#she seemed to like that about him. that he could believe in a cause

[felassanis]

I genuinely think Lavellan is the first relationship Solas has had. Especially an explicitly romantic one.

Veilguard Spoilers ahead. But regardless of what the primary nature of his relationship with Mythal was. There clearly was an infatuation. A dedication so raw back then that I genuinely don't think Solas was looking at anyone else but Mythal. Either because he longed for her in some (arguably unrequited) capacity or the loyalty he had for her trumped any other distractions.

But then. She dies. And he grieves, and he ultimately destroys the world in that grief. And he's spent thousands of years away from Mythal. And while he's still obviously dedicated to her, the rawness of that bond has simmered.

And then he meets Lavellan.

"It's been a long time," he says when you tease him about him using fade tongue. And while yes, you could see this as Solas confirming he has had prior romantic relationships. I actually think it refers to Mythal, to the fact it's been a long time since he's felt so close to somebody.

We know ancient elves felt operated differently than modern-day elves when it came to expression in a relationship. What we think is romantic might not have been as such back then. So I'm NOT saying Solas is inexperienced, but rather, I do think the only bond he's had that consumed him completely, that was loving, was Mythal. Until he meets Lavellan.

There is a genuine...newness to the relationship. There are so many instances where Solas seems so mildly surprised by Lavellan's actions. For the care she puts into their relationship. My favourite being when Lavellan promises to protect him in Haven from anyone looking to hurt him because he's an apostate elf. The way his eyes widen and he says "...thank you," like he's never experienced someone looking out for him so...outwardly. So willing to put his safety as a priority. (And that makes me sob cause oh my god I wonder if anyone cared about Solas's safety ever)

And I genuinely think his bond to Mythal coloured Solas's expectations when it comes to any relationship, especially a romantic one. It's like Solas isn't used to someone reciprocating HIS feelings lmao. And that's doubly apparent in the Solavellan ending, I think. Lavellan and Solas's interactions are so interesting because Solas GENUINELY has not let himself believe for nearly 10 years that Lavellan forgave him. Cannot believes she is even there, willing and wanting to save him from himself.

This does not strike me as someone who's used to relationships. To the give and take. The safety. The sustainability....

I think Solas spent so long yearning for the reciprocation he never received from Mythal only to get it finally with Lavellan. He longed for Mythal to reciprocate, and she didn't. Not until she finally shared the burden of their actions at the end. And there is no comfort in that burden now being acknowledged by her. She releases him from her service and vanishes as he's left to double over by himself.

At least he would be, but lavellan is there to lower herself to his level and comfort him. They're equals where Solas and Mythal were not. Solas is not Lavellan's lapdog. And she is not warped and changed by him as she offered to do so back in Trespasser. He didn't let her come with him to avoid the fate that befell him when he followed Mythal. They're Partners. Lovers.

And even THEN. EVEN THEN. Solas is shocked Lavellan wants to go with him to the Fade. To the point his eyes tear up, he CRIES. Warning her away but you can see in his face he is fucking DESPERATE for her to follow. Because he wants to love and have that love returned at long last.

And it is. It finally is.

[ccccatttta]

this is a random thought bc i got angsty, so!

walburga, who —in a mad attempt to stop regulus from becoming like sirius after he runs away from home—, obliviates regulus.

not completely, of course, but he makes him believe that he never had a brother in the first place. regulus is now the sole black heir and that's everything he knows; i don't put it past her to erase most of the abuse she caused, but still left enough to make him scared to disobey her.

and, like, it takes everyone too long to realize it.

first, sirius is not surprised his brother doesn't look at him anymore and pretty much pretends he doesn't exist, their bond has been severed completely to him, even if it hurts. and, well, he sort of wanted to get rid of his last name completely, so he pretty much asked everyone to not call him 'sirius black' ever again. so, how could regulus suspect anything.

then, everyone in slytherin knows not to talk about sirius in front of regulus (because he used to jinx them almost to death for that), and, sirius was officially disowned by the black family, so they do speak about regulus as the sole heir, as if sirius wasn't ever in the picture.

it's maybe pandora who finds out first.

barty and evan aren't sirius' biggest fans, and they don't like to confront regulus about how he feels, unless he's the one who wants to vent. they think that his way of coping is pretending like nothing happened, and while that's not healthy at all, regulus looks fine, super fine, even. so why would they want to interrupt his peace.

dorcas has been distancing a bit from them, because of the whole voldemort situation. she's no longer with them enough to realize regulus has been acting strange.

and pandora was a bit like evan and barty, at first. especially because, she knows regulus doesn't keep anything that's really hurting him for long. not to them. they just like to give him enough space to process and cool down. they let him come to them, and they will be waiting.

but then, regulus doesn't.

so, after a while she decides to ask him about sirius.

when regulus just answers "who's sirius?" with the most genuine and confused face on earth. she knows exactly what has happened.

i haven't thought further into it, maybe evan, barty and dora argue about what to do. the right thing would be to help him get back his memories. but regulus looks so much better without the heartbreak sirius has been unintentionally causing him since first year. and sirius seems to love his new life as the potter's ward. maybe that's the right thing.

but also, they know that, even with all the pain that he has caused him, regulus loves his brother more than anything and wouldn't want to just be forced to forget about him.

yeah. that was my random thought of the night. toodles!

[cece693]

Me, Jealous?

pairing: hannibal lecter x male reader tags: jealous hannibal lecter, reader is amused, not hannibal (nbc) canon,

A date at the opera was hardly what you would call romantic. The venue itself might’ve been grand—old, world architecture with gilded flourishes on the ceiling and plush velvet seats arranged in perfect rows—but everything about it felt like a stage set for egos. Brighter-than-necessary overhead lighting illuminated acres of expensive fabrics—lustrous silk gowns and tailored tuxedos that cost more than what most people made in a month—and you could all but taste the arrogance in the air.

It wasn’t your ideal location for a date by any stretch, but your husband had turned on his rare brand of doe-eyed pleading, sweetly murmuring “Please?” in that honeyed timbre that usually meant he had something up his sleeve. You should have guessed there was more to his insistence. In fact, you’d sensed an undercurrent of excitement radiating off of him from the moment you’d left your shared home. It became painfully obvious why he was so eager once you arrived and found him being whisked away by a woman whose understanding of personal boundaries seemed nonexistent.

You didn’t recognize her, and maybe she truly had no idea Hannibal was spoken for—or maybe she was fully aware and enjoying the attention anyway. Possessively, she clung to Hannibal’s arm, her manicured nails splayed like a decorative cuff on his impeccable suit sleeve. Her laughter at his every remark was irritatingly saccharine, the type that left you rolling your eyes behind the rim of your champagne flute.

Hannibal, naturally, glanced your way every so often. He had a certain glint in his eye—like a cat playing with its prey—anticipating your jealousy. A lesser spouse might have felt their heart clench, might have shot daggers at the other woman or stormed over to reclaim their partner. But you’d been through these small tests before. This was Hannibal’s game, and he loved to provoke a reaction just to study it, to taste it the way he might taste a fine wine. But you knew better than to give him exactly what he wanted without having him ask sweetly.

Leaning against a marble column, you let your gaze skim over the crowd. Most of the attendees were too busy boasting about their knowledge of obscure operas or discussing the perfect brand of caviar to notice you, but you still felt a few curious stares. Being Dr. Lecter’s husband was a precarious sort of prestige—people either hovered like anxious sycophants hoping to impress you, or they observed you from a distance with feline curiosity. Tonight, though, you simply had no patience for idle chit-chat. If Hannibal wanted to play, let him. It wouldn't cause a rift in your relationship like others might believe. Because that was the unspoken truth: no matter how many admirers clung to his arm, Hannibal’s nights were solely yours. It was you he felt anything akin to love.

Your eyes continued to roam the opulent hall: heavy drapes fell from high windows, shimmering under the bright chandeliers. The murmur of voices rose like tidal swells, and snippets of classical music drifted in from the stage where the orchestra had tuned mere moments ago. It was then that you caught sight of someone else—a man with neatly combed dark hair and a tailored suit that fit him so flawlessly it seemed hand-stitched. You recognized him vaguely; he’d been polite when you first entered, a quick hello exchanged in passing while the audience was still finding their seats.

Now, he stepped away from a small group he’d been conversing with and headed in your direction. Despite the chatter around you, his voice was pitched low when he finally spoke, creating a sense of intimacy amid the bustle. “Good evening,” he greeted. “I see we meet again.��

You inclined your head politely. “We do. Enjoying the performance?”

“I’ll be honest—I’m not much of an opera fan. But I make appearances when necessary.” He motioned around him, lips curving in a self-aware smirk. “Comes with the territory, I suppose.”

You let out a laugh—short, genuine, and surprising even to yourself. “I can relate.” You took a sip of champagne, feeling its effervescence linger on your tongue, and cast a glance across the hall to find Hannibal watching you. He stood a few paces away from his clingy companion, but his gaze was entirely fixed on you. You could practically feel the heat of his scrutiny.

The newcomer followed your line of sight. “Husband?”

You nodded. “That’s him,” you confirmed, swirling the champagne in your glass to give your hands something to do. “He’s…quite sociable tonight.”

“Lucky man,” the stranger said, his brown eyes gleaming with sincere admiration. He leaned in just enough to keep his words between the two of you. “I hope I’m not being too forward, but I’d much rather chat with you than half the people here. You seem—” he paused, searching for a precise term—“less rehearsed.”

Your lips curved into a small, wry smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

And honestly, it was. In a sea of plastic smiles and pretentious laughter, Adam was a breath of fresh air. He asked about you in a way that felt genuine—inquiring politely about the arts, about your tastes, about what you liked doing in your free time. The conversation flowed so effortlessly that you didn’t notice the time slipping by.

For nearly an hour, you and Adam talked, a soft bubble of quiet warmth in the midst of the bustling foyer. Eventually, the bell sounded to signal the final act was about to start. Adam extracted a slim black business card from his wallet and handed it to you, smiling. “Let me know if you ever want a less formal chat. I’d like that.”

You looked down at the card and then back at him, feeling amusement dance along your features. “I’ll consider it,” you said, inclining your head in gratitude.

He nodded his goodbye, rejoining the flow of people returning to their seats. Suddenly aware of how your heart beat just a bit faster, you turned and found Hannibal already at your side, the tension emanating from him as palpable as the hush that once again fell over the audience. He offered you a measured smile—overly polite. The humor never touched his eyes, and his hand came to rest protectively (or possessively, depending on perspective) around your waist.

As the two of you made your way back into the darkened auditorium, Hannibal’s grip did not loosen. It was as though he wanted the entire opera house to see exactly to whom you belonged. His free hand brushed down the front of his suit in an almost nervous gesture—though he’d label it a mere habit. The moment you settled into your plush seats, you could feel his gaze flicker to the business card in your hand. There was a storm in that glance, a controlled fury that might have burst into a full hurricane if not for the need to maintain civility in public.

Slyly, you slid the card into your pocket without breaking eye contact, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. You could imagine the wheels in Hannibal’s mind spinning: envy, curiosity, possessiveness, all swirling like a tempest. And you? You were calm—steady. His petty pageantry in parading around with another woman felt all the more transparent now that he watched you with such thinly-veiled anger.

Yes, Hannibal Lecter was a possessive man, a petty, petulant prince if ever there was one. But you knew just how to handle him. Smoothing the lapel of your own jacket, you let the lights dim around you. The orchestra swelled, the final act beginning, and Hannibal’s hand tightened over your own. You felt a rush of satisfaction that cut through the boredom of the night, a sense of triumph in how quickly the tables had turned.

By the time you and Hannibal exit the opera house, the swell of applause still echoing behind you, the tension between you is palpable. You trail after him through the opulent lobby—your pace unhurried despite the stony silence radiating off his shoulders. Outside, the Bentley gleams under the streetlights, and Hannibal unlocks it with a snap of his wrist that betrays his simmering mood.

He slides behind the wheel, and you settle in the passenger seat. There was no music playing, not even the subdued hum of classical radio that Hannibal often preferred. He eases the car away from the curb with smooth precision, but his knuckles stand out white on the steering wheel, his maroon eyes fixed ahead. In the hush of the Bentley’s interior, you can almost feel his anger swirl like a tangible thing. Where others might quake at that quiet fury, you find yourself quietly amused. You’ve seen the beast’s temper before; this is just another piece on the chessboard.

The drive home feels longer than usual, the only sound the rhythmic hum of the tires and the low purr of the engine. You steal a glance his way every so often, noting how his jaw tightens, how his lips press into a line. He’s stewing. But you allow the silence to remain unbroken, letting him feel the full brunt of his own jealousy. If Hannibal truly wanted this result—wanted to provoke or be provoked—he can drown in it for a while. A small, satisfied smirk forms at the corner of your mouth before you quickly wipe it away.

When the Bentley glides up the winding driveway to your home, Hannibal parks with more force than necessary. The headlights cut off abruptly, and for a moment, neither of you moves. You can sense him hesitating, perhaps wrestling with the possibility of speaking first. Then he sets his jaw and steps out, slamming the door behind him with quiet aggression.

Inside the house, the familiar warmth of low lamps and the faint aroma of polished wood greet you. You shrug off your coat and hang it neatly by the door. Hannibal’s own coat is flung onto a nearby chair with none of his usual precision. He’s already stalking through the foyer, shoulders rigid, making a pointed show of ignoring you. That’s how you know he’s furious: Hannibal never leaves his clothing in disarray without intending it as a message.

You follow him into the sitting room, where he has paused in front of the fireplace, one hand curled at his side. “Was it fun?” he asks without turning around. His voice is taut, every syllable thick with petty jealousy.

“Surprisingly, yes,” you reply, taking measured steps toward him. “Given the circumstances.”

He swivels to face you, maroon eyes narrowing. “I suppose I should be pleased you enjoyed yourself.” There is no pleasure in his tone—only an accusation, a reminder that his own orchestrations haven’t played out the way he intended.

You hold his gaze, refusing to rise to the bait. “I’m not the one who spent half the evening being clung to by someone who didn’t know how to keep her hands to herself.”

Hannibal’s lips twitch, and for a moment, you think he might admit to his mischief. Instead, he inhales slowly, as though collecting himself. His voice drops. “I want to see that business card.”

A short laugh escapes you. He’s come straight to the point, then—jealousy still raw. “What business card?” you ask innocently, already knowing he saw the whole exchange.

“Don’t pretend with me,” he snaps, more sharply than usual. “This—this Adam, or whatever he calls himself. Why would you need to keep his details if you have no intention of—?”

You step closer, crossing the room until you’re mere inches away, resting a hand lightly on his lapel. “I assure you—I merely think he could be a good friend,” you say, your tone calm, soothing. “And please don’t pretend it doesn’t suit you to have me cultivate connections. You’ve pushed me into social circles all this time; was it only acceptable when you pulled the strings?”

Hannibal’s eyes flick to your hand on his jacket, and in that micro-moment, you sense the conflict in him: the desire to shake you off versus his need to feel your touch. When he speaks again, his voice is clipped. “You don’t need a friend like him. I know his sort.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Considering you barely spoke to him, that’s quite an assumption.”

His expression darkens. “I’m not asking for your opinion. I’m telling you. Give me the card, and forget about him.” He’s trying to reassert control—like a child demanding a toy be taken away so nobody else can play with it. You let the silence stretch, your fingers sliding up to smooth the lapel of his suit. You’re not trying to antagonize him, not exactly. But neither are you in the habit of rolling over for his demands.

“Hannibal, you know that I love you. But no, you can’t have the card.”

His nostrils flare; he’s on the precipice between fury and something else—hurt, maybe. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, an unspoken assurance that all his insecurities don’t need to exist. He’s still yours, and you are his. “I’m not keeping it from you to be cruel,” you murmur. “But I do enjoy his company. Don't kill him just because you felt threatened."

His response is a quick, sneering exhale. “Threatened,” he repeats incredulously, as if the concept is beneath him. But the tension around his eyes says otherwise. You guide him backward until his legs meet the edge of the armchair, urging him to sit. He settles, still bristling. Standing before him, you slide one hand through his hair, letting him feel your affectionate calm.

“I don’t want to fight,” you say quietly, “especially not about something so small.”

“There wouldn’t be a fight if you would just—”

“—hand it over?” you finish for him, smiling ruefully. “Let it be, Hannibal. If you want to grill me about Adam, do so tomorrow. Right now, we’ve both had a long day.”

He looks up at you, and for a moment, the flash in his maroon eyes reminds you of a predator debating whether to lunge or retreat. But then his gaze softens, ever so slightly, and he exhales. You recognize this as a truce—a temporary surrender in a war of wits and possessiveness that defines your relationship.

Slowly, you lean down, capturing his lips in a quiet kiss meant to soothe. After a second’s hesitation, he kisses you back, and you feel the rigid line of his shoulders relax beneath your touch. The two of you remain that way for a breath or two—locked in a silent détente—until he finally pulls back. The storm in his expression still lingers, but there’s the promise of a calmer tomorrow.

You trace your thumb along his jaw. “Come to bed,” you suggest gently. “We can talk in the morning if you still feel so strongly.”

Hannibal nods once, gaze flickering with unresolved emotions. He stands, tugging you closer by the waist in a gesture that speaks of both affection and ownership. “Just remember,” he murmurs, voice low and controlled, “you belong to me.”

[protect-namine]

this post is about qiao ling. but first, I want to talk about the power rangers of this show.

so. I'm really glad YE2 is putting the triple star warrior mirroring in a more interesting context

because that's clearly the intent and it's not like it doesn't make sense back in S1, but the actual execution of that mirroring seemed shallow at best with just S1 knowledge

(look! qiao ling even bought cake of them in the S2 finale)

I think it's because I couldn't quite place qiao ling's role in this until now. she's the star of wisdom, but she's the one who is the most out of the loop and lacking in knowledge... or so we thought. but with the S2 ending giving her tianxi's ability, and YE2 showing that it's a pattern for her to keep relevant information, then yeah, it's starting to make sense. the triple star warriors really are their character arcs.

star of justice, bringing hope (cheng xiaoshi's kindness being both a strength and a weakness that can either uplift or endanger other people; "even if you don't see hope, it doesn't mean it's not there")

star of courage, conquering fear (lu guang timelooping himself is the most extreme response to fear he has over cheng xiaoshi's death)

star of wisdom, serving knowledge (qiao ling and the burden of knowledge that she keeps from people out of guilt or protection)

and they really do need to overcome all of that to get the good ending.

anyway, I just think it's neat. I thought the triple star warriors mirroring was cute back in S1, but now I love it even more knowing qiao ling's place in all of this. I actually love this trait about her. she is always taking care of other people and has "big sister" vibes. she's the one who actually goes out of her way to find clients for shiguang to help and hearing their clients' troubles, even when she had no idea how their abilities worked. she's the one who truly connected with tianxi and knew how to communicate with her — even better than cheng xiaoshi could, and cheng xiaoshi was the one who actually got to live as tianxi.

it's in her nature to care for others, but it's also her biggest flaw. much like lu guang, in her desire to keep cheng xiaoshi safe in her own way, she hides relevant information from him. and the act of secret keeping causes her to keep doing it out of guilt too — as we've seen in the doudou case. it's a very human trait to have.

it puts the earthquake arc in a new context. a young cheng xiaoshi went to qiao ling, distraught over the possibility that maybe his parents died in the earthquake. young qiao ling, wanting to comfort cheng xiaoshi but also knowing that her parents were advised that it's safer for cheng xiaoshi to not go to bridon, tells him that his parents are probably somewhere "far away" and wasn't caught in the earthquake. this isn't just words for the sake of comfort. she has reason to believe this is actually true.

she's in a tough spot when S3 rolls around, because she should, by then, know about cheng xiaoshi's death, if not possibly everything that happened in bridon (through tianxi's power/memory transfer). unlike lu guang, who is dead set on timelooping himself as a way to fix things, qiao ling is in a precarious spot.

should she honor aunt shao's wish and keep cheng xiaoshi safe, which she also wants? or should she tell cheng xiaoshi information he rightfully should know, thereby allowing him to exercise full agency over his own future, even if that future has the risk of death? and whatever she chooses will affect lu guang too. what is the wise thing to do here?

on that note, others have pointed out how this recontextualizes S1E1 cheng xiaoshi talking about his parents. looking back, it's insane to me that S1E1's opening scene (not the dive rules, the one after the op plays) has cheng xiaoshi saying, "I won't go anywhere until my parents come back. if you drive me away, I'll hang myself here! then your father will never get a new tenant."

(it's looking like whatever he learns in bridon won't carry over to the cheng xiaoshi of S1, but I digress)

he says this, and both lu guang and qiao ling are sitting there calling him a childish idiot, all the while harboring knowledge about his parents that cheng xiaoshi doesn't have. (lu guang also has the extra knowledge of cheng xiaoshi's death and what happened in bridon at this point probably, but this post is not about lu guang)

like... in S1 this could just be seen as a little "haha okay so this is exposition and this is their dynamic" scene but now... man. qiao ling knew all this time, in this scene, where his parents might be. she knew during the earthquake. she knew while they were renovating the shop.

I understand the reasons behind it, and in her eyes it probably was the wise thing to do. but when S3 comes around, should she still keep hiding it, like she did with the doudou case? when she confronts lu guang about his memories, what will she do?

I have hope that she'll bridge the two boys together. we saw how her strength has always been communication and delivering words. she is the person the clients look to. she is the person that gained tianxi's trust and knew how to meet her where she's at. she is the person who knows cheng xiaoshi and lu guang best.

here's hoping that she can overcome her guilt and desire to protect cheng xiaoshi from himself, and become the star of wisdom the show wants her to be

[impval]

nervous

Victoria Neuman x fem! reader warnings: mentions of stalking, mentions of blood, illness (cold), stupid jokes, reader (and Vicky) is useless sapphics.

Victoria doesn’t like how nervous she feels around you.

Logically, it makes no sense for her to feel this way, for her heart to flutter whenever she catches your smile. You're just a ordinary woman who she met through a mutual friend - nothing more, nothing less. Maybe it's the fact that you're different from everyone else in her life, all the political snakes and heroes she deals with on a daily basis.

She's always had a soft spot for people like you, those who are slightly weird, but also smart. When you talk, your words flow like a river, and your eyes light up with an intense enthusiasm that is so endearing.

When you first met, Victoria was expecting the usual reaction from you, the typical swooning at her status, her money, her beauty. But no, you remained completely unfazed by it all. You just spent hours talking about Sylvanas Windrunnner of all topics, passionately discussing the portrayal of women in media. And it wasn't even a deliberate attempt on your part. To you, she was just a woman who had opinions on a game. A woman you could nerd-out with.

Her daughter approval was a significant factor. You didn't try to impress her, didn't talk down to her or make false promises. It wasn't some strategic move to win points with Victoria. You weren't trying to impress or manipulate anyone. You just treated Zoe like any other person - sincerely.

Zoe appreciated that. She was used to the fake smiles and the veiled attempts to get close to her mother through her. She is a smart kid, sharp and more mature than many kids her age. She is also cautious and wary of adults, a effect of her mother's fame and her own intelligence. But she seemed to... tolerate you.

Those casual meetings in a café, the occasional lunch visits, the funny memes shared back and forth. The way you looked at Zoe's homework with a mix of horror and awe, knowing that she was already taking advanced classes and soaking up knowledge far beyond her years.

The way the corners of your mouth would twitch up into a smile or down into a pout as you spoke passionately about something that fascinated you. Victoria could feel her heart skip a beat every time, but she convinced herself it was just the alcohol, just exhaustion, just something that was causing the flutter in her chest.

She found comfort in this little bubble of normalcy, in the charade where she wasn't the politician, the Head-Popper or Nadia. Just Victoria and you, no other bullshit attached.

And then Hughie Campbell ruined everything.

Victoria knew he had been your friend, after all, it was thanks to him that you and her had even met. She believed that he had left your life behind when he started running with The Boys. That your friendship would have faded into the past, like a distant memory.

Oh, she knew that Hughie and the Boys had finally figured out her true identity. It was only a matter of time, really, but she hadn't expected it to be this way.

But the silence from you... that, she hadn't expected. At first, Victoria didn't notice, as she was preoccupied with Homelander's bullshit and the pressures of politics.

Victoria couldn't help but know details about you, your routine, where you lived, who are your colleagues, your family, your friends. She told herself it was just a product of her paranoia, that she needed to make sure you were safe and unharmed, but deep down she knew it was more than just that.

It might have bordered on a bit too much knowledge for a regular friend to have, but Victoria couldn't help but want to keep tabs.

It was far from a coincidence that you suddenly fell ill just a couple of days after Hughie stumbled upon the truth about Victoria's secret. Your colleagues and boss mentioned that you were unwell, that you had taken work home. But Victoria knew better. You rarely got sick, and if you ever did, you never failed to keep in touch. Yet, since then, you had barely sent a text or even responded.

Anxiety, horror, nerves, fear - coursed through her veins like a toxic poison. You'd been quiet for days, she knew why - she understood why. That just didn’t make it hurt any less.

The secrets, the past, all the blood on her hands. It was laid bare, exposed for you to see in all its bloody and monstrous glory. Was this the end? Did you despise her now?

Maybe you were even packing your bags at that very moment, ready to flee from Victoria's presence, putting as much distance between yourself and her as possible.

Knock-knock.

Victoria tried to act as if she didn't notice the way your eyes widened in surprise, she tried to act as if her heart wasn't trying to escape her chest and her breath wasn't being caught in her throat. She tried to act as if she didn't realize how nervous she felt either.

For a moment, she just stood there, watching you, before she remembered herself and smiled slightly “Can I come in?”

You look genuinely unwell - pale skin, parched lips. You hadn't even cared to dry your hair properly after a shower, and your T-shirt still had remnants of dampness from the water. Oddly enough, you don't seem afraid. No fear etched into the lines of your face.

You just...smile. Softly, awkwardly, a pale shadow of your usual cheerful self.

"Sure. Come in."

Victoria had been there many times before - in better circumstances, of course.

Your apartment was always messy and chaotic like that, it was your way of being. There was a certain level of warmth and comfort in the chaos.

She looked around, taking in the current mess before turning to look at you again. Her smile faltered as she took in your pale skin. You looked like you hadn't slept for days, and judging by the pizza box, you clearly hadn't eaten properly either.

Usually, you would offer a warm cup of tea when Victoria visited, but today, you seem too exhausted, both physically and mentally. Instead, you let yourself collapse onto the couch.

She follows you to the living room and sits down in the armchair, facing you in the couch. She crosses her legs, pretending she's totally calm and relaxed, but she's not, she's dying to know what's going through your head. She wonders if you suspect anything, if Hughie told you anything.

"No offense, but you look like crap," she tried to make the comment sound casual and sarcastic, like usual, but it came out more concerned and worried than anything else, and she hated it. She didn't want to show how concerned she was.

What if you hate her? The thought makes her heart ache, but she tries to keep her face neutral. Victoria hates being like this. She always knows what to say, what to do, how to behave. She always knows how to be in control.

But now she feels so damn lost.

"You are as charming as always, Vicky," you laugh lightly, a small, quiet sound that fills the room.

Victoria's heart skips a beat at that little sound you make. It was such a familiar laugh, it was your laugh. She could be in a crowded room and still pick out your laugh in a heartbeat.

She inhales deeply, and there it is again - your familiar scent, now tinged with the unmistakable aroma of medicine. You smell of the shampoo she gave you, the same one she bought specifically because she saw you eyeing it in a store once.

As she looked around the living room, Victoria could see bits and pieces of her everywhere. A cup from the mug she got you two Christmases ago, the blanket from last year's birthday.

The memory hits her - the way you held that Sylvanas Windrunner figurine, the pure delight on your face, how you had thanked her over and over again. The ugly, disgustingly pink slippers she gave you as a joke. Each gift holds its own memory - laughter, gratitude... love.

Those pink damn slippers were stupid. They should have been the first thing you threw away after finding out the truth about her.

"But I'm fine. The cold is almost gone, I feel much better than I look."

"Bullshit," Victoria says immediately, a little sharp.

Her heart is almost beating out of her chest. She's dying to ask you if you know. If you've found out the truth. She even opens her mouth, almost asking, but closes it at the last moment.

"Why did you ignore my texts?" She asks instead, trying to keep her voice steady.

A beat of silence passes between two of you, and in that moment, everything becomes so clear.

Silence is not your thing; you thrive on noise, on conversations, on laughter and music. Your words always flow freely, unfiltered, and yet right now, you're silent, thinking, contemplating how to frame the next words.

You know who she really is. She's exposed, vulnerable, naked before you. What are you going to say? Are you afraid of her now? She's the Head Popper, after all. Or maybe you feel betrayed? Deceived?

Victoria clenched her jaw, hating how her mind started to consider the option of eliminating you. This was the way she had been trained, conditioned to think by Stan. She can almost hear his voice in her head, as clear as if he were sitting next to her. Your safety is priority. Eliminate every source of danger. Never leave a risk.

"Well, I was very unwell the entire time. I suppose work got to me. Fucking reports," you rubbed your temples, even now cursing at the endless paperwork. "And then Hughie with his british boyfriend unloaded a bomb on me."

Yep, you said this.

Honestly, you were freaking out at this plot twist. You love Victoria, both as a person and as a friend (and maybe a little more, but you try to ignore that part). When Hughie told you his story, it sounded so unreal.

But then he brought proof - a folder bursting with photos and even videos on disks, like some kind of old-school spy movie. Who even uses disks anymore?

You spent every waking hour staring at the blood-stained pictures and text in the folder, the horrific details of what her past and present. Your tea intake had reached a record-breaking level, and if your illness hadn't been holding you back, you probably would have drowned yourself in alcohol.

Conflict warred within you. Anger for the things Victoria had done and for the fact that she’d kept it hidden. Confusion over how to feel about all of it. But most importantly, the pain of being deceived by someone you held so close. You trusted Victoria, saw her as the most important person in your life.

But at the same time - how would she have even told me?

The enormity of her secret, the danger it posed, it was a crushing burden. You knew deep down she couldn’t have told you. She probably didn’t know how to.

You vividly remembered the day of the court, how your heart was in your throat as you watched the live broadcast at home. You recall the day clear enough. Wanting to be there to support her...only for her to gently persuade you to stay home. You gave in, thanks to a simple kiss on the cheek that had your brain short-circuiting.

During the broadcast, you found yourself praying to any and every deity, even though faith had never been a part of your life. You prayed for her survival, to see her again.

You thought that Victoria slept so much after the court because of PTSD, but fuck, she likely needed all that sleep to recover from the effort of exploding a whole shitload of heads.

A cruel, bitter joke indeed.

The memory replays in your mind, and suddenly you remember something - something that was so insignificant at the time, but now takes on a whole new level of significance.

You recall the time you was at her office, and you noticed a smudge of blood on her clothes. You remember the unease, the concern, how she’d made you think it was just a small, unimportant thing. And at the time, it had been easy to let it go, to trust her. But now?

And how carefully, casually, Victoria probed you about your thoughts on super-powered humans. Unlike others, you don’t idolize them as infallible heroes or hate them as dangerous threats. After all, they were all just people. It was only after that conversation, it seemed, that she opened up more, allowed you glimpses behind her masks.

As you look at Victoria, it's like seeing her for the first time. All the little quirks, her tells, everything about the person you've come to know so well...unmasked.

She's wearing the dark red suit (blood, your mind whispers), the one she usually chooses for tough debates. Another armor. A defense.

But you know her much better now, past her careful masks and smiles. You recognize the tension in her jaw, the dark flicker in her eyes. She's preparing for the worst.

"What bomb?" She asked despite knowing the answer.

The small smile you offer is careful. You raise your eyebrows and gesture towards the pile of papers on the table by the sofa, the folder among them, buried in notes and drawings.

"I think Victoria fits you better," you remark, voice soft. "But you know, Nadia sounds beautiful too."

Hearing you speak her real name sends a shiver down her spine. No one had called her that in years, and from your lips, it sounded too intimate, too personal.

It's all there, the documents, the evidence, the photos. Things that should never have seen by anyone, much less by you.

"I prefer Vicky," she says carefully, but when she looks at you, she doesn't see fear or anger. You just seem tired. “You've read all that?”

Death, blood, shattered lives - you used to think red suited her, but you hadn't comprehended just how much.

"Of course. When have I ever left anything unfinished?" you murmurs, with just a hint of irony in the voice.

She doesn't know if she should be amused or offended by your comment.

On one hand, it's a normal reaction from you, sarcastic and cheeky. The same person she got to know during all those days and nights spent together in each other's company. On the other hand, you're talking about her greatest secret like you're talking about a crime book.

"And?" She asked quietly, hating how nervous she feels.

She's acting almost as awkward as that time she got soo drunk and you stayed up all night holding a bucket next to her, so she didn't puke all over the carpet. Now that you think about it, she's downed a lot more alcohol than a human ever could. The memory bubbles up, almost making you want to laugh.

You reach up to rub at your throat, grimacing slightly at the lingering soreness. Your cough hasn't quite gone away yet, and you pick up a bottle of water from the table, taking a few gulps to soothe the ache.

You place the bottle back down next to you and your tone is calm and measured as you speak.

"I've got exactly two questions," you state, eyes fixed on her.

Her fingers dig into the fabric of her pants, knuckles turning white. How can you be so calm, so matter-of-fact? She wants to snap, yell, scream at you, for how can you look normal after everything?

"Ask."

Another fact about you that's worth mentioning: you're a fucking clown. If Victoria ever dragged you to any important event, you would have been easily mistaken for a court jester or shot down as a threat to the sanity of every politician there. It's how you cope with the cruel world of capitalism and heroes, after all - if you can't laugh, you'd probably cry.

"So you felt it every time I had a period?"

What the fu-

She can practically feel a vein in her temple ticking in annoyance. You know her secret and this is what you're asking her?

Typical you, to focus on something as unimportant as this.

"What do you think?" she replied bluntly, her shoulders relax.

Somehow, the tension in the air has lessened. The conversation has fallen into more familiar territory, much like a well-practiced dance. You and Victoria have often discussed the powers of various supers, real or fictional, and now is no different.

Blood manipulation. You can't help but admit that exploding heads is a impressive move, yet horrifying all the same. It was a dramatic and effective ability, perfectly fitting for Victoria, the woman who always loved a good show.

The file had mentioned that she used to struggle with controlling it, but clearly, she'd mastered it now. It fit her personality perfectly: she always needed to be in control, no matter what.

"I think you can feel everything around you," you say, your voice quiet but sure. "You can hear the beating of hearts, can't you? That's why you always know when someone is lying. But for details, you need to concentrate."

You had always been good at puzzles, connecting the dots, thinking. That's why she love you.

You're surprisingly spot on in your assumptions. Victoria can feel blood, she's always felt it, even if she hasn't always been able to control it. She felt your periods. She's felt your heart rate changing in times of excitement or fear.

But what surprises her is not the fact that you've figured that out, but the fact that you aren't afraid of her even knowing all of this.

"Sometimes I try not to pay attention to much," she confessed, her voice almost a whisper, like she's sharing a secret. "It's... overwhelming."

Oh, Vicky.

Your eyes soften, a gentle understanding. All this time, this power of hers, and you hadn't noticed. Or maybe she just never let you see this side of her, this hidden weakness. Something inside you aches.

Victoria used to think you were simple, naive. You wore your heart on your sleeve, you trusted everyone too easily. She didn't see it, didn't realize that deep down, beneath that all, there was a sharp mind, capable of seeing through all her bullshit facade. Now she sees it especially clearly.

"Second question." She demands, her voice almost a whisper.

Vicky, Vicky, Vicky.

You should be afraid. After everything, the lies, the manipulation, the hidden life...you should fear her.

But you can't.

She's woven into the fabric of your life, tangled up in a web of memories, gifts, and shared moments. She's the one who showers you with gifts just because she thought of you, the one who patiently listens to your theories and debates.

Vicky, Vicky, always Vicky.

Your lip quirks slightly, a soft smile touching the corners of your mouth. You feel like you see her better now, more than ever before.

And so, your second and final question rolls off your tongue, quiet and calm. "Will you kill me?"

Victoria's heart practically stops at your question.

She was prepared for anger, sadness, disappointment. But this? Not in a million years.

"You..." Her voice is choked, a thousand thoughts swirling in her head. She looks at you, searching for something, anything in your eyes, that you're not serious.

But, ironically, this is possibly the most serious you've ever been.

"Well?" you continue. "Don't deny it. We both know you're paranoid and I know too much now. It would be logical for you. So answer the question. Will you kill me?"

Logical is exactly the kind of word that Stan had used to describe Victoria. It's who she is. So yes. This is exactly what she would have done a long time ago. Of course you think she would kill you. She should. You know too much.

But you're you, with your soft smiles and endless patience, stupid curiosity and unwavering loyalty. Despite everything, she loves you.

How can she kill the one person she loves?

Finally, in a low, strangled tone she answers.

"No, I won't kill you."

Wow, you must be utterly and hopelessly in love with her, considering how willing you are to accept death at her hands. A sick, twisted kind of humor bubbles up in your mind as you muse to yourself that it's nice that Victoria won't be exploding your head anytime soon.

Your shoulders sag a little. Okay.

Your entire body aches and throbs from the sickness that's kept you in your apartment for the past week.

And the fucking folder has only made the simple cold worse. Right now, all you want to do is disappear under the covers, crawl into the warm darkness, and shut out the world.

You gesture to the papers on the table, your voice tired but steady. "I need some time," you say, a hint of hurt underlying your words. "Will you take the folder with you when you leave? I don't want it here."

Victoria drops her gaze, averting it to look at the table, the stack of papers, the folder that started this whole mess. She feels an irrational urge to throw it all out, to burn it, and she will. Later.

Part of her is too wary to say something she'll regret, and the other... she's just too cowardly. Victoria nods slowly, standing up to grab the folder.

So all she does is watch you a moment longer, the folder clenched tightly in her hands, before walking out the door.

Time drags out slowly. Never before has a month felt so long and painful. Even during your worst fights, both of you would still text each other, however small the dialogue might be.

But now, you don't call. You don't text. You don't even send her memes filled with passive aggressive hints of your anger.

Every time her phone vibrates, her heart skips a beat in foolish hope. She almost feels like a teenager with a crush, looking at the screen eagerly, only to be disappointed every single time.

You had asked for time, and Victoria knows she should honor that.

However, you've been kept under close watch. She's not worried that you'll reveal her secret, no - that option was clearly not even in the cards. The surveillance now, the protective measures, it's not to keep an eye on you. It's for your safety. To make sure you're okay and not in any possible danger. You were right when you called her paranoid.

Her daughter starts to notice. Even she's beginning to look at Victoria differently. It's no secret that you usually spend plenty of time visiting, but it's been a whole damn month since you've vanished.

Zoe isn't your biggest fan, but she can see how much it hurts Victoria not to have you around.

"Mom, did you screw something up?"

"Language."

Victoria practically jumps when she receives a text message, inviting her to meet in a local cafe. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a simple request for cocoa and conversation.

That day, you both chat about nothing and everything, carefully avoiding the painful subject that weighs heavily on both of you. It's not much, but it's a start. A fragile first step.

When she sees the vampire memes you've sent, a wave of relief washes over her face. Victoria breaks out into loud, relieved laughter, startling her colleagues with the unexpected outburst.

She almost feels like she's back in your apartment again, sprawled on the couch, arguing about which anime to watch, or which one of the characters you're obsessed with is the most attractive.

You're insufferable, just as Victoria had expected from you. You torture her with a nonstop fload of puns, innuendoes, jokes, and memes all related to blood. Even Zoe joins, to Victoria's combined amusement and horror.

Victoria endures through Zoe's torturous plan to force her to watch the Twilight, making it her own personal mission to survive the whole series without jumping out of the nearest window.

You'll find out that Victoria has genuinely been trying to ignore the rhythm of your heartbeat since your friendship became genuine. But, before that, yeah, she used to monitor your heartbeat all the damn time.

When she casually mentioned it, you damn near choked on your tea. How in the world could Victoria, the most intelligent woman you knew, not recognize that you were madly in love with her all this time, even with super-duper powers?

After clearing your throat (with a bit of help from Victoria's powers), you laughed until your ribs hurt. Then you granted her permission to listen to your heartbeat whenever she wanted.

One day, while enjoying a casual lunch together, she asks you why you haven't run away to some sunny spot in Spain. After all, she has killed people, and it's not something that's likely to change. You rolled your eyes so hard it genuinely hurt. Seriously, your favorite characters are female war criminals for whom committing murder is just as natural as blinking.

Jokes on you, Vicky, I'm into that shit.

Of course you didn't say that. You're not ready to come out (ha!) of the illusion of friends yet.

You didn't have a damn clue how messed up the world truly is. Of course, you knew it was a cruel, cruel place, you're not naive. But, fuck, it's worse than you could have ever imagined.

And Victoria, she knows this better than anyone. She can now share her own personal horror story, revealing the truth about Vought, her father, the sadistic experiments, and her genuine desire to change the world for the better.

Things are strangely different now, better now that there are no more secrets. She finds herself hyper-aware of your heartbeat, your eyes on her, the way you move, the sound of your voice. It's like she's suddenly woken up to a new reality, where the line between friends and something more is slowly starting to blur.

And just when things were finally beginning to settle back into a shaky sense of normalcy, that fucking Hughie had to show up again.

hey, herm o. globin

you know who and his british boyfriend were at my house again

im fine btw

Victoria doesn't even bat an eye at the stupid pun, her mind immediately focusing in on the second part.

Hughie and Butcher was in your house again. Again. And somehow, her security had missed their presence. She clenches her jaw at the thought. How incompetent can they be? Stupid amateurs.

But she'll deal with them later. Victoria rearranges her schedule, sends a text ordering you to stay home, and quickly hops into her car, driving over to your place.

Victoria arrives at your apartment in record time. She can feel the tension coiling inside her, the need to make sure you're safe, to see you with her own eyes. Without even a knock, she pushes the door open and steps inside.

You're predictably sitting in the kitchen, calmly sipping away at a cup of tea. There's not a single bruise or scratch on you, no sign of fear or distress etched on your face. It's as if you didn't have two wanted terrorists in your damn house.

You glance up at the clock on the wall, "Wow, ten minutes. You won't get any fines?"

Victoria is not amused. Your humor would have usually been endearing, but right now it's just fueling her anger. She steps closer, her voice strained from the effort to keep her temper in check.

"You had Hughie and Butcher in your house, and you didn't think to call me?"

You set down your cup on the table with a weary sigh. Of course, you weren't particularly thrilled about the surprise visit, but there was no point in stressing about it now that they were gone.

"I was too busy trying to decipher british accent." Yikes, more jokes. "They were just trying to figure out why I was still hanging out with you. You know, after I discovered your secret."

Victoria's hands curl into fists, her patience with your humor wearing thinner and thinner with each passing second. Victoria doesn't even understand why her anger is slipping out of control. Perhaps it's because you were in danger. Or maybe it's because she's still at risk of losing you.

"And what exactly did you tell them?"

You can't help but flinch ever so slightly at the question. Damn it, you suck at hiding your expressions, even when you really want to. Victoria's eyes flick down to the slight flinch that you tried to hide, her shoulders tensing at the sight.

Oh, Hughie, always trying to be gentle. He attempted to appeal to your sense of morality, your humanity. It's unfortunate that he doesn't grasp how deeply, how foolishly in love you are with Victoria.

It's a shame, really, since he's known you practically since school days, he of all people should have understood. When it came to the people you cared about, your moral principles usually went on vacation.

But, like what fuck, Butcher understood.

There's something about him, something rotten and dark, that sets off alarms in your head. This man is dangerous, like a ticking time bomb waiting to burst. And when he explodes - because sooner or later, he will - he'll take a hell of a lot of people down with him. 

Amor caecus. That's all he said and led Hughie out.

You swallow, forcing down the memory and pushing it to the back of your mind. Are you really that blind?

"I told them to go suck Homelander's dick," you manage to say, and even to your own ears, your words sound pathetically weak.

Victoria almost lets out a bitter laugh at your response. Trust you and your blunt, unapologetic attitude. But the way your voice falters when you speak, tells her everything she needs to know. There's something you're not telling her, something that clearly shook you.

"Is that all?" She asks, her tone firm. "Or is there something else they said that's got you rattled?"

Fuck.

It's a harsh reminder of the tension between you when you discovered the truth about her and how uncomfortable things had become.

You stand up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor with a sickening screech. Nope, you're not ready to confess your love to your friend right now.

That instinct to flee, to hide, an almost primal urge to run away...it influences your choices. How many times could you have confessed your feelings to Victoria? You're not stupid. And she's not stupid either. What's between you is not friendship, not really.

You're just afraid.

You try to walk past her, insisting, "That's all, Victoria. I didn't tell them anything else."

Victoria despises the way your blood sings with anxiety, fear, and fatigue that has seeped into your very bones. Victoria reaches out on instinct, preventing you from walking any farther, her grip tight around your wrist. She's not letting you run away, not this time.

There were so many words on the tip of her tongue, so many things she wanted to say. Like ‘Do you know what you’re doing to me?’ or ‘I think I love you.'

"Stop," she commands, her voice betraying a hint of desperation. "I know you're hiding something, dammit. I can feel it. Please, just tell me."

It's ironic, really, for her to expect such openness and trust from you when she kept an entire box of sketches from you for so long. But when she turns those big, sad eyes on you, silently pleading for trust... love truly is blind, isn't it?

You're weary and exhausted. You want it all to go back to the days when you were still oblivious, when she was simply Vicky, your ambitious friend who could down a shot of tequila without a second thought and feel fantastic.

Life was simpler then, and it was easier to suppress your longing, to resist the urge to touch her in ways that friends shouldn't.

You're just so damn tired. Maybe it's time to stop being a cliché, a useless sapphic who fell in love with her not-so-straight friend.

"Just promise you won't blow my damn head off?"

Please, just promise me that everything will be alright. That nothing will change between us.

You don't give her a chance to respond, quickly pulling her close and crashing your lips against hers.

Victoria freezes for a moment, her mind struggling to catch up with what's happening.

Oh.

Oh.

Friends my ass.

But then her body responds, her arms wrapping around you before she even realizes it. She's kissing you back, her lips moving urgently against yours, years of pent-up yearning and love, fear and desire, finally finding a way out.

When you break away, both of you gasping for breath, Victoria meets your eyes.

You're fully aware of the path you're heading down. Love may be blind, but you're perfectly aware of her paranoid nature, the blood staining her hands up to her elbows. She's a monster, there's no denying it, and you just offered yourself up to her on a goddamn silver platter.

There's no turning back now, but even if there was, you wouldn't change a damn thing.

[amiaclone]

Oh hello! I love the way you write, could you write something like the reader is pregnant by player 333 and he protects her no matter what in the games,ty ✨️

YES IVE BEEN WAITING FOR PLAYER 333

Soo since this is basically just Junhee I’m gonna add a bit more to the plot if you don’t mind!

You were in the first games like Gi hun you didn’t win although you escaped after you lost at one of the games (let’s say marbles) was living with Gi hun for a good while then moved out etc met Lee Myung gi (player 333) got you pregnant did the scam etc anyways you wanted to help Gi hun but not get involved but Front man kidnapped you anyways for fun and well….here you are

Since I like Junhee I don’t wanna erase her so she’s like a spy or sm 😔 a whole different plot but interesting still

Anyways here it is!

Lee Myung Gi x Fem! Reader

You sighed in annoyance as your ex came to bother you about if you were okay or needed anything the usual

You didn’t even wanna be here but be with him? No way!

You won’t lie you *did* need help in a place like this but with him? No way!

“Do you need my extra milk? A place like this isn’t fit for someone like you! Bla bla bla” that’s all he ever said

Myung gi and you used to be one of those lovey dovey couples who you’d think would get married or something…..it could of happened if he didn’t end up with you losing your money and ghosting you

For the money? Meh you didn’t care as Gi hun managed to pay off your debts but ghosting? That was cold you called almost everyday and received little knowledge……yeah he deserves what’s coming to him

Currently it was after red light green light and he was bothering you about a new thing!

“You played these games before and never told me?”

You rolled your eyes “Yeah cause telling someone I was kidnapped and forced to play children games and could die is so believable”

He shook his head “Yeah well things like this aren’t just things you can forget about! How did you leave why did you go back-“

You turned to him rather harshly “Not that it concerns you but I don’t wanna be here just as much as anyone else” you sighed staring at your stomach for a bit your child could die here…..you could die here was it really worth it?

He noticed and stood firm “Well I’ll protect you” you gave him a small glare

“How am I supposed to know I can trust you?”

He shook his head “Don’t be stubborn y/n in your condition if the majority votes to stay….your chances are very slim”

You sighed looking up at the roof “Fine. But don’t think this means I have forgotten anything”

He sighed smiling that you’d agree maybe this is a chance to finally make things up with you?

Cue to the six legged pentathlon

You teamed with Gi hun followed by your ex who’s been following you around the whole time like a lost puppy except the puppy is preventing anything from even looking at or touching said person aka you

So far you agreed to do Jegi as it seemed the easiest

“Don’t you think it’d be dangerous-“

“I’m doing it”

Luckily we barely lived even though In ho/Player 001 nearly screwed it over for us and you all headed out

Once again Myung Gi stood by your side you even cheered with him for passing it he smiled

Oh wait your still supposed to be mad at him you quickly erased that smile with a frown

“Well thanks for protecting me i suppose you’ve been nice…”

“Nice enough for me to finally show you I’m sorry?”

“No”

He mentally groaned he knew he messed up but he really did miss you ghosting you was a big regret but he didn’t want you getting involved because people were trying to kill him!

Well atleast you’re nice enough to try tolerating that’s a start…

Cue to mingle

You haven’t seen Myung for almost the whole game and to be honest you were getting kinda worried you were with Gi hun and the team you formed back in six legged pentathlon

The new number was seven you grabbed onto Junhee a kind girl who told you in secret she was a spy for the government (Cool plot might use it for an oc) who you’ve bonded with the whole time you were here

You ran but someone fell you think it was Young Mi? Anyways just as the door was about to close *He* walked in

Ah typical Myung gi smiled staring at everyone specifically you as he expected to be seen as a hero

Why were you kinda relieved to see him?

Which you agreed he did technically save your lifes you empathised heavily with Hyun Ju banging on the door crying for Young Mi it gave you flashbacks of the first games you didn’t lose anyone typically close you can recall but still a sad time..

Anyways Hyun Ju blamed Myung gi while Myung gi defended himself and begged any of us to agree with him which you did

“I’m sorry about Young mi Hyun Ju but he’s got a point we all would have died”

Myung gi seemed relieved and when you were all walking out walked up to you “Thank you for defending me does this mean we can talk? Oh! Watch your step”

He points at the wall when you were a good distance from it you rolled your eyes

“This doesn’t change anything I just agreed with you cause you were right”

Before he could say anything the last round started

It said 2 and he immediately grabbed you before you could even comprehend who it was luckily he found a random door barely and slammed it shut breathing heavily

“Thanks” is all you could mutter heavily breathing

He smiled

“As long as I’m here I’ll protect you”

And why did you feel comforted by that….

I loved this one smmmm we need more Myung gi fanfics! Hope you likeddd it

[violetvines]

wedding bells are ringing 🔔

summary: it's the day of libby and nash's wedding. libby is getting ready in her room, feeling nervous about walking down the aisle, pre-wedding jitters and all. she hears a knock at her door, and the last person she's expecting is standing on the other side... alisa ortega.

characters: libby grambs, alisa ortega, nash hawthorne

a/n: my first fic! I hope I represented them nicely <3

.𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ ⭑

One. Two. Three. Four...

Libby counted her breaths in her head, steadying their rhythm, even if she couldn't seem to steady her erratic heart.

Today was the day. The kind of day she had carelessly dreamt about when she had been a girl. The kind of day she hadn't dared to even think about in recent years, because she didn't believe it would ever happen. She didn't believe this day would ever come.

She was getting married today. She was having a wedding.

It was funny, really, because just the night earlier, she had been laying in bed with Nash, and they had talked about the surreality of the situation. Or, as Nash would put it, a situation that was surreal to her, but very real and very true to him.

"What if it's not everything you dreamed it would be?" She had blurted that out almost immediately after Nash had rebuked her "surreal" statement.

He had proceeded to stare at her in the darkness, fingers still stroking her dark blue hair. "Libs..." he began, "no dream of mine is worth anythin' if you ain't in it."

"You are everything I could ever dream of."

"But-"

"Shhh," he shushed her, "I know what you're going to say. You're going to say that you're afraid because tomorrow, your last name becomes Hawthorne. You're going to say that you're worried you won't be able to live up to that name, and that you'll mess up and somehow cause the whole world to come crashing down."

"But you need to understand this. Tomorrow, I will no longer be just a man – I will be your husband, your sworn protector. And I will be there with you every step of the way to hold your hand. You will not mess up, and the world will not come crashing down, because I will be there. And if you're still doubting it, still thinking that something will go wrong, I will shield you from all their hurtful words and condescending stares."

Libby knew that when Nash pronounced his g's, he was being serious.

"You always think that you make a mess everywhere you go, but I need you to know that you turned my life from a mess to a blessing."

He had then kissed her forehead and she'd remained silent, tears forming in her eyes.

Libby sighed at the memory. Nash had such a way with his words. He always knew what she needed to hear, how to comfort her and be there for her.

She had fallen asleep shortly after that. Still, no amount of talking could change the fact that it was real and it was happening.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door.

"That must be Avery," she thought. Her sister had gone off to meet with the other three Hawthorne brothers, presumably in Nash's room. She hadn't seen him since morning and he wasn't allowed to see her in her dress until the altar. Avery was probably back now, so she was ready to bombard her with questions... if she could get her nerves to calm down.

Libby looked in the long mirror, smoothing down the front of her wedding gown. It was black, matching the glossy dark blue and black colour on her nails. She liked it. The makeup artist had done a great job too, and she felt like a queen. (As she should.)

"Come in!" she called, while opening the door.

The figure outside her door made her freeze. It was Alisa Ortega, better known as her sister's lawyer or her soon-to-be husband's ex-girlfriend.

She and Alisa hadn't always been on good terms, and honestly, she could understand it. Who would want to be friends with their ex's new significant other?

"Nash Hawthorne has never loved anything he didn't leave."

Alisa's words from the past echoed in her ears. Libby curled her fingers into fists. She didn't have time for backhanded remarks or snide comments right now. She needed to calm down because soon, it would be time to walk down the aisle.

Alisa was dressed formally, as if she had just finished a meeting at the law firm. She had an eyebrow raised. Great. "Are you going to invite me in or...?"

Libby stepped aside to let her in, not saying anything just yet. She took another deep breath.

"Look, Alisa, if you're here to talk to me about keeping up appearances later, I got it. I've been going through my vows everyday for the past week - I won't forget them. I've been practising my walk down the aisle with these killer shoes too - I won't fall. Don't you worry, I won't embarrass anyone. Not Avery, not the Hawthornes, not the family's reputation."

Libby hadn't realised that she was panting heavily.

"Oh, and also, please don't make a comment on my unconventional wedding dress. I know you don't approve, but here I am anyway." She spread her arms, displaying herself.

Alisa looked at her carefully. What she said next surprised Libby, and she almost pinched herself awake.

"You look beautiful, Libby."

"Wait... what?"

Alisa sighed. "I said that you look beautiful." She said it so matter-of-factly, like Alisa Ortega was someone who usually dished out compliments like that.

This wasn't the Alisa that Libby knew.

"You can get to it, you know. You can tell me what you came here for."

At that, Alisa gestured for Libby to have a seat.

"I came here to give you something," she began, but paused as Libby snorted.

"By something, do you mean... an NDA? After I marry Nash, I'm practically Hawthorne and I'll know all their secrets." She said, lightheartedly.

How was she joking around with Alisa minutes before her wedding? Then again, it was possible. Alisa didn't like to joke.

Libby waited for a cutting remark, but none came. Alisa only grimaced. Grimaced? Since when did Alisa Ortega grimace?

Why was Alisa acting so weird today? As far as Libby knew, Alisa was over Nash... unless... she wasn't, so that's why she was acting this way. She habitually brought her fingers to her mouth. When she was nervous, she bit her nails.

She didn't manage to do so, because Alisa gently set her hands down. "Hey... we don't want you ruining your nails before the wedding."

"Here, take this." Alisa reached into her pocket and procured a small box, one that could fit in the palm of her hand. Noticing Libby's curiosity, she explained.

"It's a small music box. I thrifted it from somewhere, and I thought you'd like it. The designs at the sides of it are very... gothic." That last word sounded like it troubled her to say it.

Libby laughed with disbelief. "Alisa... you mean to say that you got me a wedding gift?" Her giggling died down, as she was suddenly overcome by an unexplainable feeling. Gratitude? Shock? Wonder? All three?

Alisa shrugged. "It would be rude to attend the wedding without bringing a gift." At that, Libby's mouth fell open. She hadn't thought that Alisa would even set aside time to attend her wedding.

Alisa didn't let her deal with the shock for more than three seconds. "Go ahead and open it."

She did. Her fingers trembled as she wound up the crank.

The first notes played and she immediately noticed that it wasn't just any music. It was wedding music.

"Here Comes The Bride" was playing and the tinkling notes filled the room. As Libby watched, the room shined with a sort of ethereal glow. The music faded, and she turned to watch as Alisa stared at her wistfully.

She could have sworn there was a tiny smile pulling at the corner of her lips. "Thank– thank you." Libby stuttered, because what else could she say? None of this had been expected.

She now expected Alisa to leave but that didn't happen either. "I also wanted to say that I'm happy for you. Truly."

"Everything you said just now made me realise that I haven't been the best person to you, and for that," she took a deep breath, "I'm sorry."

Here was Alisa Ortega opening up. Here was Alisa Ortega apologising to her. Alisa Ortega was apologising to Libby Grambs.

"I wish you and Nash a happy marriage." Libby sat there in silence, still processing her words.

Alisa looked at her wristwatch and caught herself then. "I should be going now. Before things get out of hand down there."

She was at the door when she turned around and said, "you don't have to forgive me. Having you around wasn't the worst, you know? You made life at Hawthorne House happier – I can see it in their faces. When Nash talks about you, he has a sparkle in his eyes, something that was lost long ago. Xander loves your baked goods and I see him popping his head in the kitchen every evening, with hopes that you're there, baking something. Even Grayson and Jameson love having you here."

"You're not an embarrassment, Libby Grambs. You are everything they never knew they needed."

"You're a wonderful sister. And I'm sure you will also make a wonderful wife."

With that, Alisa stepped out of the room, not leaving space for Libby to reply. She didn't need to turn around to know that at that second, Libby had mumbled a million thank-you's, feeling touched at what had just passed between them, diamonds glistening in her eyes.

"You're not half as bad either, Alisa Ortega." She whispered to the empty room, eyes still on the space that Alisa had vacated.

And somehow, she didn't feel nervous anymore.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ ⭑

"You may now kiss the bride." The priest announced.

Before Nash could pick her up in his arms and plant a kiss on her lips, she scanned the crowd one final time.

There, in the middle of all the chaos, sat Alisa Ortega.

Libby grinned at her, not expecting anything but a small smile back.

She was surprised again, when she was met with the sight of Alisa grinning back. It was the first time she had seen a genuine, happy smile on Alisa Ortega's face.

She hoped it wouldn't be the last.

lace divider by @kodaswrld

[vacoomer]

The Bindings

Setting: Two old acquaintances - the winner of the games from 2019 and the man who all started it - meet again after five years. They both know their potential connection is an explosive mix of danger, tension and possibly passion. They meet again, one fateful day, when the recruiter reminded her of another possible life changing offer.

Characters: The salesman/The recruiter (squid game); [Name] (your inserted character)

Warnings: Manipulation, Tension, small descriptions of death/blood

The flickering neon sign of a ramen shop cast a sickly yellow glow on the rain-slicked streets of Seoul’s Itaewon district. Inside a cramped, dilapidated apartment, [Name] stared blankly at the peeling, dark wallpaper.

Forty-five billion won. A sum that should have bought her paradise, instead it had bought her a cage of crippling anxiety and loneliness. Five years ago, she’d won the brutal games, a twisted lottery where the poor risked their lives for unimaginable wealth. She’d won, but at what cost?

The memories clawed at her, cold and sharp. The screams, the blood, the hollow eyes of those who hadn’t survived. Six days filled with hollow prays, begging the higher being of the world to let this all just be a bad trip, caused by the illegal substances and sick thoughts manifested through the things some had to endure.

The last game had decided her future. She had to defend herself against the other remaining competitor. So who is to say she is at fault? At fault for his tearing scream, the sound of his ribs breaking, his last gasps for air as his lungs filled themselves with blood.

Self defense, the man clothed in black called it, yet she named it inhumanity.

The apartment stood as a testament to her deliberate seclusion, a physical embodiment of her choice to retreat from the world. Discarded ramen bowls were stacked haphazardly, their remnants a stark reminder of her solitary meals, while ashtrays brimmed with the remnants of countless cigarettes, each one a silent witness to her unraveling. The atmosphere was thick with the oppressive odor of old smoke, mingling with an undercurrent of hopelessness that seemed to seep into the very walls, creating a suffocating cocoon around her.

A sudden, forceful knock on her door broke the stillness that enveloped her home. [Name] recoiled slightly, her heart racing as if it were trying to escape the confines of her chest. Visitors had become a rarity in her life, a distant memory of a time long past. With a mix of trepidation and curiosity, she slowly pulled the door open just enough to peer outside. There, in the dim light of the hallway, stood a man she had not laid eyes on in five long years.

The sight of him sent a jolt through her, a rush of emotions flooding her mind. This was the same man who had approached her in the park on that unforgettable day, a moment etched in her memory like a photograph. His presence was both familiar and foreign, stirring up a whirlwind of feelings she thought she had buried. She could hardly believe he was standing there, as if time had folded in on itself, bringing the past crashing back into her present.

Back then, he had inquired about her well-being, his voice laced with concern. She had kept her head bowed, the weight of her sorrow evident in the way her shoulders slumped. Tears had already pooled in her eyes, a silent testament to the turmoil she felt long before he arrived. With a heavy sigh, she responded, the sound escaping her lips like a whisper of her pain. Time seemed to stretch as she remained lost in her thoughts, unaware of his lingering presence until curiosity nudged her to lift her gaze finally.

When she finally looked up, she was met with a warm, inviting smile radiating kindness. It was a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling within her. She attempted to brush off her tear-streaked face with a feeble laugh, a gesture that felt both awkward and desperate. The vulnerability of the moment hung in the air, yet his demeanour remained unfazed as if he understood the depths of her struggle. With a playful glint in his eyes, he proposed a game, a simple yet profound invitation that hinted at a distraction from her heartache.

That was what she believed at first.

Back then, she did not know that by accepting the card he offered her, her life would never be the same as it once was. She had only been twenty-three.

A steady knock pulls her out of her thoughts.

The man still stood in the dark hallway, waiting.

He was older now, [Name] noticed. The lines etched deeper into his face, but his eyes held the same chilling intensity.

“[Name],” he said, his voice a low rumble. “It’s been a while. ” His eyes flicked around the apartment, assessing the decay as if it was a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside without invitation, his movements fluid and deliberate. The air seemed to thicken with an unspoken menace. [Name] felt a cold dread wash over her, the memories of the games flooding back in a horrifying wave. She knew that he couldn't be here just to reminisce. This clandestine visit was a warning, a threat; or perhaps both?

“What do you want? ” The woman managed; Her voice barely a whisper.

"Such an ungracious reception," the man remarked, his eyes fixed intently on her. "Five years ago, you were given an opportunity that few are lucky enough to encounter." His fingers traced the contours of a timeworn oil painting, each stroke a reminder of the past. "Yet here we are, five years later, and you still refuse to accept it."

He offered no further explanation; it was unnecessary. The weight of his unspoken words lingered in the atmosphere, wrapping around her like a constricting serpent, instilling a deep-seated dread. The staggering sum of forty-five billion won was powerless to shield her from the clutches of an organization that wielded such formidable influence and control.

Her mind wandered to the players, the faces of those who had sacrificed everything. She recalled the man who had lost an eye yet possessed a heart so immense that it seemed to radiate warmth, a beacon of kindness in a world often shrouded in darkness. Then there was the woman, her tears a constant stream, her prayers rising to the heavens as she implored the deities for deliverance from her suffering. And the little boy, with his wide, innocent eyes filled with dreams and aspirations, who had looked up at her with unwavering hope, only to have that light extinguished in an instant by a single, devastating bullet.

Each memory struck her like a thunderclap, echoing the harsh reality of their fates. The vivid images of their struggles and aspirations haunted her, a poignant reminder of the fragility of life. The man’s resilience, the woman’s despair, and the boy’s fleeting joy painted a haunting tableau of loss and longing.

She could not shake those memories from her thoughts.

Suddenly, a loud rumbling jolted her out of her trance.

The rain pounded relentlessly against the windows of the ageing apartment. The impeccably dressed man remained still, his gaze fixed on her as she fidgeted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

In the dim light of the room, he meticulously studied her features, each line and curve illuminated by the flickering shadows. She stood just a few paces away, close enough for him to bridge the distance with a couple of quick strides. Her fingers drummed nervously against her thigh, betraying the tension that coiled within her. Her wide, apprehensive eyes reflected a deep-seated fear, one that had been nurtured over the years. He was acutely aware of the dread that enveloped her, for he was the architect of her unease—a man whose ominous reputation lingered in the air like a chilling breeze, a reminder of the power he wielded.

It was five years prior that he first laid eyes on her, a delicate silhouette perched on a park bench in his favourite spot. She seemed almost ethereal, her slight frame hunched over as if the weight of the world rested upon her shoulders. In mere moments, he scrutinized her, attempting to unravel the enigma that surrounded her. Unlike the countless individuals he had encountered and recruited over the past decade, she was a puzzle—immediately recognizable yet profoundly elusive. Despite the challenge she presented, he remained unfazed, his demeanour unwavering and calm as ever.

The memory of that day lingered vividly in his mind, a stark contrast to the bustling life around him. While others were easily categorized and understood, she defied all his expectations, leaving him with a sense of intrigue that was both unsettling and captivating. How was she able to win the games? Such a delicate individual experiencing death before her eyes, yet she did not cower from it.

He found himself drawn to her, yet, even as he observed her from a distance, he maintained his usual poise, a steady anchor amidst the swirling currents of curiosity and uncertainty that she inspired within him.

This evening, an unsettling change coursed through his determination, igniting a flicker of danger in his thoughts. Over the years, his intrigue had only intensified, drawing him deeper into the mystery that surrounded her. His thorough inquiries had unveiled a wealth of information about this captivating woman, yet she continued to elude his understanding. He learned that she spent her days in the local library, leading a life that was both serene and unremarkable. Her social circle was limited, each friend meticulously selected, as if she were guarding her heart against the world.

He ought to have respected her boundaries and refrained from delving into the intricacies of her personal life. His excessive curiosity about her was misplaced and intrusive. As a recruiter for the ruthless games, he was well aware that such involvement only invited peril, not just for her but for himself as well.

As he advanced deeper into the room, the sound of his footsteps made [Name] recoil slightly, a reflexive response to his presence. He raised a hand in a gesture intended to soothe, though it might have come across as intimidating in the dim light that surrounded them.

"[Name]," he murmured, his voice deep and resonant, reverberating in the stillness. The name felt foreign as it rolled off his lips, marking the first time he had spoken it aloud. She remained silent, her gaze locked onto him, wide with a blend of trepidation and something else—perhaps a hint of recognition or a distant memory stirring within her. The thought sent a thrill through him, igniting a spark of hope that there was more to their connection than mere chance.

“I… I remember you,” she finally whispered, her voice barely audible. He saw a flash of something – confusion, perhaps? Or a hint of something else, something far more intriguing. He leaned in, his shadow falling over her, and the room grew even colder.

He saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes, a fleeting connection, yet it was quickly suppressed by her fear. He realized then that her fear was not entirely directed at him, it was a fear of everything she had to endure, just because she took the card he had offered her.

He walked past her, his presence radiating a chill that seeped into her very bones. He spoke in soft tones, words crafted to soothe, to disarm. He spoke of books, of poetry, of things he knew she loved. The man walked through the room, taking in her living condition all the while she began to tremble.

“You are the man from the park…”, she interrupted him. Her eyes searching for something to ground her, avoiding his form by any means.

“The man who gave me the card.”, she continued.

“The man who gave you a chance to live a better life.”, he abruptly turned around.

A grin spreads across his features, unmistakable and bold. It lacks the warmth of kindness or the softness of modesty; instead, it resembles the sly smirk of a trickster, hinting at mischief and hidden intentions. The corners of his mouth curl upward in a way that suggests he knows more than he lets on.

His gaze roams over her face once more, as if he is cataloguing every detail with a predatory focus. Each contour and shadow is scrutinized, revealing a fascination that borders on obsession. There’s an intensity in his stare, a mix of curiosity and something darker as if he is trying to decipher a puzzle that only he can see.

She hadn't changed much in those five years. Her jawline, her eye shape, her cheekbones and her lips looked like they did five years ago. Her eyes are different though. They are dull; one could describe them as lifeless, yet he liked seeing her that miserable.

Her eyes reminded him of his.

“You have changed. ", he finally says. His smile fell and his eyebrows raised.

“We’ve all changed, but some changes are necessary. ”, her gaze hardened, her hands forming into fists.

He shifts in place, putting more distance between his feet and interlocking his hands. “Necessary?”

[Name] chuckles at his disbelief. “You made sure I stayed in the place where people like me belong. You label us as creatures who have no value. A waste you have to get rid of.”

The young woman shifts in place, her gaze never faltering.

“You’re a storm; You take pride in diminishing our light just because you deem it as irritating. You destroy anything in your path which had not yet taken roots into the ground. ”

“And you’re a shadow,” he shot back, unfazed by her words. “You mirror the movements of the person you admire, the person you aspire to be; Yet you remain distant, elusive. You hide your emotions, yet they hover just beneath the surface, ready to be seen when someone shows just a breeze of interest in you; But even then they retreat as quickly as they came because if the sun doesn’t continue to shine, shadows can not appear either.” He purses his lips, taking in her furrowed eyebrows and scrunched-up nose. Her fingers fiddle with her sleeves.

“You mimic the sun’s every step, every gesture, twisting your own identity to match the light that shines before you. You bend and stretch, always following, always aligning yourself with the sun’s every move, whether it is to fit in or to conceal your own insecurities behind its blinding glow.”

The recruiter slides his tongue over his bottom lip, his eyes fixated on [Name]

“You blend into the background, slipping into the sun’s shape, as though your existence is nothing more than an extension of that light. Yet, when things go wrong, you deflect the blame into the sun, as if their missteps were only a reflection of the light you were so desperately trying to follow.”

He stepped into her personal space, challenging her. “You can't blame me for your own choices.“

[Name] froze at his remarks, her expression shifting between shock and deep thought. The atmosphere crackled with tension, like static electricity dancing between them, weaving their conflicting emotions into an invisible web.

She held his gaze with fierce determination, defiance blazing in her eyes. The world beyond them dissolved, leaving just two souls locked in their silent duel, each pulse of their hearts marking the wordless challenge between them.

"I placed my faith in you because you witnessed my darkest moments. You offered what seemed like salvation, a gift from heaven itself. I believed it was a reward for my suffering—not this twisted curse!" Her voice trembled with fury, each word cutting like a blade, her teeth clenched in raw resentment.

He arched an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his gaze. "A shadow cannot break free from its master's chains. You'll always trail behind me, bound by gratitude for the life I granted you. Your debt to me is eternal."

"I'd choose the raw truth of my struggles over the facade of a fabricated joy any day," she declared with a fierce intensity that caught him off guard. The passion radiating from her gaze was a spark of vitality he hadn't encountered in ages, illuminating the shadows of his own existence.

"I'd rather embrace my own despair, burdened by debt, than wear a mask of happiness while envying those who seem to glide through life with laughter and no regrets," [Name] exclaimed, her finger jabbing assertively against the recruiter’s solid chest. "I owe you nothing—neither my joy nor my life!"

He knew he couldn’t possess her. Not in the way he craved. The darkness that resided in him would consume her. It was a predator’s instinct, a need to control and dominate, something that he desperately fought against. He watched her carefully, captivated by her resilience, her ability to survive despite the horrors she'd endured.

“You live with regrets, fear and guilt.”, his eyes soften.

“You have emerged from the depths of your struggles, a testament to your resilience and strength. You navigated those treacherous waters all on your own, without a single soul to guide you or lend a hand. It was a solitary journey, one filled with challenges that tested your very limits. Now, as I stand before you, I offer my assistance. You may insist that you don’t require it, and perhaps you believe that to be true. However, that doesn’t diminish the fact that everyone deserves support, especially when the weight of the world feels too heavy to bear alone.”

“You assert that you owe me nothing, and while that may hold some truth, it doesn’t change the reality of your situation. Here you are, caught in a façade, striving to maintain an image that doesn’t reflect your true self. It is - as I have said before - as if you are a shadow, forever trailing the light, unable to break free from the constraints of your own making. The struggle to uphold this pretence only adds to your burden, and I see the toll it takes on you. It’s time to embrace authenticity and allow yourself the grace of vulnerability.”, The recruiter’s eyes darken.

“While you rot in this hole, I do know that you wish to forget all that has happened. Forget who you once were; disreputable, ignominious, cynical, embarrassing. I can assist you with that. I will help you become the person you always aspired to be; No longer a shadow in your own story.”

Those were his final words as he strode through the apartment towards the door.

Before he could walk out of the wooden door, he abruptly stood still, his head only tilting to the side for mere centimetres.

“The offer still stands.”

He watched as she processed his words, her eyes filled with a complex mixture of understanding and pity. He'd glimpsed something in her gaze, a recognition of the battle he fought within himself, a silent acknowledgement of his words.

As the rain finally subsided, and the first rays of dawn painted the sky, he left her standing in the cold apartment, a mere card slowly gliding to the floor.

(Note: this will most likely have more parts, so follow me to keep being updated!)

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Finally got to see “Nosferatu” (2024) and what a masterpiece. Peak gothic horror, my teenage self came alive with this film. This is truly for the gothic horror, history and folklore enjoyers.

Eggers brings the audience into the Victorian era; not only visually but on the storytelling itself. There are so many layers happening here. This film is a meditation on sex and death, modernity and spirituality, science and superstition. It’s set in the 19th century, at the dawn of the modern Western world; and as Europeans move towards technology and science, they drift away from folklore and pagan religions. It’s no coincidence that Orlok comes into Germany to terrorize a city, the ultimate symbol of civilization.

Our protagonist Ellen is a seer, a medium, an “enchantress” like Orlok calls her, and even Von Franz recognizes she could have been a “Priestess of Isis” had she been born in pagan times. Unfortunately for Ellen, she was born in the “wrong era” and she’s brutally medicalized for her gifts, being diagnosed as a “melancholic hysteric somnambulist” aka hyper-sexual depressive and suicidal. She’s able to see beyond the realm of the living, which causes her to summon and awake Orlok from his centuries old nap, at the beginning of the movie, and develop a psychosexual connection with him; which is, indeed, what separates this story from the other “Dracula” adaptations.

Count Orlok is the archetypal Death, here; which culminates with the “Death and the Maiden” motif at the end. This was a very popular Art History archetype around the so-called “Plague years” (14th to 16th century) in Europe, and it’s often connected with other motifs like “Danse Macabre” and “Memento Mori”. It has several meanings depending on the author intent, usually a reminder of our mortality, but also a meditation on sex and death, as in the French “la petite mort” (“little death”), the post-orgasm sensation, sexual release potentially causing temporary loss of consciousness (fainting) or dizziness. In the Medieval Ages, physicians believed orgasms could lead to death because they drained the “life force” from the body. This was when the term “petite mort” was created, and this belief persisted into the Renaissance and beyond. In “Nosferatu” this probably translates in the sexual pleasure that Orlok imprints on his victims as he drains their life force.

Thomas is a ambitious young man who marries Ellen, and he craves the status and the money his long-friend Friedrich Harding has. At Thomas’ side, Ellen “gifts” appear to have been blocked, and she’s able to lead a “normal life”. This caused her to developed a somewhat co-dependent relationship with him. And this makes me ask: does Ellen truly loves him or does she loves the idea of herself with him? Ellen profound need to feel loved also extends to her friendship with Anna, and she even thanks her for loving her. This is also a desire she expresses to Orlok, as she accuses him of being incapable of loving her (in the human sense), this being the reason for her resisting to succumb to his offer (Thomas loves her, he doesn’t).

Many interpretations have been brought forward about Ellen story (abuse, grooming, etc.), personally I disagree. I see it as a metaphorical story of depression (Ellen not only gets diagnosed with “melancholy”, the Victorian equivalent for “Depression”, but she also presents a lot of synonyms of Bordeline Personality Disorder), and how it can wreck havoc on the lives of those around us when the proper medical treatment is not available, and it culminates with Ellen joining Orlok/Death = committing suicide. Like Orlok himself, she can never be satiated with the world of the living, and finds fulfillment in death, and him as a “past lover” can be interpreted not only with suicidal ideation but actual attempts.

The influence of Grand Guignol theatre is also visible in some scenes, where horror and comedy are blended. Some scenes are indeed very theatrical and this seems intentional.

Personally, I didn’t find this film scary (as in terrifying). It’s macabre and eerie, for sure. Visually, it’s stunning. Amazing cinematography, very atmospheric and dream-like. Customs and sets are incredible. A feast for historians like myself. I was gushing over the medieval architecture of Orlok castle because of course I was. The attention to detail in this film is incredible. I absolutely loved Orlok character design as the “Renaissance plague carrier”.

[hornedmonsters]

"A'thaen" Yautja Oc x Reader - Mate - nsfw - Part 2

Warnings: nsfw, size difference, exophilia, teratophilia, monster x human, alien sex, breeding, angst, sex in the snow

Synopsis: Your life with A'thaen he started, but you've already loved every second of it. But something seemed to be bothering the Yautja.

Word Count: 3,2k

Jezus… this GIF… damn…

I managed to translate this story after all. Thanks Handy!

Two months have passed since A'thaen made you his life partner and mated with you. You haven't regretted a second of your life that he just stormed into your life and fucked you. Literally. You no longer felt so lonely in your little house and the nights weren't so cold either.

Because he fucked you almost every night, either deep inside your bed mattress, on the sofa or anywhere else. He found a place everywhere where he could breed you. And he often destroyed your bed in the process, because it was simply not designed for the brute strength of a gigantic alien with a high breeding instinct.

Of course you had never worried about getting pregnant, because what are the chances of getting pregnant by an alien, a different species that has a different DNA and life line than you?So you let him do it because you enjoyed the way he treated you like you were his queen. He adored you more than anything.You moaned as he pushed his thick cock deeper into you and pressed your face into the mattress. Your skin was covered in a film of sweat and his shadow towered over you. He had totally changed since your first mating. He was reserved at first, but now you were his.

"A'thaen..." you gasped, your legs trembling. You had no strength left and were exhausted. The Yautja growled in apology and shortly after, he came inside you, deep rumbling.

He watched you attentively as you let your body sink into the bathtub and let out a pleasant sigh. You were tired and he felt it, a touch of his conscience made him restless. He sometimes forgot that you were a human and not a Yautja female. You were more sensitive and he had to try to respect that and be more careful with you, he didn't want to break you and hurt you.Gently he laid you in bed and pulled you against his chest. You were exhausted and your eyelids were heavy.

"Don't forget... that my sister is coming tomorrow," you said in a whisper and the Yautja listened up, his eyes looking down at you. You saw the question mark on his face.

"She won't be staying, she's just bringing her child over in the meantime because she has something important to do and she wants me to look after her daughter.

"A'thaen tensed as the thought of hiding came to mind, as no one was to know he was here. The child might betray him and that would only cause trouble, even if it was questionable to believe a child.

"She's half a year old, A'thaen. You don't have to hide," you breathed, straightening up. Gently, you pressed your forehead against his cheek and breathed in his scent. He calmed you down.He clicked, apparently not much in the mood to talk right now. His claws were still firmly on your curves and you felt him pull you closer.A'thaen had often had the thought of what if you were pregnant by him. Yautja children were different from human babies and the birth could mean your death if you were pregnant. That would be the next thing

Since you've been together, you've mated a lot... a whole lot. But you didn't get pregnant. But the Yautja had hope, a lot of hope. His gaze rested on your sleeping form and he felt warmth in his heart.This feeling became even stronger when you held your sister's child in your arms and it triggered all kinds of feelings in him. Excitement, sadness, hope and warmth. It was a chaos of emotions.

The little girl squawked and squeaked. You smiled and looked at Yautja, who was standing a few meters away from you, watching the scenario.

"Here, take her," you suggested and his mandibles twitched. His look was skeptical, but in reality he was afraid of hurting the baby. It was so tiny. But before he could react, you pressed the little creature into his arms and he was mesmerized as the girl's saucer eyes gazed at him watchfully.

The longer you looked at what was happening, the more it hurt you. You couldn't give him what he wanted so much and that was bitter in your stomach.A'thaen sensed the change and his eyes looked at you with concern and questioning.

Sometimes you forget that he was a deadly hunter and a good hunter. He had killed many people, he had told you shortly after your mating. But it didn't affect you, you still wanted him. It was just a part of him.

But you put on a smile, took the child and put her to bed. The little girl was tired and it was really late. Somewhat reluctantly, the Yautja gave up the baby, there was still something strange in his gaze.

During the night, you lay with your back turned to him and stared into space. At some point, you noticed how he slowly and quietly got up and left the room. After that, he never showed his face again.

On the second day, your sister picked up her daughter again, but there was no sign of A'thaen and you started to worry. Then you remembered that he still had his spaceship. You remembered where it was, but it had disappeared. The place was empty and his spaceship wasn't exactly small.You panicked. Had he just left you? Had you done something wrong to him? You became restless and at night you couldn't sleep a wink.

Tears gathered in your eyes as you looked out of the window. It was storming heavily, but you didn't see an oversized spaceship or an oversized alien man. You walked through the rain. You needed a walk to clear your head. You were a mixture of emotions and you found it hard to breathe. Had you really managed to scare off an alien?

Trembling, you leaned against a gigantic tree and exhaled deeply. Slowly you slid down and tears ran down your cheeks as you felt the exhaustion of the last few days. When you went back home, you went to bed. You couldn't sleep until you were simply too exhausted and your body gave way. You quickly drifted off into the darkness of sleep.

A few more weeks passed until one day you suddenly heard a loud noise outside. You jumped up from the sofa and looked towards the door. Your heart pounded with false hope and at the same time you were afraid that it was something completely different. You swallowed and got up.It was cold outside, winter was approaching and your hut was losing its warmth too. You carefully pushed the doorbell down and opened the door a crack. You immediately felt the cold and shivered. Wistfully, you grabbed your jacket and a flashlight.

Maybe it was a family of raccoons. They were probably looking for food before the harsh winter came. You crept out of the door and followed the sounds. The sky was cloudy and somehow you had a queasy feeling walking through the darkness to the back of the house. What if it was a bear? But what if it was A'thaen? What if he was injured.

Suddenly you saw something in the darkness. It was a shadow in the shadow of darkness. Gigantic. Your eyes widened and the next moment a bright light came on. You quickly closed your eyes and tried to get used to the bright light.

You put your hand in front of your eyes and slowly opened your eyelids. Slowly, the first snowflakes fell from the sky and you realized that it was a spaceship. A'thaen's.

Your mouth went dry and tears gathered in your eyes as you took heavy steps away, but couldn't see anyone.

"A'thaen...," your voice was a whisper and you suddenly felt someone gently take your hand and pull it down. A soft growl was heard, then the Yautja appeared in front of you and you were completely overwhelmed with the feelings you had. With your mouth open and your body trembling, you looked at him. More and more snowflakes fell gently on your skin and got caught in your hair.

You just stared at each other. Your hand still in his and it was as if time stood still for a moment. Your heart was beating so hard against your chest that it hurt. You felt sick and had an inner conflict. A'thaen sensed this and hesitated before making a wrong move. He knew he was long gone and he also knew that he had just left you standing there.

It wasn't his intention, it just came over him. He almost flinched when he suddenly felt your arms around his hips.

He then gently put his strong arms around your small, trembling figure. But the next moment you hit him on the chest. Over and over again. You sobbed as you did so. The Yautja simply stood still and took it. Maybe it didn't hurt him physically, but he could feel so clearly how he had hurt you.

"You left me alone..." you shivered and a clicking sound came from his mouth.

"I'm sorry", he whispers into Yautja and gently pushed you away from him so you could look into his eyes. His gaze was sincere and open. You licked your dry lips and gently he brushed your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. Oh if you only knew why he left. He hoped so much that you would like his gift.

"Was... On my... Planet," he started to explain and your brows drew together in confusion. What was he doing there? He reached for the bag he had strapped to his thigh and pulled out a glass jar filled with green liquid. Your eyes widened. Was that his blood? Your head was in chaos.

"I went to see one of our healers. I wanted to know more about pregnancy and the mating between humans and Yautja. You know I love you so much, more than anything else in this universe. I would kill anything and everything for you, just to protect you. But when I saw you with that child..., I told you I would love you too, even if we couldn't have children and I still do. But I saw the look in your eyes and I know you want children. I wanted to know if there wasn't a way and there is," his voice was excited and you didn't know him like that. He held the green liquid in front of your face. "This is our possibility. This is my blood and it would be possible for you to inject yourself with it. Your body would remain human, but there would be a few Yautja extras. Also that you react to my seed and become fertile for it." Then he hesitated when he saw your wide eyes and spoke in your language again: "Only... if you... want to." His heart pounded hard against his chest. He was nervous about your answer.

But no matter what you decided, he would continue to love you unconditionally and stay by your side. You were one. And no one would ever be able to change that.

You gently took the glass from his hands and looked at it. Is that why he had left? To surprise you that he had found a way to make your family bigger. All the pain that had accumulated over the weeks disappeared and was replaced by love and amazement.

"Let's try it," you breathed and A'thaen's eyes looked at you wide. It wasn't long before he had carried you, on his hands, back to your hut. You were excited when he gave you the first injection of his blood test and you were curious to see how long it would take for your body to respond.

Finally, your hut filled with warmth again. A'thaen enveloped you with his presence and adored you. You had missed it so much. This Yautja man was balm for your soul. He cuddled with you a lot, stroked you or even squeezed himself into the much too small bathtub with you. So that you could sleep on his chest while he caressed you. You were injected with his blood about twice a week, because you had to get used to it slowly.

It wasn't long before everything outside was white. Winter had officially begun and you were desperate to get out. Of course, your partner had to come with you. A'thaen looked at the snow a little skeptically, but when he saw your shining eyes, he almost gave in with a sigh. He watched you playing in the snow. You were building a snowman and he watched you curiously. He found it fascinating what you could do with this white, cold stuff.

Suddenly it landed right in his face and he clicked indignantly when he heard you laughing. You threw a snowball at him.

Quickly you ran away from him, but it wasn't long before the Yautja reached you and grabbed you. He pushed you against the nearest wide tree and his eyes literally glowed at you.

"Cheeky..., Hooman," his words made you tremble and you could feel something else in his voice. He'd barely touched you since he'd been back and you hadn't had sex. He only wanted to win your trust again after he had unfortunately broken it. But now you were both overcome with desire and passion.

You could hardly react when he tore your clothes off and the icy cold touched your skin. You gasped and sucked in the air sharply. Your nipples hardened and the only thing you were still wearing were your shoes. Thankfully.

A'thaen watched your body react to the cold and stroked your chest tenderly, causing you to inhale deeply. You didn't have time to think as he laid you down in the cold snow and an "Oh God!" escaped your lips. It was freezing cold and you could feel the snow stinging your skin and numbing it.

But at the same time, you could feel yourself getting wet again. A'thaen's tail throbbed under his protection as he saw you lying there helplessly on the ground. Your body and the snow made a magical contrast and it drove him wild to see you like this. The desire to breed you overcame him again and the idea that you were swollen with his child made him growl.

You whispered his name softly and the next moment he was stroking your clitoris, making you moan. He could smell you so intensely.

"Let's see if the injections have any effect," he growled into Yautja and his claws carefully went between your labia to see how wet you were. You were more than ready to take him deep and he clicked open delightedly. He didn't take his time and immediately thrust into you gently. As excited as he was, he still had to make sure you were well prepared despite his size.

You rolled your eyes and threw your head back on your neck as you felt the heavenly stretching you had missed for so long. A moan escaped your mouth and you tried to move your pelvis. You wanted more, he didn't have to prepare you. You wanted him so badly.

"A'thaen, damn it! Move..., please!" you begged him as you continued to move your hips. The Yautja looked at you with amusement and the next moment he was thrusting hard into you. You both moaned and you almost saw stars. It was so much at once. You clung to him, to the warmth he radiated and your gasps fogged his senses as he continued to thrust. He held you tightly in his arms, but still managed to stroke your clit, making you whimper.

It wasn't long before your body tensed and you felt your orgasm building. A'thaen's movements on your clit quickened and your fingers clawed fiercely into his skin, making him hiss. You tightened around him, milking him well as you both came. He pumped a huge load of his warm cum into your womb and you greedily took in every drop. You knew that he would start fucking you again every day. But rightly so, you had some catching up to do and you had a certain goal you wanted to achieve.

The warm water splashed down your body as you leaned against the wall of the shower, moaning and looking down at the Yautja beneath you with your eyelids lowered. Your legs rested on his shoulder with ease and his forked tongue licked your entrance. You held onto his dreadlock-like pigtails and gasped as he licked over your sensitive bud.

Your legs were trembling, the last orgasm was still in your bones and you could feel his cum flowing out of your sweet pussy. A'thaen insisted on licking you clean, of course also because he knew that he could give you pleasure again.His name came out of your mouth like a prayer and the Yautja growled in pleasure when he realized how good you felt in his clutches.

Suddenly you arched your back and pressed your pelvis harder against his face. He understood immediately and continued to lick greedily until you came moaning over his tongue.

He licked your labia and clitoris once more as he helped you up afterwards. You hung exhausted from his neck and your legs were weak. He gently carried you out of the shower and placed a towel over your naked body. You stroked his chest gratefully and leaned your head against him. Your eyes closed in exhaustion and slowly you actually fell asleep.

The Yautja looked at you curiously. As so often, he admired your beauty and gently stroked a wet hair out of your face before taking you to your bed. His eyes fell shut after a short time.When he woke up and turned to you, you weren't there. He immediately sat up and panic spread through him, but when the smell of bacon hit his nose, he calmed down. You've made breakfast.

"Good morning, A'thaen," you smiled gently when you saw him and immediately placed a large plate full of bacon, eggs and pancakes in front of him. Thanking him, he chirped at you and you joined him with your own plate. You ate in silence for a short while, but it was a pleasant silence.

Until you suddenly felt unwell. You felt nauseous and ran to the toilet as fast as you could and threw up. Trembling, you held on to the toilet when you suddenly felt a gentle touch on your shoulder.A'thaen looked at you worriedly. Were you ill? Had he been too rough with you and overworked your body? His mind was working and you smiled gently at him.

"I think I'm pregnant."

tag:

@sweatymusictree

[shiro-s2e2-erukinzu]

Anime only watchers and people who aren't caught up with the Manga, BEWARE... Cuz I'm about to discuss Spy X Family Mission 109... You have been warned...! 👌

[SPOILERS AHEAD FROM THIS POINT ON]

This chapter was quite an interesting one...! 🤔 Especially with how it ended...!! 😲

This our first chapter of the year and did not disappoint...!! So let's us discuss this chapter shall we...? 👍

So, this chapter begins like this:

MELINDA STOP, THAT'S SOOO FREAKING ADORABLE!!! 💗😆

I just love the fact that Yor told Melinda about Loid's "concussive therapy" in the last chapter and because of that, we now get this gem of a reaction from her meeting Loid for the first time...!! 💗🤭💗

After that, it's time for Melinda's therapy session with Twilight...! Melinda tells him that Yor is the reason that she decided to come in, which Twilight acknowledges as an inadvertent assistance from Yor for the mission. After that, Loid lists off all of Melinda's symptoms and asks what might've triggered them, but she doesn't respond... Loid then tries to reassure her, which led to Melinda to say this to him:

Melinda... 🥲

After that, Twilight ponders why Melinda does not consider herself as a lively person, but she's still too anxious to give a full answer... So Twilight tries to reassure her again, but this time...:

It feels completely unsettling to me...!! 😰 Like, the way Twilight's drawn here with his inner thoughts just gives me bad vibes, but that's the thing with the characters of this series, most of them are grey characters...! Twilight may want to make a better world, but in order for him to achieve this as a spy, he has to do things like manipulation in order get the information he needs to help stop people like Donovan Desmond from causing more harm... And though he's only thinking of his mission currently, we have seen him go against what would've been more beneficial to the mission before (like deciding not to kill Yuri for Yor's sake back in Mission 83), so it's definitely possible that Twilight won't push Melinda too far, but we'll have to wait and see...!

Moving on, after sending her bodyguard Nora away, Melinda remarks that Twilight doesn't seem like a doctor (which immediately made me scared for a second that she might've figured out that Twilight was a spy) and proceeds to mention that she was a patient at Twilight's hospital a long time ago...:

Melinda then tells Twilight that she's here as a mother and a wife, which makes him come to that conclusion to ask if her distress involves her family, and then Melinda asks Twilight...:

HIS REACTION TO HER QUESTION GOT ME CACKLING!! 👏🤣🤣🤣

Twilight not knowing how to respond to that tries to figure out the best thing to say here by saying that he too is interested in UFOs, but it doesn't seem to work, so asks if UFOs have anything to do with Melinda's family, and her response was THIS:

WHAAAAAAAAT!?!? 😵

WHAT DOES THIS MEAN!? 😱 DOES THIS CONFIRM THAT DONOVAN HAS POWERS LIKE ANYA, OR COULD SHE BE IMPLYING THAT THE "REAL" DONOVAN WAS REPLACED BY AN ALIEN...?! I HONESTLY DON'T KNOW WHAT IT COULD BE...!! 😫

And well, that was the end of the chapter and, uh... I have SO MANY questions right now...!! 😵 I honestly don't what to believe at this moment, but I think I'm still leaning on the idea of Donovan having psychic powers like Anya...!! It just makes too much sense at this point!!! 👀

I don't know what's gonna happen in the next chapter, but whatever it is, it's gonna be ABSOLUTELY CRAZY!! 😲 So until the next Mission; take care, be safe out there and be kind to one another...!! PEACE!! ✌😁

[expresso-bean]

Then Man Out of Time [A Shadamy and Silver Story]: Chapter 26

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Amy Rose

Description: It has been seven years of peace following the grueling war with Eggman and his army. Though it took time to rebuild what they have lost, life for the Freedom Fighters could not be better. Whether it's finding love or trying to run from their past, celebrating post-war times has been different for each them.

All is well until a silver hedgehog comes knocking on Amy Rose's door to deliver the tragic news about an incredible force that seems to be the cause of the future's destruction.

Will anyone believe the mysterious hedgehog's cry for help? Or will he be left to fight for his future alone? Read to find out!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.8k

POV: Shadow the Hedgehog

Masterlist ❀ Ch.1 ❀ Ch.2 ❀ Ch.3 ❀ Ch.4 ❀ Ch.5 ❀ Ch.6 ❀ Ch.7 ❀ Ch.8 ❀ Ch.9 ❀ Ch.10 ❀ Ch.11 ❀ Ch.12 ❀ Ch.13 ❀ Ch.14 ❀ Ch.15 ❀ Ch.16 ❀ Ch.17 ❀ Ch.18 ❀ Ch.19 ❀ Ch.20 ❀ Ch.21 ❀ Ch.22 ❀ Ch.23 ❀ Ch.24 ❀ Ch.25

I looked down at the bowl of smushed tomatoes that I had cruelly bludgeoned to a messy pulp. Whatever was in the bowl would hardly considered to be a sauce.

'It looks like a massacre,' I wanted to whisper. 'Maybe I need to add another tomato?'

I looked beside me to S opening the rice cooker and lifting up the vapor plate. He carefully poured the contents of the plate into a pool of brown sauce that he'd been preparing for the past ten minutes. The sweet smell of the vegetables made my mouth begin to water slightly.

'Anyone could see that his abilities put mine to shame,' I continued to smoosh the contents of the bowl with so much force that the juices began to stain my white gloves a bright red color. 'Not that I would ever make that known to him.'

I put down the fork I was using and grabbed the salt from the spice rack on the countertop. I unscrewed the top of the shaker and began lightly sprinkling the salt in.

'How much should I even put in?'

I shook the shaker a few more times, still feeling unsatisfied. 

'I did say that I like salty things. Maybe she expects it to be salty?' I shook the shaker harder for a few more seconds until I could no longer see the tomatoes anymore. A crusty, pinkish layer was all that was visible. 'I think that is enough?'

"How is the sauce coming along?"

As he looked down at the content of the bowl, his eyebrows raised. I did my best to not look insulted. Though, I knew it was warranted. 

"I've only just started."

"Can I try?" I nodded. He took a fork and slushed the 'sauce' around before putting some in his mouth. His lips scrunched up as tears pricked at his eyes. "Ooh, that's pretty salty." He heaved out, placing the fork onto a small plate I had set aside for the utensils. "How much did you put in there?"

"Aren't they supposed to be salty?"

S shook his head. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and stood next to me by the sink. I gave up smashing the tomatoes from the bowl. It was nothing but a slop of juice and pulp.

"Not like that," He poured himself some water straight from the sink. I would have told him about the cold, purified water in the refrigerator. But his remarks on my culinary skills made him worthy of the lukewarm tap water he was going to consume. "Where is Amy anyway?" He gulped down the water so fast that he nearly choked at his first inhalation of fresh air. "Ow, maybe I shouldn't have drank it that fast."

'You think?'

S doubled over, holding his side.

'He...is more strange than usual,' S grunted again. He tried to say something through his teeth, but failed. 'Or is he dying?'

"You made your stomach cramp from drinking the water too fast. Steady your breathing and rub the area. If you panic, it will make the pain worse."

S unfolded himself and with a shaky arm he grabbed onto the countertop and hoisted himself up. His body shivered as he tried to breath.

"G-got it..."

He rubbed his side slowly. He bit back grunts of pain in between rubs. I stood there watching him repeat the same process over and over again.

'He's so helpless sometimes.'

"You think I'd be used to it by now. My stomach always get sensitive from traveling."

A hum in response is all I could muster. Just watching him frail up like that was enough for me to pity him and allow him to air out his story.

'No one knows anything about him other than the role he plays in a future wasteland. This could be the chance to try and see who he really is.'

"I was only fourteen when I began the practice trial runs. None of us knew what to expect from it. One the day of my first one, my father gathered the whole neighborhood to send me off. This couple prepared some soup for me made from rice noodles and a wild boar her partner had captured. It scared my father a bit because meals like that are only supposed to be served on special occasion like if someone is born or if someone dies," S' interrupted himself by coughing. He grunted, holding his side and trying to maintain his posture. "S-sorry..." He whispers.

"Your straining yourself."

"No, no, I'm fine. I'm almost done," He breathes in and out slowly before continuing. "I was meant to stay for half a day since the time device needs to be in idle for twelve hours before it is used again. When I finally got the chance to eat some of the food, well, it didn't go so well for me when I jumped back into my current time."

'The watch's ability to allow him to jump through time puts momentous strain on his body? I may have been underestimating his competency.'

"I learned the hard way why you should travel on a full stomach. I still can't eat pork belly to this day. My stomach refuses," He laughed. "I can eat noodles funnily enough. It was hard at first, but I got over that hurdle."

I hummed again only to indicate I was still paying attention to his incessant rambles. I could hear his breathing slowly going back to normal the more he spoke. The breathing technique I showed him seemed to be working.

"So far, I've been snacking on the instant noodles you guys have. They're amazing!" He gleamed. "It sucks, though. The more I enjoy the innovations of this timeline, the more I think about all the starving people this could have helped in the future."

I then turned to look at him. Even through his pain, he sounded confident in his ranting, not caring if he had an audience.

Glimpsing at him was like putting up a mirror to my past. All those moments after escaping my prison, standing alone plotting revenge, monologuing to anything in my sight.

'That feeling. I know it so well,' I kept my mouth shut, not even bothering to look at him. 'Why is he telling me this?'

"I don't mean to ramble. Talking distracts from the pain. Tails taught me that."

"He was your uncle, right?"

S looked conflicted for a moment. With his body still doubled over, he managed to smile softly.

"Tails raised me, along with Cream and my father. The three of them taught me a lot."

"I'm sorry." I meant my apology with all sincerity. A pang of guilt shot through my body. It wasn't until now I realized how much we truly have in common. It was in that moment of my weakness I realized this was the most I have spoken to him since he got to this timeline.

'I know what it is like to lose yourself for so long,' I sighed. Memories flowed back to me as hard as a wave crashed against rocks on the shore. I forgot how hard it was to experience all that loss on my own. How heavy the burden of loss is to a lonely person. 'He lost everything. Through the impossible, he found a way to travel through time to repair everything that had been broken. To help people that he did not even get to meet in his own lifetime.'

The more I stare at the red hue of the sauce, the more I think of Rose. I would not be standing here making a mockery of culinary art without her kindness and belief that I had something stronger within me than revenge and hate. She found love still resided in me—love for creatures and beings alike.

Love for the place Maria adored and called home.

I swore I would die to protect it. I would die to protect Rose and the people she loves. But the one person who could help is the same person I have been pushing away since he arrived.

'He has a good heart. I have not been exercising the kindness both of them fostered within me.'

"I..." When our eyes met, my voice trailed off. There was a familiarity within them.

'Where have I seen them before?'

I cleared my throat and tried to brush my question off. S tilted his head as he, no doubt, waited for me to finish my sentiment.

"Yeah?" He questioned, still slumped over.

"You asked earlier where Rose went. She is at the store, grabbing some refreshments. She mentioned some things she wanted you to try."

"Really!" He gasped, and I flinched at his eager response. "I hope she gets the fruit stuff again. Those things are GOOD!" 

"Keep yourself composed before you go on and hurt yourself again."

"Oh, you're right," He chuckled. I could tell his voice was slightly strained from his groaning in pain earlier. "What is that stuff I ate anyway?"

"It's sauce."

"THAT is the sauce?" S covered his mouth and mumbled out what I think was meant to be an apology. "I didn't mean to say it like that. It, um, has a good color to it."

'So my suspicions were right. This is wrong,' I put what I had been clenching in my fist down back in the bowl and sighed. 'I've never made anything like this before, I have no choice but to...'

"S?"

"Huh?" He hummed.

'Ask him for help.'

"I need..." My voice trailed off. The words were stuck in my throat, which was now dry.

'Why is my chest so heavy? It's just a request. The worst he could say is no,'

"You need...?" He questioned, a nervous smile on his face. I could tell I was making him uncomfortable with the silence between us.

'I retract that. The worst thing is asking him of all people for a request.'

"I need to learn how to make a pasta dish,"

'Finally. That was...hard.'

"It's for Amy. She deserves to have something nice to eat in these times."

My face grew hot with embarrassment. 'Why did I phrase it so strange?'

"Oh, that's easy! I'd love to help!"

'Really? Just like that? Has it always been this easy to ask for favors?"

"Perfect timing, too. I helped Amy pick up some groceries the other day. We can make the sauce tonight. Do you want me to show you how to make it?"

"That would be...a lot of help."

"Cool," S smiled, moving away from the counter and stretching his body upright. A few of his joints popped as his back adjusted itself. "Let's wait till she goes to bed; it shouldn't take long to make, so you'll still be able to get some rest."

"Hm. I agree."

'Never in my life would I put myself in this predicament, but for Rose, I'd do this and more.'

[elderberries-and-honey]

That night at dinner, Oscar decided to be brave and tell his parents about the grant. His mother nearly choked on her food as the words ‘study abroad’ left his mouth, and he knew at that moment it had been a lost cause. 

“That’s an awfully long way from home, don’t you think?” His father said in-between bites. 

Before responding, his mother questioned, “Are there no satisfactory schools in Ravenwood?” 

It seemed he could hardly get a word in. His arguments on the matter went completely unheard, as his parents went on discussing all the 'fine' schools right there in their little town. The longer Oscar listened, the more he realised that even though his father had studied at a university, no one in this family understood how important this was.

As soon as dinner was over, Oscar dismissed himself upstairs to his bedroom; the very same one that he'd spent hours studying in. Surrounding him were books that even his parents, who were not unintelligent by any means, would struggle to understand. But they were of no use to him now, and all those hours he’d spent pouring over his books, and writing essays, felt like a waste. 

It was silly to even imagine himself there in Windenburg, God, how foolish he’d been! As he laid down on his bed, he couldn’t help beating himself up over ever getting his hopes up in the first place.

Oscar sat there brewing in his feelings for most of the evening, moving through sadness and sometimes anger, hardly noticing how much time had passed until Flora came in to check on him, already wearing her pyjamas. Once he’d readied himself for bed, too, Flora took a seat and demanded he talk to her. 

He was reluctant at first, but his sister…boy, she was stubborn as a mule. She refused to leave his room and eventually, he finally broke down and started spewing every thought that crossed his mind.

“He doesn’t even need the money! His father could easily pay for a school like that!” He spat. “I know he’s your friend and all, Flora, but it’s like…he just wants to rub it in my face!” 

Flora hadn’t flinched once, even when he swore out loud, and the longer he ranted and raved at his sister, the better he felt. He thanked her kindly for listening and promised he hadn’t meant all that he’d said; he was just so gosh darned angry. 

“I understand Oz. Mother and Father will see that you deserve it; they’ll let you go. Maybe Ms Hoffman could talk to them,” she told him earnestly. He didn’t know if she was right about their parents, but his face lit up immediately when she added, “And I truly believe you will get it.” 

“Do you really think so? Even though London is your friend?” He asked, unable to keep from smiling as hope began to find him once again. 

“London is smart, you’re right about that…but you’re smarter. Besides, him and Gladys might be my best friends…but you’re my best, best friend, Oscar.”

His sister's faith in him was all he'd needed to restore his hope. As long as one other person believed in him, he would allow his daydreams to take him to the far away hills and the deep seas of Windenburg; even if it only ever existed in his mind.

Before Flora left off to bed, Oscar wrapped his arms around his sister and pulled her in for a tight hug, reminding her that she was his best friend, too.

[pretty-sparkle-bomb]

Chapter I 'Into You' Masterlist Main Masterlist

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader x Shoto Todoroki (subject to change as the chapters progress, they're just kids right now after all)

On the day of Obon, families bring food and gifts, flowers and jewelry to give to their loved ones. And after centuries of being banished, Xibalba had had enough.

A man loomed with an aura of menace and mysteriousness; his presence contrasted to the vibrant world around him. His form was lean yet muscular, draped in armor as dark as midnight and licked by wild green flames. His white hair stood out, silky and soft, slightly draping over his crimson eyes burning like embers within a void. Despite his fearsome appearance, there was a sardonic charm to him, a malevolence in the quirk of his lips or the way his eyes lingered on his surroundings.

“Really my dear, you have no idea how cold and vile the land of the forgotten has become.” He shuddered, casting a glance around him at the giggling kids and happy families. Though they could not see him, he still brought a chilliness with him that caused goosebumps to rise.

A woman giggles, her dark, flowing hair cascaded down her back, framing her alabaster skin adorned with intricate designs. “Just like your heart, Xibalba.”  Her features were sharp and striking, with eyes that seemed to hold secrets of the afterlife, accentuated by bold makeup that shimmered like starlight.

“Why must I rule a bleak wasteland while you get to enjoy an endless fiesta?” he groans, turning around swiftly to glare at her. “It’s simply unfair.”

She just smiles at him and continues walking forward only to be stopped by Xibalba appearing directly in front of her. “Come on my dear, trade lands with me? I beg you.”

“Oh, you’re so cute when you beg. But no.” She stifles a laugh and brushes past him. Xibalba grabs her hand to pull her back. “I’m serious. I hate it down there.”

“Hey! You’re there because you cheated!” she shoved him back with one hand as the other tucked in the loose strand dangling in front of her face. “You made your bed with that wager.” She shook her head and walked past him, only stopping to say one final sentence. “You aren’t the man I fell in love with, Xibalba.”

“Let's not dwell in the past, mi amor.” He was saddened by her final remark but chose to mask his true feelings. “Anyway, I was thinking... How about another little wager?”

La Muerta stopped, fire in her eyes as she swiftly turned around, one finger jabbing accusatorily into his chest. “You think you can calm the flames of my anger with another bet?” She roared. Xibalba gulped. “What exactly did you have in mind?” her response shocked him but he continued, nonetheless.

“Let's check out the menu for the evening.” He looked around, spotting a little commotion in the near distance. “Look there, my love. Classic mortal dilemma.”

La Muerta moved closer, her hands clasped in front of her. Two boys, best friends no less… but what is this she’s sensing? They’re both in love with the same girl! What a lovely surprise.

One with eyes ruby red, and spiky ashen blond hair, another with heterochromatic eyes and hair perfectly split into two colours, one side red, and the other white. A young girl stood in between them both, hair tied up in a bun and a gold pendant hanging from her neck. This is the prefect wager.

An idea struck her, and she looked at Xibalba. “Two boys in love with the same girl? How about we each choose one that we believe she will marry in the future? How about we each choose our champion?”

Xibalba laughed, “It seems that even after centuries, I have still rubbed off on you.”

La Muerta rolled her eyes as she watched the commotion. The boy with heterochromatic eyes was playing his guitar, while the young girl sat and listened attentively, eyes closed as she hummed along to the steady rhythm. A loud boom filled the air. “See Y/n? I’ve gotten better at it! I told you I’m the best!”

“I see you Kats.” she giggled and La Muerta hummed, this girl was her. This was a wager to bet on. “Stay away Bakugo, the girl is mine.” Shoto placed his guitar down as ice encased his hand.”

“Ha? Never! She belongs to me, Todoroki.” Bakugo picked up a wooden sword and pointed it to Todoroki’s face.

“I belong to no one.” The young girl stood up, brushing out her dress and folding her arms across her chest.

“My, she’s feisty. Just like a woman I know.” Xibalba finally said, sighing longingly as he stared at the luscious hair of the woman with the red dress. La Muerta offered her hand to him. “Let’s go wish them luck, shall we?”

And with that, they took the form of an elderly couple and began their stroll.

The two deities, now disguised as an elderly couple, strolled through the bustling streets of Musutafu. The vibrant sounds of laughter and music filled the air, and the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted toward them. They approached the trio just as the boys' friendly rivalry threatened to escalate into something more dramatic.

The young girl, Y/n, had her arms crossed, a firm expression on her face. "If you two don't stop bickering, I'll just go home!"

Katsuki, still clutching his wooden sword, scowled. "Tch, I wasn't gonna hurt him. He's just asking for it!"

Todoroki remained calm, his heterochromatic eyes steady. "There's no need to fight. Let’s settle this like adults."

Before the tension could rise further, the elderly couple shuffled forward. La Muerta, with her shawl draped gracefully over her shoulders, held onto Xibalba’s arm for balance. Xibalba leaned heavily on a carved cane, his eyes twinkling mischievously beneath his thick brows.

“Excuse me, children,” La Muerta said in a soft, kind voice. “We couldn’t help but notice your argument. It’s the Obon festival—such a sacred day for peace and remembrance.”

Xibalba coughed dramatically, hunching slightly. “Ah, forgive us for interrupting, but we’re old and hungry. Might we trouble you for some bread?”

Y/n immediately stepped forward. “Of course! Please, wait here. I’ll grab some for you.” Immediately, she went off running. Xibalba smirked; it was time to put his plan into action.

Todoroki called out for the girl but she was too far away to hear. “I have some bread with me,” he said, pulling a neatly wrapped loaf from his satchel. “Here you go, sir.” He offered it with both hands, a polite bow accompanying the gesture.

“Such a kind young man,” La Muerta said, her smile warm and approving. “Your heart is as pure as the music you play.” Todoroki smiled slightly and took off to look for the girl. La Muerta patted Xibalba on the back and slowly hobbled away.

Katsuki, however, narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What about you? You want bread too?”

Xibalba tilted his head, pretending to look frail and pitiful. “I wouldn’t refuse, boy. But surely, I wouldn’t want to take what you need for yourself.”

Katsuki’s grip on his satchel tightened. “Nothing comes for free. If you want it, give me something in return.”

Xibalba’s lips quirked upward. “Ah, a clever one,” he said, reaching into his robe. “Very well, boy. I’ll trade you for something... special.”

From his sleeve, Xibalba produced a small, intricately designed medal. It gleamed in the sunlight, its surface etched with ancient symbols that seemed to hum with latent energy.

“This,” Xibalba said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “is no ordinary medal. It grants its wearer unmatched courage and strength. And as long as you wear it, you’ll never suffer harm.”

Katsuki’s crimson eyes widened slightly, his expression shifting from suspicion to intrigue. “Really?” he muttered, trying not to sound too eager. “Old man, you better not be lying to me.”

Xibalba held up his hands in mock surrender. “I swear on the spirits of the Forgotten. Now, will you trade?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Katsuki thrust the bread into Xibalba’s hands and snatched the medal. The moment it touched his skin, a strange warmth coursed through him. His stance became more confident, and a mischievous grin spread across his face.

“I knew it,” Xibalba said softly, his gaze lingering on Katsuki. “You’re going to be... quite entertaining.”

Xibalba caught up to La Muerta and as the two walked away, their forms began to shimmer briefly under the moonlight, revealing their true selves.

“This is going to be fun,” Xibalba mused, his crimson eyes glinting with excitement.

“Don’t get too cocky, my dear,” La Muerta said, her voice tinged with amusement. “The girl’s heart is pure. She won’t be swayed by simple tricks.”

Xibalba chuckled darkly. “Oh, but sometimes, my love, the simplest tricks are the most effective.”

Taglist!

@dragonscribble

[shvdwscng]

her  silence  and  evasiveness  had  certainly  left  the  commander's  mind  spinning  each  time  he  attempted  to  inquire.  now,  as  curious  as  he  was,  he  had  been  careful  in  his  inquiring,  never  too  direct  but  slipping  in  tidbits  of  his  own  childhood  in  day  court  in  hopes  that  she'd  share  hers.  what  she  did  share  however  were  vague  bits  that  did  began  to  connect  over  time,  but  never  quite  fully  forming  a  complete  picture.  the  only  thing  she'd  offered  him  entirely  was  tales  of  her  travels  as  he'd  once  requested  from  her  but  whenever  the  topic  circled  to  her  court,  it  wasn't  hard  to  miss  how  nerina  went  out  of  her  way  to  either  change  the  topic  or  return  it  to  him.  what  she  did  share  was  how  beautiful  her  court  was,  what  her  people  were  like  as  whole  but  of  the  dragomirs?  nothing.  it  certainly  had  fueled  his  suspicions  of  what  was  spoken  between  him  and  cedrian,  of  whatever  he  could  uncover  from  high  lady  alina  -  which  was  also  not  much  it  seemed.  perhaps  another  in  his  place  would  see  this  as  something  to  wary  of,  but  it  seemed  neither  his  high  lord  nor  alistair  himself  would  ever.  it  did  nothing  to  dissuade  the  commander,  when  he'd  all  but  found  himself  tangled  into  a  complication  of  wanting  this  lady  in  his  arms  more  than  anything  else.  he  should  be  wary  of  what  he  could  find,  but  he  was  not,  only  perhaps  a  different  ache  of  what  had  gone  in  her  family  that  left  her  so  tight-lipped.  so  when  he  urges  her  to  share,  even  now  as  he  all  but  reveals  how  much  he  wishes  to  be  with  her,  wants  to  embed  himself  in  every  bit  of  her  being,  her  words  do  cause  him  to  pause.  his  gaze  shifting  fully  to  meet  her,  not  entirely  surprise  of  her  words  but  in  the  manner  that  she  spoke  them.  "i  will  give  you  all  the  time,  so  long  as  you  intend  to  open  yourself  to  me."  he  knew  he  couldn't  push,  but  what  he  could  do  was  show  her  how  he  would  be  here.  that  their  little  game  that  had  began  had  evolved  into  something  that  neither  expected  and  neither  could  fight.  tucking  her  hair  gently  behind  her  ears,  he  pressed  a  kiss  to  her  temple,  "i  will  do  what  i  can  to  make  it  just  a  bit  easier  for  you  each  day."  it  was  then  he  knew,  without  a  doubt,  she  had  never  allowed  anyone  and  it  was  a  terrifying  thought  for  her,  but  then  wasn't  it  for  him,  too?  a  man  who  never  wished  to  settle,  certainly  not  after  watching  his  best  friend  grieve  his  wife  and  the  love  his  life  as  he  had,  now  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  call  this  captivating  his  lady  own?  it  was  gamble  for  him  too.  her  words  do  send  his  racing,  "together."  he  repeats  in  a  lower  murmur,  relieve  settling  in  him  to  hear  her  confirm  he  wasn't  alone  in  this.

truly,  it  was  hard  to  believe  she  thought  herself  as  a  wallflower,  when  nothing  about  her  from  her  beauty,  to  her  quick  wit,  and  sense  of  humor  would  ever  have  another  draw  that  conclusion.  he  supposed  he  hadn't  helped  matters  when  he  knew,  they  both  knew  he'd  perused  initially  only  for  his  high  lord's  sake.  then  so  had  she,  he  was  aware  of  this  too.  did  his  actions  somehow  add  cause  to  her  thoughts  of  herself?  he  supposed  he'd  be  working  every  moment  they  had  together  to  prove  to  her  she  was  nothing  of  that  sort  in  his  gaze  .  everything  about  her  was  unforgettable,  how  else  would  he  describe  every  night  he'd  laid  awake  in  his  bed  longing  to  go  to  her?  how  he  was  counting  minutes  and  hours  until  he  could  see  her  next  when  he  was  tied  up  in  commander  duties.  "it  never  was  true,  just  because  you  believe  so,  doesn't  make  it  so,  my  lady."  he  murmured,  but  his  words  and  voice  were  entirely  firm.  "nothing  about  you  can  be  mistaken  for  a  wallflower.  perhaps  you  did  not  notice,  but  i  did,  of  every  male  gaze  here  that  turned  in  your  direction  when  you  made  your  way  to  me  here."  alistair  took  great  pleasure  in  this  because  she  had  been  focused  on  the  commander  that  she  did  not  notice  her  admirers.  he  doesn't  waste  a  moment  when  he  see's  the  yearning  in  her  gaze  that  reflects  his  own,  claiming  her  mouth  in  a  searing  kiss  that  left  no  room  for  doubt.  the  moment  she  returned  kiss  with  equal  passion,  she  had  told  him  all  that  he  wished  to  know.  she  was  his.  he  never  quite  denied  himself  his  desires,  but  with  her  it  had  been  a  first  he  had  waited,  showed  such  an  incredible  amount  of  patience  that  certainly  had  been  worth  it.  "i  will  always  be  here  to  catch  you,  nerina,  i  swear  on  my  life.  you  don't  trust  easily,  i  will  prove  to  you,  i  can  be  trusted."  he  pressed  another  lingering  kiss  to  her  lips,  shifting  back  enough  to  peer  into  her  gaze.  "do  you  still  wish  to  be  here?  i  wish  to  be  alone  with  you."  he  would  leave  it  up  to  her  what  she  wished  to  do,  but  he  was  certain  he  wasn't  mistaking  her  desire.

the  way  she  was  raised  had  created  a  tangle  of  memories  with  sharp  edges  and  wounds  that  never  fully  healed.  spots  in  her  soul  that  scarred  over  and  still  ached  from  time  to  time.  nerina  didn't  like  to  think  of  her  childhood,  of  the  sounds  her  father's  feet  made  as  they  echoed  through  the  halls  of  the  summer  court.  children's  laughter  wa  rare,  warm  hugs  forgotten,  and  care  from  a  parent  all  but  impossible.  staff  stepped  in,  tried  to  help,  but  it  could  only  do  so  much.  her  siblings  were  distant  portraits  more  than  close  friends,  even  if  that  changed  as  of  late.  her  father  was  a  myth  more  than  a  man,  focused  on  his  own  vices  and  alina  rather  than  the  rest  of  them.  and  her  mother  ?  a  ghost  that  lingered  in  nerina's  reflection  but  never  stayed  long  enough  to  actually  help  the  girl.  in  truth,  if  nerina  talked  of  her  childhood  it  would  come  across  as  if  she  didn't  love  her  siblings,  and  she  did  so  incredibly  fiercely.  but  love  wasn't  enough  to  save  them  from  their  childhood,  and  in  their  adulthood  it  wasn't  easy  to  navigate  one  another.  the  way  they  grew  up  all  formed  their  traumas,  and  nerina's  had  taken  on  the  habit  of  being  incredibly  guarded  and  running  away  from  everything.  so  in  her  unwillingness  to  share  her  family  with  alistair,  it  had  far  more  to  do  with  her  mind  and  her  upbringing  than  not  trusting  him.  his  request  makes  her  bite  her  lip,  and  the  only  words  she  can  share  are,  "  be  patient  with  me,  alistair.  some  parts  of  my  soul  are  hard  to  share.  "  the  admission  flies  from  her  tongue  with  an  ease  she  hadn't  expected,  and  she  hopes  that  he  understands.  she  needs  him  to  understand.  even  if  it  hadn't  been  meant  to  happen  –  if  alistair  was  meant  to  mean  nothing  to  her,  bounding  into  her  life  with  his  charm  and  arrogance,  a  tongue  slicked  with  wit  and  dangerous  intentions  –  he'd  changed  all  her  plans.  that  flirty  banter  of  his  no  longer  seemed  laced  with  bad  intentions,  but  desires  that  threatened  to  pull  her  under.  his  sharp  arrogance  turned  into  a  charming  confidence,  and  nerina  found  that  she  wanted  to  linger  in  his  orbit  just  a  little  longer  each  time.  he  wasn't  just  another  face  in  the  crowd  anymore,  not  a  temporary  thrill  to  pass  the  time.  he  was  someone  she  wanted.  letting  him  in  would  be  terrifying,  but  she  knew  she  needed  to.  alistair  wasn't  someone  who  wanted  to  tame  her  either,  he  was  someone  who  complimented  her  very  soul.  "  i  think  we're  already  doing  that  together.  "  she  mumbles,  caught  up  in  the  heightened  moment,  the  emotions  swirling  in  her  chest  taking  over.

nerina  had  always  been  a  wallflower,  even  when  she  was  surrounded  by  friends  or  family  who  spoke  to  her  there  had  always  been  a  part  that  lingered  in  the  shadows.  she  preferred  it  this  way,  safe  and  able  to  observe  at  the  edge  of  the  space.  it  was  safe  there,  quieter.  for  someone  who  wasn't  a  social  butterfly  unless  she  needed  to  act  like  one,  wasn't  happy  to  be  at  events  like  this,  it  was  quite  substantial  that  she  would  happily  endure  it  with  alistair  at  her  side.  he  changed  her,  he  saw  her  in  a  way  nobody  other  than  her  siblings  ever  had  before.  and  he  found  her  in  the  place  she'd  often  gotten  overlooked.  they  didn't  meet  on  her  ship,  or  in  a  tavern  where  she  came  to  life,  they  met  at  court  where  she  remained  at  the  edge  of  the  room.  "  maybe  not  anymore.  "  she  agrees.  her  siblings  were  used  to  her  disappearing,  they  wouldn't  look  for  her  because  they  knew  she  was  fine.  it  wasn't  a  lack  of  care  but  an  understanding  of  who  she  was.  but  alistair,  he  may  know  her  but  he  would  still  notice  anything  she  did.  and  when  they  kissed  it  felt  like  sealing  her  fate  in  a  way  she  never  expected  to  want  before.  the  taste  of  him  lingered  on  her  lips,  a  promise  and  a  challenge  all  at  once.  alistair  was  something  entirely  new  to  her,  someone  who  didn't  fit  into  her  life  but  carved  out  a  space  for  himself  that  none  other  could  ever  fit.  she  couldn't  get  enough  of  him  either,  so  when  he  deepened  the  kiss  she  was  happy  to  let  him,  the  flavor  of  his  lips  bursting  in  her  mouth  and  making  her  want  more.  she  wouldn't  have  pulled  away,  but  the  distant  sound  of  music  reminds  her  that  they  are  still  at  the  festival.  his  words  send  a  thrill  down  her  spine,  and  she  feels  herself  clinging  to  him  at  this  point.  "  only  if  you  promise  to  always  catch  me.  "  because  stars,  she  was  already  falling  so  hard.

[seveneyesoup]

dunno a week ago or thereabouts i was set up outside the library with a comrade and we have a palestine flag up, and this woman comes by and she thanks us for having it. and she starts talking, and asking us about things and she says she doesn’t support violence, doesn’t support israel doesn’t support hamas, that she’s palestinian and she’s been there and how she heard stories about it and she went there as a child, eight years old, and she was held in the airport for ten hours. she didn’t know what was happening, and the man who’d put them there clearly hated her, from the bottom of his soul, a child who he’d never met before. she’d seen the occupation, been threatened and followed by strangers, and they hated her. the way she said hated sounded different than any other word.

she said she was an artist, that she had a lot of feelings and she put them in her art and she showed us some of it. it was abstract, mostly, black and blue and red and scraps of paper with words printed on them. and she tells my comrade she hasn’t gone to actions because she has a special needs son, and she tells us she’s in therapy, but her therapist is a white lady and she doesn’t really understand, she says she does, but she’s never been through it. never been looked at with that kind of hatred. and she says she thinks about a lot of things. she thinks this might be hell, “this world we’re in right now.” she tells us about a friend of hers, palestinian, whose entire family is dead. all of them.

she asks if we’ve heard of the undergraduate hospital in israel. she says she’s glad they can help with the suffering, that it’s good that they have that. she says she wishes they had something like that in palestine. of all the things she’s said so far, this is the saddest her voice has sounded. she tells us she doesn’t know what the answer is. she says there’s people in israel who can’t just leave but that palestine deserves better. she says she doesn’t have any friends anymore, not ones she talks to. she repeats herself a lot. she thanks us for fighting, for believing the world can be better. she says she doesn’t believe that, but that it’s important someone does. my comrade assures her a better world can be built, if not for us than at least for the children. she says the children are dead.

we ask if there’s anything we can do for her. she says to “tell my shitty story, so people know. know what it’s like.” when we have to part ways, she thanks us again for letting her talk. tells us again to tell her story.