#something something about how they always choose each other

[m0onlustre]

Only a fool would bargain with the leader of Onychinus

ᯓPairing: Sylus x female reader (afab)

ᯓGenre: somewhat enemies to lovers, smut, porn with oc plot, angst

ᯓWord Count: 5,8k

ᯓ tags - WARNINGS: mdni, reader isn’t the lnds!mc, explicit sexual content, first time sex (not virginity loss) alterations to the main story, dr/y humping, thigh riding, b/egging, f!receiving oral, p in v, unprotected sex, creampies, squirting, dirty talking, use of pet names (kitten, sweetie, baby), violence, mentions of injuries. 

ᯓ Notes: Some of you may have already read my fic, The Price of Desire, in which the reader’s evol is mentioned. If you have, you’ll notice that the evol is the same in this story; however, there is no connection between the two. The concept of a reader with this ability was too appealing for me to resist, and since it was briefly mentioned in the previous fic, I decided to explore it further in this one. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! All likes and reblogs are appreciated. :3

Going on missions for Sylus was nothing new to you by now. You had spent years by his side since he first found you, a wild creature desperate for survival. Sometimes, you could still recall how close you had come to killing each other back then. You had been hunted by nearly every illegal underground group, all seeking your evol, and while on the run, you stumbled upon him like a scared and feral animal.

You had instinctively tried to attack him on sight; it was all you knew how to do, having fought for your freedom for as long as you could remember. You were no stranger to the danger he represented—the bloodthirsty leader of Onychinus. If other groups sought you as a mere experiment for your power, you could only imagine what Onychinus would do if they got their hands on you.

The moment you realized the person you had fallen headfirst into was the white-haired menace himself, you had attempted to fight him with everything you had. Sylus, of course, dodged every single one of your attacks effortlessly, but he was merely toying with you, for he possessed something you were unaware of; he could not be killed.

You had always been feared for your lethal evol—one touch from your bare fingers could send someone halfway to the other world. You were an extraordinary weapon, yet Sylus was not deterred; he was intrigued, even enamored by you.

With his energy manipulation, it was impossible for you to harm him, particularly when he thrived on high levels of adrenaline and excitement.

So, even as you forced yourself to keep trying to touch him, desperate to end the chaos, he reveled in your fierce determination. He loved witnessing the fire in your eyes as you believed you could take him down. When he finally grew tired of your little game and decided to put an end to it, he was blindsided by a fact he had overlooked.

While he had learned nearly everything there was to know about your evol and your abilities, he did not realize one important thing; you were immune to his mist.

No matter how fiercely the red and black tendrils curled around you, the moment your flesh made contact with them, they vanished into thin air.

Sylus had nearly salivated when he realized the challenge you presented. It had been far too long since he had encountered someone so intriguing, and he was determined that you wouldn’t walk out of that valley without becoming his.

That’s how you found yourself in his group now. Unlike everyone else, Sylus had made a promise that night: if you went home with him willingly, he would never force you to use your abilities for his research or personal gain. He needed you to choose to be there if you were going to help him.

His condition was simple: think of aiding him, and in return, you would gain his protection, a life free from fear and the constant need to run for your freedom.

You had taken a significant risk when you decided to go with him, but the white-haired man kept his word. It took you months to contemplate helping him instead of merely enjoying the luxury of his lifestyle, but he was patient. In time, you became not only his most valuable asset but also his right hand. Whenever he was out of town for deals or missions, you handled matters back home on his behalf.

Deep down, back then you knew he wasn’t just a kind-hearted man simply looking to help a struggling girl off the street. What he truly sought to protect was your evol because he believed you would eventually come around to assist him when he needed it most. So when you finally did, it was no surprise to him. He had merely given you a subtle nod and handed you the first files.

Now, two years later, you stood beside him at one of the many auctions taking place in the N109 Zone. He was after a particularly important and valuable protocore—one he had pursued for years—and today presented his chance to possess it.

Being next to him not only amplified his chances of leaving unscathed without extensive negotiation—after all, who was crazy enough to challenge the leader of Onychinus and his lethal right-hand woman?—but it also made it easier for him to operate, as you inevitably drew attention and distraction from other bidders.

His hand curled possessively around your waist as he proudly showcased you to the crowd. The dress you wore was as red as his eyes, hugging your every curve and accentuating your figure. Your hair was styled in a simple updo, revealing your back to the admiring gazes around you.

The less fabric you wore, the more difficult it was for his mist to approach you, and that was one thing you clung to. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you—he had come to not only depend on you but to trust you as well. Still, you maintained a small resistance, a defiance that you weren’t ready to surrender, no matter how much it irritated him.

Your gloves were snugly in place, allowing you to interact with him without draining his energy, thus enabling you to warn others of the imminent danger your touch posed. One slip of fabric, and whoever you touched would be lost forever.

“Mr. Sylus, I didn’t think you’d make it tonight,” a distant voice interrupted your thoughts, drawing both of your attention. A young man addressed your boss, his tone a mix of surprise and formality.

“Not happy to see me?” Sylus replied, his voice smooth as silk and sweet as honey, the smugness evident in his expression as he arched a white brow at the man.

“Of course, sir! I’m sorry, sir. I just thought you’d be out of town—”

“Change of plans." Sylus muttered, cutting him off with a tight smile before guiding you forward, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back.

As you walked toward the room where his meeting would take place, you tilted your face up to catch a glimpse of his profile. “He’s right, you know,” you began, curiosity lacing your words. “Weren’t you supposed to return next Tuesday?”

Sylus’s smirk deepened at your question. “If I had known you’d be so disappointed by my early arrival, sweetie, I would have made sure to come back yesterday.”

You scoffed at his remark, subtly flexing your back to shake his arm off, but his grip only tightened, keeping you glued to his side. “Be good now. You know how important tonight is,” He leaned in closer, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine as it tickled your ear. “Don’t screw this up.”

You couldn’t shake the uneasiness that crawled up your spine from the subtle threat lacing his tone. Sylus had been under immense pressure lately, but you refused to let him take it out on you.

“Sylus.”

He let out an impatient huff as you halted him just outside the door of your final destination, but he turned his body to face you fully, his expression a mix of frustration and intensity.

“I’m not your enemy,” you asserted, holding his gaze with unwavering resolve. “Many people work for you, but aside from Luke and Kieran, no one stands by your side with the same loyalty I do. I know you’ve been struggling, but I’m the last person you want against you right now.”

“Oh, is that right, kitten?” His brows furrowed, drawing closer until your chests nearly touched. To an outsider, you might have appeared to be lovers, but the tension between you was palpable and lethal. “And why is that? Because you’re oh-so-dangerous?”

His provoking smirk ignited your anger, and while you couldn’t fathom what was going through his mind, you chose to avoid making a scene. Stepping away from him, you tried to regain your composure. “They’re waiting for us.”

Before you could take another step toward the door, you were abruptly lifted off the ground, hanging upside down over Sylus’s shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered-yelled, frantically scanning for prying eyes. Your surprise deepened when, from the shadows, Luke and Kieran rushed toward you, effortlessly pulling you from Sylus’s grip. “What—”

“Take her to the car and wait for me,” Sylus commanded sharply, his tone clipped and leaving no room for negotiation. As you were carried away from him and the room, you felt a pang of frustration.

“Let me down!” you practically shouted as the twins put distance between you and the auction building.

“Sorry, ma’am, no can do.”

“Yeah, ma’am, we’re sorry, but no one bypasses the boss's orders!”

Your heart thumped loudly in your ears as the events unfolded, anger and frustration boiling within you at how Sylus had treated you. It was the first time since you started working for him that he had dismissed you so callously, and you couldn’t ignore the pang of hurt that coiled deep in your stomach.

You sat in the backseat of the car while the twins chatted and bantered in the front, oblivious to your turmoil. It felt surreal, as if they were living in a different world. Maybe you were overthinking it—after all, you hadn’t expected him to disregard you like that, especially during an auction so crucial to him. You were valuable to him, weren’t you? He needed you by his side, didn’t he?

Your thoughts spiraled until they were abruptly shattered by a loud bang. Before you could process the sound, part of the building in front of you exploded in a fiery eruption. Wait—was that the floor where the auction was being held? The very floor Sylus was on?

Without a second thought, you threw open the car door, sprinting toward the burning building despite the twins’ frantic shouts urging you to stop. Your mind was consumed by one thought: Sylus. He couldn’t be hurt. He couldn’t die. Foolish girl, not even his evol could save him from an explosion of that magnitude.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, sweat clung to your skin as you pushed your limits, charging up the stairs to the floor where you had been just forty minutes earlier. You stumbled multiple times, falling to your knees, but the thought of Sylus pushed you onward.

When you finally reached the floor, it was a scene of devastation. The area lay in ruins, engulfed in smoke and chaos, with scattered survivors struggling to breathe amidst the wreckage. You focused your eyes and ears, straining to find Sylus amidst the agonizing cries of others. Time blurred as you searched, exhaustion creeping in and threatening to overwhelm you.

Just when you thought you might pass out, you spotted it—silver locks, now dirty and disheveled, just a few feet away. Panic surged through you as you fell to your knees and crawled with the last remnants of strength you had left. When you finally reached him, your heart stopped. You had never seen Sylus so vulnerable, so exposed.

You reached out to touch his face, your irritation intensifying at the realization that you still had to keep your gloves on, unable to feel his soft, dirt-streaked skin. With the last remnants of your strength, you shook him gently, your voice coming out hoarse as you tried to call his name.

Slowly, his eyes peeled open, and you let out the breath you had been holding. Unfortunately, you had inhaled too much smoke, resulting in a violent cough that wracked your body.

Clutching your chest, you hunched over, trying to cough out the smoke while moving away from him. Just then, you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you down to him. You attempted to focus on his face, searching for any injuries, but your eyes were tearing up, and your vision was blurred from the smoke-filled atmosphere.

Just as you thought you might lose consciousness, his voice broke through, shaky and hoarse but still as sharp as a knife. “What are you doing in here, kitten?” His eyes were half-lidded, and he groaned as he struggled to sit up. “Didn’t I tell you to wait for me outside?”

You tried to help him rise, but his heavy body only dragged you down, sending you sprawling onto the floor. As he noticed your condition, his eyes sharpened with concern, and his features turned serious. He began removing his coat, which was now dirty and full of holes.

“Sylus—you need to get out of here,” you urged, trying to push him away as he attempted to cover you completely with his coat.

“Don’t talk right now, sweetie.” His movements were urgent, almost desperate, as he made sure no part of your upper body was exposed. Your hands were now firmly pinned to your torso beneath his coat. “And don’t fight me.”

His fingers came to your face, squeezing gently until your lips formed a pout and your attention was solely on him. “Stubborn little kitten,” he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and affection.

Just before you slipped into unconsciousness, you felt the tendrils of his red-black mist enveloping you, pushing through your evol’s resistance and carrying you away from the chaos.

When you finally opened your eyes, it took a moment for your surroundings to come into focus. The unmistakable scent of Sylus’s mattress enveloped you, grounding you in reality. You were back at the mansion.

Your limbs felt heavy, and a dull ache throbbed in your head. Every part of your body screamed for you to stay in bed, to drift back into sleep and forget everything that had happened before you lost consciousness. But your mind was fixated on one thing: Sylus.

With a groan, you attempted to sit up, quickly glancing over your body. To your relief, you realized you were freshly cleaned and dressed in one of your nightgowns, with no significant injuries aside from a few scratches on your skin.

You took a moment to steady yourself, ensuring your vision wouldn’t fade to black before you attempted to walk across the room toward the door. Sylus’s office was just down the hallway, and as you stepped outside, you could faintly hear Luke and Kieran’s voices drifting from inside. You paused, heart pounding, and when you heard Sylus’s gruff tone, a wave of relief washed over you. He was okay.

After a brief moment, you knocked once before turning the doorknob and peeking through the small opening. Sylus’s gaze met yours immediately, and the twins turned to regard you with their rare smiles. It wasn’t often they dropped their masks, even in the mansion, but now their boyish features shone through. Their red hair was pulled back into matching messy ponytails, and a hint of blush colored their cheeks as they took in your appearance in the gown.

Sylus coughed discreetly, and the twins exchanged glances before standing up to give you two some privacy.

As they made their way to the door, Kieran paused to ruffle your hair playfully, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “You gave us a scare there, little crow.”

You regarded both twins with a small, apologetic smile before turning your full attention to the white-haired man seated behind his desk. He still wore his torn shirt, which left his muscular frame fully exposed. With a languid movement, he rolled his chair away from the desk and beckoned you with a finger.

Taking slow, deliberate steps toward him, you felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over you as his intense gaze roamed over your form. Despite the butterflies in your stomach, you approached and stood before him, his legs slightly apart, causing your knees to brush against the inside of his thighs as he looked up at you.

Your eyes fell to his toned chest, now marred with scratches and bruises—evidence the damage inflicted, perhaps a sign that he was running low on evol energy and unable to heal completely.

“Are you okay?” Your voice emerged as a barely audible whisper, still tinged with hoarseness. You clasped your hands behind your back, fidgeting awkwardly.

You weren’t quite sure what had come over you; you had never before found yourself in a situation where you needed to actively express your concern for Sylus until tonight, and you hoped he wouldn’t recall too much of what had transpired in that building.

“Worried, kitten?” he asked, a small smirk curling at the corners of his lips as his gaze swept over your body. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and touch you, yet he seemed equally torn, grappling with the worry that had gripped him when you had passed out in his arms.

You sniffled softly, your eyes darting anywhere but to him, your body tense and rigid as if your bones were locking into place. Instead of answering his question, you opted to redirect the conversation. “Do we know what caused the explosion?”

His expression was unreadable, and you noticed his jaw tick slightly as he processed your words. After a moment, he exhaled slowly, raising his hand to brush his knuckles gently across your arm. A shiver coursed through you at the contact, and you could see the corners of his lips curl slightly at your reaction. This time, he didn’t bother to hide himself from you.

“I did.”

“What?” Your voice came out louder than intended, earning a deep, rumbling chuckle from Sylus. He relaxed further into his chair, locking his carmine eyes onto yours with an intensity that sent your heart racing.

 “What are you talking about, Sylus? When I came in there…” It was becoming increasingly difficult to mask the emotion in your voice. “When I came in, you had fainted. What would have happened to you if I hadn’t found you in time?”

Amusement danced freely in his eyes at your small outburst. You truly were exquisite in your concern. “You underestimate me too much, sweetie.”

“You’re the one underestimating your enemies, Sylus!” You raised your voice, your hands gesturing in disbelief. “Just because you’re the leader of Onychinus doesn’t mean they can’t get to you if you’re unconscious.”

“Burnt men can’t walk, kitten.”

A small gasp escaped your lips at the speed and bluntness of his response. His smugness only fueled your anger at his reckless behavior. Leaning down, you gripped the arms of his chair, effectively caging him in. You were about to respond when you suddenly realized the position you had put yourself in. It gave him a full view of your breasts, the fabric of your nightgown flowing away from your skin and leaving little to the imagination.

Your ears and cheeks burned a deep crimson as you tried to pull away just as quickly as you'd leaned down. However, Sylus’s arm had already wrapped around your waist, anchoring you in place and pulling you impossibly closer. Your breath hitched when you noticed the way his pupils had dilated, his lips parting slightly as he fixated on your slowly hardening nipples.

“Sylus…” Your voice was barely a whisper now, heat pooling in your core under his intense gaze.

Finally, Sylus’s eyes met yours, and he began to stroke your back slowly, his tone low as if he feared shattering the delicate bubble that enveloped you both. “The explosion; It was my plan all along. Why else would I want you out and away from the building, sweetie?”

A frown crossed your face at his admission. Despite your initial shock, your body grew more compliant under his gentle strokes as he pulled you in, guiding you to straddle his thigh. His red irises darkened just a bit when your pulsing core made contact with his jeans and you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks at the realization that he could probably feel just how wet you were.

Yet, he continued speaking, his voice smooth and steady. “Tonight had no other way of going. It was necessary and inevitable.”

“But why?” Your eyes had softened since you’d first entered his room, and you found yourself relaxing more beneath his touch as he explained the events of the night.

“Because, kitten, tonight’s transaction was off the table the moment it was proposed by the other side, a few days back when I was still away."

By now, confusion began to cloud your understanding of Sylus’s motives. “But…” Your gaze drifted to his desk, where numerous files lay scattered. “Is this why you came back earlier? Tonight’s transaction was for that protocore you needed, Sylus. I thought nothing could screw this up for you. Weren’t you after it for years?”

Sylus let out a small scoff, his lips pressing into a thin line as he studied your face intently. “You never asked me what the price of that protocore was, kitten.”

Curiosity piqued, you looked up at him again, instinctively leaning closer. Your breasts brushed against his chest, heightening the tension between you as if his answer were a secret he needed to share. “And what was the price?”

“You.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and a dark cloud crossed his features as he spoke. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, causing you to squirm on his thigh, which elicited a low grunt from him.

Your emotions were a chaotic mess, thoughts swirling together and leaving you breathless as you tried to process what he was implying. “So what you’re saying is…”

“The deal was off the table the moment they thought you were for sale.” Sylus’s leg bounced suddenly, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips. Your hands instinctively flew out to clutch the fabric of his open shirt for stability. “I came back because I had to send a message.”

His voice dripped with malice as he continued to move his leg, sending shockwaves of sensation through your core as it ground against his thigh.

The pleasure mixed with confusion made you feel light-headed; even if you wanted to resist, your body had already betrayed you. There was no stopping your hips from chasing the friction, no way to quell the whimpers that escaped your lips. Sylus’s fingers curled tighter around the fabric of your nightgown at the sound.

As you continued to grind against him, he spoke with a dark intensity. “They had to know, kitten; Nobody lives to say they tried to bargain with what belongs to me.”

“I—I don’t belong to you,” you breathed out, unsure whether you were trying to lie to him or to yourself.

“Is this why you’re drenching my thigh, sweetie?” As if to emphasize his point, he bounced his knee again, causing it to press against your sensitive nerves with a force that made you moan involuntarily, your head falling to rest on his shoulder.

“You poor thing,” he cooed in your ear, his hand sliding to your lower back, urging you to grind down against him.

“Tonight—you put yourself in danger, Sylus.” You struggled to form coherent thoughts as you chased your orgasm on his thigh, your mind slowly turning to mush. “That was so stupid, even for you.” You finished your sentence with a moan, and Sylus groaned, instinctively moving his hips upward, his own hard-on seeking friction.

“Were you worried about me, kitten?” He dipped his head to your neck, his lips leaving open-mouthed kisses as he awaited your response, which never came. Sensing your hesitation to voice your concern, his hand slipped between your bodies, his fingertip pressing onto your throbbing clit, making you cry out. “Answer me.”

“I—yes. Yes, I was s'worried.” Your head fell back in bliss, granting him access to suck and nibble on your throat as your hips moved faster and harder. The tight coil in your belly was only a few movements away from bursting. “I thought I’d—”

“Go on.” Sylus urged, his fingers dancing over your clit as he bounced his knee in sync with your movements, relishing the way you were making a mess on him, your whole body heating under his touch.

“I thought I’d lost you.” The words escaped your lips just as your orgasm washed over you, making your vision go black and your entire body shake with its intensity. Sylus’s arms wrapped around you, caging you against his chest as he let you ride it out, offering the small comfort you sought after your confession.

When you finally came down from your high, you were breathless, panting, and a few tears had escaped your eyes. But he was there, holding you gently and running his fingers through your hair. “I’m not that easy to get rid of, sweetie.”

You pushed your head off his chest, your eyes meeting his soft red ones. Without thinking clearly, you reached out to cradle his face. The moment your fingertips made contact with his skin, his whole body visibly flinched, and just like his heartbeat, it felt like time had stopped.

Horrified and regretful, you realized you had let your emotions get the best of you and forgotten about your evol. You stood up from his lap, pressing your hands tightly against your chest, the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Just a few seconds. Just a few seconds, and he’ll wake up, like he always does, right? Doubts gnawed at you; he was so weak after tonight, but his evol would heal him. It had to.

Just when you were about to scream for help, Sylus’s chest began to rise and fall again. His eyes fluttered open, and relief flooded your entire being. Your shoulders slumped, and your body shook, even though he was alright. How could you have been so careless?

“Sweetie.” His voice was soft as he stood from his chair, towering over you. “Look at me.”

You tilted your head up hesitantly, your regrets gnawing at you for what you had just done. You tried to open your mouth to apologize, but no words came out; instead, his lips found yours, silencing any sound you might have made. He threaded his fingers through your hair, pulling gently to angle your head to the side and deepen the kiss until you thought you might faint from lack of breath.

This time, you made sure to keep your hands glued to your sides, not daring to touch him again. When he finally pulled away, you were both panting. He rested his forehead against yours and moved his hand to the back pocket of his pants, retrieving something.

You tilted your head to watch him unfold two pieces of leather gloves. He carefully took your wrist, drawing it toward him before placing the glove on your hand, then moved to the other to do the same. It was a temporary solution, one that frustrated you to no end, but you wouldn’t jeopardize his life just for a touch of his soft skin.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your thoughts crashing over you like a tsunami of negativity at the prospect of harming him. Your frustration only fueled your desperation, and you found yourself clawing at the remnants of his shirt, trying to pull him closer. “I need you, please, Sylus, ’m so sorry.”

Sylus groaned as he felt you tugging him nearer, his own hands finding refuge on your body, touching and caressing anywhere he could reach. “Are you sure, kitten? Once we start, I don’t know if I can hold back.” His voice was low and controlled, while your legs trembled with desire and need.

“Then don’t hold back. Give me everything you have. I can take it, Sylus.” You pressed kisses all over his exposed chest, making him gasp and thin his patience. In one swift motion, you found yourself lifted off the floor, your body cradled in one of his arms as he carried you toward his desk.

“You really know how to bring a man to his knees, sweetie.” He placed you gently on top of the desk, taking his position between your legs. Your lips connected again as his hands deftly worked to rid you of your clothes.

Once you were bare before him, he stepped back, his gaze roaming over your body like a starving man taking in a feast. “Breathtaking.”

He fell to his knees in front of you, throwing your legs over his shoulders with a force that sent you backward, your elbows bracing against the desk for balance. He was too impatient to tease; he dived right in, his tongue lapping at your folds with urgent fervor.

Your back arched immediately, moans and whimpers spilling from your lips as he worked his mouth on your cunt, devouring you as if you were his last meal. Your legs tightened around his head, the pleasure overwhelming, which only made him groan and feast on you harder.

His tongue plunged into your tight hole, sending shockwaves of sensation coursing through your body. You thought you could hold on a little longer, but when his large hand spread across your tummy, pressing down, you exploded in his mouth. Your vision went white as you drenched him, your thighs shaking violently around his head.

The realization of what you had done hit you when he pulled away, his chin and exposed chest glistening with droplets of your release. You shot your gloved hand to cover your mouth, your legs instinctively closing in embarrassment.

Yet, he looked even more exhilarated, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them apart as he positioned himself between them, his lips finding yours once more. “You’re going to do this again. And this time, you’re going to do it on my cock.”

He pushed you back, a firm hand on your chest as you lay spread out on top of his desk. Your eyes focused on his hands as they deftly undid his pants, pushing them down along with his briefs. The moment you saw his girthy cock—veiny and the tip angry and red for you—your mouth went dry.

You craved to satisfy him as he had satisfied you, but when you tried to sit up, his hand pressed you back down against the desk.

“Not tonight, sweetie. Right now, I just need to be inside you.”

Even though he spoke, he made no move to get on you, waiting for your consent first. You nodded, your eyes clouded with lust.

“Use your words, kitten. I need to hear you.” He was pumping his cock with his hand, his fingers barely wrapping around it. Standing before you in all his naked glory, he resembled a Greek statue, and your chest tightened at how wickedly beautiful he looked.

“Yes. Please, Sy, need you inside me.” Your voice came out breathless, and that was all the confirmation he needed. He wrapped an arm around your thigh, pulling you to the edge of the desk and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder to spread you open exactly as he desired.

He pushed the tip in at first, making you clench around him instinctively, as if trying to suck him deeper. An unsteady breath escaped him, and his body stuttered momentarily. You were killing him in the sweetest way. “So goddamn tight.”

Your eyes rolled back in pleasure as he pushed further inside you, his grip on your thigh tightening the moment he was fully buried in you, his pelvis pressing against yours. You could feel him all the way up into your stomach, and your legs began to shake, even though he remained still.

His breathing had turned erratic, and the moment your hips squirmed forward, his other hand came down to keep you in place. “Shit, baby, don’t move. Give me a moment.”

You were a whimpering mess, sweat beading on your forehead from the anticipation. But the instant he started moving, your whole body unlocked, turning to pudding under his thrusts. He began with a slow, deliberate pace, his lips parting as small grunts escaped him, each thrust igniting the fire building within you.

The more you clenched down on his cock, the faster he moved, until the desk scraped against the marble floor. “Fuck, kitten. You’re squeezing me so tightly.” His voice was thick with lust, and the sound of skin slapping against skin only intensified the fire burning deep in your core. “Do you love my cock that much?”

Your mind had turned to mush, thoughts consumed by how he stretched you and filled you to the brim. You nodded uncontrollably, crying out every time his cock brushed against your sweet spot. “Yes! I love it so much, Sy.”

“Good girl.” Sylus’s thrusts quickened as he heard your pretty sounds, the way your walls sucked him in making his thighs tremble slightly as he felt his release drawing near. “Such a good girl, so cock-hungry for me.”

“Ah— fuck.” Stars began to form behind your eyelids, your whole body rocking on the desk. If it weren’t for Sylus’s hands gripping your thighs, you would have slid right off and ended up on the floor from his relentless force. The desk shook violently from his pounding, and you were certain the whole house could hear you.

Sylus’s hand reached for your face, his thumb brushing against your lower lip before slipping past it to press down on your tongue, making you clench around his cock instinctively. “That’s it, sweetie,” he breathed, his eyes closing and his head tilting back in pleasure as your cunt hugged him tightly. “Give it to me; I can feel how close you are.”

You were indeed on the brink, your whole body burning and trembling under Sylus’s powerful thrusts. But what sent you over the edge was a sudden knock on the door, followed by Luke’s voice calling out to see if everything was alright.

The moment you realized you had been caught, and Luke could turn the doorknob at any second to find you spread for Sylus, his cock pressing against your cervix, you exploded. Your loud moans were partly muffled by the white-haired man's finger in your mouth. The pressure you applied around his cock as you climaxed made Sylus falter, his own orgasm crashing over him with a force he hadn’t anticipated.

His hot seed coated your walls, filling you to the brim and spilling out of you, trickling down your thighs as he continued to thrust, ensuring every last drop found its way inside. You were a crying, spent mess on his desk, while he tried to catch his breath, slowly lowering your leg back down from his shoulder.

Luke was long gone from outside the door, having heard enough to realize what was happening between you and Sylus.

You could only look up at him with a small shared chuckle before he leaned down to kiss your lips, his newfound gentleness contrasting sharply with the intensity of the moment. “I believe they received a lesson about eavesdropping now,” he murmured, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

ps; this story has the potential to delve into other parts, either of Sylus and reader in the future or of their shared past from the moment he found her. You can always comment and let me know if you'd like to see something more from this fic:))

[soobnny]

no other heart — best friend!kim seungmin x reader ; only one person can ever persuade seungmin to do anything (1.4k words)

happy bday seungmo! you are my favorite person

Seungmin feels Hyunjin before he even sees his face.

He comes in the form of a hand falling firmly on Seungmin’s shoulder, and the first thing the younger boy thinks is that your hands are supposed to be smaller.

The house that they’re in is loud, and really really crowded. It’s a setting that Seungmin doesn’t often take part in, preferring the quiet sounds of his airconditioning back at his room.

There is also a sharp contrast in how the boy favors his music. While he’s currently surrounded by the thrumming of music that beats in his ears, he would rather be at the dorm in the comfort of his lifeline (or, for better words, his collected playlist for the month).

From the corner of his eye, he sees his oldest friend, Chan, talking to a set of faces he’s never seen before. He wonders how the older boy does it. Seungmin has no plans of starting a conversation unlike Chan, not when he’s overstimulated by the flashing lights, and the confusing aromas wafting from the red cups that everyone seems to be holding, and the hand on his shoulder that most definitely is not yours.

“Seungmin, you came!” That’s also definitely not your voice.

“Hyunjinnie.” He breathes out, head muddled by his sudden urge to go home despite just having arrived around half an hour ago. He doesn’t sound as enthusiastic as his friend, but Hyunjin gives the boy a pass. Besides, it’s not everyday you see Kim Seungmin out past 10 in the evening, more less at a party.

Seungmin shifts a little from where he’s standing, just enough for Hyunjin’s hand to fall limp by his side. If you knew him less, you would think he was being rude. However, his indifference does a lot in calming his friend down.

He still has a distaste for parties. At least, this way, Hyunjin knows that no force has taken over Seungmin for his sudden appearance.

“Not to be mean, I’m just genuinely curious. How come you’re he—”

“Seungminnie!”

He shifts his attention to the sound.

There’s your voice, finally your voice, loud and clear to the boy, enough to be heard over the music and the voices and the heat.

There’s a sudden understanding that crosses Hyunjin’s features, and he says something on par with how Seungmin would only ever go to anything if it was you who asked.

“Ah, of course you’re here, (name). That must be why he’s here too.” Hyunjin giggles, sending a wink that looks more like a blink to the both of you before he disappears into the crowd.

Whatever he means.

Hyunjin has always had a knack for being cryptic anyway.

There is no proper greeting when Seungmin finds you, only a flick on your forehead.

“What’s wrong with you,” he says, but there is no grit in his voice. “You asked me to come here, and left me waiting for you for thirty minutes.”

“I was late.” You smile sheepishly, taking his hand in yours before dragging him along the pool of people to lead him outside.

He should be used to it now, the ease in which you link your hands together, as if there’s no need for a warning anymore when you’ve known each other for this long. Still, Seungmin finds it unfair. He needs it, needs the warning before you take his heart hand like this.

“You shouldn’t be asleep on a Friday night like a senior citizen.”

This senior citizen came out all the way here for you, he thinks.

“‘M going home now,” is what he chooses to say.

“No!” You suddenly stop in your tracks, just when you’re about to reach the grassy fields of the backdoor of whoever the hell owned this house.

It makes Seungmin stumble over, feet in a hurry to plant themselves on the ground so he doesn’t crash into you. When you turn to face him with a scolding look on your face, the only thing he can think about is how awfully close you are.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to proximities like these with you. “I’m already here, don’t you want to be with me?”

Seungmin sighs because he does, really does, but not in the way you’re asking right now.

“Plus, there’s supposed to be a comet tonight. I think we’ll be able to see it from here.” Your hand latches back on his, pulling him outside where the cold breeze of the night air greets you.

“There’s been a comet every night since last Wednesday.”

“But the city doesn’t quite get a view of it like this.”

By his fate, because he can never say no to you, he watches the comet falling just as you mention it.

Seungmin supposes you’re right. It is a little nicer out here compared to the light pollution of the city, and there’s a good enough distance between where you are and the painfully loud music of the house, and he doesn’t have to deal with anyone but the one person he cares about.

He chooses not to think about the eventual teasing that’s bound to come his way.

He knows Hyunjin’s spreading word around, that Kim Seungmin is actually here, and his friends already know why.

Because you’re here. What other reason does he need?

And Seungmin supposes he can sacrifice a few hours of sleep. Despite begrudgingly coming here, he doesn’t think he’d be able to trade the way you look right now—with your eyes soft and enchanted, and your features highlighted by the soft glow of the moon, and the small, but fond smile playing at your lips.

“It’s so beautiful.”

“It is.” He’s not looking where you are, and you’re too painfully distracted by the falling comet and the thousand stars blanketing the night sky to notice that he’s only ever looked at you tonight.

“Seungmin?”

His breath hitches when you suddenly turn to him, and there is no other coping mechanism he can think of but clearing his throat and looking anywhere but your eyes.

You take the moment where he’s too distracted to wrap your arms around him.

Seungmin freezes at the contact, the nudge in his heart so visible on his face. It’s a shame you have your head buried on his chest to notice the way he suddenly relaxes, hand gingerly resting on the small of your back for a second before wrapping himself entirely around you.

“Why’re you hugging me all of a sudden?” It sounds like he wants to say more, but he remains hesitant. Instead, he pulls you just a little closer.

“Thanks for coming. I know you hate going out to stuff like this, and I really do feel bad for practically forcing you. But, at the same time, I’m just really happy you came too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing to feel bad about.”

Fuck, the way he says it is so awkward, and he cringes at himself for feeling this nervous around you. He tries to steady his pulse, tries to stop the rapid way in which his heart beats because he knows you can hear it.

“I stole your sleeping hours, of course I feel bad. Plus you hate parties, and yet you came here anyway.” You loosen your grip to look up at him.

You’re ill-prepared to see the tenderness in which his eyes are looking at you right now. He does that sometimes. You’ve never quite figured out why.

“Because you asked me to.” He tells you, really tries to tell you without saying too much. “I’d do anything if it was you who asked me, stupid girl.”

It feels like more of a realization to himself, and he doesn’t really want you to think about what he means. At least not tonight, not in the same night he’s come to find out just the lengths he would go through for you. His lips are parted like he wants to say more, but he decides against it. Still, his very few words will leave you blushing for the next few days after tonight and strike up a few realizations of your own.

Seungmin has known, and he’s known what he was signing up for—when he’d come here, when he’d pick you up, when he’d answer your calls at two in the morning.

He likes you a lot, and no other heart will ever make him act this way.

Not like you do.

So, for now, he’ll keep doing anything if you ask him. He’ll keep showing up until he’s ready to commit to the How To Confess scripture. He’s a simple boy, after all.

A simple boy with a simple heart that beats only for you.

[meazalykov]

nationality switch

esmee brugts x uswnt!dutch!reader

summary: choosing a national team almost made you drift away from the person you love most

warnings: angst

it’s been a long time since you’ve seen esmee, since that fight—since everything changed. 

you’re sitting in the corner of a cozy café in barcelona, sipping your iced coffee, lost in your thoughts about how things used to be. the only noise around you is the coffee machines brewing or the ovens beeping in the background of your thoughts.

you never expected to see her today. you thought she moved to arsenal in london. a club that she mentioned her interest in. but then again, nothing with esmee ever goes as planned.

the bell above the café door chimes, and you look over at the door on instinct. when you see her, your stomach flips. is that her? you had to do a double take.

it is esmee. her eyes lock on yours instantly, and for a second, it’s like no time has passed. the familiarity, the memories, all come rushing back. you miss her, but the weight of your last conversation—the fight—hangs heavily between you both.

you don’t move. you don’t know if you should, and maybe she doesn’t either, because she hesitates before walking over. you freeze before you see her stop at the counter.

you took a deep breath before she gets her flat white and walks over.

when she finally reaches your table, you see that same spark in her eyes, but there’s something else now. something different.

“hey,” she says, her voice soft, almost tentative, as if she’s afraid of how you’ll respond.

you raise an eyebrow, trying to keep things light. 

“esmee, how did you even find me?”

she offers a small smile, a little suspicious. 

“we never turned off each other’s locations on our phones.”

that breaks the tension for a moment, and you can’t help but laugh. 

it’s such a typical esmee thing to say. well for you, as someone who is the closest to her. she never fails to make a heavy moment become lighter. you shake your head at the absurdity of it all. 

“of course.”

she sits down across from you at the wooden table, and suddenly, the reality of everything hits. you’re both here in barcelona. after all this time, all the distance, somehow, fate—or maybe something else—has pulled you back together. 

it feels like you’re supposed to be here, like you were always meant to end up on the same team again. it hasn't been too long since you were both at psv. your contracts ended at the same time and you had a bad feeling that it would've been your last time together.

it wasn't.

“so…” esmee starts, her fingers fiddling with the edge of the napkin in front of her. “i heard the news.”

you nod slowly. “yeah. barca. i guess it was inevitable, huh?”

“inevitable,” she echoes, her gaze dropping to the table before lifting back to meet yours. 

“we were always supposed to end up here together, it was our dream.”

the silence stretches between you both, and it’s not uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. there’s so much unsaid, and you know it. she knows it. 

the past months have been complicated. after the women’s world cup, after that game against the netherlands where you scored that header, after you told her that you weren't going to represent the netherlands on the senior level, things between you two were…different.

“you were mad,” you say softly, cutting through the silence.

her eyes darken slightly, and she nods, not bothering to deny it. “yeah, i was.”

“because I celebrated my goal?”

“because it felt like you were celebrating more than just a goal,” she admits. 

“it felt like you were celebrating the fact that you chose them over us. over me.”

throwback to july 26th, 2023

it’s the 62nd minute, and the game between the u.s and the netherlands is 0-1. the tension is suffocating—this isn’t just any group stage match. 

it’s a battle between two teams who were in the finals of the last world cup. the netherlands want revenge.

for you, it’s personal. you are dutch and american. your mother was born and raised in eindhoven, while your dad is an american who studied there then met your mother.

while growing up, you considered yourself to be dutch. you never lived in the united states. however, you've wondered what it was like to live over there.

at the age of 8 you met your bestfriend, esmee, at a soccer club. the both of you grew up, joined psv together, and played for the dutch youth teams together.

when your father expressed how he wanted you to chose the uswnt when you reached the senior level, you didn't count him out. the team was the best in the world.

the 2019 world cup solidified your decision to represent your father's side of the family. however, sometimes you think about the other world where you chose the dutch team instead of the americans.

you jog back to your position for a corner kick being taken by rose lavelle, feeling the weight of the moment settle on your shoulders. 

your heart pounds in your chest, and as you glance toward the dutch goal, your eyes flicker briefly to the orange clad figure on the left. esmee. 

she’s looks at you briefly, her expression unreadable. for a split second, it’s like time slows down. you remember the late nights practicing at psv, the laughter, the way she used to tell you that you’d both dominate the world together one day.

now, you’re on opposing sides, thanks to you choosing your other nationality.

the whistle blows. you snap back to the present, focusing on the corner being taken. 

the ball soars through the air, heading toward the front post. you leap, eyes locked on the ball, and your timing is perfect. you rise above the defenders, connecting with the ball in a powerful header that rockets past the dutch goalkeeper.

goal!

for a moment, the world stops. then the noise of the crowd hits you like a wave, and you’re running, arms outstretched in celebration. your teammates swarm around you, shouting, grabbing your jersey, jumping on your back. 

you can hear julie yelling for you and lindsey clapping you on the back with a proud grin. it’s chaos—pure joy, adrenaline, and pride.

but as you slow down, turning back toward midfield, your eyes find esmee again. 

she’s standing there, watching, her expression unreadable at first. in the moment that you look away before turning back, you see it: the hurt. the disbelief. you know it’s not just about the goal. it’s about everything else.

you swallow the lump forming in your throat and try to focus on your teammates still celebrating around you, but esmee’s look is burned into your mind. 

she goes back on the left-back then stands, her hands clenched into fists by her sides, it looks as if she’s frozen. you see her teammates—players you grew up with on youth teams—pat her on the back, but it’s clear she’s not hearing them.

it’s the celebration that did it. you know it. the way you threw your fists in the air, the way you smiled at your teammates like this goal was everything. 

to esmee, it wasn’t just a goal against the netherlands. it was a statement, a reminder that you chose the united states over the netherlands, over her.

as the game resumes, you push the thought to the back of your mind. you have to stay focused. there’s still time left, and the dutch team isn’t going to back down easily. but every time you glance in esmee’s direction, it stings. 

you see the frustration in her movements, the way she presses forward with even more intensity than before. she’s angry—at you, at the situation—and it shows.

the game ends and its tied. the rest of her team is exhausted, but she doesn’t even wait for the usual post-match handshakes and shirt swaps. she walks straight down the tunnel, disappearing from view, and a pit forms in your stomach.

you want to go after her, explain that the celebration wasn’t meant to hurt her. but deep down, you know this moment has been building for a long time. 

the decision to play for the united states on the senior level, the arguments, the silence between you two—it’s all led to this. 

in the locker room, your teammates are quiet, they’re focused on the next match. 

your thoughts are stuck on esmee. you stare down at your phone, wondering if you should text her, try to explain. but what could you say? what could make this better?

back to the barcelona cafe, a month later

you blink, taken aback by the raw honesty in her words. 

you’ve had months to think about it—about what it meant when you chose to play for the uswnt, about how your dad had always pushed you to follow in his footsteps. but you didn’t think esmee would take it this personally.

“esmee, it wasn’t about that,” you say, voice soft, almost pleading.

“you know it wasn’t like that.”

it was your first goal for the national team. it happened to be against your other country, the other country that wanted you to play for them too. 

your mother is dutch, and your father is american– so you had a tough decision to make.

esmee shakes her head, and for a moment, you think she’s going to argue. but then she sighs, leaning back in her chair. 

“i know. but it hurt. i wanted you to play with me and for the oranje. i wanted us to play together, like we always did in eindhoven. and then, when you celebrated after that goal…it felt like you’d forgotten everything we’d had.”

“i didn’t forget. i could never forget,” you say, and it’s the truth. you haven’t forgotten a single moment. 

“but esmee, you know how much my dad wanted this for me.” 

“i know,” she whispers, and there’s pain in her voice. 

“but i wanted you to want the same things i did. i wanted you to choose me.”

her words hit you hard, and for a second, you can’t respond. this is about more than just football, more than just a decision you had to make when choosing a national team. 

it’s about the two of you—about what you’ve meant to each other all these years.

“esmee,” you start, leaning forward, trying to make her understand. “it wasn’t about choosing them over you. you mean everything to me. i-i didn’t even realize—”

“that’s the thing,” she interrupts, her voice trembling slightly. 

“i was upset because i always want to be around you. it was selfish, maybe, but it’s the truth. i thought…i thought i was going to lose you when you chose them. what if you didn’t choose to come to barcelona? what if i didn’t? we wouldn’t see each other anymore..”

you frown, confused. “esmee, you’re never going to lose me. what are you talking about?”

she bites her lip, her eyes searching yours, and suddenly, it’s like all the walls she’s built up come crashing down. her hands stop gripping on her coffe cup and goes to gently hold your right hand instead. 

you froze.

“i’m talking about how i feel about you,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. 

you feel your heart skip a beat, and for some reason, her confession doesn’t surprise you. 

it’s like you always knew, like a part of you had been waiting for her to say it out loud. she’s been your best friend for years, but deep down, maybe you always knew there was something more.

the left-back never made her crush on you a hidden secret. she was never outright, but her actions towards you spoke for itself. 

“es…” you start, but you don’t know what to say. so instead, you reach across the table, gently taking your other hand and holding hers.

she looks at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable, like she’s terrified of what you’ll say next.

“i like you too,” you say softly, your thumb brushing over the back of her hand. 

“i think i always have.”

her eyes widen even more, but there’s a soft smile playing on her lips now. 

“really?”

you nod, giving her a small smile in return. “yeah. really.”

you stand up slowly, moving around the table, and she doesn’t pull away when you lean down and press a soft kiss to her forehead. 

it feels right and natural, like something you should’ve done a long time ago. you wanted to, but you didn't know how she felt about you then.

nobody was present in the cafe instead of the barista who was too focused on making drinks, so you didn’t feel embarrassed to kiss her.

when you pull back, esmee smiling up at you, and for the first time in months, you feel like things between you two might finally be okay.

“so…barcelona, huh?” you say, trying to lighten the mood.

esmee laughs, that familiar sound you’ve missed so much. “yeah. looks like we’re stuck together again.”

you grin, squeezing her hand gently. “good. i wouldn’t want it any other way.”

my masterlist is here if you want to read more!

[tsumuus]

₊✩‧₊˚ katsuki bakugou + prompt 2 ˚₊✩‧₊

₊✩‧₊˚ “i wanted her to look at me, but she couldn't pull her eyes away from you and your stupid hair” ˚₊✩‧₊

₊✩‧₊˚ original request ˚₊✩‧₊

The common room was unusually quiet, a stillness lingering after the group hangout had come to an end. Most of Class 3-A had already retired to their dorms, but you, Bakugou, and Midoriya remained. The glow of the setting sun filtered through the windows, casting an amber hue over the room, intensifying the awkward tension that filled the air.

You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, avoiding eye contact with either of the boys. Something about the silence felt... heavy. Your heart thudded uncomfortably in your chest, like there was something you should be saying but couldn’t find the courage to. Maybe it was the way Bakugou kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye, or the way Midoriya sat there, more pensive than usual.

“I think I’m going to head to bed,” you said, offering the boys a tired smile. “I want to get as much rest as I can before tomorrow.”

Izuku smiled back and nodded, while Katsuki only grunted in response. You felt the weight of his gaze as you turned and walked toward the dorms, but you didn’t dare look back.

Once you were gone, the silence in the room grew heavier.

Katsuki stared at the floor for a long time, fists clenching and unclenching as he wrestled with something in his mind. Finally, he broke the silence.

“I don’t get why you two aren’t dating yet,” he said, his voice gruff.

Izuku blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”

“You and her,” Katsuki snapped, his irritation rising. “You’ve been joined at the hip since middle school. Inseparable. I figured you two had feelings for each other.”

Izuku’s eyes widened, and he frantically waved his hands in front of him. “Oh, no, no! We’re just friends, Kacchan. We’ve always been close, but it’s not like that. We’re like siblings, basically.”

Katsuki’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t get it.”

Izuku tilted his head. “Get what?”

“You had all her undivided attention growing up,” Katsuki said, his voice barely a whisper at first, then louder as his frustration bubbled up. “And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.” He clenched his fists, the words pouring out before he could stop them. “I wanted her to look at me, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from you and your stupid hair.”

Izuku’s mouth fell open, shock written all over his face. He didn’t know what to say, the confession hanging in the air between them. Katsuki kept going, almost like he couldn’t stop himself.

“And now you’re telling me you don’t even like her?” he asked, incredulous. His voice cracked slightly, and he hated how vulnerable he sounded, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out.

Izuku stared at Katsuki for a long moment, processing everything. He knew. He had always known about your feelings for Katsuki, ever since you’d confided in him back in middle school. He’d kept it a secret, though, respecting your wishes. But now, seeing Katsuki like this, he couldn’t just stay quiet.

“Kacchan,” Izuku started slowly, choosing his words carefully, “I think you should talk to Y/N about this, not me.”

Katsuki blinked, his confusion deepening. “Huh?”

Izuku stood up, giving Katsuki a gentle, knowing smile. “Trust me, Kacchan, she feels the same way.”

Katsuki’s eyes widened. “Same way about what?!”

But Izuku was already heading toward the dorms, leaving Katsuki behind to stew in his thoughts.

The silence that followed was deafening. Katsuki’s mind raced as he tried to piece everything together. Could it be true? Could you really feel the same way he did?

A month had now passed and you all had graduated, and UA's once-bustling dorms were now quiet, most of the students already packed up and gone, ready to take on the next chapter of their lives. Bakugou Katsuki stood by his car, having finished loading his belongings. He hadn’t stopped thinking about that night- about the conversation with Midoriya. About you.

He had replayed Izuku’s words over and over in his mind: “Trust me, she feels the same way.”

But what did that mean? Could it be true? After years of feeling like a shadow in your life, of competing for your attention with Deku, the thought that you could have possibly felt the same way about him all this time was too much for him to fully process.

As he carried the last box from his dorm, Bakugou passed by your room, the door wide open. He glanced inside and saw you still packing, surrounded by half-filled boxes and scattered belongings. Typical. You always took your time with things like this.

Clearing his throat, he stepped into the doorway. “You’re takin’ your damn time, huh? Everyone else is done.”

You looked up, surprised to see him but greeting him with a soft smile. "Katsuki. Shouldn’t you know by now how much of a procrastinator I am?”

He chuckled, a low sound that felt strange to him even now. “Yeah, I know.” It got quiet after that. Bakugou stood there, awkward in the silence, shifting the box in his arms. He wasn’t used to this- this tension between you two. For once, you didn’t seem to be looking at him through the lens of just another friend. He couldn’t explain it, but the air between you felt charged, and Bakugou hated how it made his heart race.

You hated the silence, too. Desperate to fill the void, you opened your mouth to say something, but Bakugou beat you to it.

“Remember that night? After the hangout?” He started, voice rough, avoiding your eyes. “When you left, I talked to Deku.”

You blinked, nodding slightly as if encouraging him to continue.

“He told me I should talk to you. That you… felt the same way.” He hesitated, his pride making the next part difficult. “But I don’t get what the hell he was talkin’ about. What did he mean?”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “Was that all he said? It sounds incomplete.”

Bakugou groaned, frustrated. You were always doing this- making him dig deeper. But he had already started this conversation, and now there was no turning back.

“You know, yn, our entire lives, you were always closer to damn Deku,” Bakugou gritted out, the words coming fast and hard. “The one thing I ever wanted was for your attention to be on me, not that damn nerd. But it never seemed to go my way. You could never take your damn eyes off him.”

You swallowed hard, shocked at how raw his words were. Bakugou wasn’t one to open up, let alone admit something like this.

“I guess I just never understood why,” he continued, the frustration growing evident in his tone. “I did everything in my power to make it go my way. For you to notice me, even acknowledge me. But it never seemed to go that way, huh?”

The silence that followed his outburst felt suffocating. Bakugou hated it, hated how vulnerable he felt after saying so much. But before he could backtrack or cover it up, he forced himself to continue.

“But I’m glad we got closer these last few years,” he muttered, softer now, his eyes fixed on a random spot on the floor. “It’s all younger me could’ve asked for. I don’t say this much, and you probably won’t hear it from me again, so listen up. I’m glad we were friends.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and you could hardly breathe. Bakugou… was glad? He wasn’t angry, wasn’t frustrated with how things turned out? After all these years?

You didn’t know what to say, so you fell back on humor, hoping to lighten the mood. “You said ‘were friends.’ I’m not gonna let you get rid of me that easily, Bakugou. We’ll see each other. I’ll make sure of it.”

Bakugou chuckled, but the weight of the moment still lingered. You hated it. You hated feeling like there was something left unsaid, something too big to ignore any longer.

So, before you could lose your nerve, you spoke up, your voice softer than usual. “You know, Bakugou… while you’re here, I should admit something.”

He raised an eyebrow, curious now. “What?”

“The reason I pushed you away all those years ago… it’s because I had a huge, fat crush on you.” You laughed, though the sound was nervous, unsure. “Being a dumb middle schooler, I thought that if I focused on Izuku, it’d help me get rid of those feelings. But all I ended up doing was accidentally blocking you out. I’m sorry for that.”

Bakugou stared at you, processing your words slowly, before his eyes narrowed. “Had?”

“Hm?”

“You said ‘had.’ You ‘had a crush on me.’” His tone was tense now, eyes locked onto you, searching.

“Yeah,” you replied, nervously laughing again. “I guess I never told you. I had the fattest crush on you.”

“What about now?”

The question caught you off guard. “What?”

“What about now, yn?” Bakugou dropped the box in his arms and took a step closer, his body language suddenly more intense, more focused. He was agitated now, his frustration bubbling to the surface again. “yn, I just poured my heart out to you. Flat-out told you how I felt, how much I wanted your attention- how much clearer do you want me to be? I love you, yn. Is there any- any sliver of you that still has feelings for me?”

Your breath caught in your throat, heart racing as you processed his words. But all you could do was nod.

He didn’t hesitate. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded again, barely able to manage a breath as Bakugou closed the space between you. When his lips met yours, it was fierce, raw, but there was something so undeniably gentle about it. Every emotion, every unresolved feeling, every year of longing was poured into that kiss. The tension of the past years melted into something warm and real between you.

And as you stood there in the quiet of your half-packed dorm room, the weight of the unspoken finally lifted, replaced by the comfort of knowing that maybe, just maybe, you both had been waiting for this moment all along.

a/n lowkwy half assed the ending sorry but i really do love this quote😭

₊✩‧₊˚ 555 follower event ! ˚₊✩‧₊

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[cravingpepsimax]

since he’s beginning to spread, here’s a rough timeline of events for the fujo bill au:

bill is defeated and is put in the theraprism

after who knows how long, bill begins coping with his spite and rage towards stan and ford by doing/making stuff that he thinks they’d hate.

he begins “shipping” stancest. bill doesn’t really GET the incest taboo, it seems pretty much entirely arbitrary to him, but he knows it exists and is something humans are REPULSED by. thus, he starts making stuff involving stan and ford dating each other. theraprism staff thinks it’s odd but him writing books about stan and ford kissing is significantly better than him writing books in an attempt to escape.

over time, bill starts getting actually invested. it may have started as pure spite, but he begins to remember things that, oh boy, sure do seem pretty incestuous, now that he thinks about it. at first, it’s funny — “HAHA, WOW, SIXER REALLY IS A FREAK, ISN’T HE?” — but then it becomes real.

since bill’s calming down and is no longer talking about wanting to murder the entire family 24/7, theraprism staff decides to move onto the next step in bill’s karma program: becoming pen pals with one of the people he used to terrorize. mabel’s a lot like bill, but not evil, so the theraprism staff choose her.

meanwhile, a 13 year old mabel gets a Crazy Paranormal Experience, in which she is told what’s going on. mabel agrees to be bill’s pen pal (he won’t be able to do any actual harm, and, worst-case scenario, it’d be funny to mess with him (note that, even though mabel’s 13, well over a year has passed for bill — time is merely a suggestion for beings as powerful as the theraprism staff)

bill HATES being made to do this stupid pen pal stuff. he can’t use it as a way out — the theraprism staff have been keeping a VERY CLOSE EYE ON HIM ever since the book, and it’s gonna be hard to trick mabel into doing ANYTHING for him. so, his first few letters are him insulting and trying to upset mabel, who doesn’t really seem to care at all.

eventually, in one of bill’s pieces of hate mail, he says some shit like “SIXER AND HIS BROTHER ARE REAL FREAKS, KID! WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY’RE DOING ON THE STAN O’ WAR II? I’LL GIVE YOU A HINT: THE ANSWER’S ‘EACH OTHER’!”

mabel promptly ignores the rest of the letter entirely, and makes a GIANT response excitedly going “oh my gosh, you noticed, too??”, and listing everything romantic she’s ever noticed about them.

bill responds, filling in some gaps here and there, telling her about some incestuous stuff from 30+ years ago, pointing out things she missed, pointing out things he missed (“WOW, THEY DID WHAT? TALK ABOUT NEEDING TO GET A ROOM, YEESH.”)

they become stancest gossip buddies from there. mabel fujopills him in other regards (bill never thought he’d watch a show called “ouran highschool host club”, much less at the request of a 13 year old who thinks the pair of twins kissing would be hot/cute, but hey, afterlife’s full of surprises, ain’t it?) but his main love is and always will be stancest

they eventually become close enough and the theraprism staff trusts them enough to get interdimensional phone call privileges. any time anything happens mabel calls him and goes “oh my gosh, you’ll NEVER guess what just happened!” and they gossip for like an hour

stan and ford are completely clueless as to what’s going on at all. i like to imagine they find out eventually but it takes awhile LMAO

[sarcasticmirage]

End of Novel Spoilers!

okay but can we talk about how important the 0th turn is for orv as a whole and how well its done...

So the first time we learn about the 0th turn it's a revelation, the horrible curse placed on yjh is not a curse at all but something that he chose, and that changes everything about what even yjh thinks about himself and his life.

and then we learn about tls123

and everything about yjh gets questioned again, like we've always questioned him: is he a character or is he a person? In orv's wonderfully recursive way, he only exists as a person bc he's a character that hsy wrote, but she could only write him as a character because of the person she knew. Who is he, where is the line between what hsy wrote him to be and who he is, does that even matter when his entire existence is only due to the oldest dream believing in him and him only believing in the version of him that would truly do and be everything that hsy wrote about him and more?

so getting back to the 0th turn, after learning about tls123, the 0th turn means so much more because it is truly yjh acting unequivocally of his own volition. Hsy never knew this part of the story so she couldn't write it, kdj never read this part of the story so he couldn't imagine it. The only reason it exists at all is because kdj goes intentionally as the oldest dream, to watch it. But in this moment the crux of yjh's tragedy, he is the author of his own story.

Just as with every climax of the yoohankim cycle, for just a moment fate and inevitability falls away; Kim Dokja could get off the train, Han Sooyoung could let Kim Dokja die, Yoo Joonghyuk could enjoy his happy ending. But they don't, in all these circumstances they know the consequences, and they choose each other anyways no matter how terrible that can be.

[writingrock]

the tale of two lovers [4]

pairing: barbarian! katsuki bakugou x reader (female) summary: a bard approaches a lone barbarian in search for a story to tell. Who could have known that the barbarian end up being such a romantic tale.

notes: fantasy au, fluff, strangers to lovers, slow burn, bakusquad, barbarian bakugou, violence, mentions of spiritual creatures, mentions of discrimination

word count: 8.3k

part list

part one: chapter list

a/n: we're finally in the damn woods. this part took way longer than needed.

Despite your frequent clashes with Bakugou, the bond within the group had deepened over time. Each of you had gradually adapted to the others' habits and idiosyncrasies. The journey started off rocky with Bakugou and you locking horns. But this leg of the journey had been surprisingly pleasant, filled with laughter and shared stories that knitted the group closer together. Sure, you and Bakugou bickered now and then, but it never escalated to anything more than heated words— at least, not yet. 

Now, as the group finally reached the last stretch before Niniel’s Veil, a sense of quiet anticipation settled over the camp. Tomorrow, you all would descend into the maddening forest. A place none of you could fully predict or prepare for. All of you are sitting by the campfire, the warmth of the flames cast flickering shadows on your faces. The night was calm, but you could feel the unmistakable worry around the group. Wrapping around each of you like the darkening forest surrounding the camp.

The group huddled close. Low chatter drifted through the night air, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or a solemn comment about the day ahead. The conversation circled around the forest that awaited them— the cursed thicket known as Niniel’s Veil.

Denki, absently poking at the fire with a stick, broke the silence. “So, anyone else feeling a bit uneasy about tomorrow?” His golden brown eyes focused on the fire, carrying an edge of nervousness.

“Tomorrow’s the big day,” Kirishima replied, his fingers fumbling with the fabric of his tunic. The idle movement showed a small part of his restlessness. He grabbed a stick and poked at the fire alongside Denki, sending a few sparks crackling into the night air. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But we’ve faced worse, right? We just need to stick together.” There was a mix of excitement and apprehension in his voice. 

Mina was sitting cross-legged next to you with a thoughtful expression. There’s a pause before she nodded in agreement. “They say the forest shifts and changes its paths. You can go in with a map and still get hopelessly lost. We’ll need to stay sharp.” She shuddered, remembering the tales she’s heard about the Veil.

Denki leaned back against a tree, casually tossing the stick he’d been using to stir the fire aside, letting it roll to a stop near the flames. He let out a heavy sigh as he verbally recounted the horror stories told about the thicket. “And the creatures that live there—supposedly, some of them are more dangerous than anything we’ve faced before.”

Sero grinned and added, “Well, if nothing else, it’ll be one hell of a story to tell. Assuming we make it out of there.” A part of you wondered how Sero could always be so pragmatic. He seemed to be the most relaxed in the group. Or was he simply hiding behind a calm exterior? You couldn’t really tell. 

You looked down at the flickering flames, their light reflecting in your eyes. “It’s not just about surviving,” you said, your tone more serious. “It’s about navigating a place that seems determined to trap us there. We need to be prepared for anything.”

Mina glanced over at you, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “You’ve been through Niniel’s Veil before. Got any advice for us?”

Advice? That wasn’t something you could offer lightly. You hesitated, the weight of your previous journey through the Veil lingering in your mind. After a moment, you spoke slowly, choosing your words carefully.

“Advice isn’t easy to give for a place like that,” you began, eyes flicking to the evening sky as if it might help you find the right way to explain. Squinting at the night sky, focusing on the stars for guidance. “But… Do you guys actually know the story behind Niniel’s Veil?” Slowly, you lowered your head and looked at the group, studying their expressions. 

They exchanged glances, a collective shrug rippling through the group. Denki leaned forward slightly, intrigued, while Kirishima scratched his head. Bakugou, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. It seemed that the history of the Veil piqued his interest. Though, it wasn’t just him. One by one, they all shook their heads. You could tell everyone was at least slightly interested. 

“Nope,” Denki said, letting out a resigned sigh. “Can’t say I do.”

Kirishima chuckled nervously. “I’ve heard the horror stories, but not much else.”

Bakugou’s eyes looked at you. “I’m guessing it’s more than just some foggy forest, then.”

Mina leaned forward, clearly eager to hear more. “Alright, mapmaker. Lay it on us.”

You leaned forward slightly, the firelight casting shadows across your face as you began to explain. “Niniel’s Veil wasn’t always this mysterious, cursed place. A long time ago, it was home to a powerful elven kingdom. Hidden away deep in these enchanted woods, the elves used their magic to shield themselves from the outside world. But they were… Well, they were elves.” There was a trace of disdain in your voice as you delivered that last part, the words carrying more weight than intended.

The group’s attention was locked on you now, each of them watching as you continued.

“The elves of Niniel didn’t stay within their kingdom. They pillaged and colonised other lands, stealing relics and treasures from the places they conquered. They weren’t satisfied with just wealth— they wanted power. And the more they took, the more they craved. But they were greedy, and greed doesn’t go unchecked forever.”

You paused, glancing around the fire, letting the weight of the story sink in before continuing. “Eventually, their power was usurped. The lands they’d pillaged banded together, turning on the elves. Niniel’s kingdom crumbled. But the elves… they didn’t go quietly. In their final moments, they cursed the very forest they once called home. As revenge, they scattered the stolen relics throughout the woods, using powerful magic to ensure they would never be found or returned to their rightful places.”

Mina’s eyes widened as you spoke, while Denki shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the dark woods surrounding your camp. Even Sero straightened up, leaning in closer to listen to your tale.

“And the forest itself,” you said, your voice lowering slightly, “became part of that curse. The elves wove their magic into the land, warping it. Niniel’s Veil is designed to trap people— to lure them in, twist their sense of direction, and keep them lost. The trees shift, paths disappear, and you see things that aren’t real. It’s a labyrinth, alive with ancient magic, and it wants to keep anyone who dares to enter.”

The fire crackled softly, filling the brief silence that followed. 

“So, let me guess,” Kirishima spoke in a hushed tone. “Those relics are still out there?”

You nodded. “Yep. Hidden throughout the Veil. Some say finding them all could break the curse, but no one’s been able to gather them all. At least, no one who’s made it out.”

Kirishima let out a low whistle, leaning back as the weight of your words sank in. “So, we’re walking into a cursed maze with no guarantee of getting out, huh?”

“You’ve got me, that’s plenty of guarantee,” you said, your voice brimming with confidence as you glanced around the group. A small, reassuring smirk graces your lips. But deep down, you knew the danger that lay ahead.

Denki chuckled nervously, though the unease in his voice was hard to miss. “Yeah, I’m just going to cling to that optimism, because the alternative sounds pretty terrifying.”

Bakugou, who had been quiet up until now, crossed his arms and let out a questioning scoff. His brow raised at your confidence. “Talk’s cheap. You sure you’re up for this?”

You met his stare without hesitation, your voice steady. “I’ve made it through it and mapped that forest. Trust me, I’m ready. The real question is— are you?”

His eyes peered down at you. Why do you keep challenging him? He wants to be mad but he’s amused. By now, he’s gotten used to you provoking him. There’s a faint smirk that threatens to surface, but he very quickly concealed it. “I’m always ready. Don’t slow me down.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Slowing you down? You’re more likely to charge ahead and get yourself lost.”

Kirishima laughed from his spot by the fire. “Yeah, maybe stick close this time. We can’t have you lost.”

Bakugou shot him a sharp look, snapping at his friend. “I’ll do what I need to. The Veil won’t stop me.” Kirishima chuckled at his words for he could see there’s no real anger behind that cutting gaze.

“You might want to rethink that,” you said, your tone turning serious. “Niniel’s Veil isn’t exactly forgiving. It’s not just about getting lost; the forest has a way of messing with your mind. It twists paths and shadows, plays tricks on you.”

Bakugou snorted as he leaned back against the rock. “Tch. I’ve faced worse.”

Sero raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Like dealing with you guys,” Bakugou muttered, finally releasing the smirk he had been holding back.

You caught the exchange with a half-smile, the tension of the upcoming challenge momentarily eased by the banter. Despite the seriousness of the situation, there was a growing sense of unity within the group. Each member brought their own strengths and quirks to the table, and as you prepared for the forest that lay ahead, it was clear that this shared journey had already forged a deeper bond among you.

As the night deepened and the conversation drifted to lighter topics, you couldn’t shake the feeling of anticipation. Tomorrow, the real adventure would begin. Despite the danger that awaited, there was a sense of resolve and readiness in the air.

You watched the fire crackle, the warmth against the chill of the evening offering a small comfort. “We’ll make it through,” you said, trying to inject a bit of confidence into your voice for the group. In truth, you knew how dangerous those woods were. It was hard to say for certain if it would be smooth sailing all the time.

Bakugou huffed, a rare, soft chuckle leaving his lips. “I hope you’re right. I don’t plan on letting a bunch of trees outsmart us.”

As the night wore on, you could feel the suspense building for the journey ahead. The campfire’s warmth was a fleeting solace before the uncertainty of tomorrow. For now though, it was enough to keep the chill of apprehension at bay. Eventually, the conversation dwindled as exhaustion seeped into the group. One by one, your companions bid each other goodnight, surrendering to sleep.

But sleep had evaded you. You lay awake in the darkness, the stillness of the night amplifying the restless thoughts swirling in your mind. Insomnia wasn’t something you usually struggled with— at least, not recently. But tonight, it tightened its grip on you. It was suffocating. You tried to push those thoughts away, but it was easier said than done. With each toss in your bedroll, those plaguing thoughts only grew more persistent.

Out of all nights, it had to be tonight. But it made sense that you couldn’t sleep the night before entering Niniel’s Veil. You knew exactly what that forest meant for you. With a quiet sigh, you slipped out of your sleeping bag. Deciding that perhaps a walk might help. From your experience, a walk did usually help make you sleepier. 

Carefully, you slid your feet into your boots, moving with deliberate quiet. Reaching into your bag, you retrieved three items: a book, one of your quills, and a dagger. Whenever you found yourself unable to sleep, working on some lazy sketches of the scenery helped you unwind and gave you something to focus on. So for you, a book paired with a quill became a staple for your late night walks.

The dagger spoke for itself. You never knew what could jump out in the night. As you prepared for your walk, you took great care to keep your movements as silent as possible, tiptoeing past your sleeping companions. A few of them stirred slightly, but you held your breath, not wanting to disturb their rest. Once you were far enough from camp, you exhaled softly, feeling the tension ease.

Being a cartographer, you knew most areas well. After all, drawing out those maps tended to etch locations into your memory. Especially if you particularly liked the place. As you walked through the forest, you recalled a nearby spot that had always brought you peace. Confident in your sense of direction, you walked through the darkness. Your sight at night being no issue.

The nocturnal world around you stirred as you stepped through the quiet woods, the sounds of night creatures blending with the soft rustle of leaves underfoot. There was a calmness here, a solitude you had always found comforting. As much as you had grown to appreciate the company of your party, you couldn’t deny the pull of the silence.

Perhaps it wasn’t that you preferred being alone, but that you had simply grown accustomed to it. Cartography was a solitary profession, one that few could endure for long. But for you? This is the path chosen for you from the moment you were born. 

Your only true companion on these journeys had been Kyrah, your golden eagle familiar, whose presence had been invaluable in your work— a reliable partner who needed no more than a summons, carrying no extra weight. Kyrah is a familiar you manifested with the help of your father. She aids you in your mapping endeavours. You can seamlessly merge with Kyrah’s vision, often shifting your perspective to hers as she soars above, giving you a bird’s-eye view of the terrain below. Besides that, she’s a silent companion that helps quell the lonely journeys you go on. 

The sound of flowing water reached your ears, and you quickened your pace, heading toward the source. Soon, the sight of a waterfall came into view, illuminated by the soft light of the moon. It wasn’t a grand waterfall, but there was a serene beauty to it, a simplicity that had always drawn you in. You settled down by a rock, the moonlight washing over you as you gazed at the waterfall, its steady flow soothing your restless mind.

The frogs croaked softly in the background as you prepared you to sketch. When you couldn’t sleep, you’d draw. Sometimes, the act of sketching was enough to lull you to sleep— the rhythmic scratch of the quill against paper, the quiet ambiance around you. You opened your book and began to draw, letting the scene before you pull you into its tranquillity.

A sudden snap broke the stillness. Your heart jumped, and you could feel a large presence behind you. What the hell was that? Sure, things might go bump in the night, especially in the forest. But this was different—a heavy snap, the kind of sound only a beast could make. You weren’t about to wait for the beast to strike first. Instinct kicked in as you twisted your upper body. Ready to make the first move, fully expecting to face the threat head on.

You could have sworn you had grabbed your dagger, but instead, you found yourself holding your quill.

And it’s pressing into a rather familiar throat.

Bakugou had leaned in close, his breath warm against your skin, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked down at you. His eyes glinted with amusement, the sharpness in them betraying how much he was enjoying the situation. The distance between you was almost nonexistent, the tension palpable. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly under the quill’s pressure, a subtle reminder of how precarious the moment was. Yet he seemed unfazed, confident even, as if daring you to make the next move.

Bakugou raised an eyebrow at your choice of weapon. A shit-eating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. You wanted so badly to rub that smirk off. “A quill? Really?” There was a mocking edge to his tone. “You can try, but it won’t do much.”

You narrowed your eyes, clearly unamused by this situation. “Could’ve sworn I had a dagger.”

He responded by waving the dagger in front of your face, the blade catching the light before he dropped it carelessly to the ground. “You mean this one?” his voice dripping with condescension. “You ought to be more aware.” 

You scoffed, pressing the quill harder against his throat, the tip leaving a faint mark of ink on his skin. “What are you doing here?” Your voice was steady, but the rush of adrenaline still coursed through you. As the question left your lips, you retracted the quill and leaned back against the rock, letting your body relax. The immediate sense of danger faded, but the tension between you and Bakugou lingered. 

He didn’t move, his gaze locked on you as he slowly lowered himself onto a nearby rock, keeping a deliberate distance. “I could ask you the same,” he replied, his tone more measured now. “You woke me up. Care to be less noisy?”

He was a light sleeper—not a surprise there. You’ve learnt that during the time you’ve spent with this group. “Could’ve gone back to sleep,” you retorted, your tone dismissive. “What’s your deal?”

Bakugou glared at you, his expression hardening. “My deal? You’re the one sneaking around in the middle of the night, waving a quill like it’s some kind of weapon.”

You let out a short, dry laugh. “You stole my dagger, you imbecile.”

He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Whatever. So what? You couldn’t sleep, so you decided to wander around and wake everyone up?”

You shrugged, avoiding his eyes as you looked out into the forest. “Just needed to clear my head. Walking helps sometimes.”

“Hmph.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Not the best idea out here, alone.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you muttered, half to yourself.

There’s a silence falling between you, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. The tension from your earlier confrontation lingered, though it had softened, replaced by something almost... tolerable. It was strange— how the two of you, so different in temperament and approach, could share a moment like this. You never would have expected to be sitting here with him, of all people, in the middle of the night. You studied his profile, the sharp angles of his face softened by the dim light.

Bakugou finally broke the silence, his voice quieter, less abrasive. "You worried about tomorrow?"

You’re caught off guard by the unexpected question. Was he worried too? "A bit. Niniel’s Veil isn’t exactly a stroll in the woods. But you’re all a strong bunch, so... we’ll manage."

He grunted in agreement, his gaze fixed on the darkened trees. "We’d better. There’s no room for mistakes."

You nodded, the weight of his words settling in. There was no room for error in a place like Niniel’s Veil. A pause followed, a moment of silence where neither of you said anything. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad that he was here. You needed to talk to him about the artefact he was searching for. You never did get the specifics. Taking a short breath, you looked at the barbarian.

“This artefact you’re looking for… do you know where it is within the Veil?” you asked, the weight of the question hanging in the air. As their guide, it was crucial you had this information, and you were kicking yourself for not asking sooner. But the right moment had never seemed to come until now. In all fairness, you could blame it on Bakugou. From the beginning, holding a decent conversation with him was nearly impossible— constant arguing, back and forth. Now at least, you’ve both learned to deal with each other.

Bakugou’s eyes flickered to yours, wearing a mask of gruff determination. “I’ve got a lead,” he said, his voice rough but edged with a hint of irritation. “A place deep within the Veil, near the heart of it. But don’t get your hopes up too high. I heard the Veil shifts around like it’s got a personal vendetta against anyone trying to navigate it.” He’s not wrong about the Veil. 

With a deep breath, Bakugou recited the riddle. His tone as if he were delivering bad news:

“In the forest’s heart where shadows loom,

Find the place where night flowers bloom.

Beneath the boughs where moonlight glows,

The artefact rests where the dark wind blows.”

You raised an eyebrow, struggling to stifle a laugh. “Seriously? That’s the hint? Sounds like a poetic way to say ‘good luck.’”

With a frustrated sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut. His hand ran through his hair as he recited the riddle internally. Bakugou didn’t have any other hints besides this riddle. “Better than wandering around aimlessly, right? Just don’t get lost yourself.”

You nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. “We’ll have to be careful then,” you said, your tone matching the seriousness of the situation. “No reckless moves.” You most certainly weren’t referring to a certain blond hothead. 

Bakugou’s eyes snapped back to you, looking rather annoyed. Seems like he’s caught on that you were referring to him. “Tch, don’t tell me what to do,” he barked, his voice edged with irritation. “I don’t need you hovering over me.”

He crossed his arms, clearly not thrilled by your little jab. “You focus on keeping yourself out of trouble. I don’t make reckless moves— I make results.”

Was he offended? You smirked, holding back a laugh. “I’ll be the one pulling your ass out of there when things go south.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, but there was an underlying smirk under that scowl. “Tch. We’ll see about that.”

The exchange lingered in the air, a mix of challenge and mutual respect. Whatever lay ahead in the Veil, you both understood the risks— and neither of you was backing down. Silence settled over the two of you, a comfortable quiet that neither felt the need to disrupt. You returned to your sketch, the soft scratch of your quill against the parchment a calming rhythm. Bakugou, seated beside you, methodically sharpened his scimitar. The metallic scrape of the blade meeting the stone punctuated the night air, creating a soothing harmony with your drawing.

“You don’t like elves,” Bakugou observed, his tone curious but cautious.  His words cut through the quiet, catching your attention. You slowly turn to look at him. He noticed your tone when you were reciting the tale of Niniel’s Veil. He was trying to piece something together. He was curious as to why your tone held such detest for elves. A species that you’re related to by blood. 

“My perspective on elves are complicated,” you replied, your voice steady but held a lining of spite within. “Besides, most of the continent don’t really like elves.”

“Right, but you’re a half-elf,” he pressed, trying to make sense of it. He hadn’t dealt with many elves before, only knowing them by their reputation— proud, conceited, and, in his limited experience, annoyingly uptight. A prudish bunch, as he calls it. But you’re a half-elf, an extension of their kind, so why do you hate them?

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “Most elves hate half-elves, you know,” you said, the weight of the truth heavy in your words. “They call us Biir and N' Tel' Quess.”

The Elvish language slipped smoothly off your tongue, the sharpness of the words hanging in the air between you. The fluency of those words caught Bakugou off guard. He wasn’t used to hearing you speak the language, and even though he didn’t understand the words, he could hear the bitterness beneath them.

Bakugou raised an eyebrow, waiting for the translation.

“Garbage,” you said plainly, meeting his gaze. “And Not-People, that’s how they view us.”

For a moment, there was silence. Bakugou’s expression didn’t soften, but you could see a shift in his eyes. A flicker of understanding, maybe even anger at the idea. Bakugou couldn’t stand hearing that. Most would assume dragonborns were fearsome and overbearing, but in reality, they were often tolerant of all races. Extending their courtesy for even the most despised. For him, this was unacceptable. Sure, Bakugou berated most people who crossed his path, but it was more out of indifference rather than malice. He simply couldn’t be bothered with them. To hate due to blood was foreign to him.

It didn’t make sense to him— judging someone for something they had no control over felt pointless, even absurd. In his eyes, strength, character, and actions were what truly mattered, not the circumstances of one’s birth.

It reminded him of the situation with Mina. Being a tiefling in this world wasn’t easy. The hatred toward her kind stemmed from their demonic ancestry, creating a deep-rooted wave of mistrust and fear. Tieflings were often judged before they even spoke, their horns and eyes marking them as something to be wary of, something dangerous. To be one of the most hated races was a heavy burden, and Mina carried it with a grace that most wouldn’t expect.

“Those stuck-up bastards,” he muttered, his hands tightening into fists. “Calling their own that? Figures.” 

You shrugged, the casualness of your attitude not quite matching the weight of the conversation. “It’s nothing new. That’s just how most of them are. Especially if they've not travelled outside of elven lands.”

Bakugou's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. “So they just… call you that like it’s nothing?” 

You nodded, a trace of bitterness creeping into your voice. “To them, it’s not a big deal. Half-elves are reminders of what they consider impurity and grief. That our blood is tainted. We don’t fit neatly into their perfect little world.”

The dislike for half-elves is often a complicated mix of prejudice and resentment. You could dive into the history, recite what your father told you growing up, but that would keep you here all night. Half-elves symbolise something uncomfortable: the idea that elves and humans can cohabitate and create something together. To many elves, it’s a bitter reminder that their kind— whom they see as superior— could stoop so low as to bed a human, a race they often view as fleeting and inferior.

But the resentment runs deeper than just arrogance. Elves live for centuries, and their ability to reproduce is rare and sacred. Their culture involves tight-knit communities and communal child-rearing, with children being raised by the collective village or family over generations. Half-elves, however, live only slightly longer than humans, which more often than not, means the elven parent suffers.

The elven parent must watch their human spouse and child age and die before they've even reached the prime of their own life, by elven standards. For every half-elf born, there’s an elven parent who will grieve long after their family has turned to dust. To them, half-elf serves as living proof that bonding with other races, no matter how deep the connection, is temporary— and that loss comes far too soon.

So while some elves can look past it, seeing half-elves as a bridge between worlds rather than crude blood. Others see the inevitable grief, the reminder that friendship— and love— across races comes at a cost that some are not willing to pay.

Bakugou grumbles under his breath, the disdain clear in his tone now. “What a bunch of self-righteous assholes. Fucking hell.”

You couldn't help but chuckle softly at his bluntness. “Yeah, well, most of them are. It’s a complicated issue but it doesn’t excuse their treatment towards us. ” You take a deep breath from this conversation, continuing quietly. “But I don’t let it bother me. There are still a good bunch of elves that don’t have that terrible view.”

Bakugou grunted, crossing his arms. “Tch. Still doesn’t sit right with me. Doesn’t matter if it’s a few or most— people who think they’re better than everyone else just because of blood? Sounds like a load of crap.”

“Agreed,” you nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “But it’s not that simple. Some of those elves are deeply entrenched in their ways, raised to believe they’re the highest form of existence. They don’t even see it as arrogance— they see it as fact.”

Bakugou's expression hardened, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes. “Fact or not, I think they deserve a reality check just for using those words.” 

You gave him a small, appreciative smile. “Trust me, I’ve handed out a few of those in my time.”

Bakugou smirked at that, the familiar edge of his cockiness creeping back. “Good. ‘Cause if they try pulling that shit while I’m around, they’ll get their ass handed to them.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can imagine. But you’d be surprised— some of the elves that look down on half-elves would probably never confront you openly. It’s all under-the-surface jabs, subtle insults. They’re too proud to start a fight.”

Bakugou’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “I’m good at starting fights when it’s needed. And ending them.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” you said with a grin. If there’s one thing Bakugou can do, it’s fight. “But like I said, not all of them are bad. Some have moved past those old prejudices. It’s just… a slow change. Too slow, honestly.”

He glanced at you, his expression softening slightly, though his usual fire was still there. “Well, whatever they think, they’re wrong. You’re better than all of ‘em.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, the weight of his words hung between you, and it felt more real than anything you had expected from Bakugou. You smiled softly, your tone quiet but genuine. “Thanks..”

Bakugou shifted awkwardly, clearly not used to moments like this. He grunted, scratching the back of his neck as if trying to brush off the vulnerability that had slipped through. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Right. Wouldn’t want to ruin your tough guy act.”

After a few moments, Bakugou shifted in his seat, the sound of his movements breaking the silence. He stood up, brushing off his pants with an unceremonious gesture. “Get some sleep,” he grumbled, his tone carrying a rare hint of concern. “We’ll need everyone sharp tomorrow.”

You nodded, pushing your sketchbook aside. “Fair point.” You began packing away your sketching supplies. “I’ll hit the hay. Just try not to snore too loudly. Some of us actually need our rest.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed playfully. “As if you’re one to talk. I’ve heard the way you mumble in your sleep.”

With that, the two of you headed back toward the camp. The mood was lighter, though it was more than just a shared understanding of the challenge ahead. Your relationship with Bakugou was more akin to a "strained alliance," an uneasy truce bound by necessity rather than genuine rapport.

But you can’t lie, you’re almost starting not to mind him as much. Bakugou’s not that bad. Especially after you opened up about your experience with elves. It was rather warming to see him care. As you both settled back into your respective spots, the night took on a lighter tone, if only slightly. 

The tavern was a far cry from the stillness of that night, but the firelight flickering against the walls reminded Bakugou of the campfires they had shared deep in the forest. He leans back in his chair, his scowl softening as the bard, a curious sort with an annoying penchant for digging into people’s thoughts, strummed a gentle tune on his lute. The tavern was buzzing with quiet conversation, but the bard’s attention was squarely on Bakugou, eyes gleaming with interest.

“It sounds like you and your companion have had quite the journey.”  the bard said, his fingers deftly dancing across the strings. 

Bakugou leaned back, crossing his arms, a hint of annoyance flashing in his eyes as he regarded the bard. “Yeah, well, it’s been a rough ride, but we’ve managed. Gotten used to each other’s ways, I guess.”

The bard’s eyes shined with mischief. “Oh? From what I hear, it sounds like you two have grown quite close. Almost like... friends, dare I say?”

Bakugou’s scowl deepened, though a hint of a smirk almost could be seen. The bard wasn’t exactly wrong but he wasn’t going to admit that. “Don’t get any funny ideas. We’ve had our share of disagreements. It’s more like we’ve learned to tolerate each other.”

The bard chuckled, clearly enjoying Bakugou’s discomfort. “Tolerate, you say? Sounds like there’s more to it than meets the eye.”

Bakugou’s gaze drifted to the fire, his thoughts returning to the journey. The memory of the initial tension with you was still fresh in his mind. It’s a shocking contrast to the relationship you both now had developed. He remembered the bickering and stubborn clashes, the way you both were constantly at each other's necks. But the forced cooperation in the face of danger and necessity, had brought the two of you closer. Close enough to know there was more beneath the surface than either let on. And close enough to know that both of you were skilled in your own ways.

“She’s smart, I’ll give her that,” Bakugou continues, his gaze shifting to the other end of the tavern. As if he could still see her sitting across from him, sketching with that damn quill of hers. “Knows her stuff. More than I expected, to be honest. Thought she’d be dead weight, but… she pulled her own.”

The bard’s fingers pause on the strings, catching the slight shift in Bakugou’s tone. “Sounds like she earned your respect.”

Bakugou huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Respect’s a strong word. She’s competent, that’s all. Doesn’t take shit from anyone, and I can respect that much. But she’s also a pain in the ass. Always has to have the last word, always poking where she shouldn’t.”

“She’s not what I expected. That’s all. She’s got guts, I’ll give her that. But the Veil—” He trails off, his thoughts drifting to the dense, dangerous forest. “The Veil isn’t a place for anyone who isn’t serious. She’s not just a mapmaker. She’s… stubborn. Determined. Like she’s got something to prove.”

“Well then,” the bard asks, his voice softer now. “Did she prove it?”

Did you prove yourself? Bakugou leans back in his chair, his mind drifting to the treacherous journey through Niniel’s Veil. The tales weren’t just stories; they were warnings wrapped in the guise of myths. The forest was alive in its own eerie way, shifting and twisting the paths like a serpent coiling around its prey. One moment, a well-trodden trail would be beneath their feet, and the next, it would vanish, swallowed by the creeping undergrowth, leaving only an expanse of unfamiliar trees.

The canopy overhead was dense, allowing slivers of light to filter through, but it was never enough to guide the way. The forest itself seemed to breathe, each exhale rearranging the landscape, turning known routes into mazes. More than once, they found themselves doubling back, only to be confronted by a landscape that had entirely changed. It was a place designed to ensnare even the most experienced adventurers, to make them doubt their every step.

But you— well, you were the wild card. The mapmaker who had spent years navigating the labyrinthine trails of Niniel’s Veil, sketching its hidden secrets and charting its treacherous paths. 

The moment the group stepped into the forest, it was as if the air itself shifted. The dense canopy overhead seemed to close in, casting an ethereal glow that made the forest feel alive, almost sentient. The ancient trees whispered secrets with every rustle of their leaves. The ground beneath was a patchwork of shadow and light, where every step seemed to echo with a haunting resonance. The forest was beautiful in a way that was both mesmerising and unnerving. Its beauty tainted by an ever-present sense of foreboding.

Bakugou had learned the hard way that these woods weren’t just any ordinary enchanted forest. They were alive. The moment the group entered the Veil, you took the lead cautiously, moving slower than usual. You would stop now and then, listening carefully, scanning the trees for any signs of change. But Bakugou didn't get it. He was growing irritated, impatience festering with each step. To him, it felt like you were wasting time.

“You’re taking too long,” he muttered, frustration clear in his voice as you paused once again to survey the surroundings. This felt like a familiar conversation. 

You shot him a look over your shoulder, keeping your voice low. “There’s a reason we’re moving carefully. This forest isn’t what it seems. Don’t rush ahead.”

Bakugou’s scowl deepened. “You’re being too slow. We’ll never get anywhere at this pace.” It’s almost as if he’s said these words before.

 

You sighed, feeling his impatience radiating off him in waves. “This isn’t about speed. If you push too far ahead, you’ll—”

“Whatever,” Bakugou cut you off, stepping forward, brushing past you. “We don’t have time for this.” He marched ahead, determined to lead, his movements quick and brash.

You watched him go, letting out a frustrated breath but deciding not to stop him. Fine, you thought. If he wanted to lead, let him. He’d figure it out soon enough. 

The group followed Bakugou as he charged forward, the dense trees swallowing them up in winding paths that twisted and turned unexpectedly. The deeper you went, the more the forest seemed to close in, the air growing thicker, the sounds of birds and insects fading into an eerie quiet. 

Bakugou’s frustration only grew as the terrain became more difficult to navigate. What had seemed like a straightforward path quickly revealed itself to be a maze of dense underbrush and looping trails. He stopped abruptly, looking around as if trying to piece together where he had gone wrong, his jaw clenched tight.

 

“Tch,” he growled, his hands tightening into fists. What the hell is this? His head swung around at the environment, scanning the area. “This doesn’t make sense.”

You hung back, casually following along with no rush. Your expression calm despite the increasingly tense atmosphere. You had known this would happen. The forest was designed to confuse those who didn’t understand its nature, and Bakugou, with all his confidence, was falling right into its trap. 

“Having fun up there?” you called out, unable to resist a smirk as Bakugou’s head whipped around to glare at you. 

“Shut up,” he snapped. “This damn forest keeps twisting around.”

“Imagine that,” you said dryly, still not speeding up. “It’s almost like there was a reason I told you to slow down.”

Bakugou huffed, visibly irritated but too stubborn to admit he was lost. His eyes darted around the trees, looking for anything familiar, but the forest had swallowed up any trace of the path you had entered on. His frustration grew with every step.

“Keep going,” you said casually, still following at a distance. “I’m sure we’re almost there.” 

Bakugou shot you a withering glare, knowing full well that you were letting him stew in his own mess. “Don’t think this is funny.”

“I don’t,” you said, trying to hide the amusement in your tone. “But maybe next time, you’ll think twice before charging ahead.”

Bakugou was visibly agitated now, his annoyance clear in every sharp movement and muttered curse under his breath. The deeper he ventured, the more disorienting the forest became. The trees seemed to close in tighter, their branches tangling above like a web that blocked out the sun. The path— if you could even call it that— had long disappeared into the twisting undergrowth. Every direction looked the same, and Bakugou could swear that no matter which way he turned, they weren’t making any progress. It was as if the forest itself was looping endlessly.

His frustration mounted as he realised he couldn’t find anything that might resemble an exit. But the only thing that greeted him was the endless stretch of green. He stopped abruptly, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, kicking at a nearby rock before turning back toward you. You were still a few paces behind, walking leisurely as if the forest’s tricks didn’t bother you in the slightest. It grated on his nerves even more.

He finally snapped. “Alright, fine. Take over.” His tone could barely contain his frustration. “You’re the one who thinks you know this place.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms casually. “Only if you admit you were wrong.”

That ticked him off immediately. Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, the refusal already forming on his lips. “What?”

“Simple,” you said, a small smirk playing on your face. “Admit you messed up, and apologise for not listening. Then, I’ll get us out of here.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, his pride practically oozing out of him as he struggled to keep his temper in check. “Like hell I’m apologising,” he growled. “We’re in this mess because we’re moving too damn slow, not because of me.”

You shrugged, unbothered by his anger. “Alright, then keep going. I’m sure we’ll find a way out… eventually.” You glanced around the dense forest with a mocking innocence, as if the overgrown labyrinth wasn’t a problem at all. “Or not.”

Bakugou’s knuckles grew white, his frustration reaching its peak. He turned away, muttering curses under his breath, refusing to give in. But with each step, the forest only seemed to become more twisted, the trees looming larger, the path disappearing further into the shadows.

After a few more agonising minutes, he stopped again, exasperation etched across his face. He glanced over his shoulder at you, the words sticking in his throat.

You raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Bakugou gritted his teeth, his voice a low growl. “Fine. I was wrong.”

You tilted your head, pretending not to hear. “Sorry, what was that?”

He shot you a glare so sharp it could’ve cut through the trees. “I said I was wrong. Now, will you stop screwing around and get us out of here?”

You smiled, finally stepping forward to take the lead. “Was that so hard?” you teased, earning another growl from Bakugou. But this time, he stayed silent, begrudgingly following as you began to lead them out of the forest’s confusing maze.

“Don’t worry,” you added over your shoulder, still wearing that smug grin. If you weren’t the guide, he might have wiped that grin off with a punch. “Next time, you can leave the leading to me.”

Your last words grinded his gears. Bakugou clenched his jaw tight as if physically restraining himself from barking back. He could’ve sworn he was going to snap you in half right then and there, but he held back. As infuriating as you were, a nagging realisation settled in his mind: they were lucky you had tagged along. Begrudgingly lucky, but lucky all the same.

You paused for a moment, surveying the dense woods with a practised eye, before you began guiding the group through with an effortless ease that made Bakugou’s earlier confidence seem laughable. 

Somehow— and Bakugou still couldn’t wrap his head around it— you led the group to a completely different section of the forest. It wasn’t long before the forest’s suffocating maze seemed to lift, and the trees thinned. Bakugou watched as the scenery changed in disbelief. Unable to figure out how you’d managed to navigate a forest that had him twisted in circles. You just had to be a smart ass didn’t you? 

The air felt lighter here, the trees taller and less oppressive. The sunlight trickled through the branches in a way that felt oddly peaceful. It was as if you had simply known the right path all along, and Bakugou couldn’t deny that it both impressed and annoyed him.

“You got the forest in your head or something?” he grumbled as they walked, trying to mask his grudging respect with irritation. “Or just dumb luck?”

You shot him a sidelong glance, an amused smirk plastered on your mouth. “Nah. Some of us just pay attention.”

“Tch,” Bakugou scoffed, folding his arms. “Like I don’t pay attention.”

“Not to the right things, apparently,” you teased, your voice light with sarcasm. “But hey, can’t blame you for getting lost. It happens when you’re too busy charging ahead.”

Bakugou’s eye twitched, his pride bruised, but he refused to let you have the last word. “Yeah, well, next time, don’t take so damn long, and maybe I won’t have to charge ahead.”

You chuckled, enjoying the banter far more than you should. “Or maybe next time, you can just trust me from the start and save yourself the headache.”

Bakugou shot you a glare, the fire still in his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. “Trust? You?” He huffed, shaking his head. “You wish.”

“Come on, you know I’m right,” you said, grinning. “If I didn’t bail you out, you’d probably still be wandering around in circles.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened again. He wasn’t going to admit to that. “I’ll get it next time,” he growled, his voice low. “Give me a day and I’ll figure it out.”

“Right,” you replied with a chuckle. “Like how you ‘figured out’ the forest back there?”

He was tempted to send a fireball flying your way. “Shut up.” But deep down, he couldn’t deny the truth of your words. You had saved them time, even if it bruised his ego to admit it. Bakugou might not like relying on anyone, but he knew now that you weren’t just dead weight on this journey. Even if he didn’t say it out loud.

“Well,” you said after a moment, glancing at him with a smirk. “Apology accepted.”

Bakugou glared at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’re pushing it.”

You laughed again, and for a brief second, even Bakugou couldn’t help the slight curve of a smile that tugged at his lips, though it was gone as quickly as it came. Despite his frustration, Bakugou couldn’t deny that you had proven yourself. Maybe, just maybe, there was something to be said for listening to you every once in a while. Only maybe. 

You weren’t the only one who had to prove themselves on this journey. Bakugou, despite his rough exterior and temper, had shown you that he was far more than some brash barbarian. When it mattered, he actually listened to you. You remembered how shocked you were when he considered your advice for the first time. That alone was impressive, though not entirely surprising. You have always known that he had a sharp mind behind those fiery eyes. He was someone who knew when to comply for the sake of the mission. But what did catch you off guard was how unexpectedly soft he could be.

Bakugou was guarded, always projecting an imposing figure, a man who never let his guard down. But you noticed the small moments when that armour cracked. In the way he bantered with his friends, how his laughter turned genuine when he was with them. He wasn’t just their leader; he was their friend. No matter how many times he’s complained about needing to take care of such a hopeless bunch. He truly cared.

You saw it when Sero got scratched by a dryad— Bakugou had lunged in without a second thought, his only concern being his friend’s safety. Afterwards, he chewed Sero out for being careless. And when Kirishima had tripped and hit the ground hard, Bakugou was the first to reach him, his hand outstretched, his voice stiffened with concern. Admittedly, he also made fun of his dragonborn companion for tripping but there was warmth in it. His care always came with a bite. 

There was a softness to him, a deep-seated loyalty and care for his companions that he kept hidden beneath layers of bravado and aggression. It’s as if his tough facade sometimes melts away in their presence, revealing a side of him that’s rarely seen. It was something you hadn’t expected from him, and it left you wondering just how much more there was to Katsuki Bakugou than what he let on. 

This softer side of Bakugou was revealed in the midst of battle. As you fought off a group of thorn wolves, you found yourself preoccupied with one particularly vicious beast. Your focus was on fending off the thorn wolves in front of you, but a sudden growl from behind warned you of a new threat. 

Before you could react, Bakugou’s figure appeared, crashing into the fray. His greatsword swung at the thorn wolf. Sending the wolf sprawling before he then turned to face you. 

“Watch your back!” he snapped, his tone was clearly irritated with you. But there was something softer underneath. 

You glared at him. Fine, he saved the skin of your back right there but you rather not be indebted to him. You probably could have handled it. “I had it under control.”

Bakugou huffed, eyes flashing with annoyance. “What did you say about us being in over our heads in this again?” 

You raised an eyebrow, dodging another swipe from a thorn wolf. Did he really remember your words from the first meeting? “Didn’t realise you were so invested in proving me wrong.”

He let out a grunt. His expression remained focused on the fight, but there was a glint of something like amusement— or was it satisfaction?— in his eyes. “Just trying to keep you from getting yourself killed. We need you to get us out of this mess.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound mingling with the chaos of the battle. “Good to know you care.”

Bakugou snorted, shoving another wolf away. “I don’t care about you.”

You nodded, falling back into the rhythm of the fight, Bakugou's presence a reassuringly fierce force at your side. Even amidst the danger, his unexpected softness was a reminder that there was more to him than met the eye. While you’d always been confident in your own abilities, it was oddly reassuring to know that he’d be there, watching your six, just as you’d be watching his.

After the fight, the group busied themselves with tending to the light scratches and wounds they’d sustained. The injuries were minor, nothing that wouldn’t heal in a few days. Especially with your healing hands. You leaned against a tree, studying the compass in your hands, trying to keep your focus off the persistent, prickly sensation of being watched.

When you finally looked up, you found Bakugou’s gaze locked on you. It wasn’t the kind of stare that made you uncomfortable— he wasn’t leering. Instead, his eyes were sharp and focused, scanning your body with a meticulous intensity. It was clear he was checking you for any signs of injury, a gesture that was surprisingly thoughtful coming from him.

“Worried?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Bakugou’s face flushed slightly, his irritation evident as he snapped his attention away from you and back to the rest of the group. “As if.” he huffed, his tone gruff but carrying a hint of something softer underneath. 

You watched him retreat into his usual brusque demeanour, a faint smile tugging at your lips. It seemed like he had his own way of showing concern, and as much as he tried to hide it. The journey was far from over, and the Veil still held its secrets. But in that moment, you understood him a little better. Whatever lay ahead, you’d face it together, even if you had to drag Bakugou kicking and screaming the whole way.

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a/n: personally, i loved the lil midnight chat with bakugou wbu? @chocogoldie @l0kisbitch @devils-adversary @miikii0 @onlyisaa @sleepisfortheweakpooh

border credits: @/enchanthings & @/adornedwithlight

[howtotrainabraincell]

Greetings my fellow AC mutual!!!

Lately I have been reading all your canon posts here and may I say that I love them all. You have created amazing canons here. I'm feeling extra romantic so here's an idea: how would the Assassins, including Templars, feel on their wedding day? The before, during and after the wedding. You can choose all of them or a few of them.

Please and thank you 😊🙏 and have a wonderful day today.

Sure thing! This is a cute one!!

A/N: I may not have put it in each one, but they will respect their wife's wishes to not be intimate on their wedding night (whether it be fear or being exhausted from the festivities). But...I mean come on. Who wouldn't want to have a wedding night with any of them?

ALSO, there may be multiple parts to this bc there's A LOT I got going on in this mind of mine when it comes to this lot getting married...

Jacob Frye

Before:

You know this man will have his Rooks there lolll they'll be throwing the biggest loudest bash London has ever seen in honor of their Boss getting hitched. He just might make Greenie his best man (he teases the man to the ninth realm and back but they're good buddies for real).

Jacob takes this seriously. He's still his wonderfully goofy and chaotic self but he takes certain aspects of marriage more seriously. He wants her to know that he'll be good to her, he'll protect her with his life, and he'll love her even after he dies. He also takes setting up a home for her seriously. The man isn't for anything lavish and she isn't either (her cozy non-materialistic ways are something that majorly attracted Jacob to her - high key don't think he'd like somebody who was materialistic, as happiness is in life not things) but he wants to set up a nice little place for them to call 'home' together. A place where they can be together as husband and wife and hopefully have a handful of little rooks running around one day. A place that's theirs and theirs alone.

During:

He thinks she looks beautiful in her wedding dress (he bet she looks even better out of it tho...PFFT). He'll never admit to it, but his eyes began to sting at the sight of her - and of course he wasn't rubbing the tears from his eyes throughout the ceremony! He just had something in his eyes...

He's very genuine and sweet when he recites his wedding vows 'In sickness and in health, etc.' to you, both of you having decided to save the personal vows for each other privately. (Heads up Jacob cried when he read her letter of vows and promises to him, he couldn't believe how sweet it was. Man was legit sitting there thinking 'How'd I get such a wonderful wife?'). He genuinely cannot believe that he found a wife who loves and accepts him for him. Rest assured that any insecurities Jacob has before they marry will soon be gone because his wife loves him the way he's always deserved.

Once the marital vows are said and done, they move on to the exchange of rings...and that's when the tears start.

Jacob knows that she isn't materialistic and that she doesn't need a fancy ring to know that he loves her, but he thinks she deserves it, and he has just thing in mind. Something that compliments her eyes because they're one of his top favorite (and he has a lot lol) things about her. Something that reflects the joy in her eyes when she laughs, the smile crinkles she's developed from years of managing to laugh through her struggles, and the swirls of color. Jacob would definitely enlist the help of his big sister in finding a ring for his soon to be wife and does.she.come.through. When it comes time for the ring exchange, he's pleasantly surprised to find that she put just as much thought into his ring as he did hers.

Both are engraved with confessions of their love for one another and intricately designed to match the spouse they were made for.

After:

He would enjoy the celebration, and it would be planned and based off of how his wife feels about such celebrations. Jacob being a bit more extroverted is likely to enjoy socializing and having a big get together - and if his wife is the same way then great! But if she's more introverted and can only take so much he's whisking her away, so she doesn't get stressed out. I actually think that he would want to be alone with his new wife and not just for *wink wink* but he wants some alone time to just have a slow moment with her. He would enjoy the celebration his Rooks put together for them and she thinks it's so sweet that they went all out, but as we know Mr. Frye has a tendency to act rashly when he becomes impatient. Next thing you know, he's scooping his wife up without a care in the world and carrying her off with a grin five miles wide, her face the exact replica of a tomato as she clings to him, and the Rooks cheering them goodbye as Jacob carries her off.

If she's afraid of the wedding night activities this man is instantly comforting her assuring her that he doesn't expect anything, he would never hurt her, and he'll wait for her. If she's tired? He is too honestly (he does have a lot of energy, but I imagine when he's alone he just OOF crashes but doesn't want anyone to see it. I mean he does have a full-time job annoying Evie ofc lol what else are baby brothers for?) so cuddling and going to sleep together is just fine with him. But if she wants him - tired or not - he'll give her everything he's got and then some.

Do I need to go into Jacob's wedding night? I mean... it's Jacob. The man lives to serve and please. And please he does...

Bayek of Siwa (I included him bc he legit started it all technically a Hidden One but potato pitatoh)

Before: This man is joyful on his wedding day. He's so excited to marry her and spend their days together. Whether this is after his divorce from Aya or we're not going with cannon and it's his first marriage - this man wants to be a husband, he is husband material. He can't wait to pledge himself to her before the gods and dedicate his life to loving her. He can't wait for her to be his wife HOWEVER - If we're going with cannon he was rejected when he proposed to Aya, so he has some understandable hesitancy when he proposes to his love. Can you blame him? He really loved the one he proposed to the first time and got shot down poor guy. It's the second time he's proposed in this life, and he does not make the mistake of thinking that just because they're in love that she'll say yes. He made that mistake before, and it felt like a knife to the gut.

BUT - If we're going with head cannon... this time he found himself a woman who was ecstatic to be proposed to by him (and I mean literally ecstatic like she tackled him in happiness making him laugh his ass off before she showered him in kisses and said yes).

If sticking to cannon he is worried and afraid deep down to remarry. He loves her very much so much in fact he believes that he very well loves her even more than he loved Aya (which like WOW ya know what I'm saying?). But when he's around her all fears and worries are eased and he comes to his senses knowing that he would forever regret not spending the rest of his life with her, now that he's met her and has her in his life.

Headcannon wise he's still a bit scared as being a Medjay is stressful and a known profession in which one is likely to gain enemies (insert middle finger to members of the order of ancients). He worries about her being targeted but he knows that she can take care of herself (she'll make one hell of a Medjay's wife that's for sure LOL). He also fears that it would be selfish to marry her and put her in danger - but upon sharing this fear with her she quickly dismantled his fear. Whether they marry or do not marry, either way - she could possibly be targeted by his enemies, to this he agreed. Then she asserted that it would be better that they face their adversaries together with their love motivating them to eliminate all threats, than to face those who oppose them separately. To this he simply smiled and hugged her tightly melting into her embrace.

During: They didn't really have weddings in Ancient Egypt more so the signing of a binding marriage document, the woman moving into the man's home to live with him as his wife, and then it could/would be followed by a celebration. However...that is Egypt as a whole...not Siwa. Those of us who have seen this beautiful spot in Egypt where beloved Bayek is from, know that it's beautiful and lively (quite frankly a great place to start a family) and you just know that Bayek is from a community that loves him. They're going to throw him and his intended a celebration to end all celebrations.

Hepzefa ISN'T dead I.DON'T.CARE - he's absolutely Bayek's best man.

Bayek in his armor and her in a linen dress covered by a layer of sheer fabric with a lily in her hair, as they get married in the evening when it cools off, the sand unable to burn their feet and the sun unable to glare in their eyes so they can actually look at each other lol. Any fear he had is gone when he sees her at the end of the aisle. They meet each other at the end of the aisle and join arms to walk together toward Hepzefa (who OFC is marrying them obvs). They make their vows before the gods to love, cherish, respect, support and be honest with each other for as long they both live.

After:

Again, if we're sticking to cannon, I think that Bayek would move in with his new wife instead of her moving in with him. A new home and a fresh start with his new wife, is just what this man could use after his arduous journey.

Headcannon however they would move into their own place in Siwa together and work together to make their home everything they dreamed it could be. I HIGHLY believe that he would find a way to make a pond for her filled with water lilies (his nickname for her btw - she's his "beautiful lily").

After a night of dancing, laughter, feasting and sheer happiness they would go home together. They would end the night by sitting on the roof of their new home together watching the Oasis of Siwa from afar, bundled up tightly together in a blanket against the chill air of the Egyptian night. He would point out the different spots of Siwa from they sat, but mostly they would admire the beauty of the moon on the oasis not too far away. They might even go for a swim in the cool waters together, laughing and splashing each other. Tell.me.he doesn't sneak attack her from underwater lloollll. They'd spin around in the water easily with Bayek holding her against him and smiling as she gushes about how much she's enjoyed the day.

I don't think Bayek would make love to her on the banks of the oasis for their first time the man has romantic plans that he plans to woo her with lol. (Later on, in their marriage though...woo!) Rest assured that their first time will be sweet and romantic, he'll make her as comfortable as possible, with pillows everywhere and candlelight guiding their hands within the walls of their home.

Also like the idea of them traveling to Alexandria together and having their honeymoon there. Them exploring the Alexandrian Lighthouse together, the library (shortly before it BURNED DOWN DAMN YOU CAESER), horseback riding through the sand dunes and around the lush greenery near the Nile, going to the markets together and giggling about whatever it is that they find funny, sailing on the Nile together and fishing/gathering reeds for various projects, THEY WOULD CLIMB THE PYRAMIDS TOGETHER CHANGE.MY.MIND.

Evie Frye

Before: Their wedding isn't one that can be celebrated openly but they still have a celebration that is the epitome of love. The two women had both agreed to write their vows for one another and exchange them after the wedding, wanting to keep their promises to each other and words of love just between them.

They couldn't decide on names lol. Evie wanted her last name, and she wanted Evie's last name. But they quickly came up with a solution as they both have brothers. They decided to hyphenate their last names for some extra cover. Evie becomes Mrs. Frye-(L/N) and she becomes Mrs. (L/N)-Frye. That way no one would suspect them being married and if anyone ever asks, Evie married one of her (wife's) brothers and is her "sister-in-law" the same way Jacob is a stand in husband for Evie's wife and she is Evie's "sister-in-law". History will say that they were sisters in law hahaha.

But for real though tell me why they end up calling each other "Mrs" SO MUCH in private (Evie almost forgets that she's a Dame bc she gets called Missus *insert her last name* so much by her wife haha).

During:

Not able to shout their love from the rooftops unfortunately, the couple settles to have a very small and private ceremony. Jacob - who would NEVER breathe a word, Henry who's just happy to see them happy, Ned would probably be there and while Abberline would be SHOOK (I don't care if that word died out like 8 years ago lol it's funny) he would be pleased to know that they've found happiness together.

Tell me why I'm so damn sure that Jacob marries them (he would do that for his sister jokes, loving eye rolls from his big sister and all). They would either get married on the train not too far from the Red Lion where they would go afterward to celebrate, or in Henry's shop (his wedding gift would be lots of various flowers ranging from "everlasting love" to "trust and loyalty").

OR I do have a head cannon that they don't have any witnesses at all. They go up to rooftop facing the Thames and wait for sunrise together with their rings and a basket of goodies they both enjoy. When the sun begins to rise, they make their vows to each other tearfully and very sincerely, pledging the rest of their lives to each other and promising to always be together and love one another. They do this so that they can start the new day together as wives and say what they truly want to one another without an audience. It'll even become tradition years later that they both stay up until sunrise to celebrate their anniversary as the years go on, just the two of them

After:

They do their own wedding presents, and the new Mrs. Frye can't help but giggle at Evie's reaction when she gives her the special edition of her favorite book. I think we can all imagine how ecstatic the loveable bookworm that is Dame Evie Frye would be.

When Evie reads the vows, her new wife has written for her she boo hoos too lol. She can't believe that she's lucky enough to have married such a sweet and wonderful woman. Especially when she thought she would never marry and dedicate her entire life to the Creed.

Something fun the two women embark on together is setting up their home together. Not having been able to have had an open wedding they didn't have wedding showers or receive the traditional wedding gifts; they pick out each piece of their new home together! With how in sync, they are together there is hardly anything they disagree on (unless its Evie's wife trying to get her to stop working herself almost to death...by smooching her to the point where Evie looks like a laughing tomato haha) and their home comes together wonderfully. Everything in their home cozy and a reminder of their love.

It takes Evie a little bit before she finally lets go of the fear that getting married to her love, was nothing more than a wonderful dream. But each morning when she wakes up and either sees her wife next to her sleeping safe and sound, or she wakes to beautiful flowers followed by Mrs. Frye trailing in quietly with a cup of morning tea for her still sleepy wife. Her wife can rest assured that Dame Evie Frye will love her for the rest of their lives.

Altair Ibn La' Ahad

Before: He never thought he would marry or fall in love the way he's fallen in love with her. He's a naturally a confident man, so there's no doubt in his mind that he wants to be her husband and spend the rest of his life with her. There's no doubt...but there is worry. He worries about being a good husband to her in terms of giving her a safe stable home due to being an assassin and he knows that he can be...emotionally stunted, but he plans to correct that and never leave her wondering if he loves her. Because he does with his whole being. After all, if she can help pull him out of his younger arrogant ways, by gently and patiently telling him why he's wrong without criticizing him, then she can do anything.

During: His worries are vanquished when he sees her. He immediately knows that come what may, they'll be alright so long as they're together. He can't stop looking at her during the wedding, making her blush as he smiles at her (surprising the hell out of Malik lol bc the 'tHe nOvICe cAn SmILe?') As they take their vows a few cheeky looks are given here and there the pair obviously checking each other out, (insert Malik gagging like a goof). Altair can't get over how she looks like an otherworldly being with her beauty unmatched by anyone or anything. She can't get over how handsome and gallant he looks in his robes, with his hood down (GASP), his sword at his side as his thumbs rub the backs of her hands. (But with the hood thing he's never had anything to hide, he just wants to show his face and let everyone know that he's marrying her and that he's proud to be her husband. He's a very proud husband haha). When they seal their new union with a kiss, he bends down to pick her up and hold her tightly making her laugh. They both can't stop smiling, completely and utterly happy and excited to start the rest of their life together.

After: He would bring her jasmine and a few Damasks roses - they're nowhere near as beautiful as he thinks she is but the sweetness of each flower reminds him of her - in a neatly gathered bushel and loves the smile it brings to her face. He doesn't care about having a wedding night, he just wants to be with his wife and love on her in whatever manner she wishes. Sitting there and watching the stars over Masyaf or Jerusalem (depending on when/where they get married) If she wants to lay there with him and relax, he's happy to hold her and do just that. But if she wants him to take her...her mind will be blown at just how loving her new husband can be...

Ratonhnhake:ton/Connor Kenway

Before: He's worried about being a good husband. Very worried. He wants to be a wonderful husband to her, as wonderful as she is to him. He loves her with everything he has of course and would defend her with his life. But he was so focused on his mission to take the Templar order down, to get justice for his mother, so focused on his rage...that despite how much he loves her, he wonders if he can pull himself out of the dark mindset that he was in for so long to treat her the way she deserves. He will try but he still worries. He doesn't want to be angry (never at her keep in mind - about life in general) his entire life. Her kisses and presence helps though, more than she'll ever understand. He wants to be there for her as much as she's been there for him, through thick and thin, no matter what.

During: Feel like there would be two weddings for the couple. A colonial one (planned by the Homestead for the happy couple) and a traditional Mohawk wedding (planned by the Clan mother who is so excited to see him getting married), a wedding to honor both his and her culture. He stands like a statue clasping his hands in front of him patiently, eager, and nervously until he sees her. Cheesy as it is... the sight of her brings him peace. He can't even wait for her to make it to the altar, making his way to her down the aisle in a few long strides to meet her with a smile. They walk down the aisle together arm in arm and hands intertwined, unable to contain their excitement.

After: He can't stop staring at his wedding ring and smiling at it. Typically, the Mohawk people did not exchange wedding rings until modern times, but he loves his and what it represents. The eternal love and union he and his wife will share. His face hurts from smiling so much, but he doesn't mind it a bit. Now as for the wedding night... I think he would be very shy at first. Terrified of hurting her because he's very aware of the fact that he's massive and intimidates a lot of people. He would never do that to her. Being with her is honestly really enough for him, the emotional intimacy the two share is what made him so sure about making her his wife. The newlyweds would work their way up into sex slowly, getting a little closer each time and accompanied by lots of reassurance and soft laughter. And when they finally got it, the assassin and his wife had never felt more complete in their lives. He makes love in plenty of other ways though - mostly through his thoughtfulness and observation which leads to anticipation. He always knows what she needs before she even asks and he's always happy to help.

Their mornings start off with him usually waking first and realizing that marrying her wasn't a dream. He'll watch her sleeping peacefully in his arms, and then inspect their fingers where their wedding bands lie and realize that it's real. They got married. He's married to this wonderful woman. She's, his wife. Before he can begin to spiral in excitement he leans down and scoops her closer to him, burying his face in her neck which makes her laugh softly.

Venturing outside together to enjoy nature and do various outdoor activities, playful banter and pairing up to hunt together and scavenge. He'll look over and see her helping him with a fresh kill or scavenging other items and become overwhelmed with the desire to kiss her out of nowhere. Needless to say, lots of love and laughter fills the lives of Ratonhnhake:ton and his wife.

Henry Green/Jayadeep Mir

Before: He's happy and so ready to be her husband. He's admitted to himself that he's liked her from their first meeting, but he's loved her almost as long (which is not long at all because he fell for her quick). I don't know why but I can imagine that Jacob might try to do the whole "you know how the wedding night works right?" talk with him much to Henry's horror haha. He gently assures the younger Frye that he does in fact know what to do on his wedding night with his wife, if she'll have him. Don't worry though! The man is from India the birthplace of Kama Sutra...he knows what to do. Trust him.

During: Whether she wears the usual white dress or chooses to honor his culture by wearing traditional Indian bridal clothes, this man will be emotional. Guaranteed his eyes will begin to water when he sees how beautiful the woman he loves is, walking down the aisle to him. When they take each other's hands, he can't help the goosebumps of excitement he gets thinking about how lucky he feels to be marrying such a woman. He'll never understand how he got her to agree to marry him (despite being charming have a head cannon that his charm goes out the window when it comes to proposing to her lol he was so nervous that she would say no!) but he'll never forsake her or take her for granted. Perish the thought!

After: Get ready for a very fun honeymoon! Traveling together and studying each place you go, learning fun facts and the history behind the cultures. I think he would be so excited to show her around where he grew up and tell her stories (the happier ones) from his childhood. I also think that Mr. Green would be eager to prove that his intelligence is more than just the book variety...

Shay Patrick Cormac

Before: He's excited. But also, nervous. So nervous. He's aware that the type of life he leads isn't the safest or the most routine/regular thing a man can do. But you can bet that he'll be damned if he doesn't give his all to be a good husband to her. A worry that runs through his mind is dying at sea on the Morrigan and leaving her widowed and alone. He noticeably goes on less voyages after they marry only going when it's necessary. Depending on when they get married, he may still be traveling around on Templar/Shay way business - but either way whether he's close to retirement or still working, he wants to settle down with her. He plans to create a nice home for her, take care of her, love her, and have a handful of beautiful babies that he'll love almost as much as he loves her.

During: The moment he lifts her veil from her face he can't take his eyes off of her. Literally. The only time he does is to briefly and gently slide the ring onto her finger, otherwise he's smiling and staring at her like a lovesick puppy lol. He's so busy admiring his bride that Haytham with a smirk on his face gently clears his throat reminding Shay that the time to seal his new union has come. When the Irish captain realizes what the Grandmaster is saying the man blushes in slight embarrassment, and you bet he turns right around and kisses his new wife. The pair laughs as those invited applaud in celebration, but they're in their own world together.

After: After the wedding he'll take her to his home (read: their home that he hopes she loves) in New York so they can be alone together, in more ways than one. Their home will definitely know what love is when they're there together. He's a go go go kind of man as we've all seen but he's slow and gentle with her and if she finds herself too tired to celebrate in a more intimate way, she better get ready for the best cuddle session of her life. However, if she does find herself in need of her husband...let's just say that he's Captain of more than the Morrigan... Tell me why the idea of him untying his wife's corset is very erotic... Once they start married life together this man is taking her on the Morrigan (if she wants to go that is if not, he has plenty of other fun things in mind...) and sailing her to wherever she wants to go. I imagine she would choose Ireland to learn about where her husband's family came from, and Shay would love showing her around his place of origin.

Haytham Kenway

Before: He's composed in public ever the austere Grandmaster.... but a mess in private. He can't stop fidgeting with his cravat, pulling at his sleeves, straightening his coat. He looks absolutely handsome, but he knows that he won't hold a candle to his angel of a wife - who he DEFINITELY peeked at lol. You telling me this man didn't try to go to talk to her before the wedding because he missed her, and he doesn't stop short by the crack in the door, dumbfounded by how beautiful she looks? His face will be redder than his vest. With how in love with her he is, he feels less the confident Templar, and more so a little boy in very deep love. He's so happy that he gets to marry his love and spend his life with her, just the sight of her alone helps him to calm down and realize: he's marrying the love of his life.

During:

When he sees her coming down the aisle to him, he forgets how to breathe for a moment. The majority of the ceremony is spent exchanging loving gazes, gentle hand squeezes and him trying not to pass out. She notices how flustered he seems and reaches up to gently cup his face for no one's benefit but his. Needless to say, it helps to calm him significantly.

He can't believe how beautiful she is and how he got her to agree to marry him. Haytham doesn't say it in his vows, but he'll give her the world and more and always take care of her. With this man I have a feeling that actions speak louder than words (I mean did you see how he got rizzed by Ziio LOL everyone thought HE would woo HER, but she BAMBOOZLED him). He may not speak what he's feeling, and she may have to play fill in the blanks sometimes when he becomes overwhelmed by his emotions (cue him being very grateful for her patience), but with her complete agreement he's more than happy to show her in a deep kiss or something a bit more husbandly...

When they're pronounced husband and wife he steps forward while the officiant is still speaking and kisses her with abandon. The Grandmaster is thrown out the window for the moment and the lovestruck man comes out much to his new wife's delight. He embraces her tightly never wanting to let her go and his arms sweep her up in quick spin that makes her squeak in laughter as his own grin spreads across his face.

He would spoil.her.rotten come the wedding and wedding presents.

After:

The celebration would be a grand one and last long into the night. Shay swears upon the Morrigan that he'll knock Hickey's lights out if he gets pissed and starts to cause a ruckus LOOOLL. Haytham is a good dancer, but he doesn't like to make a spectacle of himself, for his new bride however he'll get out there and dance with her feeling absolute contentment in knowing that of all the men in the room that could have her in their arms he has her instead. He enjoys watching her have fun, and every time she finds him in the room and smiles at him while she's dancing, the man swears to the gods that his heart starts to race. You can definitely bet that his face stays a decent shade of red for the majority of the ceremony and party.

The party doesn't end when she comes to him and asks if he's ready to retire for the night, taking his hand when he agrees and pulling him toward the stairs. This man's face is ON FIRE as they go up the stairs together because everyone knows what they're going up there to do and that damn Irish Captain won't stop smirking at him -

He'll help her undress not solely for the purpose of making love to her, but because he wants to help her get comfortable (her beautiful form in front of him in nothing but a chemise is definitely motivation too...). Making her comfortable is his number one priority whether they make love that night or not. Making sure the curtains are drawn so the sunlight won't bother her in the morning, the fire is lit to keep her warm (I head cannon them getting married in winter for some reason... I mean they can keep each other warm during the colder months), making sure she has water on her bedside chamber.

They lay together after the long night holding each other comfortably softly speaking about how wonderful everything was. They may discuss the Order if she's curious about it and she'll make goo goo eyes at him as he speaks so passionately about it, with him blushing as she looks at him so lovingly. They may discuss books they've been reading together (tell me Haytham wouldn't have a private little book club for just him and his wife I DARE YOU). Things between them may become charged when they hold each other's gaze for too long... and then he'll really make her Mrs. Kenway...

NOTE: I KNOW I DIDN'T DO SEVERAL CHARACTERS IN THIS POST I'M SORRY OKAY. Seriously though some characters came easier than others - but there will in fact be a part 2.

[chynandri]

I’ve got so much on my mind! Eva/Neil stuff To the moon beach episode spoilers

While I’ve always liked the Eva/Neil ship I have seen it as more one sided, or maybe just UNdecided. Neil I think it got increasingly obvious that he liked her, but it was hard to tell with Eva. I think in this game she definitely showed Interest in him. peeking at his shirtlessness and whatever’s in his pants at the pool lmao. plus wanting to believe the real Neil would want to protect her and do nice gestures. I think my most satisfying personal interpretation is that she’s just isn’t all that sure how she feels about him besides that obviously, this was her best childhood friend. After all I think it’s hard to have feelings for someone who was so distant and secretive at the same time. But there’s definitely still Something there that just… never got the chance to become something more.

I think a feeling of ‘incompleteness’ is prominent after finishing this game. Somehow having some of the truth confirmed/spelled out to you just leaves me with more questions. And perhaps that’s the whole point… the incompleteness of their feelings for each other, the incompleteness of the beach trip, the incompleteness of the simulated beach trip, the incompleteness of Neil himself as a person. I feel like the life lesson here was that you got to be ok with not having all the closure but realize that things have an end in spite of it. And you’ve got to move on once you’re ready to. The game giving you one final chance to linger on a perfect moment of Neil and Eva at their most vulnerable, letting You choose when the story ends was really profound. It’s like Kan Gao was saying to you ‘yeah, you’ve known all along Neil was dying/is dead. And that this series wasn’t going to last forever. You can keep returning to it again and again, but that fact remains and eventually you will stop playing the games and move on.’

I’m not sure if I’m articulating the metaness of this ending well enough, but Eva and the player feel in parallel here. Eva’s relationship with Neil, and the players relationship to this series.

Just wow. What an incredible ending. It almost felt too quick that the biggest theory of Neil being dead all along was confirmed but, it’s not too quick at all considering this story’s been going on for 13 years I guess. Still leaves me in shock even though that’s honestly what the games have been Strongly hinting at.

Will try to remember To the Moon for as long as I can. What an impactful game series…

[beevean]

So some recent... discourse put into my mind the concept of "power fantasy", and how people relate to it in different ways. Of course, I'm talking about Hector :P

Is Hector, in the games, a power fantasy? I think the answer is "yes but actually no but actually yes it's complicated".

Let's be honest, first: Hector is a product of his time. He is, in many aspects, Castlevania's response to the wave of edginess that was en vogue in the mid-2000s - I don't compare CoD to ShTH for no reason lol. Hector was always meant to be an anti-hero contrasting the pure heroes the games always starred before him:

—Why did you choose the theme of "revenge" for this game? Iga: Up to now, the Belmonts have been seen as the good guys. I thought it'd be nice to do something other than a moralistic "good triumps over evil" theme sometime. After all, Castlevania has always had an excellent world for telling a "dark hero" story. Alucard would be one such character… though even he is fighting for a just cause: "I've got to stop my Father!" So he's still kind of a good guy. This time, though, I wanted the motivation itself to be impure. So this theme is what I came up with, and then I thought it would be even more interesting if each side was out for revenge on the other.

Hector has "impure" motivations. His quest is completely selfish: while all the other protagonists want to face Dracula (or others in his place) because it's the right thing to do, Hector is just in to kill the man who ruined his life. In fact, he really couldn't care less about the Curse, and multiple times in the game he asks why can't Trevor just deal with the issues he doesn't want to deal with lol. This is in line with other characters of the same caliber, such as Shadow sneering at a city being invaded by aliens until there is something in for him, or Guts who declares that he's willing to let a whole town fall prey to demons, as long as Casca is safe. However, this is not a detriment to Hector's character like it would be nowadays, as he's also very much mean to be "cool": while obviously every protagonist has his cool factor, even going back to Simon in the first games who defeated Dracula all by himself and then had to heroically struggle with the Curse, Hector is cool in that, well, deliciously over-the-top way that was all the rage back then. He can ride wyverns as he slashes them, he can go toe to toe with Trevor himself to the point that even he is impressed, he can forge a gun and an electric guitar, cutscenes show him punching a stone devil with his bare first, he gloats in Dracula's face that he can nullify his Curse... yeah, he's a gigachad lol. The flaws are only meant to make him cooler and not "boring", as paragon heroes were seen at the time.

I, personally, never cared about this part. I'm not the target audience for this kind of power fantasy. Sure, I like that Hector is over-the-top cool and I will always joke about his most outlandish feats, but I'm not so keen on reducing him to those alone. I couldn't even explain why avenging your dead lover counts as part of a power fantasy lol.

This is why I latched on so much on the first half of his story, the one where Hector deals with Dracula, and why I insist that Hector is much more than his admittedly cliché archetype of "angry man on a revenge quest".

Calling Hector "stoic" is not even knowing the meaning of the word. Calling pretty much any CV protagonist "stoic" is factually wrong, as even the more serious ones like Alucard and Shanoa have other depths to them (Alucard is still grieving for his mother and we see it in a nightmare, Shanoa was deliberately made stoic and she subtly longs to feel again), but Hector doesn't even begin to fit the definition of "One who is seemingly indifferent to or unaffected by joy, grief, pleasure, or pain". The whole point of CoD is that Hector was left so emotionally vulnerable by his grief that both Isaac and Zead used him as a puppet. Anger is the complete antithesis of stoicism. "well anger is still a toxically masculine emotion" - memes aside, Hector shows other emotions too, most notably around Julia, the only person with which we see how actually gentle and polite he is when he doesn't have Dracula's influence scrambling his brain. By the way, you cannot ignore the effects of the Curse on both Hector and Isaac when you analyze them, especially the former:

It can't be plainer than this.

And it doesn't come out of nowhere, because not only Julia herself tries to warn Hector that Devil Forgemasters are susceptible to the Curse, he acts vulnerable around her. He apologizes for his unjust outbursts, sympathizes with her plight, is visibly affected by her grief when Isaac dies... sure, it might be all because he's lowkey crushing on her, if you want to see it that way (and I do have my words over the plot point of Julia looking like Rosaly: I would have preferred if the game had more time to show that Hector grew to see Julia as her own person beyond her appearance), but the point is that this behavior highly contrasts with how angry and aggressive he is to everyone else, which the reveal of the Curse recontextualizes.

Also, just saying, while anger can be toxic, the point of these storylines is usually precisely that revenge is bad. Unchecked anger is bad for you, and you shouldn't let yourself fall down that spiral, lest you lose yourself. Isaac got consumed by his own hatred and died as a tool; Hector realized in time that he should snap out of it and survives, also because he was nice to Julia and so she grew to care about him and saved him when he tried to kill himself <- a reaction that is very unmasculine, might I add, as toxic masculinity dictates that men should make other people pay for their pain. bro. bro this is the complete antithesis of "toxic masculinity". Again, this is really not knowing the meaning of the word.

I don't even need to pull examples from the manga, but just for completion's sake:

iunno about you chief, but someone who bursts into tears just because wifey told him that she's happy he was born isn't exactly the portrayal of toxic masculinity to me.

Which makes me segue into the next point!

Hector and Isaac are victims of abuse, and this is another very important angle to understand them. And I'm not just talking about their childhoods, of which we only get hints, although of course it does matter that the two experienced so much hatred and rejection in their youth that Dracula was the better option for them.

We don't see the details, but Dracula affected both of them deeply. He put them in a competitive dynamic, favoring Hector over Isaac: Isaac grew bitter with resentment, which made him double down on his loyalty to Dracula, while Hector only got the appreciation he craved at the price of his very humanity and morals, which weighed on him. The point of this favoritism is not really the core of their rivalry in game, as that one was caused by Hector's betrayal, but it gives a different dimension to the character. It would have been easy to have the mistreated guy the one who decided to turn his back to Dracula, but no, it was the golden child. Isaac was so entrenched in this dynamic that he never broke free, choosing instead to blame Hector and do everything in his power to prove himself to an uncaring Lord, including (in the manga) killing his own underlings so that he would be free to face Hector by himself. From PtR:

"My own body is proof of Your expectations for him" is such a hard-hitting line. Isaac fears that he didn't even disappoint his Lord, because his Lord didn't have expectations for him in the first place. It's Hector the one he's so proud of.

And Hector hates it. By all means, he should be happy to have a home, to be respected and appreciated and free to use his powers. And he used to be!

"Lord Dracula... You once accepted and needed my powers. There was a time when such a thing gave me joy..."

Hector was grateful for his Lord, but he couldn't live anymore in the safety of the castle, if the price was committing indiscriminate murder for the sake of a senseless revenge, going against his morals and being used as a weapon. Hector had to make a choice: keep living under Lord Dracula's protection, but losing his humanity piece by piece, or breaking free and facing the world that hated him, but as a free man?

Hector chose freedom over conditional safety and love. He was ready to die, as long as he died a free man. He put himself first, he turned his back against people who did not truly appreciate him, and despite the mess he left behind it was the right decision. And that's the power fantasy I adore, and that is what makes him a strong character in my opinion. It's the embodiment of achieving self-confidence, the healthy selfishness, the affirmation of the self when everyone else around you only sees you as an object or a prize, the reassurance that even if you fall, you can always get up and try again and become a person you can be proud of.

And Hector, after breaking free, very much acts like a victim of abuse. I spent countless words over how he displays the belief that he needs to do something to earn the right to be loved by Rosaly, unaccepting of the fact that she simply does because, well, he likes him and sees the good in him, and that's it. I wrote a whole analysis on how this belief stems from a sad naiveté on how the world works, because Hector is naive underneath the aloof exterior, and it's not something to make fun of him for, but a tragic result of living under Dracula for so long. I'll also point again to him having breakdowns because he hates himself and sees himself as inherently unlovable.

I could also spend all the words about the parallels about how Hector loves Dracula and how he loves Rosaly:

In both cases, he latches onto the only person who has showed him a modicum of kindness. He wants to give his life for them. The difference being, of course, that Dracula only appreciates Hector for what he does (and I could also go into a whole tangent on how Hector was personally raised by Dracula to be his knight and he has a piece of his essence inside him which parallels how abusive parents see their children as an extension of themselves), while Rosaly for who he is. With Dracula, Hector understands that all the shallow care in the world doesn't matter if he isn't also respected as a person: he still cares about him, in some fashion, but not the point of clinging.

And if Hector is ready to lay down his life for Rosaly because she finally showed him what real love looks like, is it any wonder that seeing her die would spark such a fury in him that it makes him prey to the Curse and to being once again twisted into a tool?

The power fantasy comes from the part where Hector breaks free of the abuse and manipulation - twice over. But he is also relatable, with all of his flaws, weaknesses, and mistakes he makes. The whole point of Hector's journey in the first half of his story is that he feels the need to atone for his sins, and the consequences of his actions all catch up to him in the worst of ways. Ignoring this to reduce Hector to an edgelord who only spends his life angry and then hooks up with a Rosaly replacement (which incidentally also ignores Julia's personality and agency and I might even call as misogynist as the plot point itself) is a huge disservice to the thought and care put into him to make him stand out from his own archetype.

Power fantasies are not inherently bad. Depending on the fantasy, they can be inspirational. Hector is inspirational to me, if that wasn't clear, I see part of me in his circumstances and I admire his arc: it tells you, "you can break free too, you have the strength to do so, and you will find people who will love you without reason". And I just generally speaking find him a very well written character despite stemming from a rather outdated context, because all the details come together to make him fleshed out and tridimensional.

[weird-addiction]

'Targ is gonna Targ' you're so right for that 😭 obviously you don't have to write this if it's too much! <3

Daemon Targaryen x Nephew!reader where reader is Rhaenyra's brother/twin (you can choose if they're twins or not) and gets jealous of all the attention she is getting from Daemon and begins to become bitter about it. Reader wants to be the favorite and tries to win his affection so much that it starts to become noticeable. You can choose how it ends I don't mind whatever outcome, obviously doesn't have to be smut but I just need some Daemon x male reader there's just so little 🧎🏻

All the Attention

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Nephew!Reader

Genre: Neutral

Warnings: Targcest, Uncle x Nephew relationship, childbirth death, kind of rushed writing, suggestive themes

A/N: I got super busy lately this should have been a while ago

The day he was born was also the day his mother died, Queen Aemma could not survive the twin as it was unexpected and her body had failed. 

Viserys had fallen into grief while Daemon had his attention on his older sister Rhaenyra. He had no one. 

Growing up was just a pain for him as no one paid any attention to him. Even though he was his father’s heir, he still paid more attention to Rhaenyra than him. He only called for him for lessons on their history and stories. He was in small council while his sister was the cupbearer, he hardly listened as no one even paid him any thought.

It was not until his father remarried to the Lady Alicent Hightower that he started to pay attention. He may not listen during the council meetings, it did not mean he did not hear the whispers around the castle. He knew Otto was the snake, he knew Daemon knew, but yet, he did not know how to approach his own uncle about it.

He decided it one night when he could not sleep.

Knocking on his uncle's door, he entered when he heard the voice on the other side to allow permission. 

“Uncle. It’s me.”

Daemon turned to look at him over his shoulder from the couch he had. The Rogue Prince’s hair was short, it being cut when he was in the stepstones. 

“Nephew. What has you seeking me at this time of night?” He took a sip from his wine goblet. 

“I believe you know best of the Hightowers. Father would not have married Alicent out of duty, he only loved mother you have always told. So why did he-”

“Otto Hightower is a cunt.” Daemon cuts him off, his words harsh but he did not care. 

Y/n smiled at his words. “So you know as well as I do.” 

Daemon shot him a look. “Come. Sit by me.” Which Y/n did as his words had told. 

They were quiet for a few seconds before Daemon turned to his nephew who looked so alike to him, which he himself had told since Y/n’s birth that it was wrong. 

“The Hightowers want power. And now that bitch queen has your half-brother, no doubt she will push your father to put him on the throne instead of you.”

“Father won’t let that happen. I’m his first born son.” Y/n retorted, he was so sure of his words. 

“Power hungry men will do anything they can to get what they want.” Daemon states, there was truth in his words and Y/n knew it. 

But then he thought about it, there was something that tied into Daemon's own actions. 

“Aren’t you the same.” Y/n rolled his eyes. 

Daemon scoffed when he heard that, meaning he agreed. 

“You are around my sister all the time, you just want her for yourself. I can see it. The maids and servants whisper it. I may not listen to the council but I do hear the whispers that echo in the halls.” Y/n held his own authority and ground, he did not back down. 

Daemon threw the now empty goblet onto the table before gripping his nephew’s neck, pinning him to the backrest of the couch.

“Do not mistake me, nephew.” They locked eyes. “If you wanted my attention then all you had to do was ask.” 

Y/n smirked, it seemed like his uncle knew him better than himself. Within the next couple of seconds, their lips connected, their eyes closed as they felt each other. His hand went under Daemon’s shirt trying to pull it off. 

But they pulled away before it went too far. The night was still far too young for them to do this. Y/n’s mood turned bitter and Daemon saw it clear as the blood of the dragon that burned through his veins. The air around had changed, just waiting for one of them to make the move.

“Careful nephew, your father may take me for treason.” Daemon teased.

“It’s not treason if I am the crown.” Y/n countered. 

“Your bitterness is showing. Are you that jealous that I gave your sister the attention and not you?” 

Y/n sneered as he heard that. “My father doesn’t pay attention to me unless it’s for lessons. My mother is dead, my sister is always elsewhere, you only have eyes for Rhaenyra, my new stepmother is awkward to talk to, and my half-brother can’t even talk. Any more questions?” He smiled mockingly.

Daemon was amused by his nephew’s words, though he nodded nonetheless knowing that was the reality and truth. 

“Then I can give you the attention you crave, but only if you ask.”

“You better. Otherwise I am going to tell father to exile you again.”

“Don’t be bitter dear nephew, you have all my attention now.”

[warpedpuppeteer]

We keep talking about jealous Buck and how Eddie is going to assure him he's not being replaced but how about we talk about jealous Buck and how that makes Eddie feel?? Can you imagine, if that's what gets Eddie going?? Like, he's over there thinking fuck, this man is literally so hot for me he's going feral because I'm friends with some dude. Can you imagine Eddie liking this side of Buck? Liking the fact that someone loves him enough that they're getting possessive of him? And even as he assures Buck (which he always will), he can't help but think he wouldn't mind Buck being jealous over him again and staking a claim on him? Like, he's Buck's and Buck is his. There's nothing or no-one who can change that but the thrill that shoots up his spine at the thought of Buck staking a claim on him makes him go oh, O H. No one has ever fought for him before. Shannon chose to leave (twice) and Ana didn't even put up a fight (not that he wanted to but still) and here is Buck, they're not even together and he's all bothered by this guy who's apparently getting too chummy with Eddie and while everyone doesn't think twice about leaving Eddie behind, here is Buck, choosing Eddie, fighting for him, getting jealous and possessive over him, to keep him in his life and fuck if that doesn't make Eddie feel all kinds of thrilled.

[okthisway]

big fan of ships where both characters are like i hate you and wouldn't trust you with anything. i'm judging your actions and all that you stand for. now let me tell you about my past and everything i'm going through

[caputvulpinum]

My Anger, or: Dinner Is On The Table And I Am Holding A Knife

(URL of asker censored to protect their identity from the current TERFs going around like a bad orange blight.)

I don't usually like responding to these sorts of asks. But I guess the question "How do you manage to have any faith in humanity left at all?" is one I'll keep getting asked, so here's my answer. I wrote an essay about it. Read it if you want, skip it if you don't, but it has my answer.

===

Are you hungry? Food is my love language. I don't let people go hungry. Food is my love language. You need to eat well. I'm not going to let you not eat well. I made you this, I hope you like raisins. I can’t let you be hungry.

I don't do this because I am nice. I am furious. I am enacting with every loaf of bread and chicken breast and crushed almond nuts an act of terrible, irrevocable rebellion against the state. When I feed people I am throwing a brick at a cop at Stonewall, I am refusing to allow a system of cruelty to keep those around me hungry. I do this because the only way people will know that they're allowed to eat when they're hungry is if they're fed when they're hungry.

I love you. Have this half of my orange. Take a handful of chips. I made too much bread. I love you. Here, I have an extra banana. I don’t like this flavor, do you want it? Sure, you can have a bite, do you want some too? I love you recklessly and relentlessly and without reason. I love you violently and unrepentantly, have this apple, have this pear, have everything I can ever afford to give you and some of what I cannot, because I love you and therefore I must hate what makes you hungry.

I love you, and therefore, I must hate what makes you hungry.

Food is my love language. I won’t let people go hungry.

    -Untitled poem, self. September 19th, 2022, 4:56pm.

Nearly everything I've written for the past four years was just saying the same thing over and over again differently.

In reincarnation matter is not created or destroyed. It is a fermenting apple fallen from the front yard tree, it is the soil mulch it becomes growing the next apple on its branch. It is made of cycles and closed loops. Reincarnation is an airplane in the sky which will never land.

There are smaller reincarnations, though. The memory of something so strong it aches your jaw? The heavy heart heaving blood across its body even after the running was done? The ghosts in that blood, the people you never became seven years ago? There are loops within these loops. The circles are more than circles.

I started cooking only a few years ago. The first thing I ever made was bread. Challah bread, and it was warm and motherly and raisin-filled. But the first thing I remember cooking was ciabatta. Me and mine would tear off hunks of loaf with our hands and stain our mouths red with laughter and vinegar. I am no longer theirs and they are no longer mine but that is my memory of them and I. My memory of that life is one where I knead the dough and bake the bread and laugh with them over and over.

All this is to tell you that every poem I write has been the same for four years, over and over, smelling like plastic armrests and ginger ale. It is all just saying in newer and stranger ways that I love you. I love you, I hope we both eat well.

-”Little Cramped Florida Apartment First Saturday Where I Found Milk And Honey”, self. January 6th, 2022. 11:49pm.

    This last iteration of this narrative was the only one with something worthwhile to say. Anger is overwhelming for me. Let me tell you how I see myself in Sisyphus, pushing a hopeless boulder up a mountain. This time I will try to keep a better grasp on my boulder, which is that anger I am always, always feeling. I wish I could say, “I wish I was not an angry person”, but that isn’t who I am. To let go of that fury would leave me cold, and alone, and unsure of what to do. But those who are always angry have a duty to control that anger, make it a prism from which light can shine into and out of more brilliantly than before.  

    The past year has been about understanding who I am when my back isn’t against the wall. In some ways it’s more terrifying, having the responsibility of making a good life for myself from good foundations. But I remember with every second what it was like to live a life without the luck I’ve been given, and I see the people that get denied it every day. If anger is powerful, I want to use that anger. I want to wield it and make something so angry that everybody will be angry with me. An anger in a single direction, with one edge like a knife, to cut the world down the middle and into a better shape, and hand it to everyone like halves of an orange. I only have two hands to make any piece of art with, and I will only ever have (at most, at my most fortunate) two hands. But I don’t stand alone in being angry at this cruel, foolish world, the one which looks at children and teaches them “You are not worth anything, you have no value or sanctity just because you are human,” and laughs and calls us childish when we say we deserve better than that.

    Because that’s the most formative thing about me of all. The selfish, bitter dregs of feeling hurt and betrayed by the world. The incredibly egotistical idea, “I deserved a better world”. Look at my past self and all of the cruel, flailing, foolish things I did–some on purpose, some not, all causing harm anyway–and think about what I could do about it.

    I think that, on one hand, yes. I deserved better, objectively. There are things in my narrative that no one deserves the agony of. Beyond that, perhaps I deserved better circumstances.

    But I think it doesn’t matter what I deserved in the past, good or bad. What matters more to me is not making the same mistakes in the future. I can’t allow myself to resent the people around me for being maybe a little bit more lucky than I was; there’s art to be made that could change the world. All of it is made out of anger. All of my past, all of my future, it can only ever be anger. Anger that creates, anger that cuts, anger that hardens, anger that stands in front of other people and walks the line for them.

    Anger that stands in front of other people and walks the line for them. I’d almost like that to be the narrative I make for myself. To make a world in which I can say that the events that formed me most are not the ones which hardened me like lava to obsidian, proud like a boar. Instead, a world where I met its hard edges as gentle as I dared. You may have wondered why I sounded so different in the poems I write than the person I am, and the truth is almost simple.

    I learned to write poetry to put to words all the things that I feel which I’m unable to understand or say. That’s the narrative I’ve been trying hard to tell you all, all this time, the one I want to write so badly and yet have no idea how to.

    Writing about anger is so easy for me, except for that one kind, the kind I think I know for certain most defines my narrative, because I can never talk about it except in poems. It lives in me somewhere deeper than anything else, deeper than my heart, deeper than my soul. It can only come out in art, not in words. That anger lives in my belly and it growls like a great black dog every time it thinks it sees someone being hurt. I think that says the most about me that I’ll ever be able to say.

    So we come back to the beginning for the end. As I wrote before; “There are loops within these loops. The circles are more than circles.” I had to try and write this essay three different ways, and this is the third way, the only one worth reading. It’s the only one where I’m angry in a way I think might do good in the world.

    I really hope that whoever reads this can agree.

[doctorweebmd]

so there's this post floating around about like, feeling like an outsider even in a group of outsiders and i almost reblogged it being like

'aha i do that'

except. like. i know exactly why that happens, and its 100% my fault

i just have trouble maintaining relationships because i'm a poor communicator. that's been the case since high school. i dont really initiate conversations or remember to text or call people. its not from a place of indifference or anything like that - i'm sincerely an 'out of sight out of mind' kind of person.

i can not talk to and not see someone for months or years but my feelings for them don't change. it doesn't bother me if people dont check in on me or don't hang out with me or don't text me. i still like them. unfortunately that is not how 99% of the population communicates. people (rightfully) assume that when someone doesn't initiate conversation or hang-outs or doesn't check in on you, that they don't care about you. for me, thats not the case at all. like if i like you and consider you my friend, you are ALWAYS my friend. i would do anything for you and would be more than happy to talk/see each other/support you/etc. its just the day-to-day communication that i really struggle with. but thats how most relationships form - regular, consistent communication.

i've gone through periods of extreme guilt for this where i sincerely try, and make new friends, and re-connect with texting and phone calls and hanging out more often but inevitably something happens, i get busy or i forget and suddenly all this time passes and people think i dont care anymore. unfortunately that's not the case whatsoever - time is kind of abstract to me and i dont understand that while my feelings don't change, others feel more distant or abandoned.

and i've really hurt people in my life like that. friends that i've known for many years from high school/college are a LITTLE more forgiving because they know i'm just 'like that' but still. it does hurt people. like i haven't spoken to my dad in probably at least a year - not because i dont love him, but because of that same reason. he doesn't reach out and i forget and it just steamrolls because he gets hurt, doesn't reach out because he thinks i'm intentionally 'ignoring' him, and i continue to forget, and its just this viscous cycle. i haven't talked to my grandparents in months. my mom knows better and texts me every week or so, but it still hurts her that she has to reach out so regularly. she also plays these games where she sees how 'long' it takes for me to remember to reach out. a lot of people in my life have done that. its like i'm being tested on something without ever being told its a standard test, ya know? i'm always destined to fail it because i dont know how long is too long. at which point will the time and distance be unacceptable? i still dont know the answer.

and i think it makes me come off as a really heartless and callous person. its made me kind of keep people at arms-length because i know i'm not capable of being a part of most people's lives. i have perfectly normal and pleasant relationships with my coworkers and all that, but i'm generally not close with them. and i can see the confusion, because we hang out and i'm pretty normal or whatever and we have fun and then they don't hear from me for months and they're like 'uhhhh.... okay? so i guess you don't like me?'

i do. i just have different relationship maintenance standards than others i guess. so i just overall avoid being around others just because i know i'll disappoint them. it is what it is but it really is sad, in a way.

[quietwingsinthesky]

the amount of time i spend thinking about Even carrying the metacrisis doctor’s fob watch is really quite disproportionate to how much ive fleshed out that part of the story in my head