pretty busy at the moment.

The only thing was that he wasn’t actually that busy. Delta was low maintenance. He had not stirred at all since they’d found him. His heartbeat and breathing were steady, if a bit too slow for Apollo’s comfort. He was just cold. Apollo pressed the compress against Delta’s chest. He brushed the still damp hair out of the boy’s face. Delta made a soft, pained noise. Apollo winced.

“It’s okay,” Apollo shushed him, “You’re okay.”

He didn’t know if he’d heard him, but Delta nuzzled deeper into the pillows, pulling the blankets up around himself.

==================

Delta only woke once that night. He wouldn’t remember it. At the time, he didn’t think it was real.

He slowly sat upright, his movement hindered by the pain in his ribs. He did not know where he was. But it was dark. He was freezing, despite the warmth of the room. Everything hurt.

His eyes gradually adjusted to the dark around him. He just made out the shape of the door. It was ajar. On the other side, a single unblinking olive-green eye peeked through. 

Delta squinted at it. There was nothing he could do to make sense of the situation. He didn’t care. He immediately fell back asleep.

===============

(Masterlist)

Tags: @catnykit@indigoviolet311@snakebites-and-ink@vivulapom@scoundrelwithboba@whatwhump@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire @micechomper

[katelynnwrites]

We’ve Been Doin’ All This Late Night Talkin’ (‘Bout Anythin’ You Want) | Ona Batlle

warnings: a little bit of angst and smut

word count: 1730

summary: an insight into the times where you and ona do a little late night talking, about anything you want until the morning and a briefer insight into the times where you and ona do a little less late night talking and more of another much loved late night activity

chosen song: late night talking by harry styles

a/n: bonus chapter 3 of you were bigger than the whole sky (you were more than just a short time)

‘Hello my love.’

Having just finished your shower, you sprawl yourself into Ona’s lap and she giggles softly.

‘Hola mi amor.’

She gently scratches your scalp and you practically melt into her. You’re so relaxed and comfortable that you miss the mischievous look your girlfriend gets in her eyes.

The pillow she proceeds to hit you with startles you, causing you to jump.

‘Ona…’ You groan, feigning annoyance.

You bury your face into her stomach and she strokes your hair gently.

Just when she lets her guard down, you pull the nearest pillow towards you and hit her in the shoulder with it.

You grin and Ona starts to smile as she reaches for her own pillow.

‘Oh you’re so on.’

‘I’m ready if you are.’ You challenge and Ona doesn’t bother to reply, responding by chuckling and swinging her pillow towards you.

******

‘Oni that tickles.’ You protest weakly.

Your girlfriend giggles, kissing a line up your stomach. She pushes your sweatshirt up, pressing kisses onto your ribs.

Suddenly she pauses.

‘Show me? Please?’

The pain in Ona’s eyes makes it clear what she’s talking about.

‘Here. Ribs four through six.’ You whisper, running a finger briefly over your previously fractured ribs, to show Ona exactly where you had been injured.

The Manchester United fullback, gently presses her lips over the area you’d shown her. She gives you long, slow, healing kisses. She kisses it better, wanting to show you how sorry she was for not having been there.

And you know exactly what she’s trying to do so you lightly push her away.

Ona’s hurt expression and sudden apprehension make you reach out for her immediately.

‘Ona. I know you’ve been feeling guilty. Please, please don’t. Stop beating yourself up.’

‘I-I can’t.’ She insists.

There’s a profound sadness written all over her features, as well as self hatred and anger which you know she also directs towards herself.

Patiently, you reassure her, ‘I love you. I understand. I’m not angry at you mi amor. Please believe me.’

The brunette shakes her head adamantly, ‘I believe you. But I hurt you. I hurt you so badly and I can’t forgive myself for that. It’s my fault you were in pain.’

Softly, you agree with her last point, ‘Yes it was. But we have moved past that. I am here and you are here and we love each other. Will you make the same mistake again? Ona, will you leave me again?’

‘No. Of course not!’

Your girlfriend looks horrified at the very thought.

‘You’ll talk to me if you ever begin to feel overwhelmed and terrified again?’

‘Yes. I promise I will.’ She answers with certainty.

‘Then forgive yourself please, Ona. I have forgiven you so please please forgive yourself. You fixed things, you have done more than enough for me to forgive you.’ You plead.

The guilt weighed heavily on her, you knew that but you hope that she would be able to see that you really had no ill will or resentment towards her.

Ona looks torn, unease and anxiety clear in her usually bright chocolate brown eyes.

‘Oni please. I love you. I have forgiven you.’

The Spanish woman takes in a deep breath (albeit a shaky one) and hesitantly nods.

‘I’ll try.’

You reach out and squeeze her hands in yours gently.

‘Thank you.’

Ona nods again, firmer this time, despite the tears streaming down her cheeks.

In time, Ona does learn to forgive herself and you love her (and are proud of her) all the more for it.

******

‘Did you know that the King Cobra is the only snake in the world that builds a nest?’

Ona makes a face, ‘That is interesting mi amor but you know I don’t like snakes.’

You laugh and think a little harder, trying to remember more fun facts about snakes.

‘Ona?’

‘Yes?’

She looks up from her book, giving you her full attention. Her glasses are perched on her nose, hair done up in a messy bun. She’s so adorable but that doesn’t stop you from teasing her (it does make you feel a little bad though).

‘Did you know that snakes don’t have eyelids?’

Ona groans.

‘Amor…’

‘Okay okay. One last one por fa?’

Your fiancée sighs but nods.

Cheekily, you say, ‘Hm. You must really love me.’

‘I do. So come on, give me a fun fact about snakes.’

She looks at you expectantly and you grin, ‘Did you know that snakes smell with their tongue?’

‘Oh. That’s actually pretty cool mi amor.’ Ona admits.

Your grin widens and you kiss Ona sweetly.

******

‘I love you.’ Ona states, dropping a kiss down onto the top of your head.

‘Te amo.’ She says, this time in her native language.

Your fiancée places another gentle kiss onto your hair as she holds you close, in the dark room.

The both of you are all settled in bed, ready for a good night’s sleep before the next day’s game. It seemed that Ona is feeling a little sentimental though (not that you mind in the slightest because you would never pass up an opportunity where she tells you she loves you).

Her legs are resting against yours as she leans against the headboard with you wrapped in her arms.

You snuggle into her, murmuring a quiet ‘Te quiero.’

******

‘You’re my wife.’ Ona mumbles in between kisses planted all over your body.

You’re both lying in bed (the air smells of sex), Ona curled into your arms.

‘I am.’ You smile widely, the expression on her face matching yours.

‘I can’t believe you married me.’ She breathes, cradling your face in her hands reverently.

Teasingly, you tell her, ‘Believe it Ona. You gave me your last name mi amor.’

‘I did. And I am so glad I did.’

Ona laughs softly, kissing you gently. (the eagerness that was present earlier is still there but mostly sated, probably due to the way Ona made love to you as soon as you returned home from your wedding).

‘You’re my wife.’ She breathes.

‘Madre you’re my wife.’ She repeats.

Ona’s disbelief makes you laugh again.

‘I love you.’

The brunette dreamily continues, ‘I can’t believe I’ve had married sex with you.’

‘Oh my god Ona.’

You dissolve into a fit of giggles, ignoring your wife’s soft protests about not laughing at her.

******

‘Hey.’ You quietly greet Ona.

She gives you the tiniest of smiles, one that fades quickly.

The brunette had a bad day and you want to comfort her as best as you can.

‘I love you.’ You remind her, sitting down beside her on the bed.

Ona leans into your shoulder and after a moment turns her head so that her face is tucked into your neck.

You can feel the soft puffs of her breath against your skin and you can feel when she takes a deep breath in.

‘You smell nice mi amor.’ She mumbles.

‘Thank you?’

‘It’s a good thing. You smell like home and that’s all I need right now.’

‘Okay. You have me, my love. You have me.’

You bring a hand up to lightly card through the strands of her hair.

Your fingers gently massaging her scalp elicit a sigh of mixed relief and contentment from her and she melts into you.

‘Thank you for being here.’

‘I’m always going to be here for you, Ona.’ You murmur, kissing the top of her head lovingly.

******

Two in the morning Ona is your favourite Ona. She’s the funniest then, often having the silliest and most impulsive ideas at that time.

‘Mi amor?’

You look up at Ona who is sitting on her side of the bed, a little smile on her face.

‘Will you tell me something cool?’

‘What like a fun fact?’

‘Mhm.’

‘I’ve told you a lot…’

You pause, trying to think of something you had never told Ona before.

‘The average British person eats nearly 9,000 peas a year.’

Ona laughs (it’s your favourite sound).

‘You never cease to amaze me.’

She gazes at you with wholehearted adoration, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter around.

******

It turns out three in the morning you is similar to two in the morning Ona.

‘Cookies?’

Ona looks at you, practically vibrating with excitement at your suggestion.

‘Yeah let’s bake some cookies.’ You insist.

‘Mi amor it’s 3am.’

The brunette laughs but gets off the bed, holding her hand out to you.

You grab it eagerly and then the two of you are racing to the kitchen.

Ona gets there first (she has always been faster than you) and she does a little dance to celebrate her victory.

Dissolving in a fit of giggles at her antics, you find yourself falling even more in love with her.

More laughter fills the kitchen as you and Ona work together to make a tray of chocolate chip cookies.

Sitting on the counter top, you swing your legs lightly as Ona uses a cookie cutter to cut the last bit of dough into hearts.

Dipping your hand into the bag of chocolate chips, you snack on a few as you watch her.

She looks so pretty, the new freckles and tan she’d got from recently spending time in the sun making her glow.

Your wife pulls you out of your thoughts with a tap to your thigh and a little (and very adorable) pout.

‘You weren’t going to give me any?’ She half whines. She gives you her best puppy dog eyes, pleading with widened pretty brown eyes.

Shaking your head, you quickly assure her, ‘Of course not.’

You feed her some immediately and Ona gives you a kiss in thanks.

She tastes like chocolate and you pull her in to deepen this kiss.

‘Te amo.’ She murmurs.

‘T’estimo.’ You answer, making Ona smile against your lips.

******

Sometimes Ona has a better idea of what she wants to do in the late hours of the night.

It involves her coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you. It includes her between your legs, perfecting the art of making you cry out her name and pant exhaustedly for hours at a time.

The proud little smile on her face at the end of it all lets you know that she loves it (and you’d never deny her that pleasure, especially when you yourself got so much pleasure out of it).

Spanish Translations:

hola mi amor - hello my love

mi amor - my love

por fa - please

te amo - i love you

te quiero - i love you too

madre - an expression similar to oh my god

Catalan Translation:

t’estimo - i love you

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 30: Fame and Fortune

Word Count: 722/Rating: G/Pairing: none/CW: angst, betrayal, Corroded Coffin is famous/Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Jeff, Grant, angst, fortune telling, state fair

Divider credit to @silkholland

“Thank you, Texas!” Eddie shouts into the microphone. He’s met with thunderous applause as the crowd cheers. 

He’s drenched in sweat, his shirt practically stuck to his torso, and he peels it off the moment he gets backstage. 

“Dude,” Jeff grins, “that shit was awesome!”

“Biggest crowd we’ve ever played for,” Grant agrees, wiping his face with a towel. 

Eddie pulls on a fresh shirt and ties his hair back in a bun. The cool air on the back of his neck feels heavenly. Performing was hot enough between the bright stage lights and constant movement. Add in the Texas heat and they were, almost literally, cooked. 

Eddie is more than ready to get back to his air conditioned hotel room, already imagining the mountain of food he’ll order from room service. 

“Wait, guys!” Gareth calls out. “Can we, like, explore the fair while we’re here? Get security to take us around?”

Eddie groans. “I’m exhausted.” Grant and Jeff nod in agreement, but Gareth is relentless. 

“C’mon. Just to get cotton candy or something.”

Jeff considers the idea. “I could go for cotton candy,” he says with a shrug. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Fine. We’ll get some cotton candy, and then we’re outta here.”

Security pushes through the throngs of people, stopping only when Grant taps one of the guards on the shoulder and asks if he and Jeff can ride the Tilt-a-Whirl. 

“Guess it’s just us, Big Guy.” Gareth claps Eddie on the shoulder and takes a messy bite of cotton candy. “What d’you wanna do?”

“Go back to the bus and sleep,” Eddie grumbles,  but the drummer ignores him, tugging him towards a small purple tent. 

The inside is dim, illuminated only by flickering battery-powered candles. When Eddie’s eyes adjust to the darkness, he realizes that Gareth has pulled him into the fortune teller’s tent. 

An older woman smiles from where she sits, her wrinkled hands on a crystal ball. “I am Madame Yma,” she says. “Are you here for a reading?”

Eddie shakes his head, but Gareth practically shoves him into a chair. “Don’t you wanna see what your future holds?”

“Not particularly.”

Madame Yma heaves an impatient sigh but musters up a smile. “Come, let me see what the universe has planned for you.” She eyes both young men, adding, “for five dollars.”

Gareth slaps a five-dollar bill on the table, and Eddie knows there’s no way out of this now. Fine. He’ll sit here and listen to whatever bullshit tale this woman weaves, and Gareth will be a few bucks poorer. No skin off of his back. 

The fortune teller holds Eddie’s hands, palms up. “It appears that you have a creative personality,” she begins. “And that your headstrong demeanor may cause fractures in your platonic and romantic relationships.”

“She’s got you there,” Gareth says through a mouthful of cotton candy. 

“Speaking of romance…” Something glitters in the woman’s blue-gray eyes. “Your love line shows some conflict in your love life. And your destiny line shows that you will receive help from someone.” She pauses, considering. “You consider yourself an independent person.”

Eddie nods emphatically at this, despite her not formally asking a question. 

Madame Yma clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “You pride yourself too much on your ability to be alone. That will be your downfall. You need to learn how to rely on others, and to appreciate the people around you.” Her gaze briefly lands on Gareth, though her words are aimed at Eddie. “You will have to choose between the people who have consistently been by your side, and the temptation of a stranger. I suggest you choose wisely.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. How did she know? She couldn’t know; there was no way—

“What?” Gareth barks out a laugh. “Nah, this is ridiculous. Eddie’s not abandoning us, and he wouldn’t be ‘tempted’ by some random person.” He tosses his empty stick in a nearby trash can and turns to Eddie. “C’mon, let’s go see if those guys survived the Tilt-a-Whirl.”

“Y-Yeah.” Eddie books it out of the tent, half-heartedly nodding as Gareth blathers on about a new song he’s been workshopping. 

He tries to focus, but it proves impossible. All he can think about is the contract he hurriedly signed earlier today, already mailed back to his agent. 

A contract for a solo album. 

--

[morrigan-sims]

D&D OC Intro

(inspired by @goldenwaves's post!!)

[transcript under the cut]

This is FAR from everyone, but it's the characters I've played for more than a oneshot, and the ones I actually talk about.

TRANSCRIPT:

Zenara Raventhorn (aka Zen)

Tiefling Warlock (Pact of the Fiend)

The first D&D character I ever played.

Only got to play two sessions with them.

Unintentionally inspired by Critical Role Campaign 2

Backstory written between 1-3am on my phone.

Has an imp familiar who looks like a raven.

Occasionally gets possessed by their patron, and then gets given new powers as an "apology".

Fire theme.

Rook (Adrian Lockwood)

Half-elf Rogue (Swashbuckler)

First (and only) character to make it past 8 sessions. (So far.)

Disaster bisexual pirate boy with SO MUCH trauma.

Wields a magic rapier that was a gift from his captain + first mentor.

Enemies with a different pirate captain who wants to capture him.

Has decent charisma but relatively terrible social skills.

Bastard son of a nobleman. Has daddy issues.

Reckless and impulsive to a fault. Would die for his friends.

May or may not be cursed by a demon lord.

Asola Riava Ashmark

Aasimar Paladin (Oath of Vengeance)

Made it 8 sessions before we switched campaigns.

Doesn't know she's an aasimar. Her powers show up when she experiences extreme emotions and it's only ever happened twice in her life.

Got briefly possessed and then force-shut-down by a literal god.

Has a habit of picking up stray traumatized young people.

The party's moral compass. Tried to keep them somewhat in line.

Believes that laying down her life to save someone else's is worth it. Swears she doesn't have self-worth issues.

Morana Novak

Witch (Curse Patron)

Character for an eventual Pathfinder game.

Named after a Slavic goddess of death and winter.

Necromancer, got kicked out of her hometown for graverobbing and experimenting on corpses.

Her familiar is a raven named Miro, who she rescued and trained.

Autistic as hell, which will be fun for me to play.

Very creepy and unsettling person.

One of her future party members nicknamed her "Mortician".

Cyra

Fire Genasi Barbarian (Path of the Storm Herald)

Newest character on this powerpoint.

Fights with a magical flaming quarterstaff that she can summon from inside herself.

Has a stolen, magically powered vehicle.

Formerly part of a cult. Only stayed around for their toxic then-girlfriend.

Somehow basically the least traumatized member of the party. That was NOT the plan.

Avra Shadaowbreath

Shadar-Kai/Reborn Rogue (Phantom)

Devout follower of the Raven Queen, has utter faith in her actions.

Used to work for an assassin's guild until she was killed after a job gone wrong.

Revived by the Raven Queen herself to be her assassin.

Sent to Barovia to kill a powerful lich.

Has complicated feelings on her own resurrection, but her faith in the Raven Queen is stronger than her doubts about herself, for now...

A massive hypocrite when it comes to other people being resurrected.

Odynia Adrasteia Erinys

Aasimar Paladin (Oath of Vengeance)

Devoted follower of Nemesis, goddess of divine retribution.

Got transformed into an aasimar after being chosen to be Nemesis's eye on the mortal plane.

"And eye for an eye" but make it literal.

Has black feathered wings sometimes.

More than a little bit of a bitch. Very prickly at best.

Her name means "inescapable pain/grief" so that bodes well.

Hellbent on revenge... but why?

Aspen Vale

Half-Elf/Changeling Bard/Warlock (Glamour/Archfey)

Pied Piper'd into the Feywild as a child.

Learned bardic magic there, and made a pact with their patron, Fin, the god of death.

Sent back to the material plane with ZERO memories.

Named themself after the first thing they saw in the material plane - an aspen grove.

Carries a "broken" compass that Fin uses to guide them in the right direction without their knowledge.

Carrion Vice

Barbarian (Path of the Fractured)

Physically a tiefling, mechanically a Beasthide shifter.

He grew up religious and his birth name was Reverence.

Received his name after being left for dead and told "Soon you'll be nothing but carrion".

Transforms into an unrecognizable monster when he rages.

Transformations caused by exposure to Delirium (magically radioactive crystal) when he was a kid.

Current goal is to kill his former mentor, the one who left him behind...

[ask-a-w]

Long recap about Death Island

Death Island aired on 22 June 2023 in my country and I watched it on the opening day.

Go in with low expectations and it's a fun action movie, don't expect a strong plot. The formula is similar to the previous RE CGI movies so the plot is pretty predictable!

As always, Leon destroys a vehicle and dangles from something with one arm. Leon is no longer cynical and depressed like he was in Vendetta.

Shipping is non-existent. Maybe some Valenfield if you take some scenes out of context. Cleon wise, also nothing since Leon only talks to Claire once or twice in the movie and it's about the mission. No Ada, sadly. For Jilleon, if you consider them being in the same room as shipping, sure. They conduct themselves professionally and Leon is his usual sarcastic quippy self.

Rebecca is just there 'cos she's the medical/science expert. Honestly both Claire and Rebecca don't do a whole lot in this movie.

There are no post-credit scenes.

I will be posting super lengthy spoilery recap below the Read More as I write down what happens scene by scene. So grab a drink and buckle in. If you can do a summary, feel free to do so.

Movie starts with a 1998 flashback featuring Dylan Blake, his best friend JJ, and other Umbrella soldiers in a truck that is headed towards Raccoon City in the very early days of the outbreak. They are given orders to evacuate Umbrella personnel & government officials only. If any civilian attempts to get through, they are to be shot on sight.

The truck reaches a blockade on the outskirts of the city where some uninfected Raccoon City citizens are scuffling with Umbrella soldiers. A government official’s car barely scrapes through the blockade.

The scene then cuts to Dylan, JJ, and team hiding in a butchery. Everyone except Dylan and JJ have been bitten. Orders are given on the radio to quarantine anyone who has been bit. JJ & Dylan separate themselves from the infected and hole up in a storage room that has a glass window that overlooks the adjacent room where the infected soldiers are. New orders are given that HQ won’t evacuate any uninfected Umbrella soldiers unless they kill their infected comrades. JJ readies a submachine gun (SMG), Dylan disagrees and briefly scuffles with JJ as their teammates turn into zombies and bang on the glass window which shows signs of fracturing. JJ gains the upper hand and starts shooting the zombies as Dylan lays on the floor and screams at JJ to “Stop it!”

Opening sequence time featuring each character’s mish mash of scenes from the games and this movie. You see everyone’s profiles and Leon’s profile is all redacted in black bars. Even his nationality is redacted which amuses me.

We are then shown a street in San Francisco in 2015 where Leon has parked his lime green motorbike on the side of the road as he listens to instructions from Hunnigan. They got back the OG voice actress for Hunnigan but we don’t get to see Hunnigan's face for this movie.

Hunnigan mentions a government employee who specialises in robotic engineering by the name of Antonio Taylor and he is wanted by the government for leaking military secrets to overseas groups. He has been kidnapped by terrorists in a white & orange truck and Leon is tasked to intercept said truck and “rescue” (aka arrest) Dr Taylor.

Leon spots the truck and there is a very exciting motorbike chase scene with the super powered Maria (from Vendetta) who interferes with her own motorbike. Leon destroys her motorbike but she manages to jump onto his motorbike to fight him off. Needless to say, Leon gets thrown off the bike, rolls on the road with no damage but his bike explodes in the process as he laments, “I loved that bike.”

Next scene is Claire investigating an orca carcass that has washed up on a beach. The local fishery official noticed a TerraSave tracker on the carcass and that’s why Claire is brought in because TerraSave has places trackers on marine animals for some reason... She measures the bite wound and the official asks if a shark caused this. Claire says the wound is bigger than a shark's mouth and is puzzled.

After that we are shown Jill in the dark in a garage of a house. She darts around carefully, repeatedly clicking her flashlight on and off as she searches the house. Chris orders her on the comms to secure the street but Jill responds that it's too late as she is already inside the house and then she shuts off her comms.

You might be annoyed by Jill turning the flashlight on and off because I found it very distracting.

Anyway she reaches the second floor of the house, notices blood stains on the wall and finds a female corpse on the floor of a bedroom. She gets ambushed by a male zombie, tussles with it, smashes through the second floor balustrade onto the glass table on the first floor and kills the zombie. This is the scene that is shown in the trailer.

The SWAT team and Chris in his BSAA uniform enter the house. SWAT surrounds Jill and point their weapons at her as she raises her hands. Chris says "She's with me" (feel free to count this as an out-of-context Valenfield moment) and the SWAT team disengage and search the house. Chris admonishes Jill for going into the house without backup while Jill says she's not gonna stand by and wait if there are innocent people to be saved.

We are introduced to the final main character and Rebecca is in a lab doing some research on a laptop. Chris walks in and asks for updates regarding the infected that have recently popped up in San Francisco. Rebecca says the twelve corpses in the morgue have an advanced strain of T-virus, no bite wounds, and only have needle marks. Those that are bitten by the advanced strain zombies do not turn but die from their wounds. They talk about Jill and if you watched the trailer, the conversation is about Jill and her lingering guilt of being brainwashed by Wesker.

We get to see another trailer shot of Jill shooting at targets in the gun range. Chris walks in and I don't know how Jill senses Chris is behind her but she knows he's there and takes off her ear mufflers. (Another Valenfield moment?) Chris discusses about Jill's recklessness. He talks about Piers Nivans from RE6 and how he was going to pass the baton to Piers but he tragically died to save Chris' life. Chris says people in their line of work have to be willing to die.

I can't remember much of the dialogue/argument between both of them but there's something along the lines of being soul-less and empty inside and how Jill continues to fight so she won't dwell on being empty. She ends the argument by putting on her ear mufflers and continues to angrily shoot at her targets.

Finally, we are in the big bad's secret liar where Maria and Dylan are holding a hooded Dr Taylor hostage (you won’t see the doc’s face until the later part of the movie), forcing the doctor to do some stuff on the computer. Dylan is shown with a limp and a cane. Dylan empties his revolver and leaves one bullet in the chamber. He plays russian roulette with Dr Taylor and since the gun does not fire, Dylan merely remarks Dr Taylor "will die by some other fate". Dylan also has a weird tic where he taps his cane on the floor at least five times in succession. We will learn why later...

Dylan then puts the gun to his own head and there's another flashback to the butchery in the opening scene. JJ is momentarily overwhelmed by a zombie and gets bit before he finishes off the horde with the SMG. Dylan tries one last time to plead with HQ to evacuate him and the injured JJ but HQ says all those who are bit must be killed.

Dylan and JJ fight over the SMG, and JJ fires the gun in the tussle, shooting bullets into Dylan's leg (which is why he has a limp in the present day). Dylan manages to get the SMG in the end. Flashback ends there with Dylan in the present day pulling the trigger of the revolver but nothing happens.

[From this point onwards, I might not get the scenes correctly in order but the content of the scenes are fairly accurate.]

Claire goes to the same lab where Jill, Chris, and Rebecca are in. Rebecca has analysed the bite wound on the orca carcass which has some remnant T-virus in it. The orca has been part of the herd swimming around Alcatraz. Rebecca also says this new T-virus cannot be transmitted airborne or by saliva which is concerning.

Anyway, all the victims are linked to Alcatraz so Jill, Chris & Claire (gonna dub them the trio) go to investigate while Rebecca stays behind to create a vaccine, and also be the mission liaison in case things go wrong.

The trio join a group of tourists to visit Alcatraz while Dr Taylor has escaped. Dylan tasks Maria to recover their hostage as he notices on CCTV that the trio have set foot on Alcatraz. Just when the trio plan to split off from the tour group to do some private sleuthing of their own, the tourists take turns to become zombies without being bitten.

Lots of impressive fight scenes as the trio try and fail to save the civilians. A security guard with a SMG is surrounded by zombies and their combined weight makes them crash through the floor into a sewer(?) tunnel below. Even though Jill loses her gun, she jumps in after the guard to save him by kniving a zombie but the guard sadly turns as well. Jill is now separated from the Redfield siblings.

Dylan also releases a cage full of lickers underwater with marine-like ear features that remind me of the monster from The Shape of Water. I am calling them marine-lickers to make it easier.

The siblings are now alone, surrounded by bodies. Their comms are jammed and they are worried about Jill. Both hear a thumping coming from a cart and they open it to find a cowering man hidden within. He gives his name as "Tony Davis" and I could spot from a mile away that the man was Antonio Taylor. They all try to get out of the island.

Jill, armed with only a knife and flashlight, carefully explores the tunnels. She spots a shadow in the tunnel and to us viewers, it is very obviously Leon's shadow. Jill and Leon briefly brawl with one another and come to a stalemate as Jill finally gets a good look at Leon's face and just exclaims in surprise, "Leon?"

Leon recognises Jill as well and they disengage while Leon gives Jill a spare gun from his vest before they get interrupted by a zombie. Before they can kill the zombie though, it gets pulled away by a long tongue and Leon briefly mentions "Not good" before he motions to Jill to stay silent.

Jill also has her back partially on the floor and against Leon's knee/foot(?) and Leon has one knee on the ground while his other knee/foot/hand(?) is propping Jill's back. I gotta admire Jill's serious control over her abdominal muscles as the marine-licker comes out of the shadows and uses its tongue to "taste" the air around Jill's knee and face. Jill is very disgusted and is grimacing.

One of the containers beside Jill's face begins to fall and she manages to catch it in time but she does not notice a small cartridge on top of the container which clatters to the ground. Leon shoots the marine-licker ASAP as two more marine-lickers join in the fray and they try to run away.

Jill's ankle gets snagged by a marine-licker and Leon dives in to grab Jill's hand to prevent her from being pulled away. Both of them try to kill the marine-lickers behind each other.

They run again as a bunch of marine-lickers come out from the shadows and there is a funny dialogue of Jill asking "How many are there?" as Leon replies "I am not stopping to count" before he kicks up a jerry can and shoots it, incinerating the tunnel of marine-lickers. He then replies "Zero" as Jill goes "What?" and Leon clarifies there are now zero lickers. Pffft.

The Redfields and "Tony" are holed up in a cafeteria and when "Tony" learns Claire is from TerraSave, he accuses her of being a bioterrorist for what happened in Harvardville (Degeneration). Claire angrily retorts that TerraSave was framed.

"Tony" wanders off and gets ambushed by a zombie. Claire steps in to save him and "Tony" apologises for his behaviour. We are then shown something's POV as it flies around the three of them. It aims for Claire's neck and she collapses, seemingly paralysed. Chris rushes to his sister before he gets paralysed too. "Tony" just runs away before he sees Maria on the stairs.

And we are back to Rebecca in the lab as she receives a call from Hunnigan about someone hacking into the DOD (department of defence) to obtain confidential information about bioterror attacks that have happened since Raccoon City along with files on Leon, Chris, Jill & Claire. Rebecca says she has not heard from the trio for 2 hours and decides to go rescue them. (This scene is in the trailer)

Leon and Jill are squatting down and making their way through a tunnel. (Leon is taking the lead btw) Jill questions why there is such a tunnel down here and Leon says it's probably used for transporting weapons from when Alcatraz was a military base. Jill quips Leon should be a tour guide.

Leon feels a draft of wind coming from a nearby wall and he pulls apart the wall brick by brick to find a crawl space. We do not see them crawling as they next appear in a spacious liar that has baby BOWs that are being incubated in the water, an armoury loaded with a ton of weapons that is next to a submarine dock that was "probably leftover from the military base".

They find a console that showcases bio-drones which are essentially mosquito drones. Dylan cackles over the comms and taunts Leon and Jill to go back to the prison compound where Claire & Chris are waiting.

Back to the prison compound they go while Rebecca is shown gearing up and carrying a case of vaccines as she is escorted by a SWAT team.

In the prison compound, Chris is in one jail cell while Claire & "Tony" are in another cell next to Chris. The Redfield siblings are pale and clearly unwell. Leon finally notices that Antonio is in the same cell as Claire and reveals the doctor's identity to everyone. Leon is also bit by the bio-drone and he slumps down to the floor.

Dylan & Maria finally make their appearance to the heroes and there's some egotistical villain dialogue. Dylan briefly name drops Glenn Arias from Vendetta as it is revealed both of them were acquainted. He hired Maria as she has some unfinished business with Leon for killing her dad.

Dylan says they should all be fighting the big organisations like the government who hide the truth instead of going after companies like Umbrella and individuals on the black market. He especially mocks Leon for working for the government that is clearly corrupt and Leon just says "It makes a living".

Dylan jeers at Claire for working with a NGO that does nothing but "only provides bandages" instead of doing real work to prevent bioterrorism.

He also ridicules Chris for having people die on every mission he's on and he keeps bringing in new people every time only for them to lose their lives.

Jill is spared from infection as Dylan wants her to feel his pain of seeing close friends turn and having to put them down. Claire is on the verge of turning and Dylan encourages Jill to shoot Claire before she can attack Antonio. Dylan taps his cane again and we flashback to the butchery.

Dylan has the SMG pointed at JJ and he pulls the trigger but it's empty. JJ tries to rummage through the mess on the floor and finds another SMG but Dylan grabs a metal box and smashes JJ's head with it at least five times (same rhythm as the cane), killing JJ.

Jill has her gun pointed at Dylan instead of Claire and Dylan shoots Antonio in the chest anyway. Maria and Jill fight a tiny bit before Leon manages to throw a flashbang as a distraction for Jill to escape. Dylan and Maria leave after that for "their final plan" and Dylan tells Maria not to go after Jill because there is nowhere else for Jill to go.

A dying Antonio asks the heroes why they keep fighting when things are so bleak and Leon and Chris say "There's Jill". Claire tries desperately to staunch Antonio's bleeding before Antonio reveals a secret code for a failsafe hidden in his pen. He hands the code to Claire and passes away.

Back to Rebecca on a boat as they approach Alcatraz and pull up to a choppy dock. The SWAT team notice a bogey approaching on the boat's radar which turns out to be an infected shark. Everyone dies via shark except Rebecca (plot armour is strong!)

Jill meets Rebecca in the tunnels as Jill heads towards the secret liar and she tells Rebecca to go to the cell block as the others are infected.

Back to Leon, Chris, and Claire as they shudder in pain and try their hardest not to turn. Rebecca arrives and Leon recognises her and calls her by name. Rebecca administers the vaccine to Leon by injecting him in the neck.

Jill arrives at the secret lair and the baby BOWs have released tons of bio-drones into the air which has now spread all over the globe.

Back to Rebecca, Claire, and Chris as both siblings are now cured, albeit still weakened, and out of their cells. Leon is absent as he ran off to the secret lair as soon as he could stand.

Leon is back at the console in the secret lair and tries to stop the bio-drones but he is interrupted by Maria who wants revenge on him for killing her father in Vendetta. It's a very fierce battle since Maria is super powered and Leon is still recovering so he is barely dodging her attacks. Leon gets his head & body smacked a lot in this fight too. Ouch. Maria is the one that throws a chair at Leon in the trailer.

There are also meme worthy scenes of Maria trying to put Leon in a headlock with her legs... I'm sure dirty-minded fans will have a field day with this.

Leon gets a sudden rush of energy and manages to kick Maria so hard she gets impaled on a rebar and dies. Leon shows no remorse btw and he never flirts with her in this movie.

Jill finds Dylan at the submarine dock and he injects himself in the head with the advanced T-virus and falls into the water below to merge with the BOW shark.

We have all five heroes grouping up and pointing their weapons at the mutated Dylan which looks like a cross between an elephant, RE6 HAOS, and RE4 mutated Saddler. Trailer shot of all five of them jumping to avoid the tentacle and then all of them separate after that with Jill and Chris finding caches of weapons to attack Dylan, Rebecca and Claire fire RPGs before Leon asks Claire to use Antonio's passcode on the console. Rebecca decides to accompany Claire.

All the massive weapons deal no damage to Dylan. Leon even drives a truck full of explosives into Dylan too. (Second vehicle Leon destroys in this movie)

Jill finds a short-ranged plasma rifle and asks Chris and Leon to lure Dylan over to her. So we get the trailer shot of Leon driving a humvee while Chris mans the machine gun turret on the back, shooting at Dylan and trying to get Dylan within Jill's range. Jill fires the weapon and while Dylan is seemingly dead, he still comes back to life.

Jill tries again to fire the plasma rifle but it needs time to charge and she gets smacked away by Dylan and Chris runs up to her to make sure she's alright. (Another Valenfield moment!)

Jill, Chris, and Leon run around the dock as Dylan rampages.

Before Claire can enter the killcode, Rebecca stops her and says they can control the bio-drones and the drones attack Dylan's body, "messing with its DNA".

Dylan tries desperately to escape into the ocean and they all try to close the gate leading out to sea. The gate lowers very slowly...

Jill has found a bag of weapons(?) and pulls out a flare, taunting Dylan to follow her as Leon and Chris try to assemble this huge-ass RPG that requires two people to carry.

Jill then dives into the water, Dylan follows after her, and she tries to shove a grenade into Dylan's mouth but is briefly strangled by the strap of her bag of weapons. She knives Dylan's eyeball and cuts the bag strap to free herself. It almost looks like Jill loses consciousness & sinks but then the camera cuts away to Leon and Chris firing the huge-ass RPG on the chains of the gate to make it drop down even faster.

Gate drops down on Dylan's head but doesn't quite decapitate him, Jill's bag of grenades (I think) goes off and Dylan's body explodes in a shower of goo.

Jill climbs out of the dock, miraculously dries off within a minute, and looks at the water with Dylan's gooey body. Leon and Chris are further away behind her, look at the body for a few seconds before they turn and walk away.

Scene transitions to the outside of Alcatraz where it is now sunrise. Leon jokes he can add "tour guide" into his resume as three helicopters are seen flying towards Alcatraz.

The camera shows an overhead view of Alcatraz and slowly pulls out... before the end credits roll with reels from the movie shown on the left and names of the people who worked on the movie on the right. (Kinda like Damnation's end credits)

So yeah, that's the movie. Pretty linear and not as messy as Vendetta but still predictable as the villain turns into a BOW.

Thanks for reading! I know I got a little tired at the end. I would say to watch this movie when the blu-ray/DVD comes out, probably not worth the money to watch in the theatre.

[aestheticitii]

How my Drayton&Kieran fic started: a goofy lil fic where they have a cute lil bonding moment, particularly when Kiki attempts to get one over him by teasing Drayton about accidentally admitting he's in love with Carmine, because Drayton is a menace who likes teasing Kiki about his maybe girlfriend that he goes on maybe dates with, but Drayton's like "Tell her, I dare you" instead and the concept is based off of this post because I'm going through Drayton withdrawals and also I'm a procrastinator

How it's going: a character study examining Kiki's thoughts on how he treated his first and second teams, how he shut out his family, and how Carmine's dislike of Drayton may have caused the first fracture in a potential friendship, which was only fractured further when he saw how buddy-buddy they were after he went off the deep end, and how his resentment may have been amplified by Pecharunt, resulting in him being unable to realize that Drayton monitoring him was less about how capable he is and more about how the two are nearly out of their minds with worry (with an inside joke that he might very well be possessed which gains more credence after Ogerpon shows up), and that this is something that's difficult to grow out of, particularly since Drayton doesn't seem inclined to come out and say that he views Kiki as a friend—which is something Juliana did not run into because their fight was more about her perceived rejection, as opposed to feeling like he needs to reject a friendship, and that she's also the one who is nice and patient and kind when he briefly breaks out of his funk post-Championship battle and so in this essay I will—

[bm05501]

Spoiler Warning............. Imagine if Beyond the Spiderverse proves Gwen's statement right, not in the sense of one of them dying, but Miles being done with Gwen after everything that happened.

It'd be heartbreakingly sad as it didn't end well due to some Universal rule, but because Gwen made a mistake and it fractured their relationship

I'm not hoping this will happen, but I want BTSV to briefly touch on this idea. Maybe have Miles tell E42 Miles what happened, and E42 Miles tells him that when it really matters, you can only trust family and yourself (a nice double entendre). Or when Gwen & Co show up, Miles wants to see her, but E42 Miles goes: "she willingly betrayed you, and your first thought is to go crawling back?"

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Memoriam: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: Spencer is investigating the death of his “imaginary friend” that’s not so imaginary. On the other hand, you’re finding out more about your family than you thought you knew. Why are you now getting the ick when you never had this before? What does it all mean?

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

He walks into the interrogation room where Will is, and you're about to go after him but Derek stops you. Spencer is lashing out because he is hurt, not because he truly feels this way. You feel everything he is feeling, and you're not sure how to help him. This is too overwhelming to deal with, but you're trying your best.

"It's a simple question. How did the blood get on the clothes?" Spencer asks his dad.

You, Derek, and Rossi are watching through the mirror.

"I told you, I'm not going to talk without counsel."

"If you don't have anything to hide, you don't need a lawyer."

"Spencer, please. I'm not stupid," Will sighs. "I'm proud of you, you know that?"

"I'm not stupid either."

"No. You've done a lot of good. Other people with your talents might have sought different opportunities. My God, you could have made a fortune but you chose to help people."

"I chose to study murderers. Why do you think that is?"

"I didn't do this, Spencer. Why don't you believe me?"

"As you said, I do have special talents. One of them is being able to tell when somebody is hiding something. My girlfriend? She can tell when someone is lying."

He knows you don't think his dad did this, but his dad doesn't know this. You hate that he's using you like this, but like you said before, he's hurting right now.

"You're angry that I left, and you have the right to be."

"You want to make it up to me? Tell me the truth," Spencer begs.

"I didn't kill that boy, but I know who did."

"Gary Michaels?"

Will looks at his son in shock, but he composes himself quickly to remain calm.

"How do you know that?"

"That was the whole idea, wasn't it? So, where is Gary Michaels now, Dad?"

"Spencer, please. Forget it. You don't want to go down this road."

"Will isn't lying," you say to Derek and Rossi. "He didn't kill Riley." Your phone rings, and you answer Hotch's call. "Hey, did you find anything out about Gary?"

"Yeah, they found him... well, some of him. They found him seven years ago when they broke ground for a construction project. I had Garica send everything over to you."

"Okay, thanks" you sigh.

"Yeah. Also, JJ is going into labor now. Everything is fine. We're checking her in now."

"Okay, thanks." You hang up the phone. "Good news is that JJ is going into labor! She'll have her baby by the time we get back." You knock on the door and open it, briefly looking at Will. "Spencer, can we talk to you?" He gets up and you bring him to where Rossi and Derek are before you break the news to him. "They found Gary... some of him."

"He's dead?"

"They dug him up seven years ago when some new construction broke ground in the desert."

"Whoever killed him was smart enough to bury him across state lines. Vegas PD never made the connection."

"How was he killed?"

"Judging from the fractures, they think he was beaten with something. A pipe or a bat."

"Bat?"

"Maybe it wasn't Riley's blood on those clothes your dad was burning," Derek says.

Detective Hyde only gave Spencer twenty-four hours to hold Will, and as soon as that was up, he was released. Spencer isn't satisfied until he knows the answer, so the next place he wants to go is the sheriff's department where part of Gary's body was found. It's right here in Vegas, so you don't have to travel far to talk to him.

He's very chatty as soon as you tell him what you're actually here for.

"There have been rumors that a body was buried at the Barker Ranch for years. That's where Charles Manson had his hideout. When we dug this one up, we went ahead and had him registered. We thought it could have been related."

"It's a good thing you did. We might never have ID'd him otherwise."

"So, why all the fuss over a dead pervert?"

"We think he may have killed a boy in Vegas over twenty years ago."

"Is that how he ended up in the ground? Revenge?" the sheriff asks.

"Possibly. It says here you have a fingerprint in evidence that was lifted from the victim's broken glasses," Spencer reads the file.

"We ran it up the flagpole a couple of times. Nothing ever came up."

"That was then. Now we have someone to compare it to."

"You have a suspect? That's a lot of taxpayer dollars being spent to solve a public service murder. If you ask me, the guy got just what he deserved," the sheriff shrugs.

"He's right, you know. We don't have to run this print," Rossi says.

"Of course we do. Whatever Michaels did, he deserved a fair trial."

"Reid, you wanted to know if your father killed Riley. All signs point to 'no'. You got what you need."

"What I need is the truth," Spencer says sternly.

"Spencer, if this print belongs to your dad, he could go to jail for a long time. Why are you trying so hard to pin this on him? It's like you're not even willing to hear the other side. Is this all because he abandoned you as a kid? Is this some sort of revenge?" you ask.

Spencer knows he's being unreasonable, but he's not willing to listen to the other side of the story right now.

"If you don't want to run it, I will."

You have no choice but to run the print despite what everyone else says. Since you're staying at the casino, you're waiting in the lobby for the phone call. Spencer is bouncing his leg as a sign of his anxiety, and you place your hand on his leg to stop him, but he shrugs your touch off him. You hate that he is being this way, but you have to be patient. This is different than when he was being an asshole to you for the whole Tobias Hankel thing, which is why you're giving him leeway.

Ten seconds later, Derek's phone rings, and you look at Spencer. He nods desperately for Derek to answer it, so he does.

"This is agent Morgan. ... You did? ... You're one hundred percent certain? ... Okay. Thank you." Derek hangs up and looks at Spencer who stands. "We're going to have to get an arrest warrant."

"It was a match?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't your dad."

Will didn't kill Riley, Gary did. Will didn't kill Gary, Lou did. Once he heard what he did to his son, he beat him the fuck up and killed him. What Diana and Will have to do with all of this, you're not sure, but you know Will is innocent in that sense. Lou is working on some construction project in town, so you three head over there after notifying Detective Hyde's captain. As soon as you get there, Detective Hyde shows up, and Spencer isn't too happy about that.

"What's he doing here?"

"We notified your captain about this, Detective. It's all legit," Rossi says.

"I'm not trying to stop you. I just want to be the one to bring him in. It'll go easier. He's my friend."

"Yeah, we figured that much," Spencer scoffs.

"You slipped us Gary's file, didn't you?" you ask.

"You were after the wrong guy."

"You knew who the right guy was all along? About what Lou did to him?"

"There wasn't any evidence."

"Did you even look?" Spencer asks with his eyes narrowed, but Hyde doesn't answer that.

"You want to link him up, go ahead, but he rides in with us."

"I appreciate that."

Lou looks up and sees Hyde walking over to him, and Lou has that look about him that knows he is caught for what he did. Your team brings Lou back to the police station, and Spencer jumps at the chance to talk to Lou. Before you have a chance to do anything, he pulls you into the room with him. Damn, if he wanted you with him, all he needed to do is ask.

"We have your print off Gary's glasses when they found him seven years ago. Who else was with you?"

"No one."

"You're saying you killed Gary Michaels by yourself, all alone?"

"That's right."

"Was Wiliam Reid a party to this?"

"No."

"You're lying. Is he lying?" Spencer asks you.

You look at him in shock, but you don't have time to answer him.

"I'm not lying."

"What makes you think Gary killed your boy?" Derek asks.

"He admitted it."

"If you beat a guy with a baseball bat, he's going to admit to a lot of things. How do you know he was the right guy?"

"I know. He approached another kid in the neighborhood."

"How do you know that?"

"I was told by a concerned party."

"Who? Another parent?"

"That's all I'm going to say on the subject," Lou shrugs.

"Who was it?" Spencer demands.

"I told you that's all I'm going to say on the sub--"

"Who was it?" Spencer yells, slamming his fist on the table.

You jump at the sudden noise, and you have to force back tears. He's crossing a line you're not sure he'll be able to come back to, and he's using his anger toward his dad to dictate how he behaves. The door to the interrogation room opens, and Detective Hyde comes in.

"Agent Reid?"

"Do not interfere with this interrogation, Detective. This is not your case anymore."

"Spencer, it was me."

Diana walks in with a reserved look on her face, and Spencer's shoulders sag at her presence. His father also appears behind Diana, and you know that they are going to talk about this in another room. You're planning on staying here, but Spencer grabs your hand in silent question. You get up without a word and follow the three of them into an empty office.

"Did you know Gary?" Spencer asks his mom.

"I'd seen him around at your ball games and at the park. You used to play chess there, do you remember? You played with him once."

"With Gary?"

"I didn't know that was his name back then, but it wasn't unusual for you to play with adults. You'd win, too," he chuckles.

"Did he do something to me?"

"Oh, no. God, no. It never got to that point. When I saw the way he looked at you, I knew what he was. I could just tell."

"A mother knows."

"Yes," she whispers.

"So, you told Riley's dad."

"Yes. Two nights later, Lou called the house. He was agitated. He said he needed me to meet him. I sat there. I couldn't move. It was like a dream. That paralysis in the face of something terrible."

"What happened after that?"

"At some point, I found myself walking towards the house. I walked inside, and I saw Gary on the ground. Lou was standing over him with a baseball bat. I must have slipped on Gary's blood because I remember the blood on my clothes. After that, I can't remember."

"You came home," Will says. "She couldn't talk at first, but eventually I came to understand what had happened. I knew that nobody could ever know."

"You two never told anyone?"

"No, she could have been implicated. I had to protect her."

"You were burning her bloody clothes."

"I couldn't burn the knowledge away. It changed everything."

"Is that why you left?" Spencer asks, vulnerable.

"I tried to keep us together, Spencer. I swear to you, but the weight of that knowledge, it was too much."

"You could have come back. You could have started over."

"I didn't know how to take care of you anymore. When I lost that confidence, there was no going back."

"What's done is done. At least now you know the truth."

"I was wrong about everything. I'm sorry," Spencer sighs.

"I am too, Spencer," Will says.

You never needed to be here. Spencer only asked you to come in here for one reason, and when you realize that, you stand up.

"Excuse me." You walk out of the room, but you don't get far because Spencer is chasing after you. "Did you want me in there because you know I know when people are lying?" Spencer opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. "Spencer, I will back you up on anything, you know this, but don't ever use me again."

"I'm sorry," he sighs.

Since this is considered case closed, you're able to fly back without having something unfinished. As you predicted, by the time you got back to Quantico, JJ had her baby. Everyone is in her hospital room to admire her child when you and Spencer enter with shy looks on your faces.

"Is there room for two more in here?"

"Spence, Y/N, hi," JJ smiles.

"Welcome back," Hotch says.

"How is it that I just went through fifteen hours of labor and you two look worse than I do?" JJ chuckles.

"Don't be ridiculous. You look beautiful," Spencer smiles.

"Well, I could sure use some coffee. Anyone else? My treat," Will offers.

Everyone filters out of the room to give you and Spencer some alone time with JJ. You walk to her with a smile and hold your arms out.

"May I hold him?"

"Of course."

JJ passes her baby boy, Henry, over to you. He's not even your child, but you have so much love for him. You pass him off to Spencer once you're satisfied, and he awkwardly holds the baby in his arms. If he looks tiny in your arms, then he definitely is microscopic in Spencer's arms.

"Are you two okay?"

"Yeah, are you?"

"Better now," she chuckles. "Look, I want to ask you two something. Will and I were talking and we want you two to be Henry's godparents."

"Are you serious?" you gasp happily. "Yes, of course!"

"If anything should happen to us, it's up to you and Y/N to make sure this boy gets into Yale," JJ jokes.

"Yale? Do you want to go to Yale, Henry?" Spencer smiles at the child. "That was your godfather's safety school. Don't worry, I can get you into Cal-Tech with one phone call."

You can't be any happier right now. This has been such an emotional rollercoaster, but it's ended so sweetly.

"There is no refuge from memory and remorse in this world. The spirits of our foolish deeds haunt us, with or without repentance." - Gilbert Parker

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[kay-elle-cee]

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 28 || 649 Words || Read on Ao3 —

Under the bright, cold lights of the office, Lily shifts uncomfortably on the examination table, the paper under her crinkling as she pulls the hospital gown a little tighter around herself. She winces as she does this, the pain in her chest pulling a whine from between clamped lips. 

It’s been nearly twenty minutes since she’d been guided to this room after her X-rays, each breath a reminder of the nasty fall she had taken down the stairs this morning. The doctor had to show up soon. Had to, or she’d go mad from the pain.

Then: a gentle knock on the door and a deep voice that did not belong to the physician who had attended her earlier. “Miss Evans?”

“Yes, come in.”

Her eyes drop to her lap as she smoothes out the hospital gown, the sound of the hallway growing louder for the quickest moment before the door closes once again. When she looks up, she realizes for the first time how the sharp pain in her chest really inhibits her breathing, because standing before her is a man in a white coat with short, messy black hair and the strongest goddamn jaw she’s ever seen in her life. Luckily, his eyes seem to be staring at the clipboard in his hands because she thinks briefly that one look from him would cause a heart attack.

At least she’s at A&E already.

“My name is James Potter,” the doctor supplies as his eyes trail from the clipboard to her face, and he smiles kindly. “I’ll be taking over from Doctor McKinnon, as fractures really are my forte.”

Lily—only seconds ago so focused on her own pain—now has to force herself to register the content of his actual words. “Fractures?”

“Yes,” he answers, typing quickly on the little keyboard in the corner of the room and swiveling the monitor around to face her. Lit up on the screen are the X-rays of her chest, she squints to try and find the offending fracture. The doctor aids her search by pointing to it—two ribs on her left side. “That must’ve been some fall you took, Miss Evans. You managed to fracture not one, but two ribs.”

“Wonderful,” she breathes, irritated with herself.

“But, I think the important thing to note here,” Doctor Potter smiles again, “is that that’s the extent of it. I saw in your chart you were worried about a punctured lung or something with your heart, and I’m happy to report that’s not the case. Just the two fractures.”

Lily shifts in her seat uncertainly. It was good to hear—a fracture had been her first thought, but with her mother’s heart attack the previous year, panic had nestled its way into her doubtful mind. The doctor is still watching her carefully, and takes a few steps across the room.

“I’m sure it’s been a long day, Miss Evans, but I’m happy to say you’ll be fine in about six weeks.” He grimaces. “Unfortunately, the ribs have to heal on their own—there’s nothing we can really do to speed up the process. We can prescribe some pain medicine, but you’ll need to take it easy.”

“How good is the pain medicine? Will I feel like this the whole time? If so, please just put me out of my misery, this is awful. Every time I breathe I feel like I’m dying.”

Laughing softly, he pulls a prescription pad out of one of the cabinet drawers. He uncaps a pen and before he begins writing, smiles at her. She feels a warmth—more than that, a calmness—emanating from her broken chest and flowing through her veins as he gives a small shake of his head, his hazel eyes sparkling with more unshed laughter. “You’re not dying, I promise.”

“Just feels like it, then,” she states with a quirked brow, heart pounding painfully against those broken ribs.

“Unfortunately.”

[flamingskull28]

(Late birthday gift for @frog-man-moments )

"Alright 4, I need to go get some groceries I should be back soon. Call if you need me."

4 looked over to 8, putting on her coat and boots. It had been raining all day so it was a bit over the top, but best not the get splatted while walking.

"Can.. I come with?" 4 knew that was a long shot even if she put on her puppy eyes. Tyson had been clear he didn't want her to move around to much today, since he had fully fixed a fracture in her arm and it needed around a day to fully heal. (one of the many benefits of inklings fast healing)

8 sighed seeing 4's eyes "No 4.. I want to but you have to take it easy, you're not gonna move off the couch till I get back okay?" 8 flashed a stern look. 4 dared not disobey that look.

"... fine, I won't move."

8 smiled and gave 4 a kiss. "Good, I'll be back soon." then she walked out the door with a wave and 4 was on her own.

4 noted how it was cold it was almost immediately, even with the blanket draped around her. The air seemed to turned frigged the second 8 left while most sounds seemed to slip away from her hearing.

"calm down 4..." she mumbled to herself, trying to focus on the TV. It was some show about space or something, 4 wasn't really paying attention she and 8 choose it just because Callie had been talking about it since she played a main role.

*knock*

4 jolted in place, and her gaze snapped to the door. Was 8 back already? No that couldn't be it, it had barely been a few minutes.. a robber!?.. wait no they wouldn't knock so long if they were trying to break in.

4 took a breath to calm herself "Who is it?"

...

"...Nova? is that you?"

4 froze and her face went pale. She told them to leave her alone, She didn't want to face them anymore. Why were th-

"Nova, I promise it's just me. Your sister.. Astra. Mom and dad didn't come. Please.. can we talk?" Astras voice was raspy and desperate. She also sounded a bit weak and melty... too long in the rain no doubt... even if Astra had mistreated her for years, 4 wouldn't let them splat themselves in the rain..

4 clenched her fist and sighed "Just.... you?... Come in, door is unlocked. There is towel to dry yourself off." She kept her tone level, despite the whirlwind of emotions in her head.

The door slowly swung open and a shortish, woman with a t-shirt for some band from their hometown that was too big for her, sweat pants and long perfectly matched tentacles walked in.... Astra.

She grabbed the towel and wiped off the most drenched parts of her self and set it down on the floor to clean what dropped. This gave 4 a moment to study her face. Her make up (which she always wore to much of) was running down her cheeks her eyes had a reddish tone, had she been crying?

After cleaning herself off, Astra just stared for a moment. It had been about a month since they last met and it was only briefly so it was likely Astra still wasn't used to all the changes on 4. She then looked at 4's wrapped up arm and visibly gestured to it.

"Got a fracture fixed, those are they for today so it stays in place." After a few more seconds of staring 4 rolled her eyes and pointed at the other end of the couch "Sit and say what you came here to say."

Astra hesitated but walked over, taking a seat but leaned forward and was looking at 4.

"Well..?" 4 raised her eyebrow but made it clear she wasn't to happy about this.

"Ok..." Astra took a deep breath "First I want to say sorry for coming here suddenly, I tried getting one of your friends to ask you for me but they all ignored me."

"For a reason." 4 scowled, but strangely feeling guilt seeing Astras hurt look.

"Well... I just want to see where we stand.. Last time everyone got heated and Mom and Dad blew it out of proportions.." They both stared off for a moment, recalling that day. "I didn't know how you felt till then... and..." Astras breath became shaky "F-Fuck... Nova, I'm sorry.. I was an awful sister." tears rolled from Astras cheeks

4 sat up straighter, her sister never cried in from of her before... a pang hit her chest seeing it.

"I was stupid kid who like the attention everyone gave me and everyone started teasing you one day, I joined in and... it just got worse."

"and it got worse when we were home..." 4 muttered and Astra looked down like a sad puppy "I.. hated going out of my room, knowing I was going to be critiqued and compared to you... nothing was every enough and... y-you just ate it up, even joined in..." Astra looked as if she was hit by a shovel.

"I-I... w-what's wrong with m-me?..Y-You didn't deserve that N-Nova..." She devolved further into a mess of sobs.

4 just looked, she thought telling her sister how awful she was would be satisfying but.. all she felt was guilt.. she wasn't the best either, maybe..

"Do.. Do you remember the time when you were grabbing you clothing for cheer practice and a frog jumped out?"

Astra looked up, still crying but confused too "Y-Yeah? It landed on my face and the whole team laughed at me, they called me frog face for like a month.

"I put it in your bag..." 4 said with a small smile, Astra looked at her full on. She had a held back smile too.

"You did?"

"Yup, and do you recall how one splatoween you're candy had been taken out and replaced with rocks?"

"W-Well yeah, you told me a skeleton took it all. It was you wasn't it?" Astra's tears cleared a bit more, she had a weak smile.

4 chuckled "Yeah, got sick as shell because all the candy I ate and mom gave you most of my candy." She then smiled and grabbed Astras shoulder with her good arm "Your shampoo getting swapped with sugar water and syrup? The spider that crawled out your guitar? All those lunches mom packed where their were peppers ground up in the food? All me."

Astra looked at her for a moment her smile growing and a small laugh growing into laughing fit which 4 joined in on. The two sisters wheezing while recalling all the 'bad luck' Astra had. For the first time in years they felt happy around each other.

After a few breathless minutes the laughs died down and the sisters were catching their breath.

"Why *huff* was that so funny? Why tell me that anyway?" Astras tears were fully gone now/

"Because.. I wasn't the best sister either and.. I miss those times where we were happy.. I didn't know that till I saw you again." 4 looked into her sisters eyes "I want that back.. I can't hold a grudge forever anyway..."

Astra beamed with joy "Thank you Nova, thank you so much." She wrapped her sister in a hug. "I'll be a better sister this time. I promise."

4 hugged back "I will too..."

The door opened again. "4! I'm home!" 4 looked back at 8, with the most baffled expression then at Astra.

"Guess we have a lot to explain?"

[aquietlifesblog]

Ravening Wolves (Dio x F!Reader) 9/?

"When it's all over," he breathes, "when I stand supreme, and am no longer a slave to fate... I shall show you heaven..."

OR

At long last, the time has come to set your grand scheme in motion: the elimination of Jotaro Kujo and Dio's glorious resurrection. The Age of Heaven is near, and you won't let the Joestars stop you—no matter how hard they fight. You've defied fate and death for Dio. Perhaps one day you'll tell him how you feel. A sequel to 'Hungry Eyes.'

Read on AO3

First Chapter | Masterlist |

Chapter 9: Bow Down

Incense wafts through the drawing room, veiling the space in a sweet, smoky haze.

You sit beneath a large self-portrait, dressed in Edwardian splendor, seated in the same ornate chair you now rest upon, sipping tea with grace. Dio lounges on the chaise nearby, a satisfied smirk gracing his lips as Francesca, another one of your devoted followers, brings Okuyasu and Koichi in. 

Their eyes, once full of life, now reflect only torment, a testament to the formidable power of her Stand. You can't help but marvel at her ability, it has been useful time and time again.

"Greetings, my Lord and Lady," she bows gracefully, the folds of her crimson robe pooling around her.

"Francesca," you acknowledge.

"What do we have here?" Dio purrs, his golden gaze fixated on the tormented pair. Although unfamiliar with this servant, he senses the power of her abilities, the potential. 

“My stand allows me to distort the appearance of everything it reflects.”

Okuyasu and Koichi, ensnared in their mental struggles, remain oblivious to the exchange. Yet, their haunted expressions reveal the internal turmoil of their fractured minds. But as their gaze falls upon you and Dio, their twisted worlds transform you into beacons of salvation, everything Francesca sees you as. 

You prepare to rise, to assume the role of a benevolent god, to welcome the two into the fold, but Dio steps forward and mimics you instead. 

"Fear not. You shall find peace and purpose beneath my benevolent rule," Dio tells them, his voice dripping with false sincerity as flesh buds unfurl from the golden strands of his hair, sealing their fate with a sinister pulse.

Their agony gives way to an eerie calmness. 

"Take them to Pucci," Dio commands, eyes gleaming with anticipation. 

Francesca nods, escorting the now-obedient duo out the door, passing Vanilla Ice on the way.

Dio's gaze lingers on them briefly before returning to you.

“Pucci?” You raise your brow, “Not Vanilla Ice?”

"That's what I said, is it not? Do take you to take issue with my judgment?" 

“I don't believe Pucci is up to the task," you state, your eyes meeting his. "Tell me where he is, and I will assign someone to assist him."

"You find him unsuitable?" Dio raises an inquisitive brow, inviting you to elaborate. "Why? You don't dislike Pucci." 

"I don't dislike him, nor do I find his abilities lacking. He's proven himself capable on more than one occasion. However...you never turned him into a vampire, did you?" You ask in turn, meeting his gaze. "Surely you must find him lacking in some aspects."

"Pucci's humanity and virtue are central to my plans. If he wished to ascend to a higher realm of power, he would no longer be suitable as my friend." Dio admits, settling back on the chaise, though his gaze still lingers. He looks as though he's solving a puzzle, one you laid at his feet without warning. 

"Ah. Such consideration. How unfortunate that you possessed so little of that with me." You take a sip of tea. 

Dio rolls his eyes at your remark, frustration simmering beneath the surface. He's given you power, immortality, the world at your feet, and a treasured place at his side, yet here you are, questioning him.

"Is this what our conversation devolves into? Bitter reminiscing?" Dio asks as a sly smile forms across his features. "I thought we were past that. You're still here, aren't you? Enjoying the fruits of my gifts."

You lift your shoulder, avoiding his gaze with calculated nonchalance. It's a subtle gesture, yet it does not escape Dio's perceptive gaze. It's a look he's seen before, usually on the face of Vanilla Ice. Dio scoffs inwardly, annoyed at the thought of how "great friends" you must be with his most devoted follower to have adopted even his most subtle habits.

"You're jealous," Dio states with a knowing smirk, the corners of his lips curled in amusement. "Jealous of the privileges I've allowed Pucci, the trust I place within him You wish to have me to yourself, how could I have forgotten."

You scoff and hit him with a sideways glance.

"Jealousy is a useless emotion. I merely find it...intriguing. You scorn human nature at every turn, and yet..."

"And yet, only you occupy this treasured spot at my side. Pucci is an ally, a friend, but even now, with the world at my feet, you are the one I desire above all," Dio continues, his voice a seductive murmur. "You doubt me, as you always have, but the truth remains." 

Whether it's flattery or an honest declaration, you can never be quite sure.

"Soon, my friend, we shall see the fruits of our….collaboration," he continues, a sinister smile playing on his lips. "I will give you all that you yearn for." 

The trio proceeds through the silent town. The houses, a fusion of Edwardian and Art Deco architecture, stand proud.  Towering trees are ancient sentinels, their branches intertwined, casting dappled shadows on the cobblestone streets below.

Hol Horse can't shake an unsettling feeling. 

"This place gives me the creeps," he mutters, his eyes nervously scanning the old structures.

 Polnareff, walking beside him, nods in agreement. 

"Feels like we've stepped into a history book."

The distant toll of a church bell breaks the stillness, rousing the town from slumber. The trio moves toward the source, drawn to the beckoning sound.

All around them, doors begin to open, and children appear, bags of books and paper in hand. 

Beyond the church lies a quaint business district, picturesque with hand-painted signs designating a bakery, a butcher, and a tailor shop named 'Crimson Stitches' within view. A general store stands just beyond, promising an assortment of goods. There must also be a school. 

Though as parents cast weary glances at the strangers from their doorsteps, and tradesmen take to the streets in preparation for work, something dark lingers in the shadows. 

"We're being watched," Josuke whispers, nodding toward the alleys where cloaked figures stand, unnoticed or perhaps purposefully ignored,  by the civilians, standing like silent watchers in the dark. Yet they allow them to pass.

And as the group approaches the church, Josuke notices an unfamiliar symbol on its door — a moon in eclipse. The church aligns perfectly with the mansion above as if the building itself is an altar.

But then, as if summoned, the grand doors of the church swing open with a dramatic flourish, unveiling a sanctum of opulent beauty.

"Strangers in our town, seeking sanctuary or stirring chaos?" A calm yet eerie voice cuts through the air. A figure then emerges from the shadows of the doorway, cloaked in the same crimson attire as the watchers in the alley, though his eyes seem to glow with an unsettling knowingness.

"Just passing through, sir. No need for trouble." Hol Horse, always quick to respond, tips his hat. 

"All are welcome in these halls. Come, find solace,” the man reassures, stepping fully into the light. 

"No thanks. We’re busy.” Josuke eyes the man, wearily. He’s had enough of cloaked weirdos for one lifetime. 

"But I insist, Josuke Higashikata," he lowers his head. "It is selfish of me to ask, but we need you; you must help us, and I can help you."

" 'Help us?' " A cold realization tightens Josuke's chest.

"This is a trap, mon ami. If we stop now, we’ll be playing into their hands," Polnareff warns.

“You’re free to go if you wish, but you will not be permitted near the grounds of the manor. The Chosen will protect their patrons with their lives, and I do not wish to see such bloodshed. Think of who may be affected.” 

The man points to the streets, to the children drawing nearer, the workers with placid smiles strewn across their faces, and the cloaked figures watching their every move. 

Josuke considers the risks. What if these people genuinely need help? Could he risk a full-on brawl in the streets? 

"Maybe we should play along," Josuke mutters.

 "...A fight indoors may prove advantageous,” Polnareff nods after a moment, and Hol Horse favors anything that tips the odds in their favor. 

So, the three follow the cloaked man into the church, and the heavy wooden doors shut with an ominous creak. The interior is vast; wooden pews arranged in neat rows lead toward a crimson carpet and ornate altar. Stained glass windows depict the moon in eclipse,  mirroring the symbol carved into the door.

Large tapestries weave a silent tale, a history unfamiliar to Josuke. Though there’s no time to appreciate the architecture. His attention is drawn to the man standing before the altar. He adjusts his hood, tilting it back just enough to reveal a somewhat familiar face.  He resembles the young stand user from the Pendleton Estate, the one who tried to stab him. 

Determination etches across Josuke's features as he summons Crazy Diamond — but the man doesn't seem to notice. 

He isn't a Stand user, they realize at the same time, yet that doesn’t mean he's defenseless. 

“So what do you want?” Josuke asks, and the man gestures for them to step forward, welcoming them into the sanctuary—the beating heart of paradise.

"This is the very spot where the  ‘goddess’ stood, where she promised heaven to those who believed, a heaven to be brought forth by DIO."

Josuke shares a wary glance with Polnareff and Hol Horse, uncertain of the man's motives.

"What's with all this 'heaven' talk?" Hol Horse interjects, skepticism evident in his tone.

The cloaked figure shifts his attention to Hol Horse, his voice carrying an almost hypnotic cadence.

"DIO is heralding a world devoid of fear, anxiety, or turmoil. Every soul will find peace, a sanctuary away from the chaos beyond. We've all sought refuge here, yearning for tranquility. What could be more serene?"

Hol Horse, unimpressed, mutters,

"Sounds like a cult to me."

"Tranquility? You call this tranquility?" Josuke gestures to their surroundings. The church, to him, is nothing but a testament to your and Dio's vanity. "Those two aren't gods. They're vampires, draining the life out of you and everyone in this town."

"My brother and I had no say," The man responds, "we were brought here. Diva was too young to remember our life before, Father too grief-stricken by Mother's death. I alone saw her for what she truly is. Just as you say, Josuke, she's a monster. Now, my brother is gone, and I am left here alone."

Josuke empathizes, yet distrust lingers. Something about the man feels off, wrong. He senses a watchful presence, an unshakable feeling of being observed. But as he scans the room, marble statues meet his gaze.

"So, what are you asking of us?" Polnareff interjects.

“Help,” the man answers, “I’ve attended this church for many years now, and I am familiar with its secrets. There is a crypt beneath this church, and catacombs lead to the mansion. I will show you the way, and give you what you need but you must free us before it's too late.” 

“Catacombs?” Hol Horse recoils. “You mean there’s just a bunch of dead folks down there?”

“What, Hol Horse? Afraid of a few bones?” Polnareff mocks him. 

“There are no cemeteries above ground here.” The man explains. 

“Why not?” Josuke raises a brow. 

“To keep the people from dwelling on the inevitability of death. The sick and elderly are brought to her, you see. And those who pass away rest beneath the church. It is the job of the clergy to tell their kin that they've 'joined with the body of the Goddess,' preserving their peace of mind.”

“...well,” Hol Horse says after a moment, “I guess that’s one way to control folks  — keep ‘em stupid and happy.”

“I don't buy it,” Josuke declares. “I can't trust you; for all I know, you've made up this whole story, and the moment we go off with you, we'll be ambushed.” He summons Crazy Diamond, its fist closing in on the cloaked man's face. Unflinching, the man remains calm, even as the Stand's fist stops mere centimeters from him. He doesn't notice a thing. 

“I understand your skepticism. Hence, I present this... think of it as a peace offering.” He produces something from the sleeve of his robe: a DISC. It gleams beneath the light of the stained glass, and as something on it begins to play, a familiar voice fills the air.

“Josuke...I...I might die here. So, if I do, please tell your mother I said hello.” A familiar voice speaks, his voice like an old recording.

Josuke gasps. The disk plays what must be a memory; water filling with blood, the outline of a baby, and Josuke holding Shizuka for the first time. 

“Is that…”

“Joseph Joestar’s memory DISC.” The man answers in his strange, hypnotic way.

Josuke, though unsure, takes the DISC into his hands, tilts it in the light, and the memories skip backward. There he sees an endless world of sand, battles that shouldn’t have been won, Jotaro and Polnareff in their younger years, a dog, and two others he doesn’t recognize. 

He moves the disk again and there’s a giant man with wings, more beautiful than even Dio. He hovers above Joseph, smoke, and debris all around. 

“Goodbye forever, JoJo!” The giant taunts, voice filled with sadistic glee before the fingers of a severed hand puncture his throat. Josuke doesn’t quite understand that particular memory, so he turns the DISC again and watches a blond man settle into a chair with a dramatic leap. He seems aloof, almost cool before Joseph slides a card across the table. 

“I saw that! Deal the cards correctly!” His voice is low and thick, with an Italian accent. He points an accusatory finger Joseph's way. 

He moves the DISC once more, turning it forward and back until he finds what must be an early memory, that of a woman with graying hair and a gentle demeanor. She smiles down at Joseph, his tiny face reflected in her soft blue eyes. 

“This is the real deal,” Josuke breathes. “These are Mr. Joestar's memories…But…how did you get a hold of this? What’s your game?” He tucks the disk away in the pocket of his jacket, close to his heart. 

“Father Pucci keeps his DISCs here, in this chapel. It was easy enough to obtain. And there is no ‘game’ here. Is it truly so difficult to believe that perhaps not all of us are true believers?” The man frowns. “All I ask is that you remember us.” 

He turns, and as he makes his way down the hall, Josuke chooses to believe him. He exchanges a weary glance with Hol Horse and Polnareff, who both know what it’s like to serve a would-be God against their will and better judgment. They nod, and the trio trails behind him, though they maintain a cautious distance. 

Though, as promised, a bookshelf conceals a secret passage in a back room, filled with trinkets and offerings. The room gives way to a staircase, overtaken by cobwebs, that descend into the cool, dark earth. The man grabs a flashlight and guides them through the crypt—a solemn expanse of dusty white stone, a small labyrinth where shadows cling to the stone like ghosts.

Among the many chambers, only one of them is sealed and it appears to be dedicated to a couple named 'Bishop.'

"May you rest together in death," Josuke reads from the plaque. "It’s that name again. Who are they?"

“...she has many secrets, I couldn’t begin to know them all…” the man replies. 

It’s quiet, too quiet. The stone beneath their feet is worn and uneven, and each step reverberates with hushed echoes. They take a direct route through winding corridors, some lined with dark bones, others with faded inscriptions. Cobwebs hang like delicate veils between the cracks and water drips down from somewhere, it's echo like a mournful heartbeat. 

Josuke and the others keep their guard up; the catacombs are a perfect place to die. 

But then, without warning, a mouse darts across the floor, putting Polnareff on edge. 

“What’s the matter? Afraid of a few mice?” Hol Horse mocks, his low voice easing the tension that seemed to press in from all sides. 

“Shut it.” Polnareff huffs. 

The group reaches the end before long and there they find a wrought-iron door, bolted to the stone with an expert hand. The man produces an old key from his robe and forces it into the old lock. It takes a moment, but the door unlocks with a heavy click. 

"I can go no further," The man tells them, "I cannot risk being seen and you must be careful. Act swiftly, for there will be no second chance."

Though he's still uncertain, Josuke won't allow a debt to go unpaid. "We won't forget you when this is over."

“The Speedwagon Foundation has experience rehabilitating those who have been brainwashed. They’ll help the people of this town.” Polnareff says. The man nods and shuts the door once they cross through the threshold. 

He stands for a moment, basking in the silence of the space before locking the door. 

He pays no mind to the mice or the webs that cling to the walls and doesn’t bother to dust himself off as he moves the bookshelf back in place. 

Instead, the young man returns to his clerical duties; tending to the offerings and cleaning the altar. 

But as he bows and bends and stretches upright, his hood falls against his shoulders. 

And there, nestled in the dark curls that grace his head, is a DISC.  

The trio slips through the door, leaving one oppressive darkness for another. Cold brick walls surround them, adorned with unlit sconces that Polnareff meets head-on. 

Though turning a corner, they notice a dim light, shining through a slightly open door. They enter with the utmost care, drawn by the dim flickering light of a lantern on a large wooden table. The light illuminates glass enclosures that house a variety of beetles, their iridescent colors catching in the feeble light. There are others as well,  more specimens mounted on the wall, pinned, and labeled with meticulous care. 

"Somebody got themselves a hobbie or somethin'?" Hol Horse remarks, eyeing the insect collection with curiosity. 

Josuke wrinkles his nose.

"This isn't what I expected to find in a vampire's mansion. What's Dio doing with a collection like this?"

Polnareff leans in, inspecting the neatly arranged insects.

"Maybe he's into entomology. Who knows with that guy."

Hol Horse, skeptical, crosses his arms. 

"Or maybe he's got a plan involving bugs. I wouldn't put it past ‘em."

They inspect the room and take the lantern when they find little else. Soon, they stumble upon another chamber, a large chamber where rust-colored stains whisper tales of torment, and chains ominously hang from the walls.

Polnareff grimaces at the sight. 

"What sort of sick games does Dio play down here?"

Josuke's eyes dart around the chamber, capturing the grim details. 

"We need to find Jotaro, Koichi, and Okuyasu fast. No telling what they might have been subjected to."

Hol Horse, used to Dio’s extremities,  notices something glinting in the corner of the room. 

He kneels and picks up a gold pin, its square shape engraved with an open palm. Recognition flickers in his eyes, but before he can voice his thoughts, his attention is drawn to the figure standing at the threshold.

"We've got company."

The figure steps forward, revealing their face, or rather, the absence thereof. A featureless mask hides any semblance of identity, and the air thickens with tension.

As they lock eyes, the mysterious newcomer summons his Stand — a large bull with glowing red eyes that charges at Josuke with the force of a stampede. But Crazy Diamond seizes the bull by the horns and tosses it across the room. Hol Horse aims at the assailant, but another Stand, one with the properties of sand, attacks him from behind. Chariot, however, counters its advance.

“It’s an ambush!” Polnareff yells, as though the presence of a third assailant, one with a Stand that wields a strange purple slime, hadn’t made that clear.

It’s a battle royale.

Crazy Diamond collides with the bull Stand, creating shockwaves that send their assailants sprawling. Silver Chariot cuts through a wave of sand, and Hol Horse provides support from the sidelines.

But the cloaked assailants move with eerie synchronicity, attacking from multiple angles, their ranks replenishing as they fall. But Josuke, fueled by determination, lands precise punches with Crazy Diamond, knocking out one Stand User after another, though exhaustion threatens to overtake him.

As the battle continues, Josuke’s body begins to ache. He fights harder, but Crazy Diamond's movements feel sluggish and strained.

Eventually, someone knocks him down, and as he struggles to rise, to stand up and continue the fight,  his heart sinks to the floor. Because Koichi, his friend, now stands there, a flesh bud implanted in his forehead. 

Echoes ACT 3 appears beside him, amplifying gravity in the room, forcing Hol Horse and Polnareff to the floor with anguished cries. Amid the chaos, a sense of helplessness washes over Josuke. 

“Koichi!” He yells, but the pained screams of his friends are louder.  He turns, rising from the floor despite the pain to help his allies. But just as he begins to find his footing,  another Stand, a mass of green muscles and gleaming red fists, crashes into him with overwhelming force.

Josuke is sent flying, and his body sprawls across the cold, hard ground. He grunts, pain ripping through his chest as the first of the stand rains down upon his Crazy Diamond. The stand is strong, but it isn't fast. Has he not fought Polnareff, had he not been ambushed, had he not been worried about his friends, he would have won this fight. 

He grits his teeth, trying to push through the searing pain, attempting to regain his footing once more, but the martial arts master controlling the Stand is a formidable adversary, and Josuke senses that the odds are stacked against him — and that they have been from the beginning. 

The very friends he vowed to protect are now suffering, one under Dio's control, the others pinned to the floor, each blow Crazy Diamond takes reverberates through his tired form. The room blurs as pain and exhaustion threaten to overwhelm him.

And as the powerhouse Stand raises its mighty fist for another strike, Josuke's mind echoes with the struggles of those who came before him — Jonathan, Joseph, Jotaro. He can't help but question the fairness of it all. The weight of the Joestar Legacy, a legacy of battles fought across generations, feels like an unbearable burden on his shoulders. Another powerful descends upon him, and Josuke succumbs to the weight of exhaustion and the despair of an unending fight. 

The room, once filled with the symphony of battle, falls into an eerie silence as Josuke crumples to the floor.

Josuke's eyes flicker open, met by the heady scent of roses and the opulence of what seems to be a study filled with dark wood furniture, rich fabrics, and bookshelves lined with ancient lore and dusty manuscripts. The room around him is luxurious, a far cry from the horror of the dungeon below. But panic grips him as he realizes he can't move. His arms and feet are securely bound, leaving him vulnerable in this luxurious prison.

"Josuke Higashikata," a voice, smooth and dripping with charm, caresses his senses. He turns toward the door and follows a line of gold shoes and stylish red clothes upward to meet your eyes.

You smile, and advance before leaning down to his level.

"It's so nice of you to join us."

You revel in the triumph, the taste of victory sweeter than you imagined it to be. 

Moments ago you'd simply been waiting, the drawing room draped in profound silence, a stark contrast to the chaos that unfolded below. You sensed the ebb and flow of battle, bodies and falling moving like chess pieces in a game you have yet to see. You were impatient, and your fingers tapped against the plush arms of your chair as a testament to that. Meanwhile, Vanilla Ice lurked outside the door, and you knew he wanted to fight as well. 

Dio, however, remained unperturbed. Reclining once again across the chaise, a large book in hand.

His languid posture was almost infuriating. 

'Is this not the same mistake he made in Egypt?' You thought. 

"Patience," he advised, his amber eyes locking onto yours. "You believe in me, don't you? So you must believe in Pucci. There's no need to allow your jealousy to cloud your judgment. The plan we made is unfolding as we speak."

You insisted you weren't jealous but were forced to relent when, as if on cue, the door swung open.

For a fleeting moment, Vanilla Ice's deadly gaze pierced through the door before stepping aside and allowing Pucci to enter with Josuke's unconscious body in tow.

Dio's self-satisfied smirk spokes volumes then — a silent 'I told you so.'

"The plan has been executed seamlessly. All three have been subdued." Pucci stepped forward with a confident demeanor, a subtle yet triumphant smile playing on his lips.

"Good. Have them held for now, won't you? Especially Hol Horse, I still have use for him. But make sure he understands his place."

And as Pucci departed from the room, you found your attention drawn back to Josuke. In the absence of battle, he appeared younger, and more vulnerable. His features, usually hardened in the heat of combat, now held a certain softness and fragility. Then, more than ever, he reminded you of your sister.

Dio, noting your shift in focus, called for Vanilla Ice, who wasted no time kneeling before his lord. 

"You called for me, Lord DIO?"  

 "Vanilla Ice, take Josuke to the study. Ensure he is properly restrained; I want him conscious for what comes next." 

And now, standing above him, you savor the moment of conquest.

Perhaps you were wrong to doubt Pucci. 

Josuke, however, doesn't yield to defeat. He calls for Crazy Diamond, and you react swiftly, turning your body into mist to evade his attack. You were slower to do so, Josuke notes, you're more vulnerable than you were before.

But then, Déjà Vu, your own Stand, emerges, and just as it seemed another battle would take hold, throwing your study into chaos, a shiver runs down Josuke's spine and a cold, empty presence completely engulfs him. He turns to find Cream's deathly facade hovering above him, its maw open, unveiling the void within. It gurgles and growls hungrily ready to consume him whole. Josuke failed to notice Vanilla Ice in the corner, your silent guardian. 

"There's no use fighting, Josuke," you mock.

"What do you want with me?" His voice croaks, defiance still present despite the dire situation at hand. You find his resilience amusing, a glimmer of entertainment in this twisted game.

"What I want, Josuke, is to see you suffer."

"Yeah, I get that part. But why? What's your problem with the Joestars? With me? Or are you just another one of Dio's goons? You said before that you love him, right? He must have you eating out the palm of his hand," he taunts. 

Your composure falters for a moment, a subtle reaction that Josuke keenly picks up on.

"Ah, you must think you're clever. Just as annoying as your father, I see," you retort. However, if he's truly curious, you can spare a moment to enlighten him as to why he must die.

With a sudden movement, you seize his face between your fingers, squeezing his cheeks inward. His expression contorts in pain, yet his eyes shoot defiant glares, a futile rebellion against the inevitable.

"If you believe my 'problem' is with the Joestar family, I'm afraid you're mistaken, young man. It isn't the Joestar bloodline I take issue with, but rather the Pendleton blood that flows through your veins. That family took something from me—many things, in fact."

The room seems to darken as the weight of your words hangs in the air. Josuke, bound and vulnerable, listens intently as a twisted smile crosses your face as you delve into the narrative that fuels your revenge. Because the longer he can keep you talking, the longer you're distracted, the greater his chance of escape.

"I would have allowed my grievances to rest, had it not been for Jotaro Kujo murdering Dio all those years ago. That one act was just another instance of everything I love being ripped away—all because Erina Pendleton spawned a child from her vile womb. Just another act of her 'innocent cruelty," Your words drip with bitterness, and you tighten your grip on Josuke's face as if to emphasize your own pain. Josuke's eyes widen at the mention of Erina, and a glimmer of realization crosses his face.

"So, this is some bullshit revenge for something my great-grandmother did? Something she couldn't even control? That doesn't make any sense," Josuke speaks through the pain, his voice edged with confusion, frustration, disbelief.

"Ah, but it does. And it isn't only Erina... someone must pay for the sins of their forefathers. I suffered for the circumstances of my birth, as did my mother and her mother before. Someone ought to pay for the sins of their forefathers,  wouldn't you agree?" You release his face, but the intensity in your eyes remains, and it doesn't falter.

Josuke realizes that beneath the cruelty lies a deep-seated pain, a festering wound that refuses to heal. He's not merely dealing with a pawn of Dio's schemes but another player, a master of a much older and darker game than he realized.

Next |

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

Police charge White man for shooting Black teen boy

A white homeowner in Kansas City, Missouri, has been charged with armed assault after he shot a Black teenager who rang his doorbell by mistake, authorities announced on Monday.

Andrew Lester, 85, is also facing a charge of armed criminal action after shooting Ralph Yarl, 16, twice on Thursday. The teenager, a high school junior, was going to pick up his younger twin brothers from a play date when he went to the wrong address. Zachary Thompson, the prosecuting attorney, announced the charges late on Monday after intense local protests and widespread outrage over the police’s decision to briefly detain Lester before releasing him without charges.

Lester was not in custody early Monday evening, but there was a warrant out for his arrest, Thompson said. Charging documents said that Lester came to the door when the doorbell rang and then shot the boy in the head, before shooting him again, and that no words were exchanged before he opened fire.

Yarl was recovering at home after being released from a Kansas City hospital on Sunday, where he was being treated for gunshot wounds to his head and chest, his family said. Lee Merritt, an attorney for the family, told the Guardian that Yarl suffered a fractured skull, a traumatic brain injury involving swelling, post-concussive syndrome and injuries to his arm. “The family is elated that Ralph didn’t succumb to his injuries, but now they’re angry about the failure of the justice system to show any value or appreciation of his life,” Merritt said in an interview on Monday morning before the charges were announced.

Kansas City police had insisted earlier that they could not take further action until they spoke to the seriously injured boy.

Stacey Graves, chief of the Kansas City police, defended the release of the unnamed homeowner on Sunday, citing Missouri law that states a person can be held for only 24 hours before being formally charged or released. But she said her department was working quickly to prepare evidence for the Clay county prosecutor as its felony investigation continued.

“We recognise the frustration this can cause,” Graves told reporters. “I want everyone to know that I am listening, and I understand the concern we are receiving from the community.”

Graves acknowledged hundreds of protesters who gathered outside the home where the youth was shot, carrying placards with statements including “Ringing a doorbell is not a crime.” The police chief had said detectives were looking into whether the homeowner was protected by stand-your-ground laws regarding self-defence. Crump countered Graves’s assertion that while she recognised “racial components” of the incident, “the information we have now does not say that that is racially motivated”.

According to his family, Yarl, a high school junior with a passion for music, was given the address to pick up his 11-year-old brothers but mistakenly went to a house on 115th Street instead of 115th Terrace and was shot after knocking at the door. Faith Spoonmore, the teen’s aunt, was among protesters on Sunday. She said the homeowner “opened the door, looked my nephew in the eye and shot him in the head”. She said he was shot a second time after he fell to the ground, was able to get up and run away, and knocked at three homes before someone helped him.

“Even though he is doing well physically, he has a long road ahead mentally and emotionally,” she wrote in a GoFundMe appeal to raise money for medical bills and other expenses. By Monday afternoon the appeal had reached nearly $2m.

Quinton Lucas, the mayor of Kansas City, said members of the police department attended the Sunday protest to listen to community concerns.

“This is not something that has been dismissed, marginalised or diminished in any way. This is something that is getting the full attention of the Kansas City police department,” Lucas said.

Merritt said it was rare for a victim to survive this kind of a shooting, and that he was grateful the teenager would be able to tell his side of the story. But he said the family had been struggling to process the news that the man who shot him was released from custody: “They live in the same neighborhood, they may see him at the grocery store or around corner. That causes a lot of anxiety and fear among the family.”

[voidsentprinces]

10 Fandoms, 10 Characters, 10 Tags

Basic rules: choose 10 fandoms that you are part of/support, and choose a favorite character from each of those. Then, tag ten folks!

Tagged by: @eorzeanflowers

Tagging: @under-the-blood-moonlight @placesyoucallhome @meatball-headache-part-2 @ashenbun @eriyu @windup-dragoon @strawbebbynya @disciple-of-frost and uhh...Viewers Like You. Do it. DO IT OR I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN WITH ATHENA! Or don't...I haven't unlocked Pandaemonium yet...or probably ever.

MELON LORD!

An obscure character who doesn't appear until the Finale of Avatar the Last Airbender. They are the deadliest opponent Team Avatar ever faces including Ozai later in the finale. And like any good villain instead of fracturing the force to make them go off on their own and leaving Aang alone. The Melon Lord forces the Team to work together and utilize their strengths. And makes Aang face his doubts about defeating Ozai and killing him. But also brings out that the rest of Team Avatar have no qualms about Ozai falling even Zuko. Which is why it falls to Aang to find another solution of his own. Truly the Melon Lord is the series most iconic villain even if they are only briefly in the series. But if anime like say DeathNote has taught me anything, a character can show up for 5 seconds and get an entire backing behind it.

2. Kanaya

She's a lesbian alien vampire with a fashion sense and a chainsaw and she uses the blood of her enemies as her lipstick. What the fuck isn't there to like?

3. Kanji Tatsumi

He's just a REALLY GOOD GUY, okay? Dude is just trying to make it out of here alive and live his life. After experiencing gay panic by being attracted to a masculine presenting person.

4. Astarion

The sexiest character all through the alpha pre-release, is the only person not trying to sleep with me. He's there for if I want to murder a son a bitch or if I was to take another path out. Dude has been nothing but a supportive bro from the onset. Respect.

5. Makima

We here on this blog respect women's rights and women's VERY WRONGS

6. Haurchefant Greystone

TAKE ME DOWN TO THE HEAVENSWARD EXPY WHERE THE STONE IS COLD AND THE ELEZEN ARE PRETTY OH WONT YOU PLEASE TAKE ME HOOOOOMMMEE!

7. Arthas Menethil

The walking embodiment of a sunk cost fallacy turning a hero into an iconic villain.

8. Mae Borowski

Man I knew a few people like her, so she is kind of like a nostalgic friend.

9. Ranni the Witch

In every FromSoft game, I find at least one character who I put my entire all behind. But is the first time, there was an ending that felt worth while in pursuing who I was happy to follow til the ends of the earth. It didn't feel like I was fulfilling my destiny but helping someone else fulfill theirs. Even if she is the reason the game started to begin with.

10. Samwise Gamgee

What is there to say? Just Samwise Gamgee.