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jeonstellate · 19 days ago

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the ghost of legacy

a legacy joins the paddock for the season — and oscar is the only one not keen on befriending her.

ᯓ★ oscar piastri x fem!räikkönen!reader

ᯓ★ brief mentions of weight, sainz-leclerc divorce, & wound; depictions of insecurity, grid chaos, & confusion/denial

ᯓ★ paragraph format — 4.1K words

masterlist

[pic’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

ᯓ★ direct sequel to the ghost of monza!

ᯓ★ all italian & spanish words in this are from google! yn is kimi räikkönen’s daughter, but there are no physical descriptions mentioned.

ᯓ★ remember how i mentioned that tgom might be my first & only f1 fic? well . . . i’ve been persuaded otherwise :D i have some regrets about this, so i’d appreciate it a lot if y’all can share some feedback <3

The dawn of a season carries fresh, untainted hope. It brings a clean slate in most things — and in everything that matters. It resets the clock back at zero, and draws a mint coat for the starting line. It opens a new book with blank pages, awaiting fresh ink to flow and fill it with something worth remembering.

As poetic as those sound, Oscar can’t care any less. A new season’s a new season, meaning — for the most part — another chance at winning either championships.

For the remaining part? It means coming back to Monza, A-K-A where he met [first name] for three years in a row.

The Italian Grand Prix is still a lifetime away, but there are already moments where he finds himself wondering if she’ll still drop by and ask about Fernando’s whereabouts this season as well. With three consecutive years under their belts, it kind of feels like a tradition by this point. It’ll be too much of a shame if they break it so close to the fifth anniversary.

Honestly, he’s a little tempted to ask the older driver about his niece, but he’s also a little scared of what the other might do if he shows interest. Fernando looks like he’ll slash his tires as a form of intimidation. He doesn’t seem to be above purposely making contact during a race to prove a point, either.

It’s not like he can cut the middle man altogether. He only got her first name. There are a lot of [first name]s in existence. An Instagram search won’t cut it, especially if her profile picture isn’t of herself. A browser search will be just as impossible, if not even more so.

Oscar lets out a sigh without realizing. Is it better, after all, to let the universe decide if they should continue their little tradition?

"It’s not that bad," he hears Lando say next to him. They’re currently in the general hospitality, with a tray of free food they were promised for attending the pre-season ‘grid bonding’ and meetings. As the hospitality doesn’t open until the season officially starts, it’s just everyone in the paddock — the drivers and the crews — occupying the floors.

He looks at his teammate for that, silently hoping he’ll get a clue on what he’s talking about, because he has absolutely no idea what conversation topic they’re currently on. He didn’t mean to zone out but, alas, it’s just so easy to.

He decides to take a shot in the dark, after a moment of not perceiving any clues. He assumes — based on nothing — that he’s talking about the food. "The presentation might be intentionally deceiving."

Lando isn’t impressed. "You just need to gaslight yourself and think it’s good, if that’s really the case."

"No need! It’s actually good!" Pierre interrupts from one of the full six-seater tables. "Try the soup!"

Oscar isn’t really sure if he trusts Pierre’s tastebuds but he thanks him, anyway.

He guides Lando to sit at the eight-seater table next to Pierre’s group, albeit intentionally at the further side so he doesn’t feel pressured to socialize in the beginning of his lunch. He sits on the second seat from the edge, diagonally from the laptop he’s assuming someone forgot to take with them. Lando sits directly across him.

They eat in silence. Normally, one of them initiates a conversation over food. Today, though, Oscar lets his teammate clear his tray without a word. The other had — wisely and questionably — foregone eating breakfast to make the promised buffet worth his while.

He munches on his lunch thoughtfully, uninterested in taking advantage of the free buffet to the fullest. He — as the rest of the grid — has to watch his weight this close to the first race of the season, anyway, to avoid the risk of jeopardizing the car’s speed. He’s not really a fan of intensifying his gym workouts to burn extra calories if he eats way past his normal fill, either.

He zones out while looking directly at the stickers on the laptop cover. He’s not completely foreign to such practice, since his own sisters have decorated their personal laptops with a collection of stickers. As such, he knows how the stickers and their placements essentially show a portion of the laptop owner’s personality and interests.

Deciphering the laptop owner’s interests proves to be a good ‘during lunch’ activity. It doesn’t require a lot of thinking since most of them are pretty straightforward. Some are definitely out of context. The rest are completely obscure to him, which he doesn’t think too deeply about.

Then there’s a selected few that Oscar feels he should know, like the W resembling a fire and the RKN, but is currently blanking on.

The third general hospitality floor, by some coincidence or another, houses all drivers — reserved or otherwise — for lunch. They aren’t the only people on it, as there as also crew members scattered around, but it’s a bit impressive that the entire grid chose to settle on the same floor. Perhaps it’s an (un)intentional consequence of the grid bonding they’re forced to participate in.

Oscar gains more tablemates halfway through his first plate when Ollie and Kimi sit on the edge closest to Pierre’s group. He gains a seatmate when Alex sits next to him and George appears next to Lando.

There’s some sort of harmony in the chaos of overlapping conversations. Even more so when the tables talk to each other without bothering to get up.

Oscar thinks the chaos already peaked when the British and French drivers started defending their respective cuisines from the other’s attacks. Unfortunately, he’s eventually proven wrong when someone makes a deal out of someone else’s entrance to the floor.

"—laptop on a table," he hears a voice say. He can’t see whoever it is, though, since they’re blocked from his view by another.

"Go grab it first then I’ll introduce you to our drivers." The person blocking his view — someone from Williams, judging from the team uniform — moves slightly, allowing him to finally catch a glimpse of the other.

He sees the same Williams polo shirt first. Then— the matrix must’ve glitched.

He doesn’t remember blinking nor zoning out, but the next second he comprehends has [first name] diagonal from him across the table.

It feels wrong — and he isn’t quite sure what ‘it’ is. It is the fact that they’re currently worlds away from Monza? Or the fact that she’s wearing nothing that can get her mistaken as a tifoso?

[First name] gives him a wordless nod of recognition before excusing herself to the rest of the table, her laptop tucked between her arm and side.

"Osc, do you know her?" Someone in front whispers to him. He can’t be bothered to identify which gridmate, though, much less give them a reply. After all, his attention has stuck to [first name] like a moth to a flame.

Oscar has no shame about blatantly listening in on a conversation he obviously isn’t a part of.

"Alex, Carlos, this is our engineering intern for this year," the Williams crew member introduces the three. "She’ll be shadowing your race engineers alternatively."

"I’m Alex Albon, car twenty-three." He watches Alex as the latter holds a hand out for a handshake. "Welcome to team Williams."

[First name] takes his hand, "A pleasure."

Carlos reacts late, so it’s almost as if he’s hesitant to introduce himself. "Carlos Sainz, car fifty-five." Unlike his teammate, he doesn’t offer his hand for a shake. He just nods his head once — which she then returns with the same energy. "I see I got custody of you in the divorce."

[First name] lets out a laugh that doesn’t even reach Oscar’s ears. "[First name] Räikkönen — a child of the Sainz-Leclerc divorce, apparently."

Räikkönen?

Kimi Räikkönen?

Oscar must admit, despite understanding that her father is a former Formula One driver since last year, this revelation is still surprising. It isn’t unexpected, as Kimi Räikkönen was one of his top suspects then, but shock is definitely still there.

Probably because he now has an irrefutable evidence that the ghost of Monza is actually an F1 champion’s daughter.

And because there’s also a small part of him that feels embarrassed for not realizing right away. After all, [first name] wears her father’s number proudly — and her favored RKN logo is close enough to his RKKNN. Quite literally, the answer has been right in front of him this entire time.

"Räikkönen? Like Kimi Räikkönen?" Alex echoes his thoughts unknowingly. "That’s so cool."

"Exactly like Kimi Räikkönen," she replies good naturally. "He’s the one who passed it onto me."

The younger Williams driver is handling the revelation better than he is, as far as he can tell. But maybe that’s because Alex didn’t spend a good year thinking she’s a ghost. "No way."

"Yeah, [first name]," Charles pipes up from his seat at Pierre’s table. "No way you broke the Ferrari alliance!"

[First name] looks over to the side to meet Charles’ eyes. "There is no such thing."

"There is so!"

She doesn’t give the Monégasque the satisfaction of responding. Instead, she just returns her attention to the Williams drivers. "I look forward to working with you, Mr. Albon, Carlos."

She gives them a smile so genuine, the media would’ve scrambled to capture it — partly in disbelief that a Räikkönen could smile like so.

And, for a brief moment, Oscar could’ve sworn [first name]’s smile widens a little when their eyes meet.

(Un)fortunately, she’s gone before he can think too much about it.

The paddock stayed the same with [first name] Räikkönen around, more or less. ‘More’ because the fight for the title is still as cutthroat as the last with new rivalries, without necessarily interfering with the civility between them drivers. ‘Less’ because her presence has caused some drivers to gravitate towards her — unintentionally orbiting her every chance they get.

Fernando is a given. As are Charles and Carlos, based on their already-founded closeness in the hospitality. Alex follows soon after. Then Max.

That’s not an exhaustive list. If it had been, most of the grid would’ve been name-dropped, for sure. Maybe even have all— except one. Oscar.

Oscar doesn’t feel deserving of being [first name]’s friend, for a reason he can’t really put into words. [First name] is . . . [first name]. And he’s . . . just Oscar.

He doesn’t ignore her, of course, nor does he pretend she isn’t there when they cross paths. He just doesn’t go out of his way to be closer than acquaintances and gain her favor. He exchanges brief ‘hello’s with her whenever they meet going opposite ways. He returns her nods and waves of acknowledgment from across rooms, and has initiated them on occasion whenever he spots her first.

He doesn’t take detours to drop her off to her destination. He doesn’t sit with her whenever she’s alone, either. Because then, it’ll be a quiet kind of friendship — and he can’t be her friend.

He’s just her acquaintance, at best, and he’s content with that.

After all, [first name] has more than enough new friends. She doesn’t need him — his friendship, that is.

For her part, she seems to respect the invisible line he has drawn between them. Almost as if she can see it as well as he does.

But, perhaps, it isn’t actually as defined for her. For she has no qualms about crashing his pity party on a sidewalk.

"Are you lactose intolerant?" [First name] appears in front of him seemingly out of nowhere.

Oscar takes a second to process what just happened. Even then, he’s still not sure if he’s understanding correctly. ". . . No?"

She nods, almost approvingly, before handing him a paper bag. "Here."

"What’s—" He starts before she can commence her regular habit of disappearing.

[First name], who is already steps away from him, turns back to face him once more. "My dad says it makes everything feel better."

He lets her go after that, albeit her response just made him even more confused.

When he finally opens the paper bag, Oscar finds a spoon, a bottle of water, and a sealed half-pint of gelato in his favorite flavor.

Something in his chest stirs.

The general hospitality is set to house the entirety of the grid drivers for the nth time this season. Another drivers’ meeting is scheduled to start in thirty minutes, and — in true fashion — less than half have made their way up to the room.

By the time Oscar shows up with a pack of others he met on the way, majority of the rookies are already there. Punctuality has obviously not been drained — or, at the very least, influenced — out of their systems.

"George!" Kimi calls for his teammate’s attention as soon as he spots him amongst the crowd that’s barely entering. "Can we adopt [first name]?"

George’s confusion is evident in his stance. Behind him, Oscar needs to stifle an amused laugh. "What?"

"She sang the Italian national anthem for me!" In all honesty, he isn’t following the Italian rookie’s logic. Thankfully, he isn’t the one who needs to respond. "She can also speak Italian!"

He enjoys the view of the older Mercedes driver buffering for an answer from the seat he secured next to Carlos. Even more so when the younger one of the duo pulls out a pleading look with his "please."

He doesn’t know how he found the strength to, but George eventually replies with a non-answer. "You should probably ask Toto about that, Kimi."

"No! [First name]’s ours!" Alex disproves, protectively. "Get your own [first name]!"

"She was ours first!" Charles joins in. The Monégasque likes reminding people she’s a tifoso first, before anything else, during moments like these. He hasn’t quite moved on from the fact that she chose to intern at Williams rather than Ferrari. "Why do you think she knows the Italian national anthem by heart!"

Lewis lets him do all the talking, as Carlos does with Alex. Both seem to have — wisely — figured out [first name] will put a stop to it soon enough, with or without their varied inputs.

And, sure enough indeed, a high pitched sound comes from the speakers built around the room — which instinctively makes everyone cover their ears.

"Princesa!" Oscar can somewhat hear Fernando scold somewhere behind him. "Stop—"

Thankfully, the sound stops within three seconds — and before they actually have to plead for their hearing.

Ever the nonchalant, [first name] merely scans the crowd of betrayed and confused looks before nodding to herself, "Good." It is then that he realizes she used the feedback to silence the room, with the least energy wasted possible.

He knows there’s a chance that might’ve just sent the room into more chaos. After all, they might all be grown up, but they can also a bunch of children sometimes. It was a fair gamble and yet, somehow, she looks like she was completely certain.

He salutes her for that; for having confidence and conviction on par with that of a Formula One driver.

"You’re our race engineer intern, no?" Carlos inquires before expressing his thanks for the printed meeting agenda she handed him and Alex. "Why are you the one doing all of this?"

She shrugs, "Still an intern."

"Do we get one, too?" Esteban asks for the majority somewhere to his left. It’s a fair question, drivers’ meetings don’t usually have the agenda printed out. It’s usually kept hidden from them, to avoid getting them antsy or, worse, letting them organize their protests.

[First name] points to the Williams logo on her uniform. "I’m only required to make Carlos’ and Alex’s lives a little easier."

They find a stack of meeting agenda copies by the front of the room a minute after she disappears. A sticky note on top reads, don’t pass out if they start fighting.

(She becomes their instant favorite to set up meeting rooms. Unfortunately, the FIA has forbidden Williams to let her facilitate their next turn for the same reason.)

The drivers’ rooms are the most private areas in the paddock. It’s where drivers leave their belongings while they’re out and about. It’s where their visitors usually stay to keep out of the crew’s way until the race. It’s where they sneak in a snooze when they don’t get enough sleep from the night before.

However, despite that, the drivers’ rooms can’t be locked from the outside. The McLaren ones, at least, for the time being while their PIN code lock is being updated.

No one knows about the update except for him and Lando, but he still made sure to stash his belongings inside the lockers instead of leaving them lying around just in case. He has faith and trust in the crew, of course, as he has worked with the majority of them for years, but the garage is also an open space. Someone with malicious intent can easily slip in, unnoticed.

In hindsight, it makes the most sense for someone to slip in when either he or Lando wins a race since the garage will be mostly empty then. Thus, a small part of him isn’t surprised to discover that his driver’s room isn’t exactly the way he left it before leaving for the race he ultimately won.

Nothing is taken, thankfully, and the only thing out of place is the sealed half-pint of gelato on the table — which has a spoon tied on it by a familiar handcrafted OP81 bracelet.

[First name]’s.

There’s no meaning behind her very apparent attachment to it. At least, not in a way that is connected to him personally. For all he knows, she only refuses to stop wearing the bracelet — even at the behest of drivers close to her — because of the young fan that handed it to her.

"You don’t have to keep wearing it."

"I want to."

However, nevertheless, seeing the bracelet with his initials and number around her wrist always spark the same unvoiced feeling in his stomach — the one that grew from what stirred in his chest then.

And, somehow, knowing that she intentionally left her prized OP81 fan-made merch behind almost feels like a concession. Like she’s leaving him behind.

That’s an irrational jump in reasoning. After all, they’re not even friends. He knows that — but, apparently, the rest of his body doesn’t. He can easily blame his heightened emotions and illogicality on the adrenaline that hasn’t completely left his body, but that doesn’t make it any less real.

For a reason he is yet to understand, he’s wholeheartedly convinced [first name] isn’t just letting the bracelet go. She’s letting him go, too. And that thought, however illogically sound, doesn’t sit well in his stomach.

He can’t accept the bracelet with the plausible implication it carries. He can’t accept her concession. He doesn’t want to— He doesn’t want her to give up on him.

(He understands nothing. They’re not even friends.)

Thus, like a man with no time to lose and everything in line, Oscar takes off running before he can even comprehend where his feet are taking him.

"[First name]," he calls in relief when he sees her exit the Williams motorhome the same moment he arrives. His voice comes out a little breathless, a little winded from the impromptu run he did around the paddock post-race. He doesn’t care.

"Oscar," she turns with his name on her lips. Her shock is only evident in her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"To return your bracelet," he admits, "and to thank you for the congratulatory gift."

She makes a sound of acknowledgement as the shock filters out of her eyes. "You’re welcome. You can keep the bracelet."

Her words sting, like alcohol is poured over an open wound.

(Ridiculous. They’re not even friends.)

"I don’t want it." He says abruptly, instantly regretting the words the moment they’re out of his mouth. "I mean— the bracelet looks better on you."

"I don’t really like orange."

Oscar swallows down the instinct to correct. Protecting the McLaren papaya pride is the least of his worries at the moment. "It goes well with Williams blue—" there’s a hint of desperation in his voice now. He finds it difficult to swallow— "and Ferrari red."

[First name]’s silence stretches. He begins to wonder if she’s back into being a mere hallucination; if he didn’t actually catch her on time and she’s bound to disappear in front of him any second.

He unconsciously holds his breath, anticipatory and unblinking. Praying, almost.

(They’re not friends.)

Then, finally, the silence breaks with her laugh sounding like scoff. She walks towards him with amusement dancing almost unnoticeably in her features. "Okay."

Oscar exhales in relief. He slots the bracelet back around her wrist with a silent promise even he is yet know.

(They’re not friends.)

The season calendar ultimately reaches the Italian Grand Prix, as it does every year.

Oscar, for someone who had been looking forward to it before the new season even started, has forgotten about it as soon as the new season actually began. In his defense, his plate filled at an alarming rate, especially with McLaren’s steel determination to become this year’s World Constructors’ Champion as well. It doesn’t help that he’s already seeing his only reason every weekend, either.

Well, ‘only reason’ might be a little too vague. [First name] is certainly part of that reason, but a big part of it is the tradition they unknowingly made. At least, that’s what he’d like to think, anyway.

Even if it no longer rings true, especially since . . . then.

They’re much closer since, having erased the invisible line between acquaintanceship and friendship. They still do everything they used to do, but now they aren’t limited to just those. They occasionally take detours now. And sit together, when they happen to take a break at the same hour. They hide together, too, when they crave the quietness of being away from everyone else.

Yet, despite the undeniable spike in their time spent together, their tradition at Monza has never been brought up. Not even in reminiscence.

As such, any thoughts about their tradition only lied dormant until the day of. More specifically, when Oscar finally finds himself sitting idle in the McLaren motorhome with a view identical to where he had seen her appear for the last two years.

It’s a bit too late to phone her to drop by just for the unspoken tradition’s sake. So, alas, all he can do now is will the universe to bring her to the McLaren motorhome for any reason it can think of.

Oscar lets himself wallow. He figures it’s better for him to do it now, since his brain refuses to let him think of anything else. He can’t risk jeopardizing his team like that, in case his compartmentalizing ability decides to fail him later.

"What are you doing?" A familiar voice pulls him back to reality. He focuses back to comprehend [first name] standing just outside of his personal bubble, clad in her Räikkönen tifoso gear. He almost forgot how she looks in them, having gotten used to seeing her in Williams colors for the past several months.

He spots the OP81 bracelet resting on her wrist. Its black and papaya theme compliments her red and white tifoso outfit.

A small smile forms at the corners of his mouth. "Waiting for you."

She tilts her head slightly in confusion, but doesn’t question him. "Sure."

He decides not to alleviate her confusion. He just starts walking towards the door, completely trusting she’ll follow him out. He gestures for her to exit first. "Fernando should be in the Aston Martin garage at this hour."

She obliges. "I know." Unlike the previous year where she actively fought to not walk next to him, she doesn’t even bat an eye when he claims one of her sides as they make their way to the Aston Martin area. "I’ve always known after our first meeting, actually."

Oscar can’t quite believe his ears. "Seriously?" [First name] affirms. He suddenly begins to question their exchanges during his first two years in McLaren, skimming through vague memories for clues. "Then why—"

"I needed an excuse," she shrugs nonchalantly. Acting as if she isn’t singlehandedly rewriting the way he views their little tradition. "I had quite the crush on you."

At the bluntness worthy of a Räikkönen, Oscar stops working altogether.

ᯓ★ it’s a little awkward to have an note at the end bc of my tumblr formatting, but it’s important to me that you guys know that yn definitely got banned on purpose. it’s meant to loosely parallel kimi in that grill the grid ep where he lost on purpose so he could leave, heh.

ᯓ★ also! 5/6th way to finishing this, i realized this prolly would’ve been better if i showed yn’s pov— but that was a lil too late, so osc’s pov had to do. yn’s pov would’ve had more angst in it, too, && idk if y’all dig that. lol. in all seriousness, i hope y’all enjoyed somehow <3

#oscar piastri x reader #op81 x reader #f1 x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #op81 fanfic #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #op81 imagine #f1 imagine #oscar piastri fic #op81 fic #f1 fic #oscar piastri #op81 #mclaren formula 1 #mclaren formula one #f1 #formula 1 #formula one

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foone · 11 months ago

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AAA games? Pfft. Indie games? Double pfft.

I only play games from the alternate history where Hillary Clinton was elected in 2008 and banned all video games. You can only imagine how weird their underground gaming scene is. People like to call unlicensed games "bootlegs" but they've got actual bootlegged games! I've played games about helping your grandmother in hospice care realize she's a lesbian by reading Sappho to her, at 2am in a speakeasy in Baltimore. The cops raided it the next night, hundreds of Gamers were arrested. They posted pictures all over Friendster of the Baltimore PD destroying the arcades with axes.

I nearly got busted once because I was imaging old disks from a 386 and someone tipped off the gaming cops that there was a copy of Commander Keen in there. I had to prove that I didn't know it, I was imaging the disks blind and then indexing them later, and I would of course turn over any contraband to the proper authorities.

I was already on a watch list because I'd been known to have some gamedev-related activities pre-ban. They can't arrest me for making games back in 2007 when it was still legal, but they do want to keep an eye on me since I have the skills to break the law.

Anyway that universe's bootlegs are mainly PC games. Can't really have console games if there hasn't been a console release since the Wii/PS3/360 era. At one point Nintendo threatened to release the Wii SDK so game devs in the US could make unlicensed games, but that didn't happen as there were quickly no functional Wiis left in the US, except for very rare holdouts that never move. PC games are easy to distribute samizdat and hide on a USB stick or CD-R labeled "nickelback".

Japan's games industry is still going, so the later Nintendo and Sony consoles still exist, but Microsoft got out of the business of course. They sold the franchise to Sega who were hoping to release the 360 successor (the Xbox One in our universe) as the Sega Phoenix but it never materialized, either through their own financial incompetence or because of pressure from the US. There's a lot of international treaties that the US has pushed "and this aid only goes through if you ban games" clauses into. That would have been an official UN resolution if the USSR hadn't vetoed it. For once, thank God for the security council, eh?

I mainly get my gaming news through Japanese gaming sites (through a set of VPNs, since they're blocked at the border firewall), and some tor onion site run by a weird guy in Minnesota who is obsessed with documenting all the underground US games.

There's a lot being worked on, but it's always a tricky trade off. Too much attention and the police might be able to track down the creators, and it's basically impossible to fund underground games, as the VISA/PayPal etc funds get seized immediately. There's a whole task force for that.

Anyway one of the weirdest differences between our two time lines is that they've gone back and edited out gaming from a bunch of movies. Those that they can, of course. War games was just banned because they couldn't remove the tic tac toe ending. The Net just removed the scene at the beginning where she's playing Wolfenstein 3D, by recording some new screen footage and a new voice over. She's fixing a spreadsheet in the new edition.

(Yes, I've seen The Net from this alternate timeline. On Laserdisc, of course. I'm just that kind of person!)

They even edited Star Wars. You know that scene where R2-D2 is playing holochess with Chewie? They edited it to be a board game instead of holograms, because that made it too "video gamey".

Technically it's not illegal to show gaming in a movie, but it needs to be an 18+ film and you have to show the deleterious effects of gaming and/or the gamesters coming to a bad end.

This has affected films less than you'd think, to be honest. They were never great about showing video games even before they banned them.

Anyway, go have fun playing your AAA games with hundred-million-dollar budgets. I only play indie games made by people under a constant threat of arrest for their art.

#Video games #Unreality

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thenationofzaun · 6 months ago

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The Vander/Silco Shitshow - generic, juvenile, and gimmicky slop

So, I think that Vander/Silco flashback was terrible. Tropey, careless, juvenile, clichéd bullshit that stripped away everything that made their season 1 story nuanced and poignant, while simultaneously ripping open a fat plot hole because the team got careless and did not catch the discrepancy between the story they'd written in their heads and the visuals that ended up on screen in season 1. This is just going to be a long rant post detailing the reasons I absolutely despised this flashback. Obligatory disclaimer that this is just my (strongly held) opinion.

1) The timeline plot hole

No, I'm not misusing the term. So a plot hole is an inconsistency in a fictional narrative that cannot be explained away by any plausible in-universe justifications. There are many moments of weak writing in Arcane that may be contrived, rushed, weird, convenient, etc. but aren't plot holes.

This Vander/Silco situation however. Oh boy. If you all remember, Season 1 opened with the bridge massacre, also known as the Day of Ash. Vander is shown cracking enforcers' skulls. He looks like this.

The sisters, seemingly recognizing him, ask him where their parents are. He gestures to their corpses, the sisters cry, Vander has his "violence is not the answer" epiphany, drops the gauntlets very dramatically to underscore this massive turning point of character development for him, then picks the girls up and leaves the bridge.

In episode 3, we are shown a flashback. Vander is trying to kill Silco in the river. He looks like this.

Let's compare this to how he looked like on the Day of Ash.

Yeah. According to the visuals shown in Season 1, the falling out of Vander and Silco seems to have occured in the past before the Day of Ash, evidenced by how much younger Vander looks. Unless Silco is a time traveller who jumped forward to the future to throw a molotov at the riot because he just loves violent extremism that much, or Vander took the time to shave his beard and apply heavy duty anti-aging lotion on his face before hunting Silco down, there are no plausible in-universe explanations for this inconsistency. Not to mention, if Silco and Vander were really as close as brothers and the sisters knew Vander, then it's impossible they wouldn't have known who Silco was.

Yet, in Season 1, that's exactly what we see - not a single sliver of recognition between Silco and the girls, nothing to imply they knew of his existence before episode 3. Not a single conversation between Jinx and Silco implied that he knew, let alone was close to, her mother. Nothing from Vi throughout the entire first season indicated that she knew of his past friendships with her mother and Vander. They acted like total strangers to each other.

Many fans already caught this inconsistency during the three-year gap after writers' comments online implied Silco was involved in the Day of Ash. We had hoped the writers would catch on to this discrepancy too and either iron out the timeline if they want to do serious flashbacks, or just avoid calling attention to it completely by not doing flashbacks of their falling out. Alas.

2) Leonardo Dicaprio pointing meme

Death to the everybody-knows-everyone trope and lines that only exist to invoke the "Leonardo Dicaprio pointing" meme. Throw them into a fucking fire. Boring, mind-numbing, clichéd, overdone garbage. Not every character needs to have some kind of half-baked relation with each other. Not every major incident needs to be tied back to the main characters. Not every single detail needs to be overexplained and justified and again, somehow tied to a main character. They are unnecessary, and make the world feel so much more claustrophobic and smaller than it should be.

"The enforcers actually commited the Day of Ash massacre because SILCO threw a molotov. Vander actually tried to kill Silco because of VI AND JINX'S mother. She knew both Silco and Vander personally and TOLD THEM to help her raise her kids. VANDER named Vi."

Bullshit like this really fucks with immersion, because it becomes clear very quickly that the world is only occupied by a small handful of real characters while the thousands of other people in it are nothing more than inconsequential set dressing and wallpaper. The story and world no longer feel real, vast, and immersive. And these forced "connections" between main characters are so obviously manufactured to generate "OUGHHH" and Dicaprio pointing reactions. Idk about anyone else, but it takes me completely out of the story when I can obviously tell the writing is trying too hard to blow my mind.

The girls' mom waltzing up to Vander and Silco and just. Fucking telling them to help her with her kids lmfaoooooooo. (OUGHH and they both really ended up raising her kids WOAGH😱🤯). Jinx's mom saying choosing a name is stressful because her child will feel stuck with it (GASP and Powder ended up changing her name WOOOOWW😱). Vander coming up with Vi's fucking name. (OUGHHHH HE REALLY WAS MEANT TO BE FATHER ALL ALONG WOADGHHGHDHDH🤯🤯🤯).

Fucking kill me. Arcane Season 1 was surprisingly good precisely because they DIDN'T, for the most part, resort to tropey bullshit like this. It had, for the most part, originality. Uniqueness. In fact all the strongest aspects of Season 1, aspects I loved, were deliberate subversions of overdone clichés. For Season 2 to resort to this kind of writing reminiscent of Disney slop is insanely disappointing.

I'm waiting for a character to unironically say, "What are we, some kind of League of Legends?" in Act 3 now.

3) "Ohhhhh so THAT'S why he did that!!!!!!!!!"

Also death to overexplanations and giving justifications for things that never needed justifications. You know what I was never confused by while watching Season 1 of Arcane? Why Vander adopted the girls. Why Silco adopted Jinx. Why both came to care for their girls so much, they were willing to sacrifice so much for them. I thought the reasons for those things were very clear and poignant in the first season. I never needed an extra on-the-nose justification for the adoptions in the form of, "they wuved yo mama". It's not only redundant, it's also one of the most tired ass tropes in fiction. To me, Vander taking in the girls and Silco taking in Jinx are so much more powerful if they really were just random guys with no real connection to the girls' parents.

But I've already seen some positive reactions to this flashback with "Ohhhhh so THAT's why Silco/Vander cared for the girls so much, now I understand😯🤯😓" mf what exactly did you not understand before??

4) Character motivations

The motivations of both Vander and Silco are made downright bizarre by this flashback. So Silco was hellbent on murdering Vi last season, despite being close friends with her mom whose death he may feel guilty for? Literally despised her and wanted to kill her the entire time with no hesitation lol. So Vander had that aforementioned dramatic moment of character development, dropped the gauntlets, realized violence wasn't the answer, and carried the kids to safety... then doubled back to violently hunt down and murder Silco? But not before shaving his beard and applying youthful lotion of course. Can't kill your bro while looking crusty. Then he failed to kill Silco so he just... went back to the kids and pretended like nothing happened? Lol.

Silco being close to, let alone loving, the girls' parents makes no fucking sense for his character. Vander knowing them at least makes sense, but casual friends would have sufficed. "I was lowkey crushing (?????) on your mom and also named you" just cheapened the entire Vander/Vi and Silco/Jinx surrogate father dynamic. Vander's motivation for killing Silco being yet another fridged woman is also weak as fuck. First Viktor with Sky, and now Vander/Silco. They really should have left this one up to our imaginations if this was the boring tripe they came up with.

#i have accepted that this show is generic comic book schlock for kids at this point #deeply childish and unserious writing #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane season 2 #arcane netflix #arcane critical #vander #silco #vi #jinx #powder #league of legends #arcane s2

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cryptfile · 10 months ago

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᪇ꫭ dreamseeker, [ qimir x jedi!reader ]

summary — it all started when you find out he’s alive.

warnings — pure angst, violence, blood, mentions of injuries and tons of tension, sfw.

side notes — 4k+ // English's not my first language so please be kind! went slightly away with this one so would catalogue it as an alternative universe. Heard liking without reblogging makes you fall in an awful curse that breaks my heart in the process so let that sink in, anyway everything it's appreciated!,,, thought about making an +18 second part? dunno,,, thks also for the 110 followers! love you guys sooooo much *heart avalanche*

The air's hot in the room when you woke up.

The sweat made the sheets stick to you body as you got out of bed for the third time that week, a terrible headache forming as you leave the dormitories in the middle of the dark. Coruscant suddenly feels unbearable. You've slept almost nothing through the course of the week, so you surely are in a bad mood when the cold wind of the night makes you shiver at the sudden change of temperature.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

The words are repeating in the back of you head, scratching a part of your brain while you keep on trying to remember who's voice you're dreaming so much lately.

It's all connected somehow, always is. You've learned to trust the force a while ago, learned that destiny's intertwined with an energy field that holds the galaxy together the hard way, so you know, deep down, that you have to trust your guts in this one, something that you know it concerns you but can't quite understand what really is in the first place.

Dreams. Dreams are a cruel thing that you tend to forgot sometimes, the reflection of the mind and soul projected like a high-class transmission in your head. Dreams talk, and they make you think about things you've let in the past, things you've certainly need to come back at some point.

That's why you can't sleep later, cause you know it means something. You know that dreaming the very same dream every single night for the past week means something more than just mere imagination playing around, far from an innocent scenario.

The temple is silent at night even when the city outside seems to be so wake in contrast of the inside, most of the lights out as you crossed the empty hallway hoping to avoid anyone, cause you know they'll ask questions you don't have an answer for.

In all truth, you don't have a clue why are you up so late, why this deep voice kept you awake when you should be deep in your sleep, dreaming about something more than superstitions. You don't have an answer to any superior, don't seem to have an answer for yourself either.

The Jedi trials ended long ago, yet, you don't think of yourself as someone as successful as Yord Fandar, your talent being far from what it should be expected. You never complain about anything and never would, they were the only family you ever knew and you refuse to lose everything you've been working so hard for just for questioning your bare existence.

"Can't sleep?" The male voice makes you stiff almost immediately, checking your surroundings to notice Master Sol approaching you from the left. The Jedi Master catches you by surprise, your hands already on the lightsaber that is hanging on your waist before you notice you're safe, even when you don't want to talk. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

There are things that are worth hiding, but with Sol? Master Sol seems to see through it all, the worries and the dreams that you don't know if you should call nightmares, even when you try to lock them away for a minute. That's the main reason the man stares at you, cause you expel that smell of desperation, the tension in your muscles as you don't sleep in what seems are ages.

"What's troubling you?" He asks, your own eyes betraying you as they can't hold the weight of his gaze. "I know it's not my place to ask, but are you sleeping well lately?"

"Not really, but nothing to worry about" you say almost afraid that it's going to get you in trouble, the lack of sleep making you think the most stupid things as you stop in the middle of the hallway, making sure there's no one around more than Master Sol and yourself.

Not sleeping is a dangerous thing when reality tends to become a feverish version of itself.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

You're unsure of telling him what's really going on, unsure of trusting the people you've been close your whole life out of nowhere. A sudden sixth sense that commands you to keep the dreams to yourself, the sound of the male voice you've been listening like the most important secret you've ever hold account of.

It's almost embarrassing to admit you don't trust a Jedi above your rank, that your sixth sense all of sudden makes you keep the truth when it can be something important, when Master Sol has been like a friend to you after all those years of training.

Things have been weird since your Jedi Master was found recently murdered in Ueda, a heavy weight in your shoulders as it saddened you more than you even expected. Master Indara was like close family, and you find yourself missing her, mostly in moments like that when you wish you have someone to talk to

“I was going to the dormitories” Sol explains soon after, walking by your side. “I needed to ask you for a favor my dear friend, and I’m afraid I cannot wait much longer for you to heal.”

Heal. Are you ever allowed to heal? It’s been less than a couple of days since you found out about Indara, let alone the dreams that were tormenting you the rest of the week and suffer the loss, so it seems funny when Master Sol tells you he cannot wait much longer: No Jedi ever has time to heal.

“What can I do to help?”

It’s all it takes to leave Coruscant after, trapped in space in a small ship with not only Master Sol, but Yord and Sol’s younger padawan Jecki Lon, strange enough, also with Verosha Aniseya, a former Jedi you keep an eye on through time passed.

Suddenly you’re traveling through the galaxy and there’s no time for any more tears. Suddenly you need to toughen up and act like this Jedi Knight you’re supposed to be, even when you keep questioning yourself more than ever.

Maybe it’s because of Indara’s death. Her decease came so out of nowhere it shocked you to the very heart — It’s clear that you’re sensitive, dreaming stuff you’ve been getting tired of deciphering, pure nonsense, but then, the ship lands in Khofar and Sol it’s convincing you to stay inside even you’re perfectly capable of taking Verosha’s twin and his alleged master.

It’s your own mind that plays tricks on you, making you believe you’re not good enough to help. Truth is you felt your training as a padawan was not enough, you’re an easy target now that you’re hurt and it seems to make sense when all of sudden the group of Jedis leave you to fucking rot between white walls and buttons that sparkled.

It’s clear you’re affected. How can you not be affected by it? You’re overcome by sadness and anger both mixed together, and that feeling by itself is a dangerous one when in history, makes people question things too much to the point of no return.

So when you find yourself close to the light of the hologram that you turned on being so bored in the ship, your fingers dim between the white and blue rays as you wondered: Is it honorable to seek for revenge? Is it true to a Jedi to feel this gut-wrecking wrath?

You know the answer deep inside. You know it’s wrong, yet your feet think otherwise, cause when you leave the ship in the middle of the night you still debate yourself if you should disobey, if you should do what you want instead, walking through the woods like you know which way to go.

You never disobey any command, so it’s a new thing to openly doubt about the judgement of your superiors, to walk in an unknown planet despite the orders you were told. The path seems to light by itself as you can sense it in the air, the force conducting you in silence as you walked in a fast pace. You know deep down, know everything went wrong.

The blue light of your sable is enough to light the way, the humidity in the air makes you sweat as concentrated in the sounds of the nature, you run, run until your lungs are burning and your heartbeats are so fast you’re afraid the organ itself is going to jump out of your chest. You run even when the long leaves of the plants hit you in the face, when your legs are getting cramps and you can feel the lack of oxygen: The pain is not enough to stop you.

You can hear it from far away, the heat of the fight. The sounds of the physical effort, the buzzing of the lightsables against the silent night. Adrenaline creeps across your blood flow, and even when you can't breathe properly at all you run to the chaos, driven like a moth to the flame. You let the force conduct you as you close your eyes, jumping and elevating from the floor enough to hold the sable from over your head — You attack.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

It’s coming again, the rough sound of your dreams when your blue sable hits the red out of nowhere, force colliding against each other as the impact is enough to send you directly to the floor. You know who the enemy is, the surprise in Jecki’s face and the disapproval moments after

The stranger is fast and he doesn’t hesitate when he strikes, it’s fast enough to hurt in a mortal way and you became aware of it when Jecki’s falling to the ground and the acid in your mouth is enough to make you look away — The anger comes moments after, the red stains blurring your vision as you let out a scream, gathering the force to dodge his deadly attack.

It’s for Indara, the young padawan, and the Jedi’s he just slayed like they were nothing: It stings in your soul yet you stop holding back, stop holding yourself to finally hit harder, to strike faster than he does, to hurt the stranger as much as he hurted you. And he responds, but not fast enough to beat you, cause you let the metallic back of your sable hit his head when he’s kneeled on the floor, and you smile to yourself cause you have no damn mercy when his helmet finally cracks and it’s enough to break apart revealing his face.

It’s all it takes then. All it takes to froze you in that very spot, holding the sable over your head, ready to end his life with no second thought.

You know that face. You know it when suddenly he’s smiling at you.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

It makes sense soon after, lowering the sable to the floor without fully believing it, a ghost in front of you as you feel the air leaving your lungs. Drinking the sight of him like he’s not real, like it’s a sick joke your mind made to break you down, to make you weaker.

You’re pulled by a sudden force, by the force. However, falling to the floor hurts way less than seeing him again, the words stuck in your throat unable to speak. It’s imminent, it’s devastating when the pain catches you by surprise, your back aching against the rough surface.

He’s going to kill you, isn’t he?

It makes sense to die by his hand. The memories you two share, the intimacy that was taken away so sudden, it only makes sense to die by the one you loved before, even if it's a surprise you'll never recover from.

The heat of his red lightsaber against your neck is not enough to scare you, but enough to finally look at his face, to encounter his eyes and reveal the truth that was hidden all along between lies. You experience the intensity of his gaze, how it softens when realizing you're looking at him with that same look you have been doing it years ago.

"You're alive" it slips away from you before even noticing, the sound of your voice wrapping him in a haze he didn't expect at first, to be so devastated by you even after all the time resenting the Jedi's and everything they represented "Qimir you're alive..."

He knows you're shocked, the sound of your voice piercing in his ears as he threatened with the weapon against your neck, any sudden movement would slice you in the second — "Hello to you too."

He's real, when he speaks out loud you know he's real, he's standing in front you erasing all the theories you made about not sleeping enough now making you delusional, he's there, standing ready to kill and take what he wants to feel like he won.

It's a personal vendetta, you know it as you expect any answer, any word at all until Sol's screaming as he's taken away from you once again.

He's not a friend, he's not the Qimir you once knew, and he's not someone you can trust again as he was ready to kill. He's not was he used to be, and you can tell by the way he moves, the way he goes against Master Sol hoping to leave the Jedi in the floor, his anger when he refers to his acolyte as a traitor.

He's the one responsible for Indara's death indirectly. He's not a lover. He's not a friend.

You think he died years ago, never really understanding what really happened to the bright man you met in Coruscant, a secret no one dared to bring up. He has the same fucking smile you know too well, the one that make you crumble completely in the sight, and it sadden you, it saddens you he take that path when you seem to woke up from whatever has you nailed to the floor and finally run to help Sol.

You believe you're in the right side, you've been taught about the light and the dark, and you put your heart out filling your mouth saying how you're doing good, how you're making things right.

It's kill or get killed. It’s clear that Qimir does not seem to care about any connection you shared before, hurting you no longer means whatever it meant before, and as the sable burnt your tight, no one cares when you're fainting in the floor, abandoning the fight when it approaches his end.

Sol's mad, but it's not enough to make the master stop to check if you're alive. So many lives were lost in Khofar, and the fight was so demanding you're soon forgot in a planet when the sun is finally rising.

You know you've always been alone, know the last time you saw your family you were too young to even remember, so it's not a surprise when you're left behind. Jedi's come and go, that's why they keep training them generation after generation — It's expected to lose some percentage in missions.

What's not expected, it's when Qimir is close to your cold body later in the early morning. Still deep induced in the fever of pain when he's betrayed by his own heart, his old feelings resurfacing even when he made sure to bury them in a hole in the back of his head.

He's weak it seems. And he should be ashamed of himself when he's the one carrying you back to his ship when everyone has left you behind.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

Is that his voice? The rough sound that makes you wake up in a uncomfortable place with clothing you don't remember owning.

You're confused for a second before realizing you're in unknown place, a cold breeze shivering your skin: You're in someone's house, using someone's bed.

It's all it takes to make you stand up, leaving the warm sheets behind as your eyes scan the place looking for both a person or a way out. There's a saucepan in the fire cooking slowly, and a smell you can't describe at first.

You move carefully, theories in your mind about what happened that seemed so imposible. You're sure you're far from Coruscant where you should be, yet, you don't feel much danger when you discover you're left alone in what it seems to be a cave, one that lets a windy current enter through a slit between the rocks.

You're unsupervised: Does that mean you're not a prisoner?

You remember fainting in the cold surface of Khofar, the humidity in the air as the air leaves your lungs before entering a state of unconsciousness. You remember Qimir as a ghost in front of you, smiling like he's young again, trying to get to your room in the middle of the night as if it wasn't forbidden.

Was that your dream about? A warning about the stranger being alive?

You don't dare to drink the water, you don't dare to touch any belonging more than the necessary when inspecting. Its more of a hiding than a home itself, so it lacks of belongings as you can't find anything else more than your clothes, protecting yourself from the cold air.

You're not treated as a prisoner, yet you don't feel any safe at all due to the recent events that seemed to say otherwise. You cannot seem to find your sable, and the silence it's making you lose patience.

The cave is a mess soon after, you're searching for your most important weapon, so now the lack of it seems to make you nervous. You search until you're no longer alone, a new presence in the cave as you adopt a pose of defense.

"Where's my sable?" you ask to what it seems the air, acting all tough before noticing who's the person that dragged you to a different planet, the responsable of healing your wounds with a unexpected speed. You know who it is from before, the change in the cave when he's around even when you don't receive any answer back "I'm talking to you, Qimir."

He doesn't talk when he's tossing it over the things he brought from outside, the orange details in the heavy metal shining against the dim lights of the cave. He knows you are not leaving without it, that you're too attached to it for your bad luck.

"Where am I?" you ask soon enough. At this point you lack of patience out of all, you're tired and your body is sore, you're still dreaming that very same thing, and you're not resting enough to keep your mind sane, so it's not a surprise when you're demanding answers, after all, you wanted to know what happened back in Khofar.

It hits you how much you miss him now that he is in front of you in full silence, not in the middle of violence like before, how much you wanted to hug him until he no longer breathes and spat something stupid as a not-very-funny joke. You miss him after all those years of believing he's death, that he disappeared out of sudden without telling nobody, not even you.

The silence makes you mad, and the stranger knows it, sense it in the force when the anger hits you, filling the air of the cave that feels small even when the spaces are big enough. He lied. That's all you can think of, he lied and never bothered to tell you he's alive after suffering his departing so whole heartedly.

Nights without sleeping as you let the insomnia carry you to a state you can't leave, overflowed by feeling you've learnt to deal with in the pass of time. Time heals it all they say, but it just makes things more bearable, help you live with it.

But now. Now it was cruel, it's a wound that opened by itself with the things you saw, the person he was now, embracing his dark side like it was something worth celebrating.

"Talk to me," you say, and you don't know why you're the one asking for answers when you shouldn't. "This is not fucking fair."

Fair.

"Nothing's ever fair," he says, and the sound of his voice is enough to make you shiver. Now that you're surrounded only by the crashing sound of the waves hitting the rocks outside, you can hear him without the buzz of the fight. "Your people know that very well. You make the rules after all. You decide what's fair in the galaxy."

It's a knife in your heart. You don't want him to affect you like he does, but it's impossible when it stings like a burnt from the sable, the weight of his words, the hatred on his tone when he spits the words like they're acid in his tongue.

"I've never made nothing" it's a declaration of self-hatred at it most, how you've not been capable of doing much even when you pride on being called a Jedi Knight. "You know that."

There's no response. You're used to follow orders, not question, trust you're working with the correct side, so his look is something new, something that leaves goosebumps on your skin.

"You're alive," you still don't believe it at first, now studying his factions like they were still craved in stone back on your head. "After all these years, you couldn't tell me you were alive?"

It's a bad joke, one that makes you laugh leaving a bittersweet taste in your mouth — "You couldn't tell your best friend you were leaving? Nobody talked about you all of sudden, you became a dream. Almost making me sure you never existed at all."

"That's what they told you? That I leaved?" the way he's telling the information makes you furrow your brows in response, trying to make sense of what he was saying: Was he implying they lied to you?

"Please, explain me then" you're not in the mood of fighting, instead, you want information, crucial information to what you were choosing to be "Enlighten me. Tell me why you left me there without saying goodbye. Why it doesn't seem to affect you as much as it affected me."

The stranger has grown cold. He has now adapted beneath this rough amour that separated him from what he was before. So he doesn't give you any answers even when you question him, looking at you without saying a word.

You've changed too. You're not the little padawan that followed Indara around and look up at Torbin, you're not afraid of showing your force anymore, after all those years he has told you you're more than capable of defeating any enemy, you are starting to believe it more that ever. Even when he's not around to see that change happen in front of his eyes.

He's not going to answer, he's not talking nor giving you what you needed.

"Am I prisoner?" you ask again, another question added to the pile.

"Does it look like you're being held?" he asks back, squatting close to the stove in the fire to the stir his soup. "No. You're not my prisoner."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. He always was a man full of pride, but now it seemed he thrive in it, in sharing his knowledge he was sure it was so powerful he needed to take a pupil, some kind of dark padawan he wanted to train.

"I don't know you anymore Qimir," you state out loud, hoping to talk to him as a long-time friend, as the person he was in love all those years but never acted on it too afraid of the rules at first. "I don't know who you've become, and i've been mourning you like it's only yesterday you vanished from my life, yet you've been alive, plotting against your family."

"Family?" he asks, hurted by the words you choose. "I've never had a family. You know that very well, it was always me against them, against anyone who questioned their power, their use and knowledge of the force."

"So is that how we are going to act now? Like pride is enough to make you leave and act like we were never a thing? That I wouldn’t die for you without even question?" you seem disappointed as you speak — “Why you didn’t kill me back there when you had the chance?”

He's taken back by your words, the sincerity as you admit what it seemed impossible to say back then. It’s known by him the feelings he had for you were enough to stop the whole galaxy, but he never had the courage to say something about it, to go against the rules and let alone admit to you anything at all.

So to know that you care for him, even when you talked about it like it was in the past, is enough to make him short-circuit, to make his face change in a new look.

“You already know why I didn’t kill you” he says it so casually while cooking, that even when you stand in the middle of the room trying to think about anything, anything more that him and his powerful gravity that made you spin around him, drawn by his pulling force — “Doesn’t matter who you stand with, i’d never do anything to you.”

You let that sink in. You let him say it cause maybe, deep down, it’s what you need. Your eyes are full of tears but you don’t want to let any single tear roll from your eyes the second you feel the sadness, you don’t want to show any weakness whatsoever, anything that will make you look less than what you really are.

“I could ask you the same” he says soon after, looking at you from over his shoulder in a low voice that sends shivers down your spine “Why did you let me live back there?”

It’s a bruise in your ego, to your sense of defense — Walls up, not letting any feeling show at all. His question is left out in the space as you look at him through narrowed eyes, reminding yourself he’s the enemy.

He cannot have the satisfaction. He’s the one behind Verosha’s twin sister after all, the one who send her to seek her own revenge. You know you should kill him with no second though, to cease with the leak, destroy the rebel cause that was so dark and powerful, so dangerous, but as before, you can’t hurt him by any chance, too attached to the enemy to even think about using the force against him.

Qimir. You don’t expect him to be alive, to be so angry at his lies. You don’t expect him to be the threat to peace and tranquility you’ve been so warned about.

Fuck that. You can’t deal with him again.

Maybe you are a coward after all, not worthy of being called a Jedi Knight. Always too unsure, questioning if you’re doing things the right way.

It’s not your fight. It’s not your place to be, you’re not his prisoner so you reach your lightsaber quick enough to leave his side, holding the weapon against your bare hands as you leave the cave, facing the daylight and the ocean in front of you.

You're not his prisoner, so you quickly leave as soon as you can leave, unable to hold his gaze anymore, to answer a question you shouldn't be asked. Even if it's cold outside, the sun still shines and you are sure you're going to find a ship that will take you out of there, as far as possible — Maybe, even leave him there.

But when you walk, you're followed close by in silence. Not a prisoner, but not free enough to leave free whiningly.

Even when you pace fasten enough to try to leave him behind, it seems like it's not a physical effort to follow you near by, to follow the same footsteps you give in order to look for a way to get out.

What's his plan anyway? Follow you forever? He's going to get tired soon enough, the problem is you don't have the patience enough to wait for it, you can't wait for Qimir to be enlightened by mercy, to be rational, to let you leave so you can be as far away from him as possible.

So at any sudden sound, you happen to snap, to turn on the sable in one swift movement, quick enough to pull it against his neck, almost touching his skin, the blue light reflecting in his pupils as he seemed pleased by your attention.

That's what he wants in the end. Even if it's anger, he wants to get any reaction out for him.

"Stop following me around" it's a knot on your throat, a sting in the heart as you threat him, the sound of your voice almost mixing with the loud crashing of the ocean. "You said yourself, i'm no prisoner."

He can sense your anger yet he's devastated by what you've become, devastated by finally being in front of you. Even when you're hesitating to spare his life once again, he's driven by the smell he was so caught on before, the memories you brought, attacked by the lonely life he was forced to live, the perks he enjoyed embracing his dark side.

It seems like forever, an eternity while the energy just flows, while the tension consume you both.

You're caught in a spiderweb you cannot get out, cause when he opens his mouth to speak again, you don't expect to make your world tremble that way.

"I was searching for you."

You know what's coming next, the sound of his voice like a recorder playing over and over in your head, the vibrations of his tone matching the ones you've been dreaming about lately.

"I was searching for you. Even in my dreams."

It's enough to make you lower your sable.

To make the stranger smile.

my masterlist

#cryptfile's happy 100!#qimir x reader #qimir x you #qimir the acolyte #star wars the acolyte #the acolyte #qimir #the stranger x reader #the stranger #qimir x fem!reader #manny jacinto #manny jacinto x reader #cryptfile // star wars #qimir drabble #star wars qimir #star wars x reader #osha aniseya #mae aniseya

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3uthym1c · 1 year ago

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𓆩⚝𓆪 ☒ 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐀 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝! 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘍𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘳

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ ⋆ ࣪. ˖ ࣪⭑ ˖ ࣪ ٬ ุ๋ ⸱ ִֶָ . ָ࣪ ˑ ֗⭑ ˖ ࣪ ٬ ุ๋ ⸱ ִֶָ . ָ࣪ ˑ ֗ ˖ ⋆ ࣪. ˖ ࣪⭑ ࣪ ˖ ⋆ ࣪. ⸱ ִֶָ . ָ࣪

Ꮺ Read before getting into your group please! THERE IS A MESSAGE FOR EVERYONE AT THE END!!!

Hey y'all, it's me and I'm back. I told y'all I don't have a PAC uploading schedule 😭. I honestly just do it whenever I feel that I have the energy and then recharge. Perhaps when I'm in my "tarot reading hibernation" I'll take free requests so stay tuned (I'll have to figure out rules for requests first 😭).

Remember that you can pick more than one and to choose what resonates and STAY HYDRATED!!! I've never done a love reading before so feedback would be very appreciated.

⋆｡° ✮ ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇ

For physical features I see that they have brown hair (light or dark brown). For some, your partner might have dreads, locs, or very intricate braids. Their skin may be brown or tanned (or tan easily). They have such an infectious and bright smile, it's like their whole face lights up and it's so beautiful to everyone seeing it. They're muscular, but in skinny way? I don't know how to explain it. Kind of like runners? As for their clothes or clothing style, they might wear either all black or white with a few pops of color. Like an example would be a dark t-shirt with a bright red collar thing and a necklace with a big yellow crystal.

They carry so so so much enthusiasm. Right off the bat they just bring a light very few can bring. They bring so much to people just by existing. inspiration, hope, enlightenment even? They don't even have to be extroverted they just have and give so much energy. They have so many silly little thoughts they share every now and then that seem to come out of nowhere. Their biggest character strength is gratitude. They feel so thankful for everything and everyone and they'll let you know. Oh my god pile 1 you're so lucky this person is so in love with life and will make you in love with life even more than you currently do. They will make you love being human the and feeling and tasting and dancing and experiencing that come with it. It'll have you seeing beauty in the everyday things.

Right now they're going through some really intense spiritual transformation. They need to learn to ask for help when they need it. They'll do well though. They'll find a lot of things could've been solved by just asking for help. Both you and them are at the beginning of your journeys (that doesn't mean your journey is long though), so if you guys think things are already good then I'm thinking of the phrase "universe, show me how good it can get". They're such a good cook & baker by the way. They have a lot of earth and fire placements. Extremely romantic in both the loveydovey type and the artsy sense.

When you come into their life it's very much random and unexpected. My sister just unexpectedly found an item that cleans her flute so I'll take it as a sign that you guys meet at a music / dance event or concert. Perhaps in the same class taking music lessons. Also random message: this meeting is just unavoidable, no matter what you do they'll find their way to you so don't worry. Even if you guys meet, have a conversation, and leave, you guys will keep bumping into each other. Months into your relationship, both of you will look back at this meeting as something purely magical. If they don't believe in fate or magic or some higher power, this will change their mind.

I'm also hearing, "It's so beautiful how deeply you feel." You may have been looked down on for being "overly sensitive" and "caring too much" but they very much appreciate it. Also hearing "Whatever you say, beautiful." like if you told them to do something crazy they wouldn't even question it. Literally remembered this image:

🍈 ☒ Key Words / Items / Etc: The Chariot (representing them), Ruby, the word "baroque", Soprano, Clownfish, Horses, Bells, Lemons, roses, letter S.

⋆｡° ✮ ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ

Straight dark brown or black hair, they like wearing more simple outfits most of the time with neutral colors but there will be days where they're like "screw it I'm going to dress all fancy just to go to the library". Often carries a backpack or suitcase or purse everywhere. Worst case of RBF (resting bitch face) ever, but their face is so gentle and pretty too. Maybe wears black glasses (maybe prescription maybe not). A little random but you might find that they look so hot when they're focused? Really nice hands, they might like to wear rings or gloves. Would probably let you paint their nails.

But when you get to know them they're actually goofy and sometimes they don't even know it. "Apartment complex? I find it quite simple actually." vibes. I think a lot of people don't like how confident they look and say stuff like "They think they're better than us." when they never even act like that. Warning they have so many haters and it isn't because they even did or said anything, people see them and their confident energy and assume so so SO much about them. They don't know that though, because to them it seems like they hate your S/O for no reason and they're so confused. In reality they're so soft and kind hearted.

Random thing - they might really like penguins? They have ungodly amounts of patience for everything and everyone it's mind boggling. They're either interested or uninterested in things, so if they're interested they will put their heart and soul into whatever it is. You can see it so well in their work and career, whatever it may be. Embodiment of the word "Meraki". Btw your S/O doesn't want me to "spoil any surprises" take it as you wish.

EDIT: Holy shit there was whole entire paragraph about what I'd guess is the "surprise" that somehow didn't end up in the reading when I copy / pasted it from Notion to tumblr?????

Going to add more to this, it seems that your partner is super shy and a little awkward if that makes sense? Like, if you ever have done readings about specific people, while you may not HEAR their voice, you can kind of feel the vibes of them talking? They kind of remind me of the smell after the rain (which if you're curious, no it was not raining at the time of me doing this reading).

🍈 ☒ Key Words / Items / Etc: Meraki (obviously), Cats, purple & blue, the letter R, birds visiting your backyard often, 777,

⋆｡° ✮ ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

Instead of starting with physical appearance I think I want to start off with what they're like. Right off the bat their energy is very easy to tap into (in a good way). In fact, after I was done with pile two, I kept on getting intuitive messages for two whole days on what they're like. This whole entire pile I didn't even have to draw a single card. at all. They're extremely talkative, and I wouldn't be surprised if you constantly recieved messages and signs from them. I'd imagine it would be like recieving a loud notification on your phone because honestly whatever chance they get, their higher self constantly is there checking in on you.

They have an incredible sense of humor first of all. They will never fail to make you laugh. I hope this makes sense, but they're almost like a walking four leaf clover or lucky charm. Wherever they go they just bring good luck to themselves and people around them. Perhaps their very existence is a miracle. Their birthday may be in May. This is going to sound weird and no shade to your S/O but they're the type of person you wouldn't expect to be so smart. Usually people think of smart people as like, these serious nerdy looking people, but this person is genuinely so so smart and good at talking to others.

I bet how you guys will meet is that you'll be struggling with something and they'll walk into your life and help you. They have the sort of magic of a teacher that can explain the hardest topics so easily. One of their weaknesses is that they're a little too afraid to ask help for themselves. This person isn't JUST good boy/girl/joyfriend material, but also a great spouse.

Wouldn't be surprised if they have light hair or are ginger. If they have dark hair it's probably dyed. Their hair is so fluffy and if it's long it's very nice to just run your hand in. A very comfortable style, I could imagine that they sometimes wear soft pastel colors (Blue, green, orange mostly) or neon. Hoodlies, loose clothing, handmade clothes.

🍈 ☒ Key Words / Items / Etc: Four leaf clovers, 444, cats with different colored eyes (kinda specific), spiders, random light colored yarm / wool.

⋆｡° ✮ ᴘɪʟᴇ ꜰᴏᴜʀ

Your partner is probably much taller than you. They probably have silver jewelry and long hair. They put in a LOT of effort into how they look, they always look so fashionable. They also take great care of their body too. I don't think it's to the point where they're vain though, they just take care of themselves and like dressing cool. They may have blue, green, or grey eyes.

First of all, this may come to a shock to you but your partner is very spiritual. When you meet them they'll probably have already spent years learning about and practicing their spirituality. Everyone that meets them thinks that they're mentally just wise beyond their years, and I don't mean when it comes to academics (though that might be the case). There's just something about them that makes them feel like they've been on this earth for a long long time and have witnessed many things and met many people.

They may actually be a historian, anthropologist, archivist, librarian, psychologist, or sociologist. Okay I've just been having this stuck in my head while doing this reading but I'm imagining like, a rock or statue with moss growing on it. Also I'm feeling strangely calm and warm right now. I don't know if "calm" would even describe it, it's like complete serenity.

When you meet them it might be in somewhere incredibly crowded, but it'll feel like it's just the two of you. You could maybe meet them through a friend and have a nice long night drive talking to each other. They genuinely love you. I mean obviously this is a future partner reading so of course they would, but this love runs so deep. There's not any way that I can get you to fully understand the depths of this love, so you'll just have to wait and see!

They're the type of person that makes people comfortable enough to be themselves without worrying about judgement, mostly because to be honest this person is seen as "weird" themselves. You make them love humanity, is another message I'm getting.

Also a note that I didn't even pull cards for this, it was all intuitive so usually I take it as a sign this person's energy / presence is strong and you probably receive messages and signs from their higher self a lot. Or maybe their 3d human self consciously sends positive energy your way, a sign of this is randomly feeling warm and cozy and calm for no reason. P.S. they probably think about you as much as you think about them.

ALSO!!!! PILE 4 don't stop reading it yet there's a message I got for you guys but I feel called to put it at the end separately for all of the piles!

🍈 ☒ Key Words / Items / Etc: 888, blueberry, lights that flicker for no reason, or maybe dreams where you see some sort of light floating around, rainbows, bees, Magician card, the word "arbiter"

𝕄𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝔼𝕍𝔼ℝ𝕐 ℙ𝕀𝕃𝔼!!!

I know someone (not all of you) is thinking "Nahh this sounds too good to be true", well 1. that's the magic of soul connections and love & 2. Please stop lowering your standards because it's "unrealistic" because I swear you're not asking for much from a person. You deserve something "too good to be true" bestie (And also, remember, YOU are a dream come true for them too 😭).

"Why me what's so special about me 🫤 " on god you're the type of person who asks for signs from your spirit guides and then ignores them like they're tiiiireeedddd. Real talk though, you don't know how beautiful you are to a strangers eyes because you grow accustomed to your face. You don't know how smart and amazing you are (and yes knowing a lot about a random show or book or random subject counts as being smart shhh).

You are so perfectly human you just DON'T KNOWWW. I

f you think like this (or even if you don't because we should all do this), I'm giving you homework. Make a list of everything you are grateful for yourself for doing / being, what topics and interests you have, your favorite fashion style, achievements, color, animal, your favorite song, things you have around the house that you like and why, etc.

YOU ARE AN INTERESTING PERSON!!!! If you have a good relationship with your parents / guardians or grandparents or aunts or siblings, ask them what they love about you. Get to know yourself!!! A lot of things are cool and special about you!!!!!!!!!

-Eiki

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feefivefoe · 26 days ago

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I like you sahsrau 👀✨ can we have more of it?

I'll probably go in region order bc if I don't I will forget who I have and haven't done-

But if you want a specific character, just request some in an ask and I won't mind. Max of 5 characters though.

Herta Space Station. Where 2 individuals awoke and b̵̢̛̻̙̗͚̝͚̥̣͕̆̉̊̌͆́ę̵̮̲̺̘͖͖̦̫͗̅̏͌̀̃̀̀͘g̸̰̜̠̰̞̉̽̈́̅͂̄ä̴̧̝͇͇̝̗̩͚́͆͛͝ͅn̵̡̯̙͇̼̣͍̪͂͛̔̀̃́ their journey across the cosmos. A place very recently attacked by the Antimatter Legion, dedicated to the Destruction.

Perhaps this is why you also found yourself awakening there, though already aboard the parked Express. Perhaps THEIR theory had some merit after all.

Asta

The head of the station is a busy woman, constantly juggling the academic and social issues from the researchers, whatever work Herta deems below even her puppets, and even more so after the security breach.

It isn't until a while after your awakening that she manages to actually meet you. There was gossip, sure. That a mortal incarnation of the being that shaped the universe was found on the famed Astral Express, while ported in their station. As if she didn't already have a millions missives directed her way...

That being said, there is something celestial about you that puts any doubts the astronomer might have at ease. There's no fear in your eyes as you wander the station. Whether that's because you believe the threat has been eliminated, or because you don't believe even the Legion would harm you? It isn't clear. Asta isn't even sure you know.

Still, it isn't often she gets the chance to speak with you personally. Expect her to have either Arlan or Peppy trailing you whenever you set foot on the station. Expect welcoming gifts any time you visit, expensive enough to make you sweat a little. She won't even notice.

For a non researcher, she sure does seem to dissect you with her eyes from across the room. Hint, she's mapping out constellations on your skin. Be it freckles, pimples, moles...she doesn't care. Any mark or blemish is just an undiscovered star. And Asta has always wanted to find stars that haven't been discovered and named yet.

Arlan

As the one who feels particularly at fault for the invasion, he's constantly a little paranoid that you may be hurt by some straggler. Just one intruder he or his department missed, one enemy that attacks the first person it sees. After so long, would any follower of Nanook even recognize you before striking?

He can't take that risk.

Meeting you in person gave him the same crushing sense of relief and hope that he had experienced in his younger days. A hungry child that was willing to fight people he didn't know FOR people he didn't know if it meant earning something to eat. Asta and her family took a chance on him, and now he was someone the station trusted to keep them safe.

And he failed at that. Sure, he did everything in his power. He saved people, even was willing to sacrifice his life if it meant protecting what staff he could. But the fact remains that some people died, and even more were hurt in some way. He can't fail like that again.

He had a second chance, his new beginning. And he will die before he loses it. Arlan, the more he sees you as an Aeon and less as a human, will start fusing his perception of you with his gratitude for his place in life. If anything happens to you, he'll die at best, and lose everything at worst.

He cares about you deeply, of course. As much as idolization will allow. You're entirely perfect. Which is why, as someone who has only been able to fight and not learn like the others, he will dedicate every bone in his body to protecting yours.

Herta (puppet)

Really? All that fuss, and the Beginning is just a human? A squishy meatsack like the rest of them? Not even a bizarre size?

For a while she's unimpressed, even seeing your existence as less interesting than the prospect of a person with a Stellaron inside them.

Ah. But what if the two correlate? What if you only made your appearance because of an intact, contained Stellaron? Oh, had the Destruction found a way to place direct essence into a weaponization of matter???

This hypothesis needed confirmed before anything else. But even she doesn't have direct access to the Cancer of All Worlds...

Off you go on the Express now, go on. She's sure you'll come across one eventually. And you make sure to come right back as soon as you do, okay? She'll even let you have top priority when you return. No waiting, no leaving a message. She's even set your specific number to alert her immediately when you text, bypassing the bot that sends messages for her.

It's a very special privilege to be able to contact a genius so readily, so don't abuse it, okay? Though, if you sprinkle in discoveries you make about your existence, she may be willing to chat a bit. Only for you, remember.

The Herta

And just as she predicted, you have a much different aura about you by the time she meets you in the flesh. Perhaps it's the time in Amphoreus, a land filled with 'divinity', but you hold yourself with the presence of an Aeon, now.

Someone who knows their companions would slit someone's stomach open merely because you asked them to, just to see if they would, and feel no guilt.

Droidhead suddenly seems much less impressive. She's wanted the Aeons to ask a question of her for a while now, tired of constantly being the one to seek answers. Herta feels those questions in your gaze, before you even open your mouth. She feels dissected, rearranged, and put back together with a single look.

It's a bit addicting, actually.

Oh, and the way you listen when you ask her something and she answers! It isn't like her to get so excited. It's out of character. It's wrong.

And that is precisely what makes it so fascinating. Just how dangerous will your presence be if this is after only a handful of encounters with a Stelleron? This isn't even a percentage of what you once were.

She tried to recreate you in the Simulated Universe, sending the Trailblazers (as your constant leeches companions) through over and over again, just to see how your AI acts, and growing more and more frustrated when it doesn't live up to the real thing. Maybe she needs more time to study the original in person...

#aeon of beginnings #sahsrau #self aware honkai star rail #self aware hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #hsr asks

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 28 days ago

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Miraculous vs The Power of Love

I've written several posts where I talked about Miraculous' poor use of the power of love trope and how that massively turned me off to canon. Three strikes and you're out! When this topic comes up I usually bring up Adrien and only Adrien. This has led to some anger at the fact that I didn't mention love failing anyone else as it absolutely has. I've also seen some anger over my desire for Adrien to defeat Gabriel's control and win the day since Adrien is a victim and that means that it's perfectly fine if he fails to beat his father's control no matter what the consequences of that failure are. After all, the failure isn't really on Adrien. It's on Gabriel. A sentiment I understand, but don't agree with since this is a writing blog. I'm discussing the message the writing is sending not which character gets the in-universe blame.

I'm not going to change how I discuss this topic since it is my honest opinion, but I can explain that opinion in depth to hopefully save us all from miscommunication! That's why I'm making this post! It addresses all of the above. I'll be linking to this whenever the topic comes up so that I can include some nuance without having to go into all of the detail I'm about to go into because - as you'll see - this is a long one which is why I don't go into this depth in other posts. It would just totally derail them. I'm also not going to go into the deconstruction aspect of things here because this is already really long, but I do have a post on that for even more nuance!

If you disagree with any of this, that's totally fine! I just ask that you keep the your counter arguments civil. Remember, we're talking about a badly written kids show that none of us have the power to change and the magical power of love isn't real so it doesn't actually matter if I'm right about this. Nor is Adrien going to thank you for coming to his aid. He doesn't exist and, as always, my issue is not him as a person. My issue is the way the narrative uses him as a storytelling tool.

What Is the Power of Love?

The power of love is a trope where either platonic or romantic love saves the hero from some type of conflict or upsetting situation. It's a rather broad trope that can be used in conflicts of any size, but even TV tropes acknowledges that it's primarily "applied in dire situations to make things better. In fact, in many Disney movies it's the solution to everything." That definition is how I approach the power of love.

To put it more bluntly, unless we're talking about a specific example, when I say "the power of love" I am thinking of a story's climax or, in the case of something like a multi-season show, one of the climaxes. More specifically, I'm thinking of the lyrics to one of my favorite cheesy pop songs:

There comes a time When you face the toughest of fights Searching for a sign Lost in the darkest of nights The wind blows so cold Standing alone Before the battle's begun But deep in your soul The future unfolds As bright as the rays of the sun You've got to believe In the power of love

If it's not the toughest of fights or the darkest of nights, then the power of love failing may disappoint me, but I don't consider it an unforgivable sin. In some cases, I'd even be disappointed if the power of love was brought in before the climax! The power of love is the ultimate cheesy move so it makes sense to save it for the last minute if using it earlier would lessen or even ruin that last minute epic save.

To show what I mean, let's talk about another trope that Miraculous has failed to use well, but that doesn't ruin the show for me. A trope that has led the show to do the exact thing we just discussed: ignore a small moment when love should have won to allow for a bigger win when all hope seems lost.

The Evil Clone Thing

[Image description: the Buzz and Woody meme with the words "Evil Clones. Evil Clones Everywhere"]

There have been an absurd number of episodes where the evil clone/evil twin trope came into play, but the three big ones are Ladybug, Optigami, and the season four final. In each of these episodes, we see a good character replaced by an identical evil version. We also see the good character's love interest fail to recognize that their crush/romantic partner has been replaced. That means that all three of these episodes see the power of romantic love failing. We also don't see a more platonic version of love show up to save the day.

The worst of these episode is the season four final where Marinette doesn't recognize that Felix has taken Adrien's place. That deception is how Gabriel steals the miraculous so it's obviously a pretty big deal and can be argued as a major fail for the power of love. I don't disagree. I think that Marinette's love should have let her see through the lies and dislike that the writers took this route to make her lose. However, I don't have this on my list of moments when the power of love needed to win for the story to work.

While Marinette failing to recognize Felix leads to her darkest hour, it does not happen in her darkest hour. Her darkest hour comes when she actually loses the miraculous which happens in a completely different scene from the one where she's deceived. It's also worth noting that Felix is not present in this moment of loss so there was no opportunity for the power of love to pull off a last minute win.

The loss of the miraculous leads to a scene where Ladybug is sitting alone in the rain, ready to give up all hope. And what happens next?

[Image description: Chat Noir standing in the rain, smiling, holding out his hand to Ladybug]

Chat Noir shows up to reignite Ladybug's will to fight via his love and support. She takes his hand, he draws her into a hug, and they stand together as one, ready to once again face their enemy:

Cat Noir: We're gonna get them back one by one…until the very last. And we'll make sure this never happens again. Ladybug: You...and me? Cat Noir: You, the best superhero there ever was... and me, your loyal partner.

A lot of people love this scene and it led to some major hype for season five which means that it's time to quote some more of that cheesy song that I brought up at the start:

Stand by my side There's nothing to hide Together we'll fight to the end Take hold of my hand And you'll understand What it truly means to be friends You've got to believe (you've got to believe) In the power of love

While I don't love the season four final, it is a B-tier execution of the thing I was talking about earlier. Canon let love fail in a small moment to increase tension and give Ladybug a "darkest night" moment. That darkest night moment then led to a semi-epic power-of-love comeback that understandably got a lot of fans super excited for season five because they assumed that it was going to be the season of Ladynoir. In other words, for a lot of fans, the power of love did its job in the season four final!

All of this is why I don't bring up Marinette when I talk about the power of love failing. It does fail her, but not in her darkest nights and toughest fights. Any time she's overwhelmed and ready to give up all hope, someone comes along to give her the will to fight on. That person is usually Chat Noir because he's her end game love interest so of course the writers use him! His "you and me against the world" moments may not be the most epic example of the power of love winning, but they are the power of love winning, so saying that the power of love fails Marinette feels like an overstatement of harm. She's never had a total loss.

The closest we get to Marinette truly losing is the season five final. That episode feels like an ultimate-level failure to many of us, on par with Ephemeral, but the writers clearly don't agree. For them, season five had a happy ending which makes critiquing that final fight tricky. I'll be arguing that Adrien lost hard in the next section, but I can't say the same for Marinette and this section is about her so let's focus on that for now.

No matter how much I hate the final, I can't look at the picture below this paragraph and argue that love failed Marinette because what did losing cost her? This isn't the season four final where she genuinely suffered. This is her getting everything she's ever wanted! The miraculous are back in her hands, she won the heart of the boy she loves, and no one is actively messing with her love life anymore. That's a pretty solid win even if she didn't win the actual fight.

[Image description: Adrien and Marinette at the end of the season five final, kissing in the spot that used to house Emilie's statue.]

This is further complicated by the fact that - as written - the season five final doesn't put Marinette in a position to use the power of love. She's never given a chance to save Adrien or even just talk to him. She doesn't know that's he's in trouble, locked up in a padded cell, suffering all alone! And Adrien's love can't rally her in her darkest moment when all hope seems lost because - for the first time ever in a season final - she never got one of those! She was a badass in the final fight! No pep talk or supportive teammates necessary! She would have had a total victory if the writers hasn't made her try to talk sense to the villain or sent her Adrien's ring just so Gabriel could make the wish, further adding to the problem of this show's absolutely vile messaging around love.

In other words, lack of love isn't why Marinette loses the final fight. She loses because the writers wanted love to empower Gabriel in his darkest moment, a move the writers have the audacity to call a mutual victory. (Gross. Abusive terrorist should not get power of love moments without a massive redemption arc first. It's yet another insult to the trope. Gabriel did not deserve peace while his son goes on to suffer.)

If you think about the episodes Ladybug and Optigami you'll notice a similar problem. The power of love failed to let Chat Noir and Alya recognize that their romantic interests had been replaced, but that failure didn't lead to their ultimate defeat. It didn't even lead the villains to a minor victory! Both episodes maintain the status quo.

This doesn't mean that I like those episodes. I would rewrite both of them to let love win because they're good examples of small moments where love can win without cheapening or ruining the season's big climax. I just don't view these episodes as times when the show needed to use the power of love if it wanted to honor its chosen genre. That requirement only applies when it's a darkest night or toughest fight.

Before we move on, please note that Ladybug was the power of Adrien's love failing, yet I never mention it when I'm complaining about the power of love failing. That's because I'm never purposefully listing every time Adrien's love failed and ignoring everyone else. I'm simply listing the moments when love needed to let the heroes win because we were in one of the show's darkest hours and that is the only time when I consider the power of love a true requirement. Love can fail in small moments to increase the tension, but if love fails at the moment when all hope seems lost, then why are we even here?

There are only three episodes that get that level of criticism from me and each one had a single character whose writing infuriated me: Adrien.

Adrien vs The Power of Love

There are three episodes where Gabriel's identity is revealed and the final fight goes down. Those episodes are Chat Blanc, Ephemeral, and the season five final. In each of these episodes, Adrien suffers on a scale that no other character has had to suffer:

In Chat Blanc he is akumatized and forced to use his cataclysm to kill both his father and the love of his life, dooming him to spend eternity alone in a dead word.

In Ephemeral he is akumatized and forced to use his powers to hand the love of his life over to his father, thereby allowing Gabriel to win and rewrite reality.

In the season five final, Adrien is left alone in a jail cell, tormented by nightmares while his father dies leaving Adrien an orphan. Adrien is then told some truly colossal lies about what actually happened, leading him to believe that Gabriel scarified himself to save Ladybug's life. Since Chat Noir's usual role in fights is protecting Ladybug, this is arguably the equivalent of Adrien being told that his failure to show up killed his father. I'm not even sure if that's the wrong message because Gabriel did die from a cataclysm and Adrien would understandably blame himself for that, too, so maybe this was a way to address that without going too dark for kids and why does that argument hold water? Wtf was this trash fire of a story line???

When you compare Adrien's treatment in these episodes to something like Marinette's treatment in season four final you can hopefully see why it feels like comparing a broken arm to a mortal blow. It's not that Marinette doesn't suffer. In terms of individual moments of suffering, Marinette beats out every other character! But while she may beat Adrien in breadth, he is the clear winner in terms of depth and the only one who never gets a true power of love moment.

Marinette's darkest nights and toughest fights ultimately work out so that she can go on to some new type of suffering, the old suffering fading away to nothing more than memory. Adrien's darkest nights and toughest fights lead to loss and suffering for which there is no cure other than rewinding time or rewriting reality. The season five final even has Adrien directly state that he's not worthy of Marinette's love:

Adrien: I'm not in my right mind. I'm too angry — at myself for falling short of Marinette's love, at my father for sending me here in London, at this stupid app and these rings that use my image... it makes me sick! This nightmare is giving me the horrible feeling that, if I transform, I'll get akumatized and destroy everything with my Cataclysm — Marinette, Ladybug... (Takes off the ring and hands it to Plagg.) Plagg: Surely Ladybug can help you. Adrien: If I ask her for help, I'd have to give her information that would jeopardize my secret identity... and I can't.

This is literally Adrien's last scene in the main story line. He doesn't show up again until the happily ever after epilogue where he and Marinette kiss. In other words, the show had Adrien directly state that he's unworthy of Marinette's love and then did nothing to counter that statement. I guess this poor unfortunate soul is just lucky that Marinette likes him enough to keep him around in spite of his many failings...

Writers, seriously, what the hell are you doing? This is the kind of dialogue that should lead into a power of love moment! How is thinking about Marinette leading Adrien to despair instead of strength? Why is Plagg just accepting this? Plagg is a magical being who was assigned to watch over Adrien. Shouldn't a character like that help Adrien rally in his darkest night? Where's Adrien's you and me against the world pep talk? That should go both ways!!! Have him break out, call Ladybug to tell her that he's not coming, only for her to rally him so he comes and at least fights outside in the city while she does her solo fight! Don't leave him alone to rot while almost every other character in the freaking show gets to fight!

It would be one thing if Adrien gave up because he was alone and scared, but Plagg is there and the writers directly bring up Marinette and love only to do nothing to show those as positive forces in Adrien's life!!! Instead, Marinette is the thing that keeps him from the fight because Adrien's nightmare is him getting akumatized and killing Marinette even though Adrien knows nothing about Chat Blanc.

[Image description: Adrien's nightmare where he's a blue haired version of Chat Blanc, holding Marinette's body in his arms having killed her with a cataclysm]

To be clear, in each of the three episodes I listed above, Adrien is undeniably a victim suffering at the hands of his main abuser. They're also some of the worst moments of abuse in the entire show. It would be perfectly reasonable for a real life person to give into despair if they were put into this situation, but real life people don't transform into magical cat boys who wield the raw power of Destruction. I was not looking for realism here. I was looking for hope and inspiration!

I wanted to see Adrien win! I wanted his love for Marinette and/or his friends to give him the strength to overpower his father's control because that's what the power of love is all about! When all hope seems lost, it's there to let the hero win because love is stronger than despair, hatred, fear, and magical remote controls! It is the bright light that blasts away the darkness in your darkest night! Unless your name is Adrien Agreste, then no love for you! Suffer, feather boy, suffer!

Example of what I wanted from canon

There are many ways to fix these three episodes so love wins, but to keep this simple let's focus on Chat Blanc and what the power of love winning might look like if we let canon play unchanged up until the moment where Adrien loses control of his powers:

Hawk Moth: Cat Blanc, I'm giving you the infinite power of destruction!! Together, you and I will seize Ladybug's Miraculous and awaken your mother!!! Obey!!! Cat Noir: (tries to fight back but fails) I'm sorry, Ladybug! (He succumbs his akumatization and transforms into Cat Blanc. Ladybug watches in horror at his transformation.) Hawk Moth: Seize her Miraculous, My Son!!! (Cat Blanc lifts his right arm to Ladybug, activating Mega Cataclysm.) Ladybug: No, Adrien! You have to resist!! (Cat Blanc whimpers as he changes his mind and points his arm to Hawk Moth.) Hawk Moth: How dare you!? Not me, Adrien!! Cat Blanc: (whimpering while looking to both of them) I... I don't know what to do!!!!!!

Instead of having the mega cataclysm go off here, we instead see this: Ladybug and Hawk Moth both realize that Chat Blanc is incapable of listening to either of them. Hawk Moth's reaction is to turn and run away, desperate to save himself. Ladybug's reaction is to run to her boyfriend's side, not caring about the danger. She wraps her arms around him, closes her eyes, and tells him that it's okay. That she's here and she loves him and she'll stay here and love him no matter what. It doesn't matter who his father is, it's still him and her against the world now and forever.

The more she talks, the weaker the mega cataclysm grows. By the time she makes her final vow, the mega cataclysm is little more than a flickering glow. A black clad hand touches both of her hair ties, disintegrating them, leaving her hair to fall free around her face since that was a thing in this episode. The minor wardrobe change makes her pull back and look at her boyfriend to see that he's back to Chat Noir, a purified akumas fluttering off in the distance. Chat Noir is crying, clearly distraught, but he's himself again because Marinette's presence allowed him to focus on her love over his father's poison. They won. Love won. Fear and abuse lost.

The couple embraces. Hawk Moth's big gambit failed and they now know his identity so the fight is almost over. Paris will soon be free.

From there you can have an epic battle with the temp holders where the butterfly and the peacock are recovered. Nino gets to punch Gabriel in the face a dozen times or so as a treat and Adrien gets to cuddle up with some treats, sitting the fight out since he's already done his part by surviving the reveal of his father's identity.

You could also have Gabriel just give up because he doesn't have any moves left and the full implications of what he did are smacking him in the face, sapping him of the will to fight. Anything that lets this asshole suffer is fine by me! Emilie's fate is up to you. I like to make her at least semi-decent and revive her to give Adrien a happier ending and Gabriel the horror of divorce papers, but that's just me.

Final Thoughts

As I said at the top, I'm going to continue to complain about the way that Adrien was written in these episodes. I don't consider his victim status a reasonable excuse for the way these episodes played out. If anything, his victim status is an even bigger black mark against the writing!

I come to family-oriented media for hope and happy endings! I want stories about victims being empowered! I want Gabriel's controlling nature to totally backfire on him and not in a mutually-assured-destruction way like we saw in Chat Blanc. I want Gabriel's choice to cost him everything and for him to suffer that loss for the rest of his life while Adrien gets endless love and support, allowing him to survive the reveal and go on to live a happy life. If that's not what you're selling, then I'm not buying thus me giving up on canon after the season five final. There's just no coming back from that kind of colossal writing failure.

I will try to remember to use the word "forced" when describing the problems (as in "forced to kill"), but that's the only thing I can change while still sharing my honest opinion since my main problem with these episodes isn't Gabriel's treatment of Adrien. While I don't like how far these episodes took Gabriel, you don't need to rewrite him to make the episodes work. It doesn't matter how far the writing takes Gabriel, he should never be able to successfully manipulate Adrien while threatening Adrien's supposed True Love.

As soon as Adrien knows that Marinette/Ladybug is in danger, it should be game over for Gabriel because love is supposed to be stronger than all of the awful things that Gabriel has done up to and including the sentimonster crap. In fact, the sentimonster crap just makes it even more important for Adrien to win! Gabriel should think he has victory in the bag because he views Adrien as a perfect doll, but love proves Gabriel wrong letting Adrien overpower his amok and win. The trope is called "love conquers all" not "love conquers the mildly inconvenient." The more dire the straits, the more important the win!

Unfortunately, that's not the message Miraculous is sending. By letting Adrien give into his father's control in the show's darkest hours, the message is that Gabriel's control is stronger than love. That Adrien will never be free. That he was Gabriel's perfect doll and you were silly if you ever expected him to be more than that. That's not a message that I'm that ever going to agree with and is yet another reason why I only bring up Adrien + these three episodes when I talk about the power of love failing.

You are never going to convince me that Adrien being allowed to give into despair was a good thing unless you pair that argument with some major changes to canon like love square not being together and/or Adrien not knowing that his actions would endanger Marinette. Even then you need to design that fix in a way that ultimately allows Adrien to win otherwise you are sending a terrible message to the audience. There should never be a scenario where the final battle ends the way canon had it end.

Gabriel is the show's big bad, Adrien is his main victim, and the theme of their relationship has been control. That means that, when it comes to the final fight with Gabriel, Adrien needs to be involved in a way that gives him agency. I'm not saying he needs to fight his father on his own or even at all! I'm okay with him sitting out the fight so long as you pair it with something big like Adrien being the one to learn Gabriel's identity or something more dramatic like my simple Chat Blanc fix.

However, Adrien sitting out only works if it's his own, freely-made choice. As soon as you pair it with something like magic nightmare dust you are once again sending the message that Gabriel's control is the strongest force in Adrien's life. I truly don't understand how anyone can embrace that message and call it good, especially when canon didn't ultimately do something positive with it like letting Adrien become stronger as time went on. He actually got weaker as the show went on!

Chat Blanc saw everyone lose because Adrien was able to at least try to fight back, denying his father total victory. Ephemeral saw none of that fighting spirit and Gabriel just outright won. Season five once again saw Gabriel win only, this time, the show didn't even let Adrien be part of the fight. What an uplifting character arc for Adrien! (That was sarcasm.) Play the episodes in reverse order and you might actually have something if you add a fourth one where he finally wins!

If you want to talk about more minor conflicts where the power of love should have won then I'm happy to do that! Canon has lots of options to pick from! But unless you specify that you want to talk about something minor, these three episodes are going to be my only examples of the power of love failing because they are the only times when love completely failed the character in question. Total loss, no silver lining, writers wtf are you doing?

Listing times when love failed Marinette or Alya in the same list as these three episodes just feels insulting to Adrien unless the context is something like a list ranking the failures from smallest to largest. I'll once again point out that I don't even list the other times when love failed Adrien because my issue isn't Adrien as a person. My issue is Adrien as a tool of the narrative and the asinine message that the Agreste arc sends to the young children this show is aimed at. I wouldn't even be okay with this in a show aimed at adults unless it was clearly marketed as a grimdark take on superheroes. Miraculous should not feel like a kiddiefied version of The Boys and yet here we are.

Why was Adrien granted magical powers and allowed to fight his controlling father for five seasons if Gabriel was just going to die without Adrien getting a decisive victory? Why focus season five on Gabriel controlling Adrien to such an extreme if Adrien was never going to be allowed to break free? Why make Adrien the main love interest and focus the entire show on romantic love if you don't have anything positive to say about romantic love? Why bother getting the love square together before every single final showdown in the freaking show if their relationship status was going to mean nothing? Where is my power of love always so strong?

(Btw, that song I kept quoting is from the original English dub soundtrack to Sailor Moon R - The Promise of the Rose. It plays as love and friendship save the planet Earth from an asteroid. The updated dub replaced the song with the original Japanese soundtrack and the comments are full of people complaining about the change because the song just takes this scene to the next level! I bring this up because Sailor Moon set many people's standards for the magical girl team show genre that Miraculous is clearly taking inspiration from, but failing to fully embrace. If you don't want love and friendship to be on par with nuclear weapons and asteroid attacks, then don't write a show about love and magic aimed at kids.)

#ml writing critical #ml writing salt #power of love #adrien deserves better #reference #Fingers crossed that this goes over well #Hopefully now my brain will stop obsessing over this and we can go back to business as normal #Since trying to just stop thinking about it wasn't doing the trick #Fly free my little post! The fate of the blog rests in your hands!#I'd say that you hold my sanity's fate too but that's long gone so let's not overstate your mission.#Special thanks to my partner for listening to me read this from start to finish multiple times as I obsessed over the wording #Fun fact: I read around 10 love and friendship books over my brief break #They just stoked my rage over how badly Miraculous does this trope #How dare you spit in the face of my comfort food trope!!!!!!!!#Especially when it's such an easy trope to get right #We're talking about the power of love here not a successful strategy for winning a land war in Asia

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simpxxstan · 7 months ago

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cannn i request a bff! Wonwoo with lots of pining and emotional constipation pls 🤍 love ur writings

anon requested: hiii can i please request a f2l wonwoo trope? Luv ur writings<3

this is a part of my 550 followers event, but requests are now CLOSED.

genre: sugary fluff, gamer!wonwoo, high school au, friends to lovers.

word count: 6.9k words.

listening to his voice asmr audios and leftover while writing this- can't you tell i just love wonwoo's voice? he's just such a warm hug personified! pls note: i've combined two requests here because they're similar! thank you to both anons for requesting! i'm so sorry again for the delay T_T i rewrote this many times. i hope you like it!!

warnings: very shy reader, gaming references (likely to be inaccurate due to lack of personal experience, please excuse!).

it's the last year of your high school, and yet it doesn't feel like so. you may have turned 18 early this year, but it doesn't feel like the year you graduate from school and move on to a higher, more independent direction in life.

or perhaps you're just not mature enough. not ready enough to embrace adulthood. either way, the intense fear of what the future holds has you by the throat since the start of the year. it's not that you're trying to escape from responsibilities, but somehow it daunts you to no end that you'll have to leave this cocoon you've lived in all your life. step out of your comfort zone and into the real world.

perhaps it's not a maturity thing. perhaps it's just an introvert thing.

you're quite sure none of your classmates feel this scared of the future right now. most of them have their career goals defined, ready to sit for entrance examinations, or write applications to foreign universities. most of them have had experiences bordering on the edge of adulthood already- like their first kiss, their first date, their first relationship. most of them have already figured out where they see themselves three or four years from now- even if it not perfectly, it's brilliant that they even see themselves four years from now.

you? you don't even know if you'll be able to make it on time to the first day of class. it's literally the last year of school, and you've still not mastered the art of not getting late due to extreme social anxiety on the first day of class. somehow you rush into class, ankles burning from running through the campus, moments before the teacher arrives. you notice that there are only two seats left available in the class- one in the first bench, and another towards the back. you wonder if you should be sitting in the front to make a good impression on the teachers on your first day, but then your friends wave to you from the back, and your decision is made for you.

just as you finally settle down, your nerves easing out with the flowing conversation with your friends, the teacher walks into the classroom, creating pin-drop silence instantly, but she's not alone.

"good morning, class. welcome your new classmate for this year." on hearing her words, you look up from the new book your friend's been showing you.

the book almost drops from your hands.

"hello! my name is jeon wonwoo. nice to meet you all!"

in this moment, you're so, so glad you didn't choose to sit in the first bench. in this moment, you're so, so glad you always stick to your friends who generally do the talking for you whenever you're outside your tight-knit friend circle. in this moment, you're so, so glad you're the most ordinary-looking girl in the class.

because all of these ensure jeon wonwoo doesn't even spare a glance at you. and if you can keep yourself in check, he will not spare a glance at you for the rest of the eleven months of the school year. it's anyway just one year. if you keep out of his sight for long enough, he'll forget you exist.

as you walk home that evening, you wonder why must the universe be so cruel to you that it's now decided to make jeon wonwoo enter your class? wasn't it enough that he tormented you every day after beating you at games, that now you would have to see him daily in your immediate periphery? wasn't it enough that he'd already stolen your heart when you knew nothing of him except his voice, that now you would have to also know how devastatingly handsome he is in real life?

on reaching home, you slump down in your gaming chair and turn on your desktop.

2 messages from jeonwonubokdeongeori

you sigh before clicking the discord popup open, your annoyance increasing tenfold on reading the texts.

how was your first school day? going to a new school is so daunting T_T

daunting? with that face? with those charms? with that obvious intelligence sparkling in his eyes that no teacher can resist? what a liar. but at least he's telling you now that he's going to a new school. you can't ask him the name of the school because you don't want him to get curious about your school in return. so you keep it neutral.

i bet it wasn't as bad as mine lol wanna play and get the stress out?

wonwoo's message comes instantly, and you feel yourself melting. it does sound like such a tempting idea, especially with the way your body is still high-strung from all the social exposure and new worries of the final academic year. you want to say no- you want to start distancing yourself from him, you want to ensure your crush doesn't become serious. and yet, you can't keep yourself away from clicking on the yes button when he sends you a request to join a game.

seconds later, his voice rumbles in slowly through the other side of the game. his player is wearing a yellow outfit today, similar to your school uniform. "hey," it's a single syllable but it sends a shiver of comfort down your spine, and you can feel your body relax. it's online. he doesn't know it's you. it's just a game between friends.

"hi won," you voice is a soft whisper, almost afraid that he'll recognise you. you're sure he won't, because you've made sure he hasn't heard your voice throughout the day- but even if he does, he doesn't indicate it in any way.

he chuckles on the other end. "you sound so tired. you probably need sleep more than a game." "i've been drinking too much soda- no way i'm gonna sleep soon," you stifle a yawn to keep talking to him. "mhmm, soda's not good for you, princess." princess. you know it's not a nickname, or meant to be endearing. he's simply referring to your username, pretzel_princess, which you go by during games. three days ago, you'd wished you'd used your own name as your username, just so you can hear him say your name while playing, although princess sounds good enough. but in hindsight, it's been the best decision you've ever made.

"jeon wonwoo, are you just stalling the game?" you smirk, and you hope he hears it in your voice.

he does.

"well then, game on, princess."

after that, you can't keep your eyes away from wonwoo. the initial shock has now worn down- and suddenly the reality seems more stark in full HD. he's right here- literally ten seats away from you. in all likelihood, you could just whisper and he would hear your voice.

and identify you at once.

and yet, you can't keep your eyes off him. he seems so.... different in real life, and yet exactly the same. you start linking every tiny bit of character you've learned about him till now to his real self.

like how he's complained to you multiple times about his poor eyesight- and you've scolded him about his terrible gaming addiction and how he should stop immediately, only for him to laugh it off. you can see how thick his glasses are, and how he has to squint often even with the glasses- and you make a mental note of scolding him again tonight.

like how he doesn't like swimming during the physical education classes- instead opting for athletics. he's told you before he has a fear of drowning, and now you witness this with your own eyes too.

like how he's an introvert too- keeping mostly to himself, although everyone is trying to get a piece of him. with his looks and his natural charm, you can hardly blame the girls and the guys for swarming around him every day. although it's barely been a week since he's joined, he's already solidified a fanbase- people who are ready to give him homework, their lunchboxes and also their hearts. it's no surprise though- you're no different than them. you were just a tad bit more pathetic- at least they hadn't fallen for him after hearing just his voice.

it feels like you're leading a double life. you've never been more thankful for your introvertedness- perhaps the only time you've been thankful for it. but this is the only way to ensure wonwoo doesn't know who you are. you do your best to ensure your friends don't get curious about him, and even if they do talk to him, you stay away from the spot at that moment. it's even better because none of the teachers know you by your name (you've never given them reason to), hence no one in class draws attention to you. your friends call you by a nickname (not princess), so even if they're calling out for you from a distance, wonwoo could never realise it's you.

well. things are not as bad as you'd think they would be.

unless of course, one counts the worsening of your infatuation. it's already been a while since you've known each other as ... online best friends. well, you'd been gaming together on the same server for a year now, but it was only eight months since you'd dm-ed him, and initiated a conversation, ignoring your shaky hands. thankfully, he'd replied almost instantly- and that had sparked things off. too fast, you'd gone from strangers who game together occasionally to friends you share your feelings and thoughts with. wonwoo had been surprisingly easy to open up to. perhaps because he resonated with most of your experiences? with him being as introverted and shy as you see him now, you'd understand why. or perhaps because you'd always thought he would be just an online friend- a voice behind a screen. never more tangible than that. and there was a comfort in that. no fear of judgement. no insecurity about your looks. no worries about embarrassment. and even when you had your voice on, conversation had flown easily, and so had giggles and intimate moments.

you slam your head against the textbook you're reading as you remember that night when you'd messed up. of course, your crush was nothing new. you'd slowly and surely begun to develop feelings for the gentle-voiced gamer who had won his way into your heart with his gaming skills and the softness with which he treated you. like how he would immediately catch on to any exhaustion in your voice. how he'd remember the little details you told him about your daily life. how he'd remind you to sleep instead of playing another match, because you'd have to wake up early the next day. sometimes, with your headphones on and wonwoo's voice floating in, you'd escape from this real world, away from the fears of your life, into a world where it felt like you were sitting with him, on a swing, in a playground. and sometimes, your imaginary world took you to a rollercoaster, him holding your hand as you both screamed with the adrenaline rushing to your head. and eventually, your imagination would take you to a world where you'd picture a faceless wonwoo hugging you after a long day of studies, just as his words comforted you with the similar warmth of a hug.

well, faceless no more.

your face heats up as your mind strays to the thought of hugging wonwoo. knowing he was so much taller than you, and so beautifully built even in the hideous school uniform, his hugs would absolutely engulf you and drown you in his warmth. you shake your head as you focus on your book again. you shouldn't be daydreaming about your online best friend. not when you don't even have the guts to own up and face him in real life.

the next month is largely uneventful. the novelty of wonwoo's presence slowly wears off, although his fanbase does not. but you've grown smart at avoiding him. with your study pressure mounting up, you both have lesser time to play games anyway, but whenever you do, you're bound to lose your sleep. because after two hours of just you and him, your noise-cancelling headphones focusing on every breath he takes and curse he utters while playing, your mind feels like levitating. he frequents your dreams on those nights- and you dream about an alternate reality where you can sit next to him in the library and hear his gentle voice from up close instead of simply through your headphones. where his laugh shakes up your desk and you can actually see the beautiful smile you know he must have on his face whenever you crack a silly joke and he laughs for you. where you can solve his maths sums with him, after he complains about finding them too hard.

you know you're being stupid. you have your college entrances coming up really soon, and you should move on from this silly crush of yours when you're not even brave enough to do anything about it. but you simply can't distance yourself from jeon wonwoo.

"what are you thinking about, princess? you're very quiet these days." his question isn't probing, but caring. "it seems like there's a lot on your mind."

you sigh. "there is, but i can't tell you."

"no? wonwoo's upset on hearing that."

you double take on hearing that. "it's nothing serious. just silly worrying. i don't want to dump on you-" "you're not dumping anything on me. if you keep stuff from me, i'll feel even more helpless and sad." you try to understand if there's any hint of fakeness in his voice, but you cannot hear anything except the slow rumble of genuineness in his voice.

"i- i can't tell you, wonwoo."

"is it about me?"

"what? no. no, no. why would i be upset about you?"

"i don't know. why else would you hide things from me?"

"ummm-"

"i won't push you. but i really want to help. i like hearing you laugh often, princess."

he doesn't raise the issue again during that match, but his words linger in your mind for longer than they should. it ends up distracting you during the game, and he tsks into the microphone.

"i'm seriously going to abort this game if you don't tell me why you're playing so badly. i thought we were friends."

best friends, you remember telling wonwoo two months back. you're the closest thing to a best friend that i have, won. and he'd said it back, his voice shy, me too, princess. i'm so glad i found you.

"you're not going to let this go, will you?" your voice is vulnerable, as his caring words really seep into the layer beneath your skin. "if you want me to, i will."

"then i do want you to. i'll talk about it when i'm ready, wonwoo."

he sighs, and you feel the sound of his breath send a shudder through your spine.

"as you want, princess."

it's midterms week and you're neck-deep in assignments, when wonwoo's call request comes in. you don't think twice before accepting it, knowing he's a great study partner.

"hey! are you busy with exams?" "so right i am." "yeah lol, me too. 'tis the season, huh?" he chuckles, and you grin. if you consider the fact that it's almost the end of two months and wonwoo still doesn't know you, then it makes you feel ... kinda good on the inside. like you're in a detective movie. like you're in a spy film.

"my brother says he wants to meet you." you almost choke on your coffee when you ask him, "what?!" "yeah, he said that he's heard enough about you, now he wants to see if you exist at all." "you can just tell him i exist-" "he doesn't believe me. says that i'm too loser to have a sweet girl friend like you."

sweet girl friend.

pretty sure wonwoo doesn't intend it to sound like the way it does, but it does make your skin burn up with an unbearable blush instantly. all your sleepiness is gone instantly, his words acting quicker than coffee, and you sit upright.

"you're not a loser. and you have plenty of female friends, i'm sure." "no, and no. princess, i play games on my computer every day, barely have a social life, and haven't gone on a date with anyone in my seventeen years of existence. i don't think you understand my loser level."

"and your brother has done all of this?" "you bet. he has a girlfriend and he's just fifteen. seems kinda illegal to me." you laugh. "as long as he isn't crossing lines, it's not illegal i guess." "hmm true. the point is- we're really very different, my brother and i. and i admit i am a loser... in real life."

you coo at him, your voice becoming softer. you can't imagine him having confidence issues- not when you've seen how perfect he literally is. "i think you're just overthinking. firstly, gamers aren't losers. secondly, you do have a social life. you have me. and you have those other friends you game and hang out wit-" "yes but seungcheol and mingyu are also losers. seungcheol is literally in college but hasn't been able to get laid yet." wonwoo's dead-serious words make you burst out laughing, and he joins in.

"i think it's just because you're all shy. it's okay! you know i'm super shy too." there's a pause before he replies, and you almost think you've lost your internet connection. "i don't think you're as shy as me, though." "there's no comparative metric, won."

another pause. "maybe. but i wish i wasn't like this. you know, you and i live in the same city, but we've never even planned to meet up or anything."

your pulse flutters in your neck. "but that's the charm of online friendships! we connect so well, but just talking online is enough, isn't it?"

"yes... but don't you ever get curious?"

you're moments away from a meltdown. you want to confess your secret and run away from the desktop at the same time- because you're sure he's recognised you. but thankfully he replies before you do. "but then again, i wouldn't ever be able to face you because of how often you've beaten me in overwatch." and his laugh breaks the tension and you take a deep breath of relief. fuck. that was close.

"wonwoo, you were right when you'd told me you'll need some help in pre-calc. i understand that the curriculum in your previous school was slightly behind ours here, which is why your foundation is a bit weak. don't worry, smart boys like you catch up in no time." you'd barely paid attention to your math teacher's ramblings, eager to pack up your bag and leave for home. it's finally the end of the class day, and you're excited for the weekend. you also know wonwoo's birthday is tomorrow, and you've bought a new character for him on the game you're both obsessing on currently, and you can't wait to hear his excited, high-pitched giggle tonight when he receives his gift mid-match.

"y/n and seori, i want you to discuss amongst yourselves who would like to tutor wonwoo in his pre-calculus foundations for the rest of this term. you'll receive extra marks for this on my paper, so i request you to take this seriously."

your bag slips from your fingers, as you look up, an ashen look on your face. it's clear that your teacher wants you to take this up with the way she's got her eyes fixed on you even as seori has already stepped up to her. thankfully she speaks before you need to. "i'll do it, ma'am. y/n, i hope that's okay with you? i really need the extra marks," she whispers the last bit to you, and you let out a sigh of relief as you nod your approval. you look away from seori to see wonwoo's eyes on yours, and you panic for a moment. but there's no sign of recognition. just a mild curiosity and confusion flash in his pretty eyes, before you avert your eyes and walk out of the classroom.

it's probably a coincidence, you tell yourself as you walk back home, your heart still racing from the close escape you made mere minutes ago. it was bound to happen some time or the other, you console yourself, you're lucky to have avoided it for two entire months anyway. but as soon as you reach home and switch on your desktop, you see a notification flash.

4 messages from jeonwonubokdeongeori

what can he have to say? what if he has actually recognised you? you gulp, your palms sweaty as you click it open.

hey can we skip tonight's gaming session? i have a small gaming party with my friends tonight and then they'll be coming over for a sleepover

oh, must be a birthday celebration.

sorry if you were looking forward to it :(

you were looking forward to it. you've spent a solid bit of your savings from your pocket money to buy it for him, and you'd really looked forward to, well, hearing his reaction. but you wouldn't dream of barging into his plans.

ooh it's not a big deal at all! i hope you have fun, wonu <3

you see him come online instantly, and you're hit with panic. maybe you shouldn't have sent the heart. it was overstepping boundaries, wasn't it?

i'll make it up to you, princess ^^

god. he knows too damn well how to make your heart flutter.

or maybe you can come along and join the party? you already know seungcheol, right? it'll just be him and a couple of my other friends. jungkook and mingyu. they're really fun too hehe

the panic rises in your throat again. fuck. you remember exactly what happened the last time you joined a gaming party with wonwoo and seungcheol. and you've spent the entire last month trying to erase it from your memory, and if you could, really, from wonwoo's memory too. so you're pretty quick to turn him down.

nah i think i'll pass have fun tho!

and then you go offline to avoid spiralling into your thoughts, and get into studies. which is actually what you should be doing, instead of gaming with your crush anyway.

silence.

radio fucking silence.

there's just the pitter patter of the rain outside, but no replies from wonwoo.

i like hearing you laugh.

i'm glad i found you.

sweet girl friend.

it all feels like a lie when you stare for hours at the unseen, unread, unopened message that's staring back at you from your chat with wonwoo. it's almost night, one would think he could text back with a simple thank you after you'd spent half your pocket money on buying him the new character.

or maybe wonwoo is just like all the other boys. what did you even expect? that he'd be rolling over in gratitude after you buy him something he's been audibly craving for for weeks now? that he'd confess his love for you after you stupidly purchase something for him that has no real value?

get out of your damned imaginary world, y/n, you chide yourself mentally as you wipe the lone tear that has begun sliding down your cheek. but it doesn't make sense! after all these months of getting to know wonwoo, you simply can't believe it that he's this heartless that he won't even have the courtesy of replying back after almost an entire day of receiving the gift. and you know it's not an unwanted gift. and you also know wonwoo isn't the type to ghost you either! you'd think he's busy or caught up in something- but you can the little text next to his discord icon showing that he's been online today. then there's really no logical explanation left that can explain this kind of beha-

oh.

of course.

of course! he must have found out who you are. fuck. maybe during the delivery of the character, they must have shown him your email address or something to show them who's send him the gift. and that would be a total giveaway because your email address definitely contains your name. either he's put two and two together and matched princess with y/n, and naturally, instantly felt repulsed by you- hence the lack of response.

or.... (and this is honestly the worse option) he thinks you're just y/n who's sending him a birthday gift that miraculously coincides with something he really wants. oh my god. this really is much worse than the other alternative because now he thinks of you as a creep who can't even meet his eyes in class but must be stalking him and finding out about his gaming hobby.

another slow tear rolls down your cheek, and the phone drops from your hands and crashes down on the tiled floor, the screen cracking from side-to-side.

at this point, you should just drop out from school.

but of course you don't. monday comes round, and so does your period. you've never been more thankful for cramps before today. at least it saves you from the embarrassment of facing wonwoo. as you toss and turn in pain on your bed all day, trying fruitlessly to read your study material, your mind keeps going back to one face.

a single, delicately created face, with eyes that look alive. complete with a simple pair of metal glasses, shining against the spots of barely-there acne on two cherub cheeks.

you shake your head and dump your books on your lap. there's no point in this. it's a risk you've taken from the first day when you'd decided to hide from him instead of coming out as your true self. who knows, perhaps he wouldn't have rejected your friendship so blatantly then? instead, you try to sleep. maybe that'll help you feel refreshed.

but oh, you're not even left relieved in your sweet sleep. a single scene keeps replaying in your head as soon as you shut your eyes.

it was the first time you were in a live gaming party with voice unmuted. wonwoo, two of his friends, and two other friends from the common gaming server, smera and roy. he'd convinced you to switch on your mic because it was just friends who you trusted anyway. well, that was just the first mistake.

the second mistake had been, of course, to get comfortable enough with all of them to agree to play that silly truth and dare game. and then one thing had led to another, and a little bit of prodding from smera had ended up with you confessing that if there was anyone in this group who you'd kiss, it'd be wonwoo. if the mortification of that wasn't bad enough, smera had gone ahead and said that she'd even lowkey expected it. and within moments everyone else had forgotten your confession- it was as if they didn't even know how hard it had been to admit it- when rob confessed that he really want to kiss mingyu right now and the group started cheering.

the third mistake, and the worst one, had been staying on call with wonwoo after the party was over. "so you'd kiss me, huh?" he'd asked softly, his voice laced with a grin, as you'd blushed and thanked god he couldn't see you right now in your embarrassed live wire state. "among the others, yes. i don't know the others as well as i know you!" you'd rushed to explain, hoping your voice wasn't quivering as fast as your heartbeat. and then wonwoo had gone silent for a very long time, before saying, "and what if we knew each other outside this world, y/n? would you kiss me then?"

and then you hadn't been able to reply. you'd frozen in your spot, until wonwoo's shy laugh could be heard and he'd resumed the game.

you don't know if you could still reply today. perhaps it's the secret you'll hang for.

your excuse only lasts so long and eventually it's wednesday and you make your way out of bed. you've mentally lectured yourself enough times to know all the different things wonwoo might have to say to you and you've armed responses for most of them (although you think you're going to end up running away in almost all of them, forgetting your practiced response in the spur of the moment). your first class in mathematics, and you decide to arrive just a few minutes late so as to avoid any chance of conversation with wonwoo before class.

"oh y/n, you're finally here." your legs falter as you appear at the door of the classroom and find your teacher looking you straight in the eye. "sorry i'm late, ma'am!" "it's okay. i'd thought you'd be absent again." "i wasn't feeling well, ma'am, i'd mailed-" "yes yes i know," she nods her head impatiently. "it's good you came today. you'll have to start tutoring wonwoo from today itself. mid-terms are in two weeks, and i want his level to improve by then." "i thought seori...?" "seori isn't professional enough, from what wonwoo's told me."

it's only at this point that you realise that there's another pair of eyes focused on you in a piercing gaze. you know who it is, and you try your best to avert your glance.

not professional? you wonder what that may mean.

"fix up a timing for the sessions, and please don't disappoint me, y/n." she says the last bit with a pleading tone in her voice, and you wince. "alright, ma'am."

all through the class, there's only one thing playing in your mind on loop. you. wonwoo. in the tutoring room. alone. for the next two weeks. fix up a timing for the sessions. don't disappoint me. your lower lip wobbles and you can feel the tears inching in your eyes slowly. expectations. disappointment. aren't you just a disappointment to everyone? to your parents. to your teachers. to yourself.

even to wonwoo.

if you hadn't kept your head down for the entirety of the class, gazing at the sight outside the window, your attention completely unfocused from class, you would've noticed a figure turning to look at you whenever the teacher has her back to the class. but you don't notice him, so you don't realise his eyes fixed on you when you make a dash out of class as soon as the teacher leaves the classroom. you want to escape the inevitable for just another day- defer it, rather. you know it's going to be torture when wonwoo finally accosts you. as you make your way to a corner in the school, a secluded spot near the roof, where you've never seen anyone else going except yourself, a flurry of thoughts float in your head. all thoughts that should ideally deter you from running away. but you do it nonetheless, because you can't think straight. you feel the tangible cloud of these worries clog your throat as you hide in your favourite hideout corner and cover your face with your hands as you feel the fresh wind blow onto your heated skin.

he's going to hate you more now because you're delaying the academic help he deserves, simply because of your stupid nerves.

he's likely going to complain against you to the teachers, how you've taken academic responsibilities casually, and mar your good academic record and rapport with teachers. fuck, that's a further lower chance of getting the LORs you need.

he's also likely going to talk about what a creepy stalker you truly are in your mutual gaming circles, and you'll be ousted from the one safe space, your hobby, the one place where you've felt unjudged, the only place you can be yourself.

fuck. fuck. f-

"how long are you going to hide from me, princess?"

you freeze on spot. the voice is unmistakable, it's haunted your dreams long enough. you can feel a warmth in your periphery and you know he's right behind you. the hair on the back of your neck rise up into goosebumps and you know you've been caught.

you turn around slowly, your eyes fixed to the ground. you see wonwoo's sparkling white sneakers standing close to yours, and in the silence of this secluded spot, you can hear his breathing, slow and steady, completely contrasting your own shallow, frenzied breathing.

"i d- don't kn-know what you're t-talking a-about." you stutter through every word, your skin burning up with the keen awareness of wonwoo catching you red-handed.

"so that's how it going to be?" you can see his toes edge slightly forward, as if he's rocking in his shoes. and then you start to feel slightly less tensed. you start to focus on the tone he's using- it's not particularly menacing. in fact, it's not angry at all. which is surprising because-

"are you mad at me, princess?"

this time you look up, and you're hit with the force of wonwoo's beautiful eyes looking straight at you from barely any distance. with his height, he's easily towering over you, his glasses making his gaze more stern... and yet the way he's looking at you, it's so... soft? how odd that he's asking you if you're mad at him, when truly, it's quite the opposite.

"i sh-should be asking y-you that."

"me?" he tilts his head to one side in query, eyebrows furrowing. "i could never be mad at you."

your voice quivers as you speak the next words, "but you now know who i am."

"and?"

"that's why you're avoiding me!"

"that's true." you take a step back at his words. "so you do admit it, wonwoo?"

"i do. if you're referring to my lack of communication in this last few days, then it is true. i won't blame it on any excuse except my own conscious behaviour."

god. he's going to just say it like that. straightforward. no roundabouts. no sugarcoating. perhaps it's better like that. will save you the pain of hope after the heartbreak.

you look straight into wonwoo's eyes. "i get it, wonwoo. i've disappointed you. and you regret ever making friends with you. because i'm not popular, nor smart, nor attractive. you know how you'd wished if we could ever meet in real life? the truth is, now you're glad you didn't follow along that plan, otherwise you'd regret it terribly."

"i do regret it." he lifts his hand to brush your bangs out of your eyes. you almost jerk at his touch, but it's too gentle. when it gently wisps along your cheek, it feels... almost familiar. how cruel of him to do this before he's going to reject you outright. how cruel of him to give you a taste of heaven before leaving you heartbroken.

"why are you doing this, wonwoo? can't you leave me alone?"

his hand frames your cheek, cupping it barely, and you want to lean into his touch. when his cold palm slowly begins getting warmer through your touch, he speaks again. "i regret not meeting you sooner, princess. or rather, y/n. i regret not following up on that, y/n, because that way you'd never think such mean things about yourself. not just are you being mean to yourself, but also you're being mean to me!"

"to you?" your eyes grow wide, and a small smile plays on wonwoo's lips. "yes. you're not giving me a chance to explain myself. i'm sorry for disappearing on you after my birthday." he pauses, and you just raise your eyebrows, waiting for the explanation he's so desperate to give.

"yes, well. dumb move on my part. but then- i didn't know how to react after you sent that character to me!"

"how did you know it was me?"

"the mail id?"

"yes. damn, yes. i knew it."

he chuckles, "but i knew that you were princess long before that." "you did?" "seungcheol's sister goes to this school, you know? she'd recognised your voice immediately." you gasp at his words, "but you're still not letting me finish."

you take a step back, suddenly reeled back to reality. you try to move your face away from his hands, and his left hand drops from your cheeks, only to grab on to your wrist even as you step away. "i was stupid. i didn't know if you sending me the gift was... just friendly or something more. and just because i feel something more doesn't mean you will reciprocate it."

"what do you mean?" your voice is softer now, glazed with curiosity.

"the reason why i disappeared on you was because i needed time to think my way through with how i wanted to approach this with you. and convincing our math teacher to get you, her favourite student, to tutor me was the easiest way out ever." there's another chuckle, but your mind is spinning.

"approach what with me? wonwoo?"

he takes another step towards you, his hand slipping lower than your wrist and holding your palm now, inches away from locking his fingers around yours.

"i like you, y/n. don't you know that already?"

your mind whirls again, and you blink for a few seconds. "what?!" he blinks back at you, equally shocked. "i thought it was obvious, y/n. do you think i play games with any girl every night? share every life update with any girl every night? can't go to sleep without hearing the voice of any girl every night?"

"won-wonwoo..."

"so tell me now, please. spare me the heartbreak and tell me why you sent me that gift."

it feels surreal, but wonwoo's racing pulse against your fingers makes you realise that he's real. this is real. this is happening. wonwoo likes you.

"of course i like you wonwoo. i even told you i'd kiss you. wasn't that a giveaway enough?"

"you said that because i was the only one you'd kiss in a room full of other friends... but it didn't mean anything!" he's quick to protest, and your heart melts. maybe wonwoo is shier than you'd thought. so you take a step closer to him, and link your fingers into his finally. "well now you know what it means."

three bunked classes later, you and wonwoo make your way back to the main classroom area of the school. the rush of adrenaline in your body is insane right now, because you're holding hands with wonwoo. with wonwoo! you don't think you can believe it, so you keep looking down at your hands to make sure its real.

"i wish i'd met you before y/n. i was so desperate to know you more! it was so obvious," wonwoo's low giggles are music to your ears as he leans in to whisper his sweet words. "i thought that's why you kept running away from me." his hand slips out of your lock, and around your waist, pulling you in gently. you gasp at his move, and look around quickly to see if anyone's looking. but thankfully, there's no one in the corridors right now, so you let his hand remain there.

"i kept hiding because i was worried how you'd react on knowing the real me, won." "but i knew the real you already. sight isn't our only sense, you know." "yes, but i'm not-" "i don't care what you're not. there's so many things i'm not. and yet, you say that you like me. so what matters is you and me, don't you think?" you turn your head up to look at him, blushing at the fond look in his soft eyes. you want to hug him, pull him towards you and never let him go. but you settle for leaning closer into his body for now.

"i was promised a tutoring session, you know." he says slowly, as you realise you're both walking towards the isolated tutoring room of the school. it's empty right now, because it's still class hours. "do you want to be tutored now?" you raise your eyebrows, concerned at his wish to break out of this precious moment you're having and instead study. "i want to be in the tutoring room right now. there are no cctvs, see." you spin around to quickly check, blushing at the way he's whispering into your ear. but before you can turn back to him and reply, you feel a wet peck on your cheek, and your body bursts into flames.

jeon wonwoo just kissed you.

"wonwoo!"

"what? did you not like it?" he whispers, slightly alarmed.

"no! just! warn a girl before you do things like this, you know." you try to hide your blush furiously, but fail, as he wraps you into his embrace. "there are no other girls to warn. only you. and i don't need to warn you. because now you know i do things like this." and he leans in again, and before you realise, he's left a kiss on your nose. your heart races as you avert your gaze, and you're both erupting into giggles. "you're really a menace, jeon wonwoo." he cups your face with his hands, looking right into your eyes.

"and you're my princess, y/n."

205 notes · View notes

bunji-enthusiast · 29 days ago

Note

Bunji I was wondering if you’ve seen Rise of the Guardians

And was hoping you could make reader like North/Santa or Bunny or even Tooth or Pitch I think they would be fun to write and read

(I feel like Sandman would be like Groot and I font want you to make doubles and I feel like Jack would be super easy to write and he’s everyone’s favorite but I wouldn’t mind if you decide to write either of them)

𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

Bunnymund!reader

Summary || Somewhere between dimensions—where Spring kisses the void and reality feels like soft soil underfoot. The air is heavy with residual magic and fractured molecules, the kind of place that shouldn’t exist…but does, because you do.

Note // funny you say this, cause I already had something in the works for Bunnymund!Reader for this thing! I love, love this movie with my heart. Definitely a timeless piece ❤️

You don’t remember falling. But you remember landing.

Sharp. Sudden. Like your name was ripped from the wind and tossed into this world without a warning.

The crater you made is still steaming when she floats down.

Atom Eve. All will and pink light. Her hair rides the breeze like a flame not quite ready to burn out. She's cautious, her hands flickering with latent transmutation energy. Not a villain, not a victim—but unsure if you're either.

You flick your ear. Dust yourself off. Aster Bunnymund doesn’t do ‘damsel’ and certainly doesn’t do ‘defenseless.’

“Alright,” you say, stepping forward, claws flexed just a little, your boomerangs humming low on your back. “Which galactic gremlin decided it'd be real cute to hijack the Easter Bunny mid-delivery route?”

Eve cocks a brow. “You talk. That’s new.”

You smirk. “So do you. Should I clap?”

“Are you… a kangaroo?”

The air stills.

You tap your foot twice. A flash of light, and a tunnel opens behind you, lined in wildflowers and softly glowing eggs. You don’t go through. Not yet. But you let her see.

“You bite your tongue, sheila,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “I’m a Pooka. Guardian of Hope. Bringer of Spring. The original chocolate alchemist. And definitely not your average marsupial.”

Her eyes flick to the ground, registering the blooms sprouting beneath your feet—life, actualized by magic and intent.

Then back to your eyes. “Right. Definitely not average.”

You sense her hesitation. Not fear. Curiosity, laced with that righteous concern heroes carry like second skin.

“Look,” she starts, her voice gentler now, “I thought you were a threat. Some kind of illusion—this place messes with matter. You fell through a quantum rip that shouldn’t even be here. Which… doesn’t explain the sentient eggs.”

“Oi. Barry and the boys are sensitive. Don’t call ‘em eggs.”

The sentient eggs in question hop into formation behind you, saluting Eve with wobbly pride.

She tries not to laugh. Fails. “Okay. That’s… kinda adorable.”

You roll your eyes.

“Fine,” you sigh, finally relaxing. “Not here to fight. Was delivering some Hope to a struggling planet—next thing I know, boom. Spliced sideways through a transdimensional chocolate storm and now I'm talking to a bio-alchemist in a pink cape who nearly atomized me on arrival.”

She floats down fully now, feet touching the ground with a quiet crunch of flower petals.

“Sorry,” she says, sincere. “I don’t usually go full defense mode unless I’m—”

“Stressed?”

She blinks. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

You tilt your head. “You glow differently when you’re carrying too much. Hope’s a tricky thing. Harder to hold when it’s not your own.”

There’s a pause. A silence. One of those rare, golden ones.

Then she says, “How’d I get so lucky?”

You shrug, flashing a half-smile. “Maybe the universe thinks you needed a reminder. Or maybe…” You gesture at the blooming life between you. “Maybe Hope shows up where it’s most at risk of being lost.”

She doesn’t answer. Not with words.

But she nods, slow and soft, and for a second, you both just stand there—two beings carved by magic and trauma and too many choices, meeting not as enemies, not even as allies. Just as beings who get it.

You tap your foot once. A tunnel flares open.

“Take care, Atom Eve,” you say, stepping toward the glow. “And if you ever need a bit of Hope again…” You wink. “Just look for the chocolate.”

And with that, the Guardian of Hope vanishes into the soil.

Spring lingers in your wake.

Somewhere on the outskirts of a war-torn city, where spring never had the chance to bloom. The sky is smeared with ash and steel-gray clouds. Blasted concrete and shattered windows sprawl like broken bones. Inside a crumbling clinic, laughter echoes—soft, weak, and impossibly brave.

They’re just kids. Orphaned. Sick. A few too young to understand what war means. But they believe in you.

And that’s more powerful than any weapon.

And, you’re bleeding.

Not badly—but enough. A slash across the arm from one of those shadow-stitched mercs, the kind of thing that smells like sulfur and broken dreams. Hired muscle. Or worse—Fearlings in disguise.

But you don’t move. You crouch low in front of the children, boomerangs already humming, glowing faintly in your palms.

They cower behind you. A girl tugs on your fur. “Bunny?”

“Shh. Gotcha, darl’, don’t worry.”

You flick your wrist.

A bladed boomerang arcs into the night, cracking into one of the creeping figures slinking across the rooftop. It falls in a burst of ash and bone.

The others don’t run. They laugh.

Too many. Even for you.

But you're the Guardian of Hope, dammit. You don’t run either.

You push the kids back toward the cracked stairwell, the one you reinforced with roots and a bit of stubborn magic. Not much time. Not much strength left.

And then—A ripple in the air. A pink shimmer. A shift.

And suddenly they’re gone.

Not the kids—the shadows.

They implode, flash-fried into bursts of energy and torn atoms. You blink, senses whirling.

And there she is.

Atom Eve.

Hovering in the ash, surrounded by a corona of light and fury.

Eyes glowing, palms still hot from the transmutation. Hair snapping behind her like a banner of war.

“You again,” you mutter, straightening with a wince. “Told you to look for chocolate, not carnage.”

She lands next to you, quick scan of the kids huddled behind your barrier. Her eyes soften. Then harden again as more figures crawl from the smoke.

“Guess I was looking for both.”

One of the mercs lunges. You step into it, elbow crackling against its ribs, and spin a kick that launches it back toward a waiting construct of hers—an energy spike that spears it midair.

“Nice form,” she murmurs.

“Yours ain’t bad either.”

Then: a pause.

“They’re sick,” you say suddenly, voice low as the ground shakes beneath another blast. “Some of ‘em don’t have much time. But they believe. They still believe.”

“I saw.” Her jaw clenches. “That’s why I’m here.”

You fight side by side. Like it’s instinct. Like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

Boomerangs whip through shadow.

Constructs burn holes in the dark.

You summon roots from below—twisting vines of life that bind and break the enemy—and she builds shields around the children, hexagons of raw will and pink brilliance.

The battle burns hot, fast, and then—

Still.

Just rubble. Breathing. And the tiny sound of coughing behind you. You crouch by the kids again. One hands you a melted egg, soft and slightly lumpy.

“You dropped this,” he says.

You smile—tired, cracked, but real.

“Thanks, mate.”

Eve walks over, sits beside you in the dust.

“You always do this?” she asks, watching the children settle back down, laughing despite the ruins.

“Only on Tuesdays,” you grunt. “And maybe when the world’s got the nerve to forget what Hope looks like.”

She doesn’t speak for a while.

Then, soft: “You shouldn’t have had to do it alone.”

You glance over.

‘Neither should you.’ You think. You nudge the egg toward her. “Go on. Eat it. Might turn you into a rabbit.”

She laughs, actually laughs, and takes a bite.

“You’re insane,” she says.

“Probably,” you reply. “But Hope usually is.”

The wind is calmer now. The smoke from the fight drifts upward in lazy curls, not frantic anymore—just memory. Shadows retreat into their holes when the light’s too strong, and right now, there's nothing brighter than the kids’ laughter.

You sit on a broken chunk of concrete, one leg stretched out, the other bent, arm resting casually over your knee like you didn’t just take down half a strike team with glowing boomerangs and sheer obstinance.

The smallest of the kids—Lani, maybe six—climbs into your lap without asking. You don’t flinch. Don’t pull away.

You just smile, slow and fond, like this is the part you actually came for.

“Bunny,” she says, whispering like she thinks it’s a secret. “When I grow up, can I be magic too?”

You chuckle, adjusting your arm so she’s more comfortable.

“‘Course you can,” you say. “Already are. You laughed during a war. That’s top-tier sorcery.”

She giggles, muffling it in your fur.

Eve watches from a few feet away, leaning on the edge of the clinic wall. She doesn’t try to interrupt. She just watches, her arms folded, but not in that defensive way—not anymore.

There's a softness in her face that wasn't there when you first met. It’s cautious. Thoughtful. A little sad.

You look over and catch her eye.

“Something on your mind, love?” you ask, voice low but not unkind.

Eve hesitates, then walks over slowly. She crouches near the kids, but keeps a respectful distance, like she doesn’t want to disrupt the magic.

“How do you do it?” she asks, barely above a whisper. “They’re hurting. The world’s burning down around them, and still... they laugh. You make them laugh.”

You shrug a little. “Hope ain’t a shield, Eve. Not really. It’s… a seed. A fragile little thing you plant in the worst dirt, with barely any light. You don’t tell it what to be. You just give it a chance.”

She lets that sit for a beat. Her eyes flick to Lani, then the others playing with your eggshell constructs, turning them into crowns and pretend swords.

“I’ve tried to fix things,” she says. “Big things. Buildings. Systems. Families. I can rewrite molecules but not… not what people carry in them. Not always.”

You tap your claw against your chest, just once.

“’Cause you’re trying to heal cracks by covering ‘em in steel. Doesn’t work. Not when what people need is to remember why it’s worth fixing in the first place.”

Eve looks at you. Really looks.

And something clicks behind her eyes.

Not a solution. Just… space. Space for something new to grow. Lani suddenly looks up at her.

“You’re the pink spark lady, right?”

Eve blinks. “Uh… yeah. That’s me.”

“You were really cool,” the kid says. “You made the bad guy pop like a balloon!”

Eve smiles, surprised at herself. “Thanks. I was kinda hoping no one noticed how shaky my hands were.”

“I did,” says a boy behind her, grinning through missing teeth. “You were shaking, but you didn’t stop.”

Eve exhales slowly. That means more than she expected.

You give her a small nod.

“See? Told you. Magic.”

She looks at you again, not with awe—but with something gentler.

Respect. Maybe even belief.

“...You know,” she says, “I think I get it now.”

You grin.

“No you don’t.”

She frowns. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t get it,” you repeat, standing slowly as Lani slides off your lap. “Not yet. You’re startin’ to. But the real secret is you never fully get it. You just keep showing up.”

A beat. Then you add, “You gonna keep showing up?”

Eve looks down at her hands. Then at the kids. Then back to you.

“Yeah,” she says. “I think I am.”

The kids are asleep now. Safe. Tucked under makeshift blankets, heads resting on one another, small chests rising and falling. Eve stands by the doorway, arms folded, eyes scanning the distant skyline. And you—well, you’re still seated, sharpening the edge of a boomerang that doesn’t really need sharpening. Just something to do with your hands.

That’s when the hum starts.

Low. Unnatural.

A moment later, a distortion peels into the air with a flicker of blue light. A thin ripple opens like a tear in fabric—and a man steps through.

Long coat. Balding head. A wicked scar running down his jaw. Cool green light from a teleportation badge still flickering on his collar.

Cecil Stedman.

Your ears twitch.

You feel the shift in the air before he speaks. Not malice. Not even threat. Just calculation. Cold as steel.

“You're taller in person,” Cecil says, looking right at you.

You stay seated, brushing a few egg fragments from your lap. “And you're more wrinkled than the rumors.”

He doesn’t laugh. But the corner of his mouth moves, like it almost happened.

Eve turns slightly, but doesn’t speak yet. Just watches. Like she’s weighing something.

Cecil’s eyes scan the scene. The kids. The cracked earth. The torn-open shadows that haven’t quite dissolved.

“I saw the fight,” he says. “Drone footage. Satellite pings. You held your own.”

“Did more than that,” you mutter. “These little ones are still breathin’, aren’t they?”

Cecil nods once. Slowly. Like he’s filing away the confirmation in a long ledger of debts and dangerous favors.

“Hope,” he says after a beat. “That’s what you’re about, right?”

You glance at him. “That a problem?”

“No. It’s inefficient. Messy. Wildly unpredictable.” He pauses. “But it works. Sometimes.”

There’s a longer silence. Eve shifts, finally stepping in.

“What do you want, Cecil?”

He looks at her. Not surprised. Not threatened either. But there's a flicker of... awareness. A different kind of calculation now.

“You,” he says plainly. “And him.”

You snort. “What, the GDA looking to hire a rabbit now?”

“I’m looking for results. You got them.” He steps forward, one boot crushing an empty eggshell. “I’ve got too many variables on the board, and not enough people who know how to work outside the rules without setting the board on fire.”

Eve folds her arms tighter. “You want us to work with you?”

“No. I want you to work near me,” Cecil says. “I know better than to try and leash a wildfire. But I also know you’ve both seen what’s coming. You feel it, even if you can’t name it yet.”

You look up slowly.

“…Pitch,” you murmur. “Or somethin’ worse. Somethin’ whisperin’ to the broken pieces of this world.”

Cecil doesn’t blink. “I don’t care if it’s called Pitch or the goddamn Boogeyman. If it threatens Earth, it goes in the ground.”

The air’s quiet again. Except for the soft breathing of the kids. You flick your boomerang into its holster with a clean snap.

“You don’t believe in what I do,” you say. “But you’re not stupid enough to ignore it.”

Cecil’s voice is low. “I don’t believe in magic eggs. Or flower-covered boomerangs. But I believe in results. You saved these kids. That earns respect. And maybe… a line I can call when the sky starts cracking.”

Eve glances at you.

You meet her eyes.

There’s no need to speak.

You just stand. Tall. Dust-covered. Ears twitching in the wind.

Then: “We’re not soldiers.”

Cecil nods. “Good. I’ve got too many of those already.”

He turns, raising his badge. Light flickers. But before he disappears, he looks back once.

“I’ll be in touch.”

Then he's gone. Just the wind again.

Eve exhales. “He’s the kind of guy who puts a knife in your hand and tells you it’s for the greater good.”

You nod. “Aye. But if the blade’s comin’ either way… might as well decide where to aim it.”

Eve chuckles dryly. “And here I thought I was the jaded one.”

You grin. “I’m ancient, love. Comes with the ears.”

The world is quiet here. Not because it’s peaceful—but because it’s trying to be. The kind of quiet that grows in between the cracks of heartbreak and healing.

You hadn’t planned to stop.

You were passing through—tunnel to tunnel, root to root, delivering hand-painted eggs and tiny woven charms of spring to a few kids at the hospital down the block. You were meant to disappear again. Back into the warren. No attachments.

But something held you here. A tug.

Hope sometimes plants itself in strange soil.

She’s kneeling in the garden bed, sleeves rolled up, dirt under her nails, hair tied in a lazy bun. The green shirt she wears looks lived-in—creases from cradling a baby, wrinkles from sighing too hard, maybe. There's a tiny little shovel in one hand and a ceramic rabbit figurine tucked between a patch of marigolds.

Your nose twitches.

“Symbolic, or just seasonal?” you ask from the fence.

She startles, turns—but doesn’t flinch. That’s rare. Most people do.

Her eyes lock onto yours with practiced wariness. The kind you only learn after losing something you thought was real.

Debbie Grayson.

You recognize her from the files North once handed you. And from the grief that trails behind her like a whisper in the breeze.

She squints at you, shading her eyes. “You’re not exactly hiding. Big, fluffy, and wearing what looks like boomerang holsters.”

You smirk. “Only the finest Outback leather.”

She stands, brushing her palms on her jeans. “So, what are you? Magic rabbit? Alien? Fever dream?”

“All three, if the day’s long enough.”

There’s a beat. Then, surprisingly, she laughs. A quiet, tired sound, but real.

You hop over the fence without a word, landing soft on the mulch beside her. “You’re Debbie.”

She nods. “And you’re real, apparently.”

“Name’s Bunnymund. E. Aster, if you’re formal.”

Her brow lifts. “Like the Easter Bunny?”

“Guardian of Hope,” you say with a half-bow and a twirl of one ear. “Not just eggs and chocolates. Though I do pride myself on presentation.”

Debbie leans back against the edge of a raised bed. There’s something sharper in her gaze now, like she’s connecting dots.

“You’re not here for Mark.”

“Nope.”

“Not for Cecil?”

You shake your head. “Never been fond of secret labs and grim philosophies. Man smells like old smoke and newer regret.”

That gets a full laugh from her, this time. She covers her mouth.

You take a seat beside a tomato plant, careful not to crush the stems. “I stopped by to see some kids. One of them said her mom used to tell her spring comes early if you smile hard enough. That sounded like magic to me.”

Debbie’s smile fades slightly. “That sounds like something I’d say to Mark. When he was little.”

You glance at her sideways. “You’re still sayin’ things like that. Just takes longer for the echoes to come back.”

There’s quiet between you. The kind that doesn't need to be filled.

She watches the breeze flutter through the wind chimes hanging by a wooden post. “Do you ever get used to it?”

“Losing someone you thought was unshakable?” you ask, ears low.

She nods.

“No,” you say gently. “But you get stronger around the shape of the hole.”

Debbie looks down at her hands. “I thought I married a good man. A hero. Turns out he was just… playing the part.”

“He was loved,” you say. “That part was real. Even if he didn't deserve it the way you hoped.”

She doesn’t answer. Just presses her fingers into the soil.

You reach into your satchel and pull out a small wooden egg. Painted in delicate brushstrokes—flowers, vines, tiny stars. You offer it to her.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“Hope. Takes different forms. Sometimes it’s a promise. Sometimes it’s just... the courage to keep showing up.”

She takes it slowly, like it might disappear if she touches it wrong.

“You’re stronger than he ever was,” you say softly. Debbie looks at you as you stand.

“I’ll be around,” you add. “If you ever need help. Or someone who still believes in good men. Even if they’re hard to find.”

You tap your foot once. A shimmer of light, and a tunnel begins to open beneath you.

She steps forward, voice quiet but steady. “Thank you.”

You pause just before disappearing.

“You keep planting,” you say. “I’ll keep watch.”

And then—gone.

Just wind, earth, and the quiet sound of chimes in a garden where grief and growth now share roots.

Chicago sleeps fitfully below, the sky strung up with restless stars. Streetlights flicker like uncertain thoughts. Somewhere between yesterday’s grief and tomorrow’s storm, you return.

You step out of the tunnel not with a bang, but with the soft whisper of dew on grass. The roof creaks beneath your weight—not built for seven-foot Pookas, but holding firm like everything else in Debbie’s life lately.

She’s already up here.

Wrapped in a coat two sizes too big—probably Nolan’s. There’s a glass of something amber by her side, untouched.

She doesn’t look surprised when she sees you.

“I was hoping you’d come back,” she says. Not like someone asking for a miracle—more like someone who knew the wind would shift eventually.

You tilt your head. “Rooftop stargazing. Classic grief move.”

She lets out a breath that’s halfway to a chuckle. “You’re not wrong.”

You sit beside her. Careful not to crack a tile. “It’s quieter up here. Easier to pretend the world makes sense when it’s small beneath your feet.”

Debbie leans forward, eyes tracing the skyline. “Mark’s gone. Off-world with Eve. I told him it was the right call, but—”

Her voice breaks, just for a second. “God, he’s still just a kid. My kid.”

You say nothing. Just let the moment be.

Debbie reaches for the glass. Holds it. Doesn’t drink.

“They left yesterday,” she says. “The GDA gave me the usual: ‘classified mission, planetary risk, he'll be fine.’ But I saw Cecil’s eyes. No one is ever just ‘fine’ when he’s involved.”

She turns to look at you now. Direct. Unblinking.

“I don’t need a bedtime story. I need to know if there’s anything you can do. You’re not from here. You’ve probably seen things we haven’t even dreamed of.”

You lean forward, arms resting on your knees. “I don’t work for Cecil. I don’t track missions. I don’t answer to flags or labs or secret satellites.” Then softer, “But I listen.”

Debbie exhales slowly. “And what do you hear?”

You close your eyes.

A hundred whispers ripple through the air—joy, dread, faith, pain. But one stands out: a flickering thread of hope that bends but doesn’t break.

“Your son’s still burning bright,” you say. “He’s scared. Determined. Holding the line.”

Her lips tighten. “So I just wait?”

“No,” you say. “You hold. You stay strong so he has something to come home to.”

There’s a long pause.

“I don’t feel strong,” she admits.

You reach into your satchel and hand her something—a pendant made of twined silvergrass, woven with delicate threads of moonlight.

“What’s this?” she asks, fingers tracing its soft spiral.

“Anchored hope,” you say. “You wear it when you’re scared, or angry, or tired of being the one who holds everyone else together. It won’t fix the pain, but... it reminds you why you endure it.”

Debbie closes her hand around it.

“Will it help?” she asks quietly.

You look at her—not the sadness, not the strength—but her, the full weight of all she’s endured and still choosing to stay kind.

“It already is,” you answer.

Silence settles in again, not awkward this time—just shared.

Then she says, “You’re not what I expected.”

You grin. “Few of us are.”

You stand to leave, but before you vanish into the earth again, she speaks once more.

“Come by again,” she says. “Even if it’s just for tea.”

You give a half-bow, one paw to your chest. “You got it, Debbie Grayson. And if tea turns into smashing the occasional lab or decking a morally grey GDA director—well, I’m flexible.”

She actually laughs, you disappear beneath the stars.

And above, a mother wraps her coat tighter, pendant in her hand, eyes on the sky—not waiting anymore, but holding.

Holding fast.

Within the week, Mark and Eve are back. Battered. Changed. Alive. Chicago breathes a little easier tonight, but the air still hums like a string pulled too tight. You feel it the moment you step through the tunnel into her backyard — the tension hasn’t left, it’s just wearing a different face.

You don’t knock. You never need to. The ground splits gently beneath your feet, and you step out beside the flowerbeds Debbie had finally gotten around to replanting. Poppies. You remember — she told you they were her mother’s favorite.

The back door creaks open before you can move.

Debbie leans on the frame, mug in her hand, tired warmth in her eyes.

“I figured I’d see you again,” she says, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Come on in, unless you’ve got some mystical rule about doorways.”

You grin. “Only when dealing with vampires and bureaucrats.”

She actually laughs. That’s new. And healing.

You duck under the frame, careful not to knock anything over, and follow her to the kitchen. There’s a kettle warming. The scent of ginger and chamomile floats through the room.

“They’re upstairs,” she says, before you can ask. “Mark’s asleep. Eve’s pretending she doesn’t need rest. She’ll crash in an hour.”

She sets a second mug in front of you. “Thought you might want something warm.”

You tilt your head. “You brew tea for interstellar rabbits often?”

She smirks. “Only the ones who leave hope charms on my roof.”

You take a sip. “I hear those are limited edition.”

Silence laps at the edge of the moment. Comfortable now. Familiar.

Then, Debbie speaks again — softer.

“You were right, you know. About holding fast.”

You glance at her. She’s not looking at you, just watching the steam rise from her cup.

“I didn’t know how I’d do it. Not after Nolan. Not after everything he said to Mark. But then Mark came home, and he looked at me like... like he still needed me to be his anchor. Not just his mom. But his safe place.”

She looks up, eyes glistening—not with tears this time, but with something brighter. “So I held. And he came back. And I didn’t fall apart.”

You reach into your satchel, pull out a single egg. Painted in soft blues and greens, with a blooming tree etched across the shell in gold leaf. You slide it toward her.

“Spring’s not just a season. It’s a promise,” you say. “That even after the harshest winter, things can grow again.”

Debbie touches the egg gently, reverently. “Thank you, Bunny.”

You lean back in the chair, resting one foot over the other.

“You’re welcome, Debbie Grayson.”

She finishes her tea in silence, and you sit there together a while longer. No world-ending crises. No gods or monsters. Just two people — one human, one Pooka — breathing the same quiet air and watching the future grow roots beneath them.

The sun barely stretches through the windows, painting the walls in soft golds and peach-colored light. Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaks. Quiet footfalls. Slower than usual — sore, likely — but familiar all the same.

You're still seated at the kitchen table. Debbie’s already left, humming something to herself as she busied with breakfast. She hasn’t said much, just the occasional look, like she was still trying to believe things were calm enough for a morning this normal.

You feel him before you hear him.

Mark.

He’s moving carefully, like he’s not sure if his body’s ready to be up again. A low groan escapes as he comes into the kitchen, one hand rubbing at his shoulder.

His eyes land on you. He blinks, and again.

“...You’re still here?”

You offer a crooked grin, ears flicking in mock offense. “Hey, I brew a mean cup of chamomile.”

Mark’s face twitches — he’s trying not to smile. He fails.

He pulls a chair, sits slowly. Winces a little.

“I figured you’d disappear like you always do after everything cools down.”

“I was going to,” you say, resting your paws on the table. “But then I remembered someone owes me a rematch in bowling.”

Mark chuckles — hoarse, tired, but real. “You still cheated. You can’t hover the ball all the way to the pins.”

“Not my fault you never specified Earth rules.”

Silence settles for a moment. Not heavy, not awkward — just the kind that comes when you’ve both been to war and made it home.

Then Mark speaks, voice softer.

“Thanks for showing up.”

You look at him. Really look.

There’s still blood dried along the hem of his sleeve. Bruises darken under his eyes. But it’s his expression that catches you — worn, but clearer than it’s been in months. Like something inside finally stopped spiraling.

“Any time,” you say. “Especially if kids are involved. You did good, Mark.”

He glances down, jaw working.

“I didn’t feel like it. I got so—” His hands curl into fists. “I wanted to kill them. I almost did. I don’t think I even cared if I made it out.”

You lean forward.

“But you did. And you didn’t lose yourself. That’s what matters.”

He meets your eyes, searching for something in them. Something that says he isn’t alone in that kind of rage.

“What if it happens again?” he asks, quieter now. “What if I stop holding back?”

You tilt your head. “Then you lean on the people who remind you who you are.”

A beat.

“That includes me, by the way.”

Mark exhales, a slow smile forming. “Thanks, Bunny.”

You shrug, pawing a bit of toast from the tray. “Besides, I’m technically your emotional support cryptid at this point. Comes with the cape.”

Footsteps again. Eve.

She enters in a too-big sweatshirt and messy hair, still pretending not to be sore.

“Of course you’re still here,” she mutters, but there’s no venom in it. Just affection.

Mark glances between you both. “We’re doing pancakes or what?”

You grin.

“Only if I get the first one.”

Eve plops down beside Mark, elbow nudging his ribs — gently, though he still flinches with a groan. You smirk into your mug.

“Tough guy,” she teases.

“Don’t start,” Mark groans. “I’m lucky I’m not still in traction.”

“You’d heal in like… ten minutes.”

“Not the point, Eve.”

Before either of them can escalate into their usual back-and-forth, Debbie reappears from the hall, balancing a large plate of pancakes like it’s an Olympic sport. She’s already smiling when she sees the three of you sitting there — her expression softens in a way that feels... earned.

“Good,” she says. “You’re all here.”

She sets the plate in the middle of the table, and somehow it’s exactly the kind of pancakes that tell you you’re safe: golden, fluffy, warm. A few have smiley faces burned into them — probably for Oliver, but you nudge one onto your plate like you’re claiming treasure.

“Maple?” you ask innocently, peering up at her.

Debbie rolls her eyes, grabbing the syrup bottle and tossing it to you. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Eve reaches over to snatch one of the smiley pancakes before you can. “I saw that first.”

“You cheated, I sniffed it out.”

“You don’t even have a nose under all that fur!”

You both pause.

Mark points a fork at you. “Wait. Do you? Actually? Because I’ve been wondering—”

Debbie slaps a hand on the table, firm. “No anatomy talk at breakfast.”

Everyone freezes. Then laughs.

It’s… light. The kind of laughter that doesn’t come from jokes, but from relief. From being here. From being alive.

Mark tucks into his pancakes with a quiet hum, chewing slower than usual — thoughtful.

“You know,” he says, glancing around the table, “I can’t remember the last time it felt like this.”

“Like what?” Eve asks, leaning her head on her hand.

“Normal,” he says. “Not perfect, but… normal.”

You don’t say anything — you just nod.

Debbie stands behind him, running a hand through his hair without saying a word. The gesture makes him still. Then, almost shyly, he leans into it.

Eve watches him. Then glances at you. “Thanks for not vanishing this time,” she says.

You grin between bites. “Can’t vanish on an empty stomach.”

Debbie moves back to the stove, and as she does, she speaks without turning.

“You’re welcome here,” she says. “As long as you need.”

You pause mid-chew.

It’s quiet again — but this time it’s that same warmth from earlier. The kind you can sit in for a long time and not want to leave.

Mark catches your gaze.

And you know, in that moment, he believes it too.

#invincible fluff #invincible fanfic #invincible crossover #invincible #invincible x y/n #invincible x you #invincible x reader

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thesiltverses · 22 days ago

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How do you do podcasts, beyond the writing stage? The Silt Verses inspired me to try writing audio drama, and I have ideas, but I am only one person and all I can do yet is write. How do you get published, so to speak? How many people do you have to involve at a minimum (beyond VAs)? How do you find those people?

Let me try and tackle this in increments!

#1: With the right story format, you actually don't have to involve anyone else, so don't feel like you're missing some vital component. You don't need anything but yourself to get started.

An intimidating number of the most successful audiodramas ever made are either single-performer or begin that way before expanding to accommodate guests, and that includes both narration format and action-driven shows (WTNV, Old Gods, Knifepoint Horror, Malevolent...). With a lot of these shows, the writer is taking on performing duties despite a lack of formal voice acting experience or training, and acting as the sole producer into the bargain. Sometimes the ambient soundtrack for these shows is very basic and homespun - as it was for us with I Am In Eskew - or sometimes a sound designer has been paid for a higher-quality track that can play out during an episode, but there's no ongoing sound design work required.

Beyond that, the number of roles will entirely depend on your ambitions and your workload (and again, you can take on as many of these roles as you want to and have time for). If you're working with actors, someone needs to direct them and effectively manage the recording schedule, and someone needs to review and edit their takes. If you want action, someone needs to design that action. Plan to your needs, not anybody else's team size. You can always scale upwards as you go.

#2: How do you find collaborators beyond VAs? This can definitely be hard. But you could start at the Audio Drama Hub on Facebook, or advertise on the Fiction Podcast Weekly newsletter, or I just saw the Audio Drama Creators Discord mentioned on the audiodrama reddit (which is also a very helpful resource). If you have local networks - whether it's a university/college drama society or a citywide actors' page - that can be worth seeking out as well. I'm sure there'll be tons more so gonna drop in the audiodrama tag in the hope that we can get you more ideas.

My word of caution would be - I recommend putting a considerable amount of work into both the writing and the initial production plans before you start seeking other people out, particularly if you're operating on low or zero budget. Writing is a more popular pursuit than production, generally speaking, and I feel like over the years I've seen a lot of "looking for a director/producer/sound designer to help me create a show!" requests from someone who's got a largely unwritten idea and a lot of initial excitement fuelling them - when of course internet strangers largely aren't going to want to commit their time and energy to a project until they have some real tangibles and specifics.

#3: There's absolutely no bar to getting published, per se (other than paying for a hosting platform). If you're thinking of an arrangement where you submit your scripts to an already-formed production team, unfortunately that's something that doesn't reliably exist as far as I'm aware! Much better to do it yourself, generally speaking.

Hope that helps and best of luck!

#audiodrama #audio drama

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profilerclra · 8 months ago

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Oh no, i love him. Pt. 2 | Spencer Reid x Bestfriend!Fem!Reader

more fluff !!

find part.1 here!

content: Spencer calls reader stuff like "honey" (yes, I am obsessed w pet names), Mutual pining, Reader is an overthinker (just like me fr).

warnings: none

The day before, you and the team had finally arrested the unsub that was threatening your best friend. You hoped to get a good night of sleep after one week of horrible nightmares, well that's not what happened.

Instead, as soon as you lied down, your head now started to remind you of everything that went down the previous day. You and Spencer, what almost happened, the awkwardness during the whole day, how you two basically didn't speak the rest of the day, the way the team were staring at you both… You were scared that your friendship was ruined, scared that everything was a misunderstanding and now Spencer thought you were a creep.

"Fuck this" You say, accepting that there's no way you would sleep, getting up and heading to your living room to at least watch something to pass time until you had to go to work.

You turn on the TV, and notice that the channel is playing an episode of doctor who.

"Very funny universe" You say, it's like Spencer is everywhere around you. The cardigan you stole from him on the coat rack, his favorite book that he annotated for you on the coffee table… You can't escape him, and there's no way you're losing him.

You watch a couple episodes, a few moments later you look at the time. It's 5:30, you start to get ready, have your breakfast and head out to the office. Besides your attempts, you still arrive early, being the only one already in the office besides… him.

"Couldn't sleep either? " You say to Spencer taking him out of the focus on his paperwork and setting your things down to your table that was close to his.

"Yeah, there's a lot on my mind to be honest" He says, looking up at you

"Mine to…" You say, grabbing a chair to sit down next to him. "Spence, we really need to talk. I need to tell you something"

He does not answer, just maintains eye contact, waiting for you to continue. You take a deep breath, gathering courage It's now or never, you'll never know if you don't ask.

"Ok, yeah… I love our friendship, I really do, it's like top 5 best things that ever happened to me. I don't know what a would do without you, and if you don't... agree with what I say I really need us to continue the same, I cannot do this job, hell I can't exist without you"

You take a deep breath, gathering courage It's now or never, you'll never know if you don't ask. "But I don't know if I'm delusional, but there's no way this - You point between you two - is just friendship love. And this felling has been driving me crazy for months now, and I need to know and if you don't feel the same that fine. What do you actually feel for me, Spence?"

Your heart feels like it's coming out of your chest, the seconds before he answers feel like hours and then he just… Starts laughing

"Fuck you Spencer" You say as you see the man laugh in front of you, you expected that he would not reciprocate your feelings but laugh at them was at another level.

"No, honey, I'm sorry, it's just… Isn't it obvious?"

"Not really, Spencer" You roll your eyes at him and cross your arms at your chest

"Darling…" He says, putting his hands on both sides of your face, looking at your eyes, "I don't think there has been a single day on my life since I met you that I haven't been in love with you"

As soon as he finishes that sentence, you feel your heart skip a beat and your stomach drop. You lean in and kiss him deeply, and he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close. You both stand there, embracing each other. You have never felt so loved.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x bestfriend!reader #fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid drabble

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straystarr · 8 months ago

Text

From the Start; lmh

in which you end up getting partnered with the bad boy but it turns into something meaningful. (Somewhat strangers, to friends)

a little soft, a little boring, but comforting (at least I hope)

Blank minds were accompanied by bored expressions and still your professor ignored the dull atmosphere as her words drowned before reaching your ears. Philosophy of sex and love — while immersive in its contents and literature, it was oddly scheduled in the evening of the day. Naturally, you were drained, ready to crawl into bed and sleep the day away. Showing no interest was not your intention, in contrast, this had to be your favourite class of your crammed university schedule. Your days were filled with due dates after due dates. Exam after exam. One long lecture to another. Life was repetitive at the moment. And one can only enjoy the repetition for so long.

You couldn’t help but allow your pen to draw minimal doodles onto the loose leaf sitting in front of you, anything to keep you sane. It was obvious you weren’t the only numb soul as the room seemed to be suffocating due to cumulative body heat and exaggerated exhaustion.

You were pulled away from your pointless observations, the door to the class swinging open, disrupting the scattered peace in the room as heads lifted at the sudden noise. Your eyes caught a glimpse of his dark clothed figure before you swiftly turned your head back towards your notebook, already anticipating the reactions around you.

If it were any other late student, every person in the room would have nonchalantly returned to their business, carefree of the lives outside of their own. Instead, waves of whispers brewed as he confidently made his way towards his designated seat, which happened to be right beside your own.

He gave no attention to the soft chaos his presence ignited, but his plain eyes glared at anyone who daringly gazed for more than expected.

Something about Lee Minho always had people on the edge of their seats. Whether it be the countless rumours surrounding his reputation or the way he detached himself from any social setting.

You never understood it really, the way people obsessed over him. He was popular, for all the wrong reasons. It was either romanticising his ‘cold’ personality or scowling at his existence. How he became known as the bad boy will always remain ridiculous to you.

Some claim he spends his nights at clubs, some say his personality speaks for itself, others believe only people involved in illicit activity would stain their skin so “excessively”, thrown off by the tattoos visible when his arms were out in the open. Stereotype after stereotype was all it was. You found most of these reasons to be baseless, filled with the flaws of people's own beliefs and values.

Sure, he wasn’t the friendliest person, but that doesn’t justify the shit he received on a daily basis. Even if what people said was true, what did it have to do with them? He was just living his life. And still, people managed to bury him six feet under.

He never seemed bothered by the distaste he received, rather amused, a smirk flourishing on his lips with every new story created in his name. Even when all eyes were on him or when assumptions about his life were brought about in conversations, he always stuck to himself, never talking to anyone, a facade of oblivion hanging above his head.

The only people you’ve ever seen welcomed into his own little world were his group of friends, specifically, Han Jisung and Bang Chan. But even then, he remained conserved, only giving small reactions in contrast to their big personalities. You always wondered how they got along. Jisung was known to be a social butterfly on campus, always waving, always laughing, a person one can’t help but be drawn to. One time, he mistook you for someone else and gave you a back hug, spending the next five minutes on his knees profusely apologizing for touching you. Chan was more laid back, but he enjoyed the company of other people. He always lightened the mood with his cheerful and calm persona.

Their relationship took the concept ‘opposites attract’ and played it into reality. It was comforting knowing such a friendship existed in a complex world.

“Can I borrow a pen?” The request came from your right, somewhat hidden in your professor's speech about Vrangalova’s association of love and commitment to sex. You met eyes with him, face stoic and reserved, expectant of your generosity. It wasn’t the first time he had asked you for a pen, and it wouldn’t be the last time you held one towards him. “Thanks.” He muttered, eyes already gone from your sight. You smiled in response, even if he couldn’t see it. It was moments like this that solidified your liking towards him.

In a way, you cared for Minho, watching from the sidelines, stealing little glances whenever he was in the room or catching yourself frowning every time his name was carelessly thrown around. It’s not that you had a crush on him, or that you pitied him, but it’s the same way you get concerned when you see a friend stumble. You flinch as you imagine their potential pain. You hope they're ok. And then you move on with your life. It is possible, and it does happen — caring for someone you know nothing about. The same way you can hate someone you know nothing about.

You sucked in your bottom lip as your pen tapped a rhythm onto the table. His body became clearer in your peripheral, bringing the rhythm to a pause. His thigh slightly brushed against yours, sinking into the chair with his body shifting into a comfortable position. And like clockwork, the wave of gossip diminished as time passed by, and your eyes only continued to fall, forcing you to use all your energy to keep them open.

“I’ll be ending the lecture early. But I am assigning a group paper since it seems as though you all would not be able to complete one on your own, judging from the lack of enthusiasm. To make things simple, your partner will be whoever is sitting to your right. All you need to do is research……” Her voice echoed into the air as you hesitantly moved your head to the right. Your eyebrows trailed up in surprise due to the set of eyes already directed at you.

Minho raised his hand to his cheek, resting against his fingers as he cocked his head to the side. “Y/n, right?” An unconscious smile bloomed upon hearing your name, to which he straightened his posture. Your smile threw him off. He could always guess a person's intentions by their smile. It’s either genuine, or it’s not. And he almost always received the latter. But with you, that wasn’t the case. He found himself fascinated at how quickly the smile came and left. It was an authentic reaction.

It was new to him. And he simply didn’t know how to react.

“You know my name?”

“I’ve been stealing your pens for a whole semester. How can I not?”

He was talking more than he was used to. What should have been a yes or no answer turned into an invitation to continue the conversation. And he again, didn’t know why. The side of your lips dropped at the sudden coldness glazing over his face but you thought nothing of it as you nodded and began to pack your things. “We should start the project tomorrow, are you available?” Standing, you twisted your head to look at him once again to which he just nodded before pushing himself off from his seat.

Your fingers curled under your notebook, instinctively tightening your hold to no avail as he seized it from your hands. A sound of confusion choked from the back of your throat, prompting the questioning look you sent him as he began to write something down. Bringing his head up, he processed your stare, an unexpected wave of caution flooding his system as he placed the notebook back in your hands.

“My address.” The awkwardness he displayed was fresh compared to the certainty he previously held in his actions. “Unless you’d like to work on campus, I just assumed you wouldn’t since everyone is camping out here with the semester coming to an end—” Your shoulders vibrated from the amused giggle in your throat.

He was rambling, and you quite enjoyed it.

His nostrils flared upon hearing your stifled tune. It was odd, he found himself trying his best to ignore the urge to smile along with you. It was barely a success as he patiently waited for you to speak, a hand coming to rub his warm ear. “Maybe we can head to your place together after class tomorrow?” You advised, bag already over your shoulder and coat hanging from your arm, you were eager to leave. But the quick interaction with the stranger who always had your attention lined your thoughts amidst the fatigue. “Yeah— yeah, that works.” He said with a curt nod. Twisting in place, your hand flew in the air, fingers waving ever so slightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His lips fell apart, watching as you marched your way out of the room. He couldn’t read your mind, but he so badly wanted to. Because the many questions swarming in his head just about drove him crazy. You were weird. At least in the sense that he didn’t mind your presence. He didn’t mind how easy going you were or how you made him conscious of himself. He didn’t mind that you laughed at him or how he so easily talked to you. You intrigued him. You had ever since you were paired to sit together. And it scared him. He always wanted to talk to you — really talk to you, none of this pen borrowing bullshit he settled for even when his pencil case lay untouched in his bag.

And now that he has, your voice echoed in his head like a soft melody, to which he paused the tune, frightened to dance along to the beat.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“I think so.” He managed to moan out.

You turned your head away from the screen of your computer, waist twisting in place as you caught ahold of his weary eyes, soon widening at the sudden eye contact. It was a few hours after class had ended. You weren’t really keeping track. But you were constantly checking up on the boy who lay on the couch you leaned on.

“You sound like shit. And you still look like shit.” Your observation fell on deaf ears, your eyes blurred against the rays of the white screen staring back at you. “I’m fine.” He sniffled, buried in the blankets you had wrapped around him with care.

And to think a few hours ago, you were frustrated with him, having travelled from University to an unknown area with the only hope that the address messily written in your notebook would lead you to Minho. The frustration grew with each second you loitered in the apartment's hallway. You didn’t want to assume anything when Minho never showed up for class. So you took it upon yourself to find out what was going on.

And there you stood, a deep sigh collapsing along with your eyes as your knuckles came in contact with the door one last time. Pulling your hand away, you clicked your tongue against the top of your mouth, analyzing the options you had left. God seemed to take pity on you as the door swung open, sending you staggering backwards, hand over your chest with your eyes now wide open.

Although his face was barely visible with the hood that covered his head, his feline eyes peeked through the fringes of his hair naturally covering his forehead. The scowl on Minho's face melted upon recognizing your startled figure. Tucking his hands into the pockets of his grey sweatpants, his body fell onto the doorframe. He was very much surprised with your visit, but his blank stare intimidated you into thinking your efforts may have gone to waste.

Guilt crawled into his skin, unsure whether to explain himself or let you assume what you wanted. He would usually give less than a fuck, but with you — with you, he didn’t know what to do. A sigh of relief was given as you felt somewhat reassured by Minho’s presence.

Readjusting the bag hanging over your shoulder, you paused as you felt the reassurance being replaced with confusion. You were ready to bombard him with the questions clouding your mind. Why wasn’t he at school? Did he expect you to finish everything yourself? Did he really not give a shit? Did he not like you?

But the wandering questions were easily dismissed upon noticing the way Minho couldn’t seem to hold himself up, continuously leaning against the door frame. It wasn’t until frail sniffles came from the boy in front of you, his head tossed to the side as if to silence himself. It was then you noticed how his cheeks were painted in a harsh shade of pink, the way he tried to softly clear his throat, the shadows under his eyes.

“I couldn’t go to school today and I didn’t know how to contact you—”

“You look like shit.”

The statement shot through his already weak state, but he wasn’t offended. Instead, a loose chuckle caressed his tongue as you smiled in return. You began to rock on your feet, unaware of what to do or say. Minho observed your actions, carefully stepping aside as his hand pointed towards the inside of his home. He didn’t approve of what he was doing, but he didn’t necessarily oppose it either. He was just as lost as you were.

Your body failed to move, eyes blinking while you began to comprehend his gestures. “What? You didn’t come here just to check up on me.” Dropping his hand to the side of his body, Minho raised an eyebrow, eyes glazing over the words that barely made their way out of your mouth. “I think you should use this time to try to get better, I’ll just finish the project—“ “I can’t let you complete it by yourself.”

Your eyes fixated on the back of his head as he trudged into his home, leaving you to gawk at his figure, hesitation confronting you as you consciously entered through the door frame that separated you from the outside world. Minho watched as you observed the surroundings. It was nothing like you’d imagine, but also seemed to fit him very well.

The living room consisted of a brown leather couch and a circular glass table. Nothing seemed out of place, every decoration he had with a purpose. “Why hello there.” You crouched down, hands fluffing the cat that arrived at your feet. You directed your gaze to Minho. “I didn’t take you for a cat dad.” Minho picked up the cat at your feet before placing him on a cat tree tucked away in the corner of the room that you failed to notice. “I have three.” He managed to say.

Nodding in awe, you set your bag down onto the wooden floor in front of the table, your body sinking as your jeans hit the cold ground. Burrowing his eyebrows, Minho gazed at you with curious eyes. “You can sit on the couch?” You lifted your head as you set your laptop on the table, a smile growing on your face while your hands strung your hair into a loose bun. “I prefer the floor.” Your causality ignited a comfortable atmosphere to which he found himself drawn to. His feet carried him towards the couch behind you as he slumped onto it, his sick body hindering him from acting any further. The simple fact that you spit out about yourself traced through his mind, unknowingly settling in the depths of his memory.

“You can rest for now, I’ll let you know when I need your help.” Your focus was directed towards the screen of your laptop, completely oblivious to the boy whose lips were ever so slightly curved into a smirk. “That’s not how it’s supposed to work.” A string of coughs followed his response, much to his dismay. “Yeah well, we have underlying circumstances so just listen and I don’t know, heal?” There it was again. That light tune that so easily infiltrated his thoughts. The sarcasm laced in your voice only humoured the smirk on his face, somehow guiding it to curve into a light smile as he continued to stare at the back of your head.

How odd it was for him — for him to do as he pleased, not having to shelter himself into the colourless character he lived. How odd it was for him to lie there on a random Friday, a mere stranger on his living room floor as he tried to get some sleep. Well, at least he knew your name. He liked your name. And he was so at ease with the person linked to the name. “Why did you want to work here?” Your question halted his thoughts. “I don’t like public places.” He said with eyes closed. You absently nodded, fingers typing away. “Why don’t you like public places?” He remained quiet for longer than anticipated. “I don’t really like people.”

Silence corrupted the air, bringing your chest to slowly rise in contrast to its previous pattern.

Your eyes soon landed on his face, as your head twisted in place, focus no longer directed towards the gleaming screen of your computer. It occurred to you that the line of questioning was heavy, too heavy and you were in no position to ask him such heavy questions. Especially with his weak state. Minho opened his eyes, his gaze trailed on the ceiling, avoiding your hard stare as the two of you shared the understanding that explanation was to follow. Although you were aware of the reason.

“I'm sorry.”

The apology was louder than a whisper but not quite full in tone. You inhaled, slowly turning back around as the hot air left your nose. The tapping of your fingers began again, spelling out a sentence that lacked your attention. “Why do you prefer the floor?” Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, nonchalantly resuming as your shoulders moved up and down in oblivion. “I’m not sure. I just find it more comfortable.” He hummed in acknowledgement, making an effort to rise from his place but immediately groaning while trying.

“Now what happened in the span of a day that you went from being all healthy to barely being able to move?” You asked, still typing away on your computer. Minho sighed, embarrassed and hesitant to explain the ridiculous events that occurred the previous night. But with the way your expectant eyes gleamed in the dark room, his lips betrayed him. “Jisung made me dance in the rain last night because you apparently only live once.” His voice was barely a whisper towards the end but that only solidified the giggle shaking your body. Minho smiled, conscious of the highs and lows of your laugh and somehow harmonizing with the one coming from his sore throat.

You listened to Minho’s laugh, fully aware that this was the first time you had heard it. It was pretty and contagious. And you couldn’t help but think about how nice it would be to hear it more often. “So you’re telling me, you’ve lived every girl's dream.” Your cheeks were full with pressure from the grin on your face. Minho’s smile melted into a smirk. “Jealous much?” You nodded before standing up. “Very much so.”

Minho found himself searching for you as you made your way out of his sight. But soon enough, you returned, a bowl in one hand while you kneeled beside him. You hesitated before laying your hand flat against his forehead, falling to his cheek. “I think you have a fever.” Minho weakly hummed, unsure what to say. So he continued to watch you dip a towel into the bowl, lifting his bangs up before placing it on his forehead. The cool material felt nice against his hot body, prompting him to close his eyes.

He felt vulnerable. He was vulnerable. Never would he allow someone so physically close to him unless it was his friends. But here you were, hand to his cheek with no ounce of refusal in his gut. You were as close as anyone could get with him, and it only took you a few hours to do so. Perhaps that’s why he continued to speak, susceptible to you in ways he couldn’t quite understand. “People let you down.” His voice was frail, but you caught his words. “It's like they’ve pieced my life together without even asking me about the details.” He didn’t need to ask whether you understood what he was referring to, because with the way your face slightly fell, he knew you weren’t immune to the rumours.

“People suck.” You left the towel on his forehead, turning away as you settled back down in front of your computer. “We make assumptions in order to help us understand the world. Even if our assumptions are ill-mannered. What makes sense to us, protects us.” You paused, now looking at him. “I’m sorry you’re experiencing the consequences of other people’s actions.” You spoke quietly, your bottom lip slightly pushed forward.

Minho said nothing, offered no expression of regard. Instead, he cleared his throat, letting his eyes fall shut. You bit your bottom lip, unsure how to interpret his nonchalance and choosing to continue whatever you were typing. “I’d like for you to hear about them.” Your fingers lay still against your keyboard. “The details.” The breath you were holding blew past your lips, subtly. “Well, you can tell me all about them while I finish up this paper of ours.” You stated, a smile threatening to break out on your face, a low murmur of acknowledgement coming from behind you.

“How many pages have you done?”

“Two.”

“How many do we need done?”

“Twelve.”

Minho’s eyes shot open. “I— what have you been typing this whole time, I thought you had this shit locked and loaded.” You swiftly faced him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m sorry for being invested in our conversation.” Your tone was entirely satire and he could only groan in disbelief. You both stared at each other, your face relaxing while his lit up, smiles breaking out as laughter filled the air.

“Should we ask for an extension?” Miho forced himself up, now sitting against the couch. “I emailed her the minute I opened my computer.” You shrugged, reaching for the towel that was now lopsided on his forehead. Minho could only stare at you with wide eyes. “Why’d you stay?” You tilted your head in confusion, as if it were obvious why you had been here for the past hour or so. “I wasn't going to leave you here to rot.” His lips parted slightly.

He had your voice paused in his mind, replaying it to familiarize himself with your tone. He liked you. This he knew. And was more than willing to accept. It was new for him to welcome someone so eagerly into his small world, but with the way you dipped the towel into the bowl of water and casually placed it back onto his forehead, he knew a new friend would do no harm and probably more good than he deserved. His soul welcomed your presence. Something he’d never come to regret.

“I’ll invite you next time.” “Next time?” You continued to pat the towel down, retracting your hand and making eye contact. Minho nodded. “When Jisung asks me to dance in the rain with him.” You blinked slowly. You didn’t think much of Minho when you first sat beside him in class, other than his obvious physical attraction, you knew nothing but his fabricated reputation. And yet, here you sat in his living room, worried and cautious over him while simultaneously laughing and enjoying his company.

You were unaware that he would soon become someone you’d think the world of, someone who’d make you laugh a little harder and feed your soul. Until then, he remained the boy who borrowed your pens, had a pretty laugh, and was sick from dancing in the rain.

“I’d like that.”

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo

𝙎𝙏RAy𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍r★

#skz #skz imagine #straykids #skz scenarios #straykids x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know #lee minho #skz fluff #skz minho #stray kids minho #leeknow skz #leeknow x reader

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1-800-local-slut · 21 days ago

Note

Hello ☺️ , I wanted to request if you could please do a miraculous holder reader but she uses both the ladybug and black cat miraculous (like hero name lady noire) in invincible. She is what the invincible universe needs like do you see the amount of damage those heroes and villains be doing to the planet . Ciecil is thanking the heavens everyday that she exists . Mark inlove with her hero identity while she's inlove with his normal identity (basically marinette and Adrian ) . Obviously later on they're discover each others identities and date . They would be such a cute couple together . Omg 🤩🥰😍 Mark needs a lady noire in his life , girlboss there keeping him grounded in his most struggling times .

This is such a fun request omg! Thank you so much for this ask, I love it. I broke this up into separate parts to kind of give examples of your relationship with Mark. Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy!

Mark Grayson x Black! Miraculous-holder! Reader!

Warnings: Swearing, it's long but skip to the middle for the reveal if you want to skip all the back story and stuff between them

Notes: I couldn't do the whole 'shy reader whose pathetically obsessed', and I wanted to explore a different character dynamic. Popular girl x nerdy guy type of thing but I've never done it before, so I was excited to take this opportunity.

Also this took me three days but I couldn't figure out a solid plot so I decided to do headcanons so I hope that's okay baby 😭😭😭

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

🐞So for starters, you two are dumb as hell.

🐞 Just silly as hell actually

🐞 You two start out normal, just two heros who have seen each other in passing

🐞 Mark actually liked you wayyy before he got his powers. He had tik tok edits saved of you, he could've been the president of your fan club tbh!

🐞 But Mark never thought he would really get a chance with you considering he was just some guy. You were Lady Noire, he was just Mark who worked at BurgerMart for 14 dollars an hour.

🐞You liked Mark. Mark was sweet, he was funny, he saw you as a person. You were one of those girls who lights up a room. You're a star in real life. Everyone knew you, but no one knew you. Mark didn't treat you differently because of who you were. He wasn't overly desperate to please you and that made you feel seen

🐞 There was like a loneliness, a chasm between you and all your peers. Like yeah, you're awesome. You're pretty, charismatic, self-confident, mature. But that made it so hard to make real friends. Because almost every other girl you'd interacted with seemed to try and mirror those qualities but didn't realize you were just a girl like them

🐞 Only two people treated you like a normal girl. Mark, and your ride-or-die friend Diamond. Diamond was basically a reflection of you. She was like your sister almost, except you two looked nothing alike. Except for the same dark skin and massive amount of hair you two looked so different it was a little impressive.

🐞 But Diamond wasn't just your best friend because everyone knew you two, but no one truly knew who you were inside. No, she was your best friend because she kept it real. One thing for certain, two things for sure, Diamond was gone keep it real with you

🐞 She was the only one who knew you were Lady Noire, serving as your girl in the chair. In addition, she was your personal advice machine even when you didn't ask for it because she was entirely correct.

🐞So when you told her that your hero partner, Invincible, asked you out she was already planning the wedding! Until you told her that you actually rejected him for Mark. Then she just rolled over in your bed and went to sleep.

🐞 Woke up a few hours later to yell at you.

"You need to either ask him out or move on, what the fuck. You just got asked out by the finest dude in the city."

"Diamond please. I don't even know the man! But I know Mark."

"You and Mark have been friends for like five years and you and Invincible have been working together for like a year now!"

"Okay, so, let me get this straight. You want me to give up on the guy I've liked for five years for a guy I've known a year? Invincible can't ever know my identity! How would that relationship work?" She was right and you knew it. You moved the container of wingstop off the bed before you rolled over and laid comfortably under your sheets. Diamond was on her feet, ranting at your stupidity with her voice getting louder.

"YES! What, girl yes! Give up. Give up or ask him out. Okay, you liked him for five years and ain't shit happened so what are you talking about. Notice how you said 'guy I've liked' not your man or nothing. How are you being this loyal to a man who sees you as a friend and changes in front of you because he doesn't see you like that?

And maybe you and Invincible can get to know each other? Like what are you doing?"

"Why are you yelling at me?!" You cried, hiding under a pillow in shame. She was right. You needed to make a move because that was getting so embarrassing.

"Because! You're busy, you have a lot going on right? So, you know that and you're refusing to do shit about how you feel about Mark because you don't want to handle it. But then all you do is moan about how much you like him. It's not healthy for you girl, and I know you want someone. I hate seeing you kill yourself like this."

Her thighs appeared next to your face, the smell of your body wash permeating off her skin. Like a sad puppy, you looked for comfort in your best friend. Resting your head on her thigh, you let out a sigh.

"I don't need a man, I have you."

With a chuckle, Diamond tied her hair up for bed and wrapped the band of her wig around her hair for bed.

"I love dick too much, sorry."

🐞 But like always she was right. You couldn't risk ruining your friendship with Mark though.

🐞 You moved on. A boy named Carlos, who never questioned your absences or sudden disappearances. He just trusted you and that was so important.

🐞 Lady Noire and Invincible were still America's favorite couple no matter how clear you made that was not the case.

🐞 He still cracked corny jokes, he still protected you when he could, but after another suggestive hangout offer you made it clear.

"It's not like I don't like you. You're a really really cool guy. But I have a boyfriend, and I don't think he'd take kindly to us having rooftop dinners all alone. You're a really good friend to me. I don't want to fuck that up. You're an awesome partner; I don't want to fuck that up either."

"No, I get it. I know things have been weird since I confessed but you're a good friend to me too. I'm not trying to ruin things or piss you off. Just being friends. Plus, I'm too good looking to be the other man. I respect your relationship because I respect you." A pinky was extended, and you locked your fingers in just to be safe.

🐞 From there you two were back to normal. After battle hugs, fist bumps, working together seamlessly. But things were now weird in your personal life.

🐞 The more time that you did spend with Invincible, the more old feelings surged up. Old feelings for Mark. That same fluttery feeling in your chest, the way anything he does just makes you happy to see.

🐞 And outside of you refusing to explore the possibility of liking Invincible, in real life your friend Mark was having some issues. He had his girlfriend, Amber. Cool girl, honestly really fun and you love hanging with her. But your boyfriend was so not a fan of Mark.

🐞 Carlos was actually a really cool dude. That's why you liked him. He went to a different school for starters, part of the appeal. But you're already a pretty high energy person. Carlos gives you the space to be calm and collected. He helps redirect that hyper energy somewhere else, he's even been teaching you how to play the guitar

🐞 But something about Mark he just did not like. He didn't like how Mark looked at you (Mark loves his girlfriend), he didn't like how Mark laughs at your jokes (everyone laughs, you're just naturally funny), he didn't like how you and Mark seem to have the same interest (you've been friends for half a decade, of course you like the same shit), he doesn't even like when Mark likes your IG story, let alone views it.

🐞 No matter what, he just didn't like him, and all that insecure jealousy was just...ew. So things just didn't work out.

🐞Diamond rejoiced that night. Real shit, she jumped for joy. Because apparently, she never liked Carlos.

🐞 But life goes on. Mark, Diamond and Amber were there for you, you were still Lady Noire and you were still kicking ass.

🐞 Except now your stupid heart kept jumping around Invincible.

🐞 He gave you butterflies no matter the situation. Even if he just offered to fly home with you while you swung through the city, you still got butterflies. But no way were you about to confess to the guy you already rejected.

🐞 He even covers his eyes if you needed to de-transform for the sake of protecting your identity.

🐞 Things were going fine. In your personal life, you just went about your normal business. You ignored your feelings for Invincible. You and your friends were enjoying the last year of high school as much as possible

🐞 It wasn't until one day where things got weird.

🐞 Specifically, you and Mark had study plans. He and Amber had long since broken up ever since that Viltrumite chick tried to snap her neck. In the past few months, Amber became the third person to you and Diamond, and you still remember how hard she sobbed when you and Diamond slept over afterward

🐞 You and Mark had study plans, so imagine your surprise when Invincible flew into your best friend's bedroom

🐞 Debbie loves you btw, you're one of Mark's oldest friends. She makes deserts you like if you're coming by for dinner

🐞 But she let you in, you sat on Mark's bed playing a game on your phone before Invincible flew in like it was nothing, mask in hand.

Pure silence, y'all sat in pure silence just staring at each other. How did you not realize? It was so obvious! They even had the same haircut.

"DUDE WHAT?!" You exclaimed in shock.

"SHHHHH! What are you doing here?!"

"Trying to study and graduate! You're Invincible?! How did I not see that!"

As you tried to swallow the news, you realized something else: if Mark was Invincible, and Invincible had feelings for Lady Noire but you are Lady Noire, and Lady Noire has feelings for Invincible, and you liked Mark...oh man this has been a massive waste of time

So much time. Just wasted when it was so simple from the beginning. And would you believe another stupid thing happened?

Your purse was left open on the bed, when you jumped to your feet guess what spilled out. Your ring. The earrings always stayed secured in your ears for quick transformations, but a ring was the easiest thing to put on. Plus, you didn't want to draw suspicion by wearing a very identifiable ring.

The same ring that almost gets stolen from you regularly by crazy villains attempting to harness your powers of creation and destruction. PLUS, the last place anyone expected it to be your purse.

The same ring that Mark Invincible took one look at before he said

"There's no fucking way."

You turned, attempting to follow his eyes with confusion until your eyes landed on the silver band. You felt your eyes go wide in terror as Mark put the pieces together.

"NO!" You shrieked, diving for the ring. Only for Mark to remind you that he's actually a superhero.

"YOU'RE JOKING! YOU'RE LADY NOIRE? HOW DID I MISS THAT I SEE YOU EVERYDAY!"

"Well, I see you every day and didn't know you were Invincible, so I guess we're both stupid!" You lunged for your ring back, jumping on the bed as he floated higher and held the ring from your reach.

"I need that back." You bit out.

"I need some answers." He responded, palming your face while he inspected the ring.

"Well I have some questions." You shot back.

After a stare down, you both sat down. He sat in his desk chair, tossing the ring back to you and you folded your legs onto his bed.

You both stared at each other in silence.

"So-." You both began then quieted down.

"Okay. So. I'm Lady Noire. You're Invincible. We have been working together this entire time and didn't know."

"Yes."

More silence. Did you say it? Did you dance around it? A little voice in your head started to speak. The voice of Diamond actually. Saying 'ask about it, stop being pussy. ask him ask him ask him, girl what is wrong with you?'. So, you took a deep breath and did what every girl has done at some point. You channeled your bestie.

"You confessed your feelings to me. I rejected you because I liked someone else."

He gritted his teeth and nodded. His suit had a rip in it, probably from whatever superhero business he had to tend too.

"Yes."

"Okay. So, the guy I liked was you. I liked you. For a few years. You confessed to me, but we didn't know each other enough. I have a crush on Invincible, which I guess is you. I just wanted to tell you. I don't know where you're at. You're flirty in costume, I did not reciprocate because like I said I had really deep feelings for you."

"Had?" His brows furrowed, tongue poked out to lick his lip as he leaned back in his chair.

You shrugged, your shoulders. As nonchalant as you looked, you were actually melting on the inside.

"I had to move on. Nothing was happening. You got with Amber. I knew you didn't feel the same."

"...I only did that because I really liked you. Or Lady Noire or however we're addressing this. I thought I had no chance, because you already rejected me. I still do have feelings for you. I just thought after everything you weren't interested, and you told me you and your boyfriend broke up and then I was like 'woah, my best friend and her boyfriend just broke up and my girlfriend and I called it quits.' so I figured heart break was just going around."

"Okay. Cool. Cool cool cool cool. So, this was a big ass waste of time, and we could've been together this entire time?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. So I'm gonna head home, I'll see you in school."

🐞 From sheer awkwardness you transformed before you swung out of the window and all the way home. Until Diamond and Amber came over with a stolen bottle of wine and three glasses.

"Okay...I don't have the emotional strength to respond." Diamond sighed, reclining on a bean bag in her pajamas. She was always down for an impromptu sleep over.

"I do! I say go for it. I don't care." The thing you loved about Amber was that he was smart. She was smart as hell. Smart enough to see you were on the fence considering you two were bffs and it was chicks before dicks forever.

"You don't?!" You and Diamond exclaimed in disbelief.

"No. Mark and I were trying to make it work but it just wasn't working. But you fit into his world perfectly. That's the best thing about y'all. You two can understand each other. Plus, I have my lil college boo."

"Oh yeahhh. What's his name? Kenneth? Kelvin?" You guessed, brain trying to remember the guy you met weeks ago. Diamond looked at the ceiling, trying to recall the mans name.

"Kyle."

"Right. Okay so, you have Amber's vote. I don't even care to yell at you anymore and it wouldn't help right now. You have our support, Mark likes you, you like him. What's stopping you this time?" Diamond asked, swirling her glass and taking a small sip.

"Well..." You began only to be cut off by a loud 'UGHHHHH' by your girlfriends.

"I don't have all night; I'm going to BED." Diamond huffed, pulling on her bonnet and downing the rest of the white wine.

"No wait! Okay, so now I'm not sure how to go about this. I just feel like I don't know where to go from here. Like do I ask him out? Does he ask me out? What do I-" A knock on the glass cut you off. More like the noise of little consecutive knocks then a loud object colliding with your window. You snapped around quickly, opening the window.

You caught a rock just a centimeter from colliding with your face. Looking down you saw Mark being held in place by a red-haired man. Mark tried to escape without causing the man bodily harm but froze the moment he realized you already opened your window.

"HEY! ARE YOU THE GIRL MY FRIEND WON'T SHUT UP ABOUT?!"

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!

"YEAH, IT'S YOU. LISTEN, MARK WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU'RE HIS GIRLFRIEND NOW."

"You're joking!" Amber and Diamond cackled from behind you. Your face burned as you looked at the red-haired man. For a second it sounded like Rex but that couldn't be. Rex didn't even know where you lived. That's what you told yourself to convince yourself this didn't really happen. "UH...WHAT?"

"DATE MY FRIEND! HE LOVES YOU!"

"Okay! Goodnight girls, we're leaving now." Mark's face turned bright red before he finally freed himself. Then with a gust of wind Mark and his friend were gone.

"Wait before you say anything-"

A video from her phone began to play. Your own voice yelled out 'WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!' and you realized that they caught part of that on video.

"Dude we have to drive by his house and just scream 'she said yes' for like an hour." Amber suggested before the two girls went back to cackling. You still hadn't moved from the window.

The cold December wind blew through your braids, and a warm feeling settled over your chest. This wasn't even embarrassing. Mark loved you.

🐞 From there, you had no more time for over thinking. It's been six years at this point, there's no more time to continue this back and forth. You liked Mark, just Mark for five. And for the last year you liked him along with Invincible. Over half a decade, that's just shamefu

🐞 The next time you saw Mark it was at Gaurdian's HQ, where Cecil was in a nice enough mood to give a Christmas bonus.

🐞 You get a bigger one because you save the GDA so much money in clean up

🐞 You decided there was no more beating around the bush. You couldn't afford to be emotionally closed off like always. You couldn't be sly and seductive like Amber. Once again it was time to channel Diamond.

While everyone mingled around HQ and exchanged gifts, you stood right in front of Mark where he sat on a couch reading a Christmas card.

"Are you my boyfriend now?"

"Huh?"

"Do you want to be my boyfriend now? Yes or no."

"Yes."

"Okay. Good job, you have a girlfriend now. You picked the right choice." Then you went to the bathroom to stop yourself from throwing up. Your palms were sweating, your head was spinning. But you did it! You bagged the man you always wanted and didn't fumble this time. Give yourself a round of applause!

🐞 You guy are a pretty normal couple

🐞 He loves you. Like when you guys were just friends he already had less boundaries. Like sitting on your lap, eating your food, simple stuff. But as your boyfriend the man doesn't understand personal space

🐞 Always touching. In battle? He's floating near you or leaning on you. In school? The man doesn't care if you're with your friends, he's gonna come kiss you

🐞 You two spent enough time together as Invincible and Lady Noire

🐞 Y'all make everyone physically sick with how perfect you guys are.

🐞 Mark loved Lady Noire before he loved you so he's always getting flustered. You say something cool in battle? He's having a heart attack. When you do that one move he loves? Someone carry him away. When you two are just chilling and recalls how you used your lucky charm yesterday? He's climbing on top of you and squeezing you with love

🐞 He still watches edits of you

🐞 He's also very ticklish by the way. So yeah, just know when he's being clingy and you need him off just tickle him until he runs out of steam and has to calm down.

🐞 He flies you everywhere. One time he flew you around so much you forgot how to use your staff and yo-yo, and you had to stop

🐞 Especially after that clip went viral of you losing your balance on your own staff and slipping off. The Mauler Twins pointed and laughed at you, and you ended up maneuvering a bus at them

🐞 Also late snack runs! Mark would do anything for you but he prefers to do it with you. He can fight alone but he wants to do it with you. He can go to the store at 10 o clock alone but guess what? He wants to do it with you. He'll actively wait for you, no matter what you're doing or how long it takes you to wake up and get dressed he will wait

🐞 You like to take care of him. Your man has been through so much. He deserves to be spoiled.

🐞 He's weak for massages. You'll give him foot rubs, back rubs. He melts under your touch, sometimes not realizing how tired he was until he got the chance to relax

🐞 You've always imagined being able to be with him. Just to lay with him, in his hoodie. Doing nothing just scrolling on your phones. Maybe snacking on some ice cream, getting to smell Mark and it not be weird

🐞 You can finally stop holding back. You're just as crazy about Mark. You can jump on him in a hug and sniff him. You can play with his hair. You can hold hands and cuddle while he's shirtless.

🐞 Speaking on Mark shirtless.

🐞 Okay, after a while Mark understood just how crazy you were over him considering it's been a few years of you silently pinning

🐞 So pretty soon he wasn't shocked by you biting him. But you discovered something you didn't even know you wanted. You licked his abs once and never went back

🐞 He woke up one day from a nap with you. You weren't beside him, you weren't on his chest, you somehow got under the sheets and had your head laid up on his rock hard abs. You had the happiest smile on your face too. The picture is still his favorite thing.

🐞 You squealed in happiness the first time he caught you staring and said you could touch. Then he couldn't get your hand off and he's just been amused since then.

🐞 But he's the same way with your legs, so he has no room to judge

🐞 When Mark starts to forget he needs balance you're right there

🐞 You have the powers of creation and destruction, literally you balance everything. When he gets in his own head, you're there to pull him out. To remind him that he has a life to live.

🐞 You take him on little errands with you to appreciate the mundane stuff and keep his mind off whatever was threatening the universe

🐞 Buying toothpaste, going with you to the dentist, grocery shopping with you and your mom. The boring shit really.

🐞 Just all the little shit.

🐞 Mark helps take some things off your plate. Between school, being a superhero, maintaining a social life, you were busy

🐞 He does anything to help. Taking your car to the car wash, cooking for you when you're exhausted, and just holding you until you're fast asleep

🐞 You observe everything about Mark. Not in a creepy way, more in a 'my boyfriend liked this snack, I will remember it.' then you get that snack for him again

🐞 Mark is the same

🐞 He's also your biggest hype man! Taking pictures of you, helping you train, helping you pick hair and nails

🐞 You like to trust fall. It scares him so bad, you always pick some place high. He knows you can catch yourself but he's still terrified when he sees you free falling while giggling through the air

🐞 Overall, it took a long ass time for y'all to get it together, but y'all made it. You don't have to hide your feelings for him. You can be a little freak whenever you want. Hug up on him alll you want.

🐞 Mark loved you and Lady Noire now, the same way you love Mark and Invincible. But you might love Mark just a little more.

#black reader #x black reader #x reader #fem reader #multifandom account #requests open #mark grayson x black reader #mark grayson #invincible #invincible x black reader #invincible x miraculous #invincible fluff

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0798f · 2 months ago

Text

💞 — No More What Ifs.

RELATIONSHIP: Goro Akechi x Reader

SUMMARY: Years passed, and Akechi still felt lost. You did what you could to reassure him.

WARNINGS: p5r spoilers (3rd semester + ending).

A/N: I like writing Akechi since he's such an asshole (affectionate).

“I don’t understand.”

“Huh? I thought we agreed on Chinese takeout?”

(Name) didn’t spare Akechi a glance as they pulled her shoes off at the entrance of their apartment. They would have appreciated it if Akechi took the takeout bag from her hand to more easily get settled, but he seemed upset.

“Not that,” he rolled his eyes. “Why are we bothering with… all this?”

(Name) didn’t know what this was but, whatever it was, it worsened Akechi’s already sour mood from when they woke up. Akechi wasn’t one to sleep in, even on weekends, so (Name) was miffed at the sight of him still in bed by the time they had finished their morning routine.

But it also wasn’t the most surprising. Nearly two years after his resurrection Akechi was still searching for answers— why was he back? What was he supposed to do now? What was left for him? Some days were worse than others. (Name) guessed today was one of those worse days.

With the food safely on their dining table, (Name) gave Akechi their full attention. “I don’t understand either,” they sighed. “About what you’re talking about, that is. Care to enlighten me?”

That response brought a cold ferocity to his voice. “Are you really content with playing house? This isn’t the life you would be living if I wasn’t here. All you’re doing is entertaining a ghost.”

His words stung, but not because they were mean to (Name), because they were instead a harsh condemnation of his own existence.

Maybe there was a hint of truth to Akechi’s despair. When they returned from Akira’s “Phantom Thief’s Last hurrah send-off road trip extraordinaire” (title coined by Ryuji), the last thing (Name) expected to see was Akechi at their doorstep. A living, breathing, real Akechi that was more than just a wish in a false reality. they thought they had made her peace with his final goodbye, only to burst into tears and trap him into a hug for the next ten minutes.

Akechi didn’t want to go to their. With the Phantom Thieves out of Tokyo and his existence a distant memory to the general public, he wanted to escape. Whether that was motivated by a disgust for society or some self-imposed atonement for all he did didn’t matter in the end, because he couldn’t go through with it. Because he thought about (Name) while at the city limits and couldn’t bring himself to go.

He loved them. He wasn’t stupid enough to deny that but he hated himself enough to feel shame over it. (Name) had a bright future ahead of them, free of the burdens he added to their life with bloody hands, but Akechi selfishly derailed it. In between desperate kisses he asked them to leave Tokyo with him. To go somewhere so they could start fresh. Somewhere Akechi Goro didn’t exist and he was nothing more than the regular person (Name) always treated him as.

It was pathetic and made even worse because (Name) agreed without hesitation. They threw away their chance at excelling at the University of Tokyo because a boy who had caused them nothing but heartache begged them not to. Sometimes Akechi had nightmares about this reunion. People were supposed to improve with second chances, yet he used his to drag his partner into his own despair.

(Name) took time to consider what to say. Akechi was nothing if not stubborn and rigid in his beliefs. This was not the first time he lashed out about their circumstances, but (Name) always hoped they’d find the magic words to make it the last. “Sure. I guess I didn’t expect to be living in Sendai. But, I don’t consider this playing house. If it were playing house, we wouldn’t be paying rent.”

Akechi grabbed (Name) by their shoulders and leaned in closer. “Stop turning this into a joke,” he growled. “You had a life you were happy with. Why did you throw that away?

The wrong person would balk under Akechi’s intensity. But there was a reason he fell in love with (Name) despite all odds— they weren’t afraid to challenge him. They leaned forward as well, until their foreheads touched.

“I’d love it if you stopped referring to my choice as ‘throwing my life away.’ I am living a perfectly happy life, with you, Goro.”

It hurt because it was unbelievably saccharine and because Akechi didn’t think he deserved that statement being true. There had to be some sick twist on why his life was given back to him in the end. Perhaps another God wanted to use him as a pawn, or he was expected to find some way to atone for his crimes. Nothing in his life had ever been simple.

(Name) continued in Akechi’s silence. “Wanna know something? Back in Dr. Maruki’s false reality, I used to hate myself for wishing you back to life. You didn’t want to live because someone else dictated it, and my wish forced you into it anyway.”

With that, Akechi softened. He loosened his grip on their shoulders and backed up to create space between them. “As I told you back then, I never blamed you for that. It was Maruki’s doing, not yours.”

“I know. But even though you said that, I still felt guilty. I thought about how selfish it was of me. You were so angry, and I couldn’t help but feel like it was my fault.” (Name) took a deep breath, looking up at Akechi. “So, I understand why you feel the way you do. And why you don’t want to believe me. But whether or not you believe me doesn’t change how I feel.”

(Name) knew how to take the lead with Akechi. He was dominating and wanted control, and (Name) learned over the years that the best way to retaliate was to simply be straightforward and honest. They reached forward and held Akechi’s face in their hands. He tensed under the brush of their fingers against his skin, but he made no move to remove them.

“I wake up next to you. We eat breakfast together. We share some of the same classes. We have an organized chore list. Sometimes we make dinner, and sometimes we get takeout. You know my reading pace and wait to turn the page when you know I’m paying attention to your book while we cuddle on the couch. Then I fall asleep in your arms and wake up to do it all over again.”

They described the most mundane aspects of their life like it was something special. For most of Akechi’s life, he cared very little for the small details; his life had one purpose and it was to seize power from the man who took it all away from him. Even when he and (Name) had begun their relationship, Akechi would be lying if he said he cared about things like sharing a meal, walking home together, and other small moments of intimacy.

But (Name) changed everything for him. Their relationship was supposed to be nothing more than a little slice of paradise under Akechi’s control, but (Name) made it mean something. they loved him in a way that made him feel whole.

Akechi was a weapon. But he felt small in their gaze and fragile in their arms. Not in the sense that he felt pathetic, though he did consider that sometimes, but in the sense that (Name) let him be vulnerable in a way he didn’t let himself feel even while alone.

“I knew, after meeting you, that all I wanted was to be by your side.” (Name) beamed with pride and Akechi swallowed his disbelief that this expression was for him. “I don’t care if we’re in Tokyo or Sendai. I wouldn’t change a thing about my life.”

He wished he could put to words why accepting the peace in his life made him so uncomfortable. Akechi wasn’t oblivious to the fact that the biggest obstacle to his happiness had become himself. It wasn’t Shido or the God of Control anymore but his own inability let go of the past. The what could have beens and the what ifs. In some sick way, he was more self assured about his future when it involved being Shido’s lapdog.

Akechi leaned into (Name)’s touch, turning his head slightly and brushing his lips against their palm. “… It’s real this time? I am living this life for myself?”

“Your life is yours,” (Name) reassured him. “And I’m glad to be part of it.”

They closed the distance between them to kiss Akechi on the cheek with a disgustingly loud MWUAH sound that they knew that he hated. Akechi winced but (Name) didn’t give him a chance to retaliate, holding him close and pressing more kisses across his face— his forehead, eyelid, jaw, before a kiss to the corner of his lips that was the final straw for Akechi.

“Ugh,” Akechi groaned. He grabbed (Name)’s jaw and stopped them from moving. “I get it. You can stop being gross now.”

It was nice to have Akechi back to his normal, cheerful self. Maybe (Name) had finally found the magic words he was looking for. Even if they weren’t, they didn’t mind comforting him.

That was their life, after all. Remaining at each other’s sides throughout all the unexpected twists and turns.

masterlists.

#akechi x reader #goro akechi x reader #p5 x reader #persona 5 x reader #f.smt #🎋 — fuji's work.

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