#terrified of secret city rules

[likehephaestionwhodied]

My favorite part of being autistic is being weary of secret rules. They DO exsist, social norms are secret rules, "5 miles above the speed limit on the high way isn't speeding" is a secret rule. And I'm just always so scared of them.

I spent 4 days in Chicago and could hardly eat bc I was scared I was violating secret city rules and people were gonna be angry at me.

I'm terrified of doing literally anything new bc what if there are secret rules everyone else knows????? And I'm just ruining everyone's day?????

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 4

I may have girl bossed a bit too close to the sun and finished Chapter 5 and 6 too- I'm not quite happy with those so I'll go through them again before posting Ch5 😅

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 4 >>next

Well, we all knew they would never have time for you. They never do until it’s too late. That’s why funerals are for the living to say goodbye, to mourn, to let go of the guilt. It still hurt… It hurt so much to be brushed off by Alfred, to be ignored by Bruce, to be yelled at by Dick. You couldn’t even think of Jason without tearing up, and Tim was just straight-up mean. But at least he was honest. Cassandra and Barbara’s avoidance hurt the most since they were your only female interaction in years.

Everything you tried to do to prove yourself was, at best, ignored, at worst, compared to someone else and diminished. You had nothing in common with Richard besides knowing a few of the same bands. But that wasn’t enough to raise his interest in interacting with you. Every time he looked at you it was like he was angry and sad at the same time.

Jason and you were so similar. Finally, someone you could relate to, who knew how life on the streets was, how terrifying the big space of the Wayne residence was compared to the lives you once had. And yet he was more interested in Dick, no matter how rude the oldest boy was. You couldn’t blame him, you also wanted Richard’s attention. Your heart felt like it was rolled through needles and lemon juice when Jason got everything you wanted just for you to watch him get buried. Dick was angry when Jason first showed up, jealous, but by the time Jason grew up he was just as angry. You hoped that wouldn’t happen to you.

You were a great student, thriving in your classes and finishing middle school earlier than others, what else were you supposed to do when you had no friends? Of course, that was nothing to Tim’s brilliance. And every time you tried to bond with him on that or show him your achievements it would be a tired “I don’t have time for you.” or an uninterested “I achieved that when I was younger than you.”

Barbara is everything you wanted to be when older, smart, beautiful, had friends and the family's attention. It hurt so much to see her get along with Cassandra but not you, never you. And Cassandra… You tried. You tried to befriend her without overwhelming her, but since the first introduction, she had started ignoring you too, downright leaving the room if you entered it. Bruce went to all her recitals, but he never had time for your galleries or competitions. You stopped asking everyone to come when you found the invites and pamphlets balled up and thrown in the trash bins.

By the time Duke and Stephanie came around you had given up, what use was it? It’ll be another rejection, so you just took care of the garden and did more art, your room overflowing with it. You spent at least half of the monthly allowance Bruce gave, and yet you could still be a millionaire.

You gave up on the Waynes, only speaking to them if they spoke to you. You were done with them, with their secrets, with how they would talk between each other in whispers and then get quiet when you stepped into the room. They’d always look at you like you were a stranger, an enemy. And perhaps you were. So, fuck them. Fuck the boys, fuck the girls, and fuck Bruce and Alfred too.

Sneaking out was the best thing you have done for yourself- sure it was a long way from the Manor to the city and back, but it was all worth it. It was worth it to see the other street kids, to hear their stories, to hang out with the homeless and the girls on their smoke break, it was worth everything when you found your mom’s grave. It was nice, it felt like home.

Was it dangerous? Yes. But as long as you stuck to Red Hood’s territory you were fine, his rule of keeping kids safe seemed to also apply to you. He was nice, even if he never spoke around you beyond hums and grunts, but you enjoyed how gentle he was with the other kid, how he ruffled your hair, and how he helped you clean your mom’s grave. He was nice, and surprisingly so were most other rogues.

Ivy enjoyed helping you with tips for the garden, some of the flowers you grew there on every 13th of the month were made into bouquets for her, your mom’s grave, and Jason’s too. Two-face was surprisingly nice about your inquiry of the law and Penguin enjoyed helping you with your business classes. The Riddler made you want to smash your head against a wall most of the time, but boy was he good with philosophy.

You avoided the Joker like the plague. You couldn’t find it in you to care for him when Harley reminded you so much of your mom when she came with a black eye or busted lip asking if you could take care of Bud and Lou for a jiffy. You could never say no to her.

If Red Hood wasn’t keeping an eye on you, it was Bane or Killer Croc, both men letting you climb and swing from them like a spider. They enjoyed seeing a kid not tremble in fear at the sight of them, despite whatever they may tell you. Mr. Freeze was nice too, lonely like you. Sad you simply couldn’t take the cold for long no matter how many layers you put on.

You loved them all to a degree, but Catwoman always made you feel like her kid, not just a kid. Sometimes you felt guilty for wanting to call her mom, you had a mom. But she made you feel all soft and mushy, calling you her kit, crying with you when you first heard her call you that. She thought she had hurt you, oh, how panicked she was. But her hug was so warm, so loving once she found out that no one had called you their kid in so long.  You wish she would steal you away, she does too, but she made a deal with Red Hood. Selina wishes she had just taken you and moved across the country, everyone be damned.

Unknowingly, you had created the garden to hold flowers that reminded you of all of them, even the Waynes. You couldn’t bring yourself to kill their flowers, to make bouquets of them or sell them- you just didn’t have it in you. So, you just kept on growing them, talking to them, and telling those flowers what your alleged family would never listen to. And then Bruce ruined it all.

He wasn’t sure why he did it, exhaustion or paranoia, maybe both? But all Bruce knew he was seeing is his mom’s garden flourishing after years of it being neglected, of Alfred overlooking it at Bruce’s request to focus on what rooms were being used inside the manor instead. He didn’t think twice about grabbing the pesticide designed for Poison Ivy, didn’t think about asking Alfred, about asking the kids, he just reacted.

Bruce was drinking his guilt away in his office, forehead pressed against his desk as one hand held a whiskey glass and the other gripped at his hair. He had never seen his youngest that angry, crying so much-… He wasn’t sure when the last time he saw her smile or hang around the family was.

“What have you done?!” He remembers how pained and angry you sounded as he killed the last flower, his flower. He remembers how he acted, how annoyance rose in him as he explained, and he remembers how his heart fell out of his ass when you said that you took care of the garden and that you spent years building it.

His face remained unmoving as his hands shook, as his jaw clenched, as he could feel the sky crash on his head in tempo with your tears falling down your cheeks. He tried to justify himself, come up with a lie, something that would make him feel less guilty, but- “Yeah?! Well, maybe you would have known if you actually spared a glance in my direction from time to time- You should have left me in an orphanage, no- it should have been you instead of mom!”

You were hurt, you didn’t mean it, he was sure. Even after you went into the manor, crying your heart out, Bruce still sat there. He wasn’t sure what he could do, the pesticide ruined the soil, he didn’t even remember what flowers he saw. The man just went into his daytime office, grabbed his father's liquor, and drank. Bruce knew he should go and apologize and try to talk to you. He poured himself another full glass, instead. Tonight, Batman will be sleeping, and tomorrow Bruce will raise your allowance. If he remembers.

You knew to some degree Bruce didn’t like you, but for him to not even notice that you poured your blood and sweat into that garden when Alfred and even Cassandra did felt like a punch to the gut. You were a good kid, you tried your best to be, so why was this the hand you were dealt? Did he honestly think the flowers in the manor were bought by Alfred? The old man was so busy the last thing on his mind was to buy flowers for the house.

You couldn’t believe him, you could only cry for the lost plants, for one of the three things that brought you happiness. You curled into a ball under the warm duvet, crying into your knees until you could not anymore. The shadows did their best to soothe you, lulling you to sleep as the exhaustion of crying helped them.

Dreams didn’t come easy to you, sure, you had the usual nightmare, but calm dreams were a rare occasion. And this one felt so nice as you drifted in the endless dark space, two figures you couldn’t quite make out helping you stay afloat as they talked… chanted? You weren’t sure. It sounded like Latin, but it also didn’t. No matter, it was soothing, warm, it was what you needed.

You felt light as a feather. You felt free and- you hit your head… The pain not only confuses you but also wakes you up, the throbbing on the side of your head making you groan. Your tired eyes looked around trying to figure out what you hit as your hand rubbed the sore spot.

Maybe you were still dreaming. You must still be dreaming. Panic set into your veins- there was no way this was actually happening, it couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t be a meta- Batman hated metas and he worked for your- he worked for Bruce- You were fucked.

It didn’t matter that as soon as it happened and you panicked your body hit the floor so hard it rattled your nightstand, making a framed picture fall and break, it didn’t matter that you didn’t register the pain, or notice that you broke the floorboard where you hid all your diaries and drawings you made for the family- all your brain knew is that you should leave before Batman throws you in Arkham or GSP.

So that’s what you did. You grabbed your sports bag that you used for art supplies, stuffed it with some clothes, your laptop, phone, the chargers, took a few sketchbooks and pens, and the card with Bruce’s money. Not like he’ll notice, he didn’t notice that you spent thousands every other week at a fast-food joint for the homeless and street kids, didn’t notice that you spent millions every other year at retail stores for the same people, he didn’t notice the donations. He was as blind as a bat.

“Leap of faith” is what Superman once said in an interview about how others with the power could learn to take off. “It’s just a leap of faith.” He was right- you almost pissed yourself, but he was right. You understood why he always was floating above the ground; it felt so freeing to fly, circling the manor to the top, feeling the air around you. It was so nice. You should move, fly away, and yet your eyes can’t leave the destroyed garden. You should make a few stops before fully leaving… just a few.

When each of the rogues found one singular flower in their favorite seat, their window sill, on the weapons and cars they owned, all withered and falling apart, they knew what it meant.

Ivy was the first, she knew the second the plants died. After all, she helped keep the plants alive, nothing could thrive on the Wayne land anymore, almost like it was cursed, as if Death herself lived on the grounds. But seeing the burned and greying orange trumpet vine told her everything she needed to know, that it wasn’t you who destroyed them. Bruce Wayne and the Bats didn’t know what was about to come their way.

You’ll miss your friends, the kids, the rogues. You’ll miss Catwoman, but she always told you to be a bit more selfish. This was the moment for that. Doubt settled in at some point, but you had nothing holding you attached to the Waynes, Catwoman couldn’t or just wouldn’t take care of you, it was time to let go and abuse Bruce’s ignorance, make a new life for you where you don’t need to hide in the night for some social interaction.

New York City should be the perfect place for it.

Tag List: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry

[sorceresssundries]

Of Pain and Pleasure

Warnings: Talk of chronic pain. Masturbation.

Length: 2.5k of self-indulgence.

Summary: A wizard cursed with a volatile, dark magic discovers that his growing sexual frustration is making the Netherese orb embedded in his chest more painful and unstable. How does he deal with this issue? By having a wank, obviously!

The once-charmed locket lay useless and stripped in the dew-damp grass. The usual feeling of relief—a fire smothered and a hunger sated—was absent. The Netherese flames still licked at him, his breathing not yet back to its natural rhythm, and his ribs felt as though they were stretched and warped around something too big for them to hold. They were. The pain was too big for his flimsy mortal bones to contain.

Panic began to mix with the dull, pulsing ache, making it worse. Any kind of spiral, any desperate feeling that tightened his chest, slipped down into the relentless pit and antagonised the gluttonous curse that was settled there. The tendrils of the orb had not only marked his skin but coiled their way around his nerves, fraying and gnawing. They wrapped around him so intently that he could no longer tell which hunger was his and which belonged to the orb.

Count, he thought to himself between audible, struggling breaths. You have to count.

He imagined climbing the stairs of the tower, with morning light spilling over the walls as Tara’s soft pawprints padded along beside him. One step at a time.

He imagined picking up a book he had the luxury of lazily savouring by the fire on a rainy day, feeling the thrum of pages against his fingers, counting each one until he found where he left off. One page at a time.

He counted the times Tav had touched him. Seventeen. There had been seventeen touches. The last time was when she had taken his hand for no other reason than that she thought he needed it. He had. He always needed it. He had wanted to raise her hand to his lips and brush his mouth against her bloodied knuckles. He craved her touch like a bare branch craves spring.

The yawning ache stretched itself out again, threatening him, pressing the jagged edges against his lungs until each breath felt like it would split him open.

Okay… bad… not helping.

At first, he had been confused - he had spent over a year in his tower absorbing slivers of weave from various magical items, and it had been enough. He could live a relatively normal, albeit isolated, life. The pain would arrive every now again like a familiar stranger and he would be able to keep it at bay, there were rules it obeyed and patterns it followed. 

Then he met Tav...

He thought of her smile, and another flame licked at his insides. The realisation struck him like a blow: it was his hunger for Tav that was making the orb unstable. His discontent, his desperation for her, was becoming dangerous. The orb’s power wasn’t growing stronger—his resolve was crumbling. The barriers he had erected to contain the orb’s influence were weakening. His control was slipping through his fingers, and the terrifying truth was that he didn’t know how to stop it.

He hurt pretty much all the time now, but the greatest ache of all was from not touching Tav the way he wanted to. The ache of not peeling each piece of her sweat-soaked, blood-spattered clothes from her and kissing his way across every inch of her skin. He wanted to find each and every scar that flecked her skin, pale and iridescent like the inside of a salt-licked seashell. He wanted to lose himself in each hidden, secret place. The restraint of keeping himself from her was becoming too tight, too choking. His desperation stoked the already barely contained fire within him, threatening to burn him from the inside out, reducing him to nothing more than flecks of weave-tainted ash—and a crater the size of a city.

A few hours ago, with the dregs of adrenaline from a fierce fight still swirling through their systems, she had removed her shirt in front of him. and used it to wipe sweat and blood from her skin before dunking it in the river to clean. She had caught him staring at her, topless and unabashed. Why should she care? They were soldiers, not etiquette-bound nobles. But gods, the sight of her… Another wave of pain rocked him.

Something would have to be done. 

He managed to stumble his way back to his tent without attracting any attention. It was late, and most were still in bed or out hunting. The camp was quiet, the darkness a blanket that shielded him from prying eyes. Once inside, he collapsed onto his bedroll, finally giving the pain the attention it craved. Instead of pushing it down as he usually did, he let himself sink into it, hoping that by opening the door and inviting it in, the pain would take up residence for a while and then, having exhausted its welcome, eventually leave. It was a gamble, a desperate hope that by embracing the torment, he could somehow hasten its departure. But it didn’t seem to work. His thoughts kept drifting back to Tav, and his need for her was an ember that kept the pain simmering and spitting.

He lay there, hurting, and considered his options.

He could leave and eradicate the threat of harming everyone around him. But what would come first—the orb detonating or ceremorphosis? He couldn’t risk becoming a mind flayer with all that raw, destructive power nestled within him, waiting to be unleashed. God knows what kind of monster he would become, what horrors he might commit with such power at his disposal.

He could tell her? What if he confessed how much he wanted her, how every time he heard her laugh it was like a wave of pleasure sinking under his skin and rolling down his spine? She would be kind about it, he was certain. But would it be more painful to be open with his feelings and have them unreciprocated? To be both desperate and embarrassed? That could make things worse, he realised with a painful twinge. He could become the wizard who literally blew up from rejection. Not exactly how he imagined his legacy.

But what if she wanted him too? What if those moments when he felt her eyes on him were not from judgement, but from desire? He thought back to the magic lesson they had shared. It wasn’t what he had expected—just a few minutes where her scent and the sound of her rapid breathing danced in the air alongside the weave. Two opposing forces mingling and crackling around him, skimming across his skin in electrifying waves. Threads and caresses of purple and green, the scent of rosewater mingling with the spiced cinnamon that filled his lungs like warm cider on a cold midwinter night in Waterdeep. He had wanted to reach out, to slot his aching, starved fingers between hers. He wanted to feel warm again, to be warmed in the way only another person could offer.

Then, an image of a kiss slipped into his thoughts—simple and electric. She was thinking of kissing him, and he could almost feel the feather-light brush of her lips against his. The thought of kissing her back, of letting their fantasies intertwine so vividly that it was impossible to tell who was leading, filled him with a desperate longing. But as the desire for it to go further awoke within him, so did the pain. Doubts crept in, whispering that it was nothing more than a fleeting moment, two people getting carried away. 

The magic extinguished, the weave unravelled, and the sweetness died.

“How easily things slip away from us,” he had lamented, before bidding her goodnight and leaving in pain and embarrassment.

Now, he sighed as he thought of all the ways he wanted to touch her. His hand lay flat against the skin of his abdomen, and he closed his eyes, trying to imagine that the weight and warmth of his hand were hers. 

Every time she offered him a smile, he ached to kiss it, to taste the joy that bubbled up from within her. Yes, she was beautiful, with hips that swayed like music and eyes that contained entire universes, but it was her mind that truly captivated him. The quick, sharp bite of her wit, the effortless way she dispensed kindness…  It wasn’t just that he wanted to touch her—Gods, how he wanted to touch her—but he longed to know her, completely.

The pain blazed and the orb glowed in warning, but… perhaps… if he were slow and cautious…

The ache of his erection was tormenting him. It had been so long since he had pleasured himself, since he had even allowed himself to consider it... His need had been buried under layers of control and discipline, suppressed by the fear of what might happen if he let go. But now, that control was slipping, overshadowed by his longing for her. He wondered if indulging, even for just a moment, might offer some relief—even if only briefly.

He settled himself, letting out a slow, measured breath as his fingers traced across the soft skin of his navel, following the line of dark hair down to where he was rock hard. At first, he held himself gently, the sensation unfamiliar and almost foreign after so long. But it wasn’t long before the softness gave way to urgency, his hand gripping more tightly as he began to move his hips into his own grasp. The thought of Tav pleasuring him like this was too delicious to be subtle, and the fantasy burned bright in his mind.

He imagined drawing sounds from her that no one else had ever heard, sounds she herself didn’t even know she was capable of making. The thought of it sent shivers down his spine. and he began to stroke himself faster as he envisioned her losing herself to the waves of pleasure he would bring. Her taut, practised muscles losing control as they wrapped around his head, her body writhing with each flick of his tongue.

In his fantasy, he saw himself having to be more and more forceful to keep her still, his hands gripping her hips as his tongue pressed and stroked, building her up only to make her fall apart. He wanted to unravel her, to take her to heights she had never imagined. He audibly moaned as he imagined the sounds she would make, the way her body would respond to his touch. The thought of her yielding to him, of her body quaking with ecstasy, was almost more than he could bear.

He stopped himself before he came, not wanting the fantasy to end. He was desperately close, and already leaking. He wanted to make the most of this time with Tav, even if it was only in his own head. The pain was still there, but he paid it very little attention.

It had been such a long time since he had luxuriated in the raw, primal pleasures of mortal sexuality with another person—the slick sheen of sweat on skin, the burn of stretched muscles, the sound of uncontrollable lust released in ragged, blissed-out breaths. Yes, the merging of souls and the celestial sharing of pleasure was an experience beyond compare, a union that transcended the physical, but it never quite sated the hunger that still burned within him, a hunger that was flesh-bound and raw. He was a chosen, a prodigy of magic, an illusionist of unparalleled skill. He could bend reality to his will and conjure wonders from thin air. But, he was also a man. A man who now lay in the dark solitude of his tent, his hand wrapped tightly around his hard, leaking cock, aching for the very human experience of sinking into Tav’s eager cunt.

His breath quickened as he stroked himself again, and In the quiet darkness of the tent, he surrendered to the fantasy, his mind painting vivid images of Tav’s body arching beneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist, her fingers digging into his back as he thrust into her with a fervour that bordered on desperation. He could almost taste the salt of her skin, almost feel the quiver of her thighs as she reached the peak of her pleasure.

He was a master of illusions, but this—this was no illusion. It was a deep, salacious desire that nothing could dispel. And as he lay there, his hand moving faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps, he knew that no amount of magic could satisfy the longing he felt for her. He needed her in a way that was as ancient and undeniable as the stars themselves.

As his pleasure built, his pain receded. It was becoming nothing more than a background pulse to the roar of his fantasy. Nothing else mattered at that moment. All he knew was Tav. He lost himself, letting himself be carried away to another place, where pleasure eclipsed pain, and desire became the only reality.

He was the orb, and her touch were the slivers of magic he needed to keep himself together. 

He imagined her gasping out his name in pure, undiluted pleasure and it sent him crashing over the precipice. He choked out breaths as he came, imagining he was spilling inside her cunt or down her throat. 

He lay there, spent and mellow in his post-orgasmic state, waiting for the inevitable return of the pain. He braced himself, expecting the familiar surge of agony to claw its way back, to push into his ribs and split him apart once more. But... it didn’t. The hurt was still there, a steady throb beneath his skin, but it was different now—muted, like a muffled voice through a wall rather than the blaring, all-consuming force it had been. 

He exhaled, more content now that he had allowed himself some release. The tension that had coiled so tightly within him had eased, and even the orb seemed to sense his momentary peace, its energy dimming as if it, too, had curled up for the night.

"Oh Gods," he thought, the embarrassment flooding in like a tide. He turned over, pressing his face into his pillow, his cheeks burning with shame. Was this really what it would take to keep the pain at bay?

An orgasm?! Was that the solution he had been desperately seeking? The idea was almost too absurd to entertain, yet the evidence lay in the calm that now settled over him. He couldn’t allow this to be the answer.

An alternative had to be found, and quickly. 

[mingi-s-dimples]

Heart on Loan - Yunho

KINKTOBER DAY 16, REQ. BY anon

~"Hi I'd like to request a Yunho Mafia fic. The reader pisses him off in some way and now she had to pay him back by working for him. At first he's really mean to her but then starts to be attracted and that's when the smut starts. The reader is also a virgin and doesn't have any experience being in a relationship or talking to guys. I hope that's not too much!"

pairing: mafia leader!yunho x fem!reader

genre: 18+, mafia au, filth ish

summary: you piss off the most dangerous person in the city... only to spend the most memorable night with him, after supposedly working for him to pay your debt off.

wc: 2.4k

warnings: mafia au, dom!yunho, virgin!reader, deepthroating, fingering, oral (m), head pushing, hair *pulling/tangling*, teasing slightly, he's a cocky one, making out, mentions of guns, missionary, implied 2nd round, use of pet names, slight possessiveness, unprotected (boo use protection irl), completely consensual, for sure forgot something, unedited.

Author's Note: Mafia Yunho is chef's kiss idc what y'all say and idc that this fic is damn short but omfg... I need this man in my life *sigh* why do I not bump into pretty and tall men that would make me pay off my own sillt debt and fucking them later in my life 😞😞 I'm so sorry words slipped out of my mouth upsi. Anyways, anon, I hope yoh like it !

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The city had a heartbeat of its own, a relentless pulse of neon lights and shadowed alleyways where secrets and power moved in. You knew it well, though you’d never been bold enough to dip more than a toe into its murky underbelly. That was, until tonight.

You’d been passing through the dimly lit streets, minding your own business, when fate—or rather, an unfortunate case of bad timing and bad attitude—threw you directly in Yunho's path. Yunho was the city’s most notorious Mafia leader, his name spoken in whispers by even the bravest. Some said his fortune was built on power, manipulation, and charm as dangerous as his temper. But none of that registered with you in the moment you bumped into him and, in a flustered reaction, spilled coffee on his impeccable suit.

There was a silence so thick you could feel it pressing against your lungs. You had barely glanced up when you realized the towering figure before you, the dangerous gleam in his eyes, and the ominous smirk pulling at his lips. Your blood ran cold as he inspected his now-ruined clothes, a dark promise flickering behind his expression.

"You’ve got some nerve," he finally muttered, his voice soft but sharp enough to cut through the heavy night air. You felt his gaze drilling into you, appraising, as if deciding your fate. Without another word, he stepped closer, towering over you.

“I’m… really sorry about that. I didn’t mean to—” you stammered, but he cut you off with a smirk that sent chills down your spine.

“Oh, you will be,” he said, his tone dark yet almost amused, and something inside you told you that your apology wouldn’t be enough. “Let’s call this… a debt. And you’re going to work it off.”

That was how it all began. Within days, you found yourself stepping into a new life, a strange, thrilling, and utterly terrifying world at Yunho’s command. The rules were strict, and the punishment for mistakes even stricter. You had no idea what you'd be asked to do next, whether it was tracking contacts, running errands, or, most frequently, dealing with his endless collection of firearms. It was in these moments, whenever you were alone with him, that Yunho’s intensity seemed to turn up a notch.

The rough edges of his demeanor wore on you, his biting sarcasm and occasional harshness drawing out every ounce of your patience and nerves. But gradually, you began to notice something beyond the intimidation. In the way he watched you, sometimes with an intensity that felt heavier than his threats, there was something almost like curiosity.

Days passed, and your debt stretched on, keeping you ensnared in Yunho’s world. But one night, as you were organizing his cache of sleek, dangerous-looking firearms in his private room, the silence between you felt charged, more potent than ever. Yunho was watching you from the doorway, arms crossed, the smallest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Do you know what you’re holding there?” he asked, his tone softer than usual as he took a step toward you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you tried to focus on the task, feeling his gaze travel from your hands to your face, lingering just a little too long. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the faint cologne that seemed to fit him all too well. You struggled to keep your attention on the weapon you were packing, but your pulse betrayed you, hammering in your chest like a warning.

Without a word, Yunho reached over, his fingers brushing yours as he adjusted the weapon in your grip. His touch sent a jolt through you, making it hard to ignore the heat creeping up your cheeks. You’d been cautious around him, knowing he was dangerous in more ways than one, but you hadn’t expected the casual, unexpected intimacy he was capable of. He lingered, his fingers tracing over yours with a gentleness that seemed foreign for someone so ruthless. And you couldn’t look away.

“Shy, huh?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble as he leaned closer, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement—and something else. You felt a knot of tension twist in your stomach, unsure if it was fear or something far more dangerous, but Yunho didn’t pull back. If anything, he moved closer, a teasing smile curving his lips as he caught your gaze.

“You make me want to forget every rule I’ve ever made.” your eyed widened at his words, not knowing what he meant.

Oh.. yeah. The rule.. of not having any kind of affair with one another. Did he possibly mean.. that one?

For a split second, the entire world seemed to melt away, leaving just you and him in that small, dimly lit room. It was a line you knew you shouldn't cross, a tension you shouldn’t indulge. But as he stayed close, his fingers lightly grazing yours again, you realized you weren’t sure if you wanted him to stop.

"Your heart is... racing" Yunho smirks, pressing his fingers lightly against your wrist, feeling your pulse quicken under his touch, “You want this too, don’t you?”

Your lips part to respond but words falter, looking away, and he chuckles.

Yunho's hands traveled from your wrist to your hand, then to your shoulder and collarbone, “Don’t go shy on me now. I want to hear you say it.”

"I-" you tried to say.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Getting all silent on me?” he confidently said, as your eyes instantly chose a random spot on a wall to look at, rather to make eye contact with him. His right hand rode up your neck, resting there for a second, then went for your chin and he made you look at him.

“Come on… look at me. I want to see those pretty eyes when you blush like that.”

"I- uh"

"Say it." he said, authority conveyed in his words.

"I haven't done this.. b-before." you stuttered, eyes wandering around.

He looked at you, slightly confused. “So… you’re telling me you’re a virgin?”

“I don’t want you to think… I’m not interested. I’m just… not experienced.” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, embarrassed of your words.

“Trust me, I’d never assume that.” he leans in, voice droping, “But if anything, it makes me want to go slower… yeah. I’ll take my time with you… make sure you feel every second of it. That’s a promise.”

---

The atmosphere suddenly got heavier as his hands rode up and down on your body, feeling you up.

He took a small step back, his gaze softening as he let out a slow breath, as though grounding himself. “You have no idea how much I want this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if even saying the words too loudly might break the spell between you.

With a tenderness that surprised you, he traced his hands up your arms, letting them settle on your waist as he gently lifted you, your body instinctively wrapping around him. His movements were deliberate yet unhurried, carrying you as if you were something delicate, precious.

The quiet thud of the door closing behind him, the warmth of his touch, and the way his breath lingered near your neck all heightened the sense of intimacy. The room was cast in dim light, shadows dancing along the walls, adding a surreal quality to the moment. Every brush of his fingers, every whispered breath, seemed to amplify the silence between you.

Gently, he lowered you onto the bed, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he said, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. His fingers trailed lightly over your cheek, tracing your jaw.

In that moment, you felt safe, even if hr was the most dangerous person in your city.. if not even in the country.

Your hands left his shoulders as he backed off for a second, taking in the view. He then started to slowly undress himself, taking his sweet time.

"L-let me.. help you" you suddenly said, not even expecting your own words to slip out. He giggled at your words and stopped, letting you do it. You slowly unbuttoned his shirt, feeling up his muscles. His shoulders are broad and heavily built, signaling his strength and resilience. His chest muscles are well-defined, showing the dense training that shapes his form, while his biceps and triceps look strong and hardened, giving him an imposing presence. His abs are chiseled, likely from rigorous workouts and possibly some close-call encounters. Every part of him exudes power, from his veined forearms to the taut muscles of his back, showcasing the blend of elegance and intensity fitting for someone who commands respect and fear. Though, his soft skin was tainted by some pretty harsh scars, probably from cuts or bullets he got hit by in combat. You then got to his pants and well.. it went kind of.. downhill from there.

"Let's see what you're capable of, sweetie. Don't worry.. I'll guide you." he said as he unbuckled his pants, letting them fall down to his ankles and pushing them away. He then got rid of his briefs and oh god.. he was *huge*. His hand hovered over your head and urged you down on your knees, right in front of his cock. You innocently looked up at him, like you didn't fucking enjoy every second of it, while being entirely freaked out.

Your hands rode up his thighs and got to his cock, slowly pumping it. As you were looking at him, your eyes widened as he signaled you to... suck. "It won't be that hard, I promise..." he whispered as he guided your head to his cock, your lips parting against the red, leaking tip. You started to softly suck on it, not sure if you could take all of his length. You deepened a bit, leaving sloppy trails of kisses whenever you got to his tip. You liked his length from the base all the way to the shaft, sucking on his tip multiple times before he.. got slightly bored of it. "Sweetie..?"

"Mhm?" you muffle, his cock inches deep in your mouth.

"Let's... try a bit more " he said as he pushed himself slowly deep down your throat, gagging on it while he thrusted forwards in your mouth. He didn't seem like the man to be noisy but.. muffled sounds and whines could be heard from above you. His hand tangled in your hair as he started rapidly fsce-fucking you, catching his high.

"Don't stop.." he said and braced his hands in your hair and on your head and deepthroated you, making you gag multiple times on it. He was not.. the most gentle person, but you also loved it so, no need for him to be gentle. Your hands were holding tightily ok his thighs, and as he fucked your mouth a couple more times, he came right down your throat and in your mouth. When he pulled out, silky white cum dripped off your lips. He kneeled down in front of you and wiped it off, moment to distract you from his hand going under you, lifting you up. He threw you on the bed and undressed you, hastily.

"Let me spoil you, pretty." he said and pushed you on your back, crawling over to you. His lips found yours, and in a matter of time while he was making out with you, his hand found it's way between your legs. He stopped for a moment to look at you. and when you nodded, he didn't hesitate any longer. He inserted one finger in, then the second one. He slowly started pumping them in and out while still kissing you, feeling each and every of your muffled and quiet moans. It was not long before he started fingering your rapidly, helping you catch your high. But.. that wasn't his plan. In fact, his plans was to only.. stretch you out for his length. So that when he felt you'd be prepped enough for him, he pulled back for a moment and guided his cock to your entrance, then slowly pushed himself in. Your hands held thightly onto the linen as he bottomed down, his length and girth stretching you the fuck out.

"Tell me... if you want me to stop" he said but.. he didn't mean it. You also never planned in making him stop so, you nodded, not answering him. That simply was the easiest way of telling him you wanted to be fucked dumb by him, to which he compiled.

His hands found their way to your waist, burying himself deep down in you. His eyes widened as you put your legs over his waist, missionary style. He smirked, going even faster than he was before.

"I- Yunho!" you moaned his name, tears forming in your eyes as he bottomed down every time he thrusted into you.

"I'm close, sweetie... you feel so damn good, I might as well go fucking insane." he said as he let his torso down to yours, his lips finding their way to your collarbones, leaving soft kisses which transformed into harsh marks, where he sucked your skin. He fucked you a couple more times before coming undone right in front of you and in you, feeling yourself getting absolutely filled up by his load. You, too, also came as soon as you felt his cock pulse in you. He whined out when he felt your walls clench tightly on his cock, draining him out. He fucked you through his and your orgasm, then slowly came to a stop.

He pulled out and stepped back for a moment, admiring his work. Your pretty, fucked out, teary face, and your cunt dripping with both of your juices.

"You look so damn hot like this.. might as well go for another round, if you're up for it?" Yunho said, a little bit too excited about it as his cock hardened again.

"P-please.. I need you" you whined out, dirty thoughts flooding in your mind.

"You didn't have a choice anyway.. I gotta show you just how much you pissed me off when you ruined my favourite suit, sweeheart." he said and leaned in for a kiss, to which he lifted you up in his embrace.

The night was just about to start and... ironically, you felt safer and wanted in the nicest way by the most dangerous person in the city.

NETWORKS:

@illusionnet

@blossomnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @woolysium @peachy-bell26

[cwritesforfun]

Emperor Geta x Fem!Reader: Escape

Y/N = Your Name

They will not follow the Roman style of speech - it will be written in modern language.

*I do not own the characters or plot of Gladiator 2*

Masterlist

PART TWO

You had met Emperor Geta twice growing up in Rome.

The first time was when you two were kids, so you just remember playing with a sword in a sand pit.

The second time was when he was freshly made Emperor, and you two did the deed. He was hot, and he thought you were hot. You helped him with plans for ruling as you were ruling your homeland. The proper term for your title was Queen. You noticed how reckless Calla was, and you told Geta of a way to escape Rome to get to you. You even gave him a secret password for him to be granted safe passage there. He did not understand at the time why you told him of an escape.

The next years passed, and you couldn't visit Rome anymore. Your role as Queen was important to you, and you didn't want to just travel for pleasure. You could have lied to your people, but your people were facing threats day by day from Romans. It seemed to you that Emperor Geta and Emperor Calla had no control of their city. It terrified you, and you just hoped Emperor Geta would end up okay in the end. You sent letters once every couple of months to check in with him, and he wrote you poems about how he missed you. He claimed that no woman filled the void you left in his heart.

...

It was a random day in the hottest part of summer, and you found yourself swimming in your private pool to cool down. Your foreign advisor asked your guards to speak to you about an urgent matter, so you threw on an outfit and rushed to the sitting room.

You find your foreign advisor looking antsy. You ask, "Please, tell me, what's the matter?" He bows and answers, "Miss, I have a letter from Titus, who lives on the shore of Rome. He wrote to me 5 days ago that he had a surprise visitor who knew your secret password for safe passage. The messenger arrived today and was 2 days ahead of Titus." You ask, "Well who was it?" He answers, "That's where I have questions as well. The messenger said it was Emperor Geta." You drop the glass you hold, and it breaks, spreading water everywhere. A maid rushes in and begins cleaning.

Once the maid finishes and leaves, you talk to your advisor about the arrival of Emperor Geta. You also inform him of bits of your past with the Emperor. You once considered him a friend and would be a generous host to his visit... but if he were to harm or intend to harm your people, he would be sent packing. You agree to keep this information secret as best as you can until his arrival to guarantee his safety.

You spend the next couple of days in meetings and normal. You spend your nights feeling antsy and nervous. Why would Emperor Geta visit you now? What's wrong? Where is Calla?

The day of his arrival is here. A messenger arrives from the shore to tell you that Titus' ship has docked.

You wait in your sitting room near the entrance of your palace.

The door swings open, and a guard announces, "Now announcing the presence of Titus and Emperor Geta!" They both stroll through the door, and you see the exhaustion in Emperor Geta's eyes. He looks bad, which is saying a lot because you find him very attractive. Titus bows and then Emperor Geta does. Titus says, "Your Majesty, I present Emperor Geta. I shall let the two of you reconnect. I must go and rest for that was a long journey." You shake his hand, thank him, and he leaves.

You take a careful step toward Emperor Geta and exclaim, "Emperor Geta, is that really you?" He answers, "Please call me Geta, love. I am Emperor no more." You pull him into a hug, and he squeezes you against him. You pull him over to the couch, where you two sit and talk.

You find out that Geta faked his own death, and Calla thought he killed the real Geta. Calla took over the sole role of Emperor. Geta snuck out of the castle and found Titus easily. Titus gave him commoner clothing, and they sailed 5 days + nights overseas.

You ask, "Why don't I lead you to a nice guest suite to rest?" Geta answers, "I'm scared to be alone right now. Is it alright if I stay with you?" You answer, "Sure, you may. I'll have food brought to our room before we sleep." He replies, "I like the sound of our room." You smile and reply, "I truly did miss you. I was just scared to go back to Rome. I knew I couldn't possibly leave you again and my advisors were worried for my safety." He cups your face and replies, "I would've started wars if they inflicted pain upon you." You cup his face and reply, "You're safe here. I'll make sure of it." He leans in and kisses you gently.

PART TWO?!?!?! Consider it on the way, please comment to be tagged on it.

[avocad1s]

What if for a sagau the creator (that got isekai'd) assumes they're the imposter because their blood isn't gold and kids keep running away from them

Just imagine the KoF or people from mond being so confused to why their creator is so on gaurd when they see them and runs away.

I definetly feel like it has to be one of the archons that somehow convince the creator that they won't do any harm to them

Note: Anon I got carried away with this and I am so sorry 💀 Reader is the Creator even though they don’t believe it. (at first)

All of the nations have their own protocols in place for your unexpected arrival in Teyvat.

No matter who finds you, they will be aware of what to do, even children.

All of the nations follow these three basic rules when it comes to you:

One: Approaching you and making sure that you are okay. They will also welcome you back to Teyvat.

Two: If you allow it, they will guide you back to the city of the nation you’re in. If you don’t, they’ll return themselves and inform whoever is in charge of your arrival.

Three: Notifying the other nations of your arrival.

This last rule may not be followed, it’s hard for them to control their selfish desires, they want to keep you to themselves for a little while!

However these rules are only followed by a majority of people, there a a few outliers. For example, the other nations do not want your first destination to be Snezhnaya. There’s no telling just how long they would keep it a secret, and their mind could only wander to the darkest scenarios if Their Grace was stuck in the grasp of the Fatui for too long.

When the Adepti made their contracts with Rex Lapis, within the contract was what they should do if you arrive. Even to this day, the Adepti will honor it even though Morax was no longer ruling.

The Divine Priestess of Watatsumi Island also has her own idea on how to handle your arrival. Unlike everyone else, she used her incredible strategizing skills to prepare for any possibility that could happen once you arrive.

If the Abyss find you first… well all I can say is you don’t have to worry about them hurting you.

-

So back to your request.

The Knights of Favonius are confused why you kept running away, anytime they got close to you. Did you see them as threatening? They were trying their best to make you feel welcome in their nation but your terrified face anytime they came into view broke their hearts.

Albedo and Lisa would try and form a strategy to get close enough to you to talk to you. Venti would use his connection to the winds to find out where you are going.

Unbeknownst to them, you had accidentally cut yourself during your abrupt arrival and noticed… well nothing! Your blood was just as normal as it was before. That would’ve been fine if people didn’t try to walk up to you calling you their Creator and crying tears of joy because you returned.

You had read too many fanfics about the scenario and not having golden blood would only lead to bad things for you.

So you began running.

Once you had saw Klee, the most adorable in the Knights of Favonius, you knew that asking her for any information would be for the best. You couldn’t imagine a sweet girl like her causing you any harm.

But once she made eye contact with you she ran away. This only solidified in your mind that going to the city would be too dangerous for you. Especially if they find out about your blood.

(However Klee was just running away because Jean had told her to get an adult if she happens to run into you.)

The game of cat and mouse goes on for a while, but you were exhausted and couldn’t run away any longer. It wasn’t even just people of Mondstadt trying to find you anymore, there were other skilled fighters you recognized from other nations also trying to find you as well.

It made your blood run cold to think what they would do once they actually catch you.

“Your Grace! There you are!”

You let out a yelp quickly turning around to face the person who was talking to you, even though you recognized their voice.

Venti was breathing heavily as he gives you a small smile, behind him was Ei and Nahida.

This wasn’t good, you were surrounded by three Archons. You didn’t even want to think where Zhongli could be.

“Please don’t run away your Grace,” Ei says softly her face full of emotion. “We only want to help you.”

You try and take a step but your back hits the cold rock of the cliff above you, you truly were trapped.

Venti and Ei drop their weapons on the floor kneeling, Nahida does the same but she has no weapon to drop.

“We apologize if we have done anything to offend you Your Eminence,” Nahida begins her gaze on the ground, “you have been running away from us for weeks now, please allow us to tend to your needs.”

You try to ignore the pain in your body and how your mucky clothes stuck to your skin, you couldn’t let your guard down. They were just waiting for the perfect time to strike.

“Why are you calling me that, I’m not who you think I am.”

The three Archons exchange glances then look at you. “Umm forgive me for asking,but what do you mean you’re not who we think you are?” Venti asks.

You show the cut that was on your hand, it was lazily wrapped in a cloth that was also covered in dirt. A constant stinging could be felt in your palm, you knew that if you didn’t treat it soon, the wound would definitely get infected.

Once they see your wound, they immediately jump up and try to run to your side but the look on your face tells them they should stay right where they’re at.

“Your hurt!” Ei stammers, “please let us take you to a healer!”

You quickly shake your head, “I’m not the Creator! My blood…” you unravel the cloth revealing the dried up blood in your palm, “it’s red.”

It falls silent for a moment.

“Is there something wrong with that Your Grace?” Nahida says softly, “is it supposed to be something else?”

You hesitate, “isn’t it supposed to be gold?”

The Archons never expected you to ask something like this. Was this the reason you were running away? Did you believe you were some kind of imposter?

“Your Grace,” Venti says, bringing a hand up to his chest, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but we would recognize your aura anywhere. We are your most devoted. Will you please let us help you?”

His words were convincing, and their faces left no room for speculation. Not to mention, the God of Wisdom was here trying to convince you as well, maybe you should listen to them.

You take a small step forward, “you promise not to hurt me?”

The three shake their heads quickly, “we would never lay a hand on you Your Grace…”

Ei was the first at your side offering to carry you to Mondstadt, Venti pouted at her words saying that he could carry you too.

“It should be me carrying them Barbatos, I’m the tallest one. I can carry Their Grace with ease.” She reasons.

The Anemo Archon didn’t want to seem childish in front of you but he still wanted to argue his reasoning. “I’m the oldest Archon here, it should be me.”

Nahida sighs holding her small hand out to you, “I’m not sure why they are fighting when you are capable of walking… I‘ll lead you to Mondstadt.”

You take her hand letting her lead you through the grassy fields. Ei and Venti, quickly pick up their weapons to join the two of you.

-

© avocad1s 2023

[darlinluxx]

𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 | 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐊 ౨ৎ

pairing : saebyeok x fem!reader

fluff, tiny bit of angst

warnings : tiny bit of angst, pickpocketing

summary : you’re so in love with her, including her reckless behavior.

a/n : inspired by candy necklace by lana del rey

if you have any requests, feel free to message me <3

𝐓he weight of her hand in yours is a grounding force, a constant amidst the chaos that seems to follow Saebyeok like a stray dog. you love it, the weight, the warmth, the callouses on her fingers that you trace with your thumb when you think she isn’t looking. you love her. everything about her. even the parts that make your stomach clench with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

like right now.

the Seoul subway platform is a hive of bodies, a symphony of hurried footsteps and muttered conversations. you’re pressed close to Saebyeok, the familiar scent of her cologne a comforting smell. your eyes are fixed on her hand, the one that isn’t holding yours. it’s dancing, a silent predator moving with a practiced grace you both admire and dread.

you watch her fingers, long and elegant, slip into the pocket of a distracted businessman. a wallet, plump with bills, is extracted with the skill of a surgeon, disappearing into the folds of her jacket before the man even blinks. a thrill courses through you, a dangerous current that tugs at your heart. this is Saebyeok. this is the woman you love.

you know it’s wrong. you know you should say something, pull her away. but you don’t. you can’t. you’re mesmerized. it’s not just the skill, but the audacity, the utter disregard for the rules that she carries like a second skin. it’s a reckless flame that has somehow drawn you into his orbit.

“did you get it?” you ask quietly, your voice barely audible above the rumble of an approaching train.

her lips curve into a secret, almost predatory smirk. she doesn’t need to say a word. the slight bulge in her jacket pocket is all the confirmation you need. she squeezes your hand, the warmth of her touch a promise of excitement and perhaps something a little more dangerous.

you know the stories. the whispers of Saebyeok’s past, the things she did to survive, to get her brother out of the orphanage, to protect them both. you understand the desperation that fuels her, the hunger that drives her to find her way in a world that has never been kind to her. and while your soul may ache with concern, your heart swells with something akin to fierce pride. she’s a fighter, a survivor. and right now, she’s yours.

you’ve tried to talk to her about it before, about the risk, about the potential consequences. but her eyes would harden, her smile would vanish, and you’d find yourself silenced by the quiet, smoldering rage that burns beneath the surface. you know it’s not just about the money; it’s also about the power, the thrill, the feeling of taking control in a world that feels so impossibly out of her grasp.

it’s a complicated love. it’s a love that keeps you awake at night with worry, a love that’s often fueled by adrenaline and stolen glances. you know that one day her recklessness might catch up to her. you’ve seen the glint of steel in her eyes, the unspoken knowledge that this path can only lead to one of two outcomes: freedom or destruction. and you’re terrified of both.

but as the subway pulls into the station, doors hissing open like a hungry beast, she looks at you, her eyes softening, the hard edges of her face smoothed by a genuine affection you’re lucky enough to receive. she pulls you onto the train, navigating the crowd with a feline grace that makes your heart skip a beat. her hand, still warm, is back in yours, and in that moment, amongst the chaos of the city, you wouldn’t trade her chaos for anything.

you love her. you love the reckless, the dangerous, the unpredictable Saebyeok. and you just pray that one day, she’ll learn to love herself just as fiercely, and perhaps, just perhaps, she’ll learn to carry that fight in a less dangerous way. until then, you’ll be there, holding her hand, bracing yourself for whatever comes next. because that’s what you do for the person you love. you follow them, even into the fire.

[sebastianswallows]

The Little Death — 10. Something more than immediate joy

— PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Bene Gesserit!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: A Bene Gesserit gets left behind in the Arrakeen palace. When Feyd becomes the Planetary Governor, he finds her there in hiding. The Harkonnens don't traditionally keep them as truthsayers or concubines like other Houses do, but Feyd might have a use for her. After all, he's never had a Bene Gesserit of his own before.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 2k

— TAGLIST: @elf-punk @lowlyloved @pomtherine @slytherins-heir @babyofneptune @localravenclaw @missbingu @wo-ming-bai @torossosebs

People always want something more than immediate joy or that deeper sense called happiness. This is one of the secrets by which we shape the fulfilment of our designs. — Leadership Secrets of the Bene Gesserit

When she was done tending to Feyd she tried to start her morning but found she hardly could. Still a little dizzy after the night before, and weak and sore, she thought to take a shower but remembered that they were on Arrakis. She’d have a better chance of trying to bathe in gold. Water was more available in the palace than among the natives, even in Arrakeen, but they were all subject to restrictions. All of them except the ruling class. Feyd offered to let her wash with him when he saw how dour and upset she was as she scrubbed her body clean with a rough cloth — a suggestion he made with ample delight — but she wasn’t ready to be so close to him again.

“Are you sure?” he asked, cocking a smooth brow.

“Yes, thank you,” she muttered, feeling bitter that he even offered. She would not find herself in his debt, not for physical comforts at least.

Her mind was still reeling from his viciousness and love throughout the morning. He had been merciless in taking her, and to her shame, he noticed how much she enjoyed it by the end. She was never supposed to enjoy it… At least that wasn’t her plan. It terrified her to think that maybe it was his. And then, as if she hadn’t been confused enough, he’d melted before her like a globe of snow when she sat in his lap to paint his teeth all black. She was quite relieved when he left her for the day, but not before placing a chaste kiss on her forehead. His lips felt softer than she thought they should.

Meditation was ruined as well. All her thoughts kept turning to him, to herself, to what they’d done together, to how she submitted. It was all going according to her plan for survival — he liked her and he seemed to like her more and more each day. She should have been happy because with each humiliation she was closer to getting off that planet, maybe even rejoining her Sisters. So why wasn’t she happy…? Why wasn’t she even satisfied with herself and instead felt a disappointment? Every way she turned her thoughts she met a wall built by herself and which she was too scared to pull back down. It was a decision her mind almost made for her that she should wander off outside the palace and into Arrakeen. She knew the lay of the city and could navigate it even blind if need be, even though she hadn’t been there more than a dozen times throughout her stay. I have to be somewhere that doesn’t remind me of him, she thought, justifying it to herself.

The streets of Arrakeen had the quality of being loud and quiet all at once. The stilted Fremen speech had adapted among the city dwellers to something more descriptive, more precise, bordering on rude and yet eminently practical. Low voices carried far between those square stone buildings and the noise of animals and pottery filled in all the empty spaces. The market drew her in by being the noisiest, perfect for forgetting and losing herself in a crowd. With her black robes and the veil around her head, she could pass through unseen, without drawing any glances. Raw artistry surrounded her from every side, simple things with quite elaborate designs, ordinary objects vastly different from anything found now within the Harkonnen-held palace but frail, and temporary, and weak. Nothing caught her eye, but nothing had to. She wasn’t there to buy. But she stopped when something glinted on a seller’s table that snagged on her memory and pulled her in. As she approached, a shadow swathed in black among a sea of grey and brown, she realised why the little broken items were so familiar to her. They were scraps from when the Atreides were there. Leftovers picked up after the sacking… Stolen, perhaps, but certainly with no owner now.

“What does the lady want?” the merchant asked in his weak, raspy voice. Only his eyes were visible, bright blue from between threadbare rags.

“Nothing,” she said, still looking at his wares.

“Cheap,” he said. “One Solari for ten.”

“No, thank you.”

“Twenty.”

“I don’t barter,” she said, shocking him into silence.

Still, she stayed and looked, her eyes traversing the items on their own as if her mind had her own design. Memories of her past life came to her just from the gentle glint of a spoon, its handle beautifully ornate with little silver waves, or a hair comb with two teeth missing, or a half-filled bottle of perfume. She wondered if she’d ever see such things again, items small and beautiful just for beauty’s sake, bright and coloured and loved. She was sick already of Harkonnen black... But these thoughts were unworthy of a Bene Gesserit, and she pulled herself away before the merchant could tempt her into spending her paltry sum of money on a useless thing. And she was in mid-step when she noticed from the corner of her eye a square and greenish thing that had often appeared in her nightmares as a girl. She stopped, head turned toward it to confirm what she was seeing, and remained transfixed.

It was difficult to barter its price down once the merchant saw her interest, and she was reluctant to use the Voice over so small a thing, but she bought it in the end for a fraction of what it was worth, even though it missed its poisoned needle. It was a Gom Jabbar, or more specifically the box that went with one. Impossible to say if it belonged to the ladies Jessica or Margot or to someone else, but it was hers now, and she walked back to the palace with a new spring in her step.

Feyd had asked for one of these at their first meeting, and as she got to know him she learned just how much he enjoyed pain. Their first night together with her between his legs came back as a dizzying flash in her mind and made her blush. She could return to that again now, return to that sense of power over him — and make him happy too. A part of her was also privately excited to see just how he would react. How long he’d last.

She hid herself in some small room upon arriving, far away from the shouting and the crying that came along with the Harkonnen household. And there in dark and silence she took it out, placed her hand in it, and felt the still familiar burn. She had to try it out before she presented it to him. Find out if it worked. Find out if it hurt just as badly as it used to. This is just what he needs, she thought, and perhaps what I need too. The agony ran up her arm, singing her nerves, setting her skin on fire, and settled like a swarm of butterflies at the back of her head. Her body sang with the instinct to pull her hand away — and she could, she could at any time. There was no Gom Jabbar at her neck, no Reverend Mother there. But there was something about knowing that it wasn’t real, something about knowing that she was safe while doing it that made her addicted to the feeling. Her eyes stung, her heart stuttered, and a cry fought its way out of her throat. It was decadent, being able to cry out with no one there to hear it…

When she greeted Feyd that evening in his quarters, he paused at the sight of her. The expression on his face gave her perverted joy.

“Hello,” he greeted gently, slowly letting the doors behind him close. “Good day?”

“You can say that…”

“You’re smiling. Glowing, even…”

She sat upon the windowsill, leaning in a sapless pose against the wall, and watched him as he watched her while he moved across the room. He took his blades out first and placed them on the table, as he often did, and started to undo his armour.

“Let me help you,” she said.

“I thought that sort of thing was beneath you,” he murmured as she came close.

She smiled as she began to pull the straps away, first at his arms and then his chest and then around his waist.

“I only do it,” she whispered, “because I want to.”

“And why do you want to?”

“Do you check your spice for the perfect shade of orange?”

“I have it checked for poison.”

“No you don’t,” she laughed.

“No, I don’t, but perhaps I should.”

She pulled his armour away, smiling — because she knew he was more delighted than suspicious.

“Sit on the bed,” she said softly, brushing a hand across his naked shoulder. “I have a gift for you.”

He seemed to choke on hearing that and a thought like a cloud passed over his mind. She wondered if he had any bad associations with gifts — because he seemed to — but she was in far too good a mood to worry about that now. Feyd listened to her and sat down, and waited with a knot in his throat for her to come back to him in her veil of vaporous black. She didn’t show him what she had until she was right in front of him, kneeling, with the little thing she had hidden in a drawer by the bed.

“You asked me for something on the day we met. Something I can give to you now. Something I think you deserve…”

“You’re awfully vague for someone so happy,” he said archly, leaning back on his strong arms. “Well? What is it?”

“If you’ll be petulant, you’ll get nothing.”

“You better give it to me before I turn petulant, then.”

“Incorrigible…” she muttered.

Feyd didn’t seem too sure he would enjoy her gift until she unfolded the towel she’d hidden it in and revealed the small metal box. He recognised it immediately and his face turned from a frown to a smile to a look of wonder.

“I thought you said —”

“I only found it today. Left by the Atreides, I believe.”

She tilted her head slightly as she looked up at him. He was like a child getting a long-desired birthday present, and she couldn’t help but want to coddle him. And what a dour present it was… To anyone other than a Harkonnen it would’ve been an insult, even an ill omen, or at least exceedingly strange. Not to Feyd though. He reached out for it, his pale hand suspended in the air for just a moment, then pulled away.

“Does it still work?”

“It does.”

“How do you know?” he asked, then paused to look into her eyes. “You tried it,” he noted with a grin. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Not as much as you seem to,” she smirked. “In fact, not much at all. It brings back… uneasy memories.”

“We’ll make new memories together, then.”

How sweet he is, she thought, when he gets what he wants.

She placed it on the bed beside him with her hand above and looked into his eyes. He’d done it before. He knew what followed. He swallowed the knot in his throat and took in deep breaths, steeling himself the way he would before a fight in the arena.

“Do you want to put your hand inside it?” she whispered.

Feyd kept his gaze fixed on the little thing as if he expected a scorpion to crawl out of its mouth. If he were capable of it, he would have blushed.

“How long do I have to keep it inside?” he asked in a rough low voice.

She reached into her dress again, moving as slowly as a snake, and then, in a motion that was deceivingly calm as if she did it every night, she took out a slender blade.

“As long as you can,” she said, holding the edge against his stomach. “That’s the game.”

Feyd’s eyes moved to the knife against his skin and then he looked at her and giggled. He placed his hand in the box and licked his lips, his pale eyes staring her down from above.

[psychhound]

hey yall!!! new bundle :D

this is my 14 for 14 ttrpg bundle to pay off some of the debt from my top surgery!! you get 14 games and homebrew for 14 bucks, which is gonna run until june 14th (my birthday!!)

my top surgery was absolutely life changing and has made me so much more comfortable, confident, and happy. i dont regret it in the least. i also got hit with some surprise bills afterward that have me pretty heftily in debt because of it

some very kind souls have donated their games to help me pay some of this off, which was just so incredibly generous. which means its not just my games in here!! lots and lots of cool stuff, please check it out!!

in the bundle:

ttrpgs:

[BXLLET> : a game about systems of violence and power in the weird west apocalypse

disparateum: a dream-like reality-bending game where you hop worlds and tell strange stories

little celestial fieldwork guide: a city exploration photography game where you divine hidden spirits and take photos of them

beach day!: a system agnostic party bonding minigame where characters swap gifts and secrets

what they once feared: a solo journaling game where you play a folkloric monster forced to choose your path

the narrator paradox: a one page solo game where you play a storybook narrator whos protagonist has gained agency and is trying to change the story

the fool who got married (extended): a duet epistolary game of female hardship and connection in 1848

explorers of the forever city: a rules-light, fantasy role-playing game about ordinary people making extraordinary discoveries

homebrew:

riders: a pact for moth-light by justin ford, a fitd game. tame, bond with, and ride the terrifying predator moths

witch: a class for d&d 5e. be a con-based half-caster with curses, familiars, and a whole new way of doing spell slots

harmony with the wind: a ghibli-inspired d&d 5e pack with 5 feats, 4 backgrounds, 4 races, 6 monsters, and 3 subclasses

fairytale/feywild: a pack for d&d 5e with 1 background, 2 races, 1 subclass, and unique timekeeping mechanics for the feywild

burger wizard: a d&d 5e compatible narrative rpg about working as magical kitchen staff in a fantasy restaurant

argyth's arcane companion: 4 wizard subclasses, 3 feats, and 17 new spells for d&d 5e

you can get all of this for 14 bucks until june 14th!! it would really mean a lot to me for yall to check it out and also spread the word :D

check it out on itch!!

[rulerofstars]

red lights & revelations

oneshot: in a dimly lit club, you find yourself drawn to the enigmatic bad boy, getou suguru. as the night unfolds, a spark ignites between you two, leading to unexpected intimacy and a thrilling connection neither of you saw coming.

pairing: suguru getou x reader

tags: suggestive themes, college! fraternity! suguru getou

The city thrummed with energy as you stepped into the club, the air thick with bass and the faint scent of smoke. Your friends had insisted on a night out, a break from the relentless grind of assignments and studying. You were the studious type, always buried in books, but tonight, you found yourself swept up in the excitement of flashing lights and laughter.

In the dimly lit corner, you spotted him—Getou Suguru. He sat casually on a bar stool, a cigarette resting between his fingers, the smoke curling lazily into the air. He was everything you weren’t: the quintessential bad boy. His tattoos peeked out from under his sleeves, each one telling a story you could only guess at, and the way he carried himself exuded confidence. The flickering red lights illuminated his sharp features, accentuating the air of mystery that surrounded him.

You knew about him from whispers and glances shared between friends. The stories of his reckless nights and the way he danced through life without a care for the rules. It was hard to reconcile the image of the reckless bad boy with the academically gifted engineering major who somehow managed to maintain stellar grades despite his reputation.

But as you stood there, your heart raced for an entirely different reason. It wasn’t just his reputation; it was the way he looked at you sometimes—those deep, dark eyes that held secrets, as if he could see right through you. You’d catch him watching you during classes, a playful smirk dancing on his lips whenever your eyes met. It felt thrilling and terrifying. . . all at once.

“Come on, let’s dance!” Haibara nudged you, pulling you from your thoughts. You followed, albeit reluctantly, into the pulsating mass of bodies swaying to the beat. It was overwhelming, and for a moment, you felt out of place, but the music wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

Minutes later, you felt a presence behind you. You turned, and there he was—Suguru, leaning casually against the wall, cigarette in hand. He flashed you a grin that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Thought I’d find you here,” he said, his voice smooth like the smoke curling from his lips.

“Just trying to enjoy a night out,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light. Inside, your heart was racing, and your cheeks felt warm.

“Yeah? You look like you’re having fun.” His gaze lingered on you, making your breath hitch.

As he leaned in closer, you couldn’t help but notice how good he looked with his hair tied up in a messy man bun, a few rebellious strands falling loose around his forehead. The contrast of the sleekness of his tattoos against his slightly tousled hair added to his allure, giving him an effortlessly cool vibe that made your heart race. It framed his face perfectly, accentuating his sharp jawline and the intensity in his eyes. You had always found that look incredibly attractive, and in that moment, it felt like he was a mix of danger and charm, embodying everything that both thrilled and terrified you.

You bit your lip, feeling shy under his intense stare. “I’m not really a club person,” you admitted. “I prefer quieter places—like the library.”

He chuckled, and it was a sound that wrapped around you like a warm embrace. “Well, we can’t all be boring.” He stepped closer, the scent of cigarettes and something musky enveloping you. “But maybe I can change that.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued yet cautious. “And how would you do that?”

“By showing you a good time,” he suggested, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Come on. Just one dance.”

Before you could protest, he took your hand, leading you away from the crowd and onto the dance floor. The music enveloped you both, the bass reverberating through your body. He moved with an ease that made your heart race, his body close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

As you swayed together, you felt the world around you fade. The chaos of the club fell away, leaving just the two of you in your own bubble. His hands found their way to your waist, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending electric jolts of sensation coursing through you. The intimacy of the moment made your heart flutter, and you could hardly breathe.

“See? Not so boring, right?” he teased, his lips close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You swallowed hard, fighting against the growing urge to lean into him, to close the distance that felt both thrilling and terrifying. “I guess not,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the song changed to something slower, Suguru pulled you closer, his breath warm against your neck. “You’re different from what I expected,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours. “You’re not like the others.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Smart, grounded. You don’t seem to get caught up in all the bullshit,” he replied, his tone serious for a moment. “I like that.”

The sincerity in his voice made you ache. You had always been drawn to him, the way he lived life on the edge, yet here he was, recognizing something deeper in you. “I don’t know if I’m as interesting as you think,” you said softly.

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, pulling you even closer. “Trust me, you are,” he said, his gaze intense. “And I want to know more about you.”

The intensity of the moment washed over you, a wave of emotions swirling inside. You felt drawn to him in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying, the kind of connection that was hard to ignore. But you were still that shy, demure girl, hesitant to take the leap into the unknown.

Suguru leaned down, his lips almost brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”

Your heart raced at his suggestion, a mix of excitement and fear flooding through you. You hesitated, glancing back at your friends, but when you turned back to him, the look in his eyes made your decision for you. “Okay,” you said, barely able to contain the thrill of anticipation.

He led you outside, the cool night air hitting you like a refreshing splash of water. The streetlights cast a soft glow, illuminating the way as you walked side by side. You could feel the electric tension between you, the way his presence pulled you in like gravity.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice slightly breathless.

“Somewhere more private,” he replied with a grin, his confidence infectious. “Trust me.”

You nodded, heart racing as you followed him. He led you to a nearby park, the sounds of the club fading behind you. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery light over everything. Suguru stopped near a bench, turning to face you.

He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a long drag. You watched as the smoke curled around him, his expression contemplative. There was something intimate about this moment, the way the world felt distant and small, leaving just the two of you.

“Do you always smoke?” you asked, trying to break the silence.

He chuckled softly. “Only when I want to think,” he admitted. “Helps clear my head.”

You took a step closer, emboldened by the atmosphere. “What do you think about?”

“People,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “Like you.”

Your heart raced at his admission, a rush of warmth spreading through you. “Me? Why?”

“Because you’re an enigma,” he replied, taking another drag of his cigarette. “I see you in class, always so focused, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going on behind those pretty eyes.”

Your cheeks flushed at his compliment, the way he looked at you making you feel exposed and yet cherished. “I’m just trying to get through college,” you said shyly, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

He stepped closer, the smoke lingering between you as he leaned in. “But you’re doing it in your own way. You don’t let anyone else’s expectations define you.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, and for a moment, you could only stare into his eyes. “You’re not so bad yourself, Suguru,” you replied, finding the courage to tease him back.

He laughed, a low rumble that sent warmth through you. “I’m a red flag, remember?”

“Maybe,” you said softly, “but I think you’re more than that.”

His gaze turned serious, the laughter fading as he stepped even closer, the space between you practically non-existent now. “And what if I said I wanted to know you more? Not just the studious girl, but the real you?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you processed his words. You could feel the chemistry between you crackling like electricity, the intimacy of the moment pulling you closer together. “What do you want to know?” you whispered, feeling daring.

“Everything,” he replied, his voice low and husky. “Your dreams, your fears, what makes you laugh. I want to know the girl behind the books.”

The weight of his gaze made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t experienced before. You found yourself leaning in, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. “I’m not sure I’m that interesting,” you murmured.

“You’d be surprised,” he said, closing the distance even further until his lips brushed against yours. The kiss was electric, a spark igniting as you melted against him. It felt like a dance of souls, a merging of two worlds that had always seemed so far apart.

When you pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed, you could see the challenge in his gaze. “Let’s not keep this a secret,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“You and me— we could be something.”

[sea-salted-wolverine]

In honor of the moose/Iditarod rule 34 chaos post reaching 1000 notes and then Dallas Seavy winning the Iditarod here are all the unhinged stories and things I know about that race

They changed the rules and schedules so you can't do this anymore, but there was a subset of mushers who would race the Yukon Quest and the Iditarod back to back. That's a 1000-mile race followed by another 1000-mile race through some of the harshest terrain on earth in late winter. And the Yukon quest doesn't even finish where the Iditarod starts. To do this required putting dogs in a plane OR having another team of dogs waiting in anchorage and someone to deal with both teams of dogs.

The first woman to win the Iditarod was Libby Riddles in 1985.

Only to have her finish promptly blown out of the water by Susan Butcher who won the race in 86', 87', 88', and 90' while setting speed records the whole way.

Susan did race in 85' but she ran into a moose early and it killed two of her dogs and hurt the rest so she scratched. Dallas got lucky this year.

She was also the first person to mush a dog team up to the summit of Denali, the tallest mountain in North America. This is not what dog teams are intended to do, I don't know why she even wanted to, other than to prove it was possible. I don't think anyone has since.

The race now requires GPS trackers on all the racers and you would not believe the bitchfit everyone threw over those. Mushers can either hop between checkpoints or camp on the trail and it may surprise you to learn that these are the kind of people who have secret camp spots in the woods that they don't want anyone to know about. So now, everyone has acquiesced to the tracker requirement but you must have an account on the race website if you want to see them.

The race has 2 paths that alternate even and odd years with different checkpoints but every year includes a section of race that crosses the sea ice, approximately 50 miles from Shaktoolik to Koyuk. so forget landmarks. point the sled north and hope you're going the right way.

the race is in honor of the 1925 Serum Run and the diphtheria outbreak, but the trail itself is the old freight route which is almost twice the length. also, it's a freight route for hauling freight which means the the racers are going at more or less lightspeed as compared to the intended use.

the most effective way to avoid frostbite on your face is a fur hood and duct tape on your cheeks and nose. Cold-related injuries are rare but far from unheard of. The average number of toes and fingertips among mushers is lower than that of the general population.

The finish line is a massive burled arch in the middle of main street in Nome. There is not a lot going on in Nome at any given time and this time of year is the exception. Every racer who finishes the race gets the same reception, which is everyone in town crowding into the finish chute to cheer them on and the city fire siren going off. The last racer in gets the Red Lantern Award which means that they finished dead last but didn't scratch.

the 2020 race had started and was fully underway when the pandemic lockdowns came into place. as far as social distancing goes, you really can't do much better than being isolated 100 miles into the middle of frozen nowhere but the checkpoints are itty bitty villages with no medical infrastructure and the finish was reportedly terrifying because instead of a crowd to cheer at the burled arch, it was just the siren going off in a ghost town.

there is no way I can tell this story that doesn't sound like I'm making it up as I go. The sign says no sniveling and they fucking mean it.

no really, click that link. here's the YouTube vid (non-graphic, after-the-fact interviews)

[blessedbygookim]

The Queen Of Busan.

Part one: the meeting.

Part two: defeated.

Part three: years.

This has been in my notes for so long, it was starting to collect dust. Had holes in it too like a fucking overused tissue. Took me way too long and way too much procrastination to do at least something with it. 😭

But here it is finally! Enjoy (pls.) Btw it’s s long, so make sure to grab some snacks and drinks and all before you begin. 🫶🏻

Three years.

Three, and perhaps a bit more has passed since then.

But who counts, right?

Well, not Nova.

Not in a sense that she marks her calendar, crossing out every day and counting down every minute with a sense of pride.

No, it’s a bit different.

She is a bit different now.

Victory has a way of leaving scars, even when the battle is won. For Nova, the echoes of her clash with Gun and Goo lingered like a ghost, haunting her in the spaces where silence should have soothed. She had defended Busan, saved her people, and reaffirmed her rule. But the harder she clung to the city she loved, the more fragile it began to feel in her grasp, as though the very act of holding it might shatter it to pieces. Paranoia crept into her like a thief in the night, curling its cold fingers around her mind. She began to see shadows where there were none, hear whispers in the cracks of laughter, and sense betrayal in the most loyal of faces. It wasn’t fear for herself—Nova had never feared anything when it came to her own life. But the idea of her people, her city, being destroyed by some unseen hand tore at her like a blade.

She became a hurricane disguised as a queen, her calm exterior hiding the growing storm beneath. Anyone who so much as looked like a threat, anyone whose loyalty seemed even a shade of gray, was erased from her world. She struck preemptively, not from malice, but from the gnawing dread of what might happen if she hesitated.

Busan remained alive, still thriving under her reign, but the warmth that had once defined her began to cool. The kindness she had wielded like a lantern in the dark was dimmed by the weight of her vigilance. Each decision made for protection, each life ended for the greater good, chipped away at the part of her that had once loved freely and trusted easily.

So, who is Nova now?

Nova had become something more than human, and less. There was a divinity in her now—something sacred yet terrifying, like the wrath of an angel carved in the firelight of old myths. She moved through Busan like a specter, her presence haunting and magnetic, commanding worship without a word.

She no longer sought connection; she had become untouchable, unreachable. People admired her as one admires a star—brilliant, distant, and wholly impossible to grasp. Beauty once made to disarm had become a weapon, sharper than any blade, the kind of beauty that made you question your own humanity. She was a marble nymph come to life, skin kissed by the moonlight, eyes glowing with the weight of a thousand secrets. Her lips could promise salvation or damnation; no one was brave enough to ask which.

Even her movements were a symphony of chaos and control, weaving between the earthly and the unearthly. She operated on a different frequency now, untethered by mortal logic. Her unpredictability was a blade that kept the city’s predators at bay, a dangerous dance of intellect and raw power that no one dared interrupt. Each step, each word, was deliberate yet chaotic, calculated yet mad.

The city felt her in its bones—her rage, her fear, her brilliance. In her, they saw something that outmatched even the chaos of Goo and the calculated terror of Gun. She had become a new breed of monster: fluid, unrelenting, and impossible to define. Busan was still hers, but it bore the scars of her transformation—the quiet streets, the muffled breaths, the lingering bloodstains in places she deemed necessary.

And yet, she knew this could not last. The whispers reached her like a cold wind. The King of Busan, the man who once ruled these streets, was returning. Released from his prison, where he had spent years plotting and waiting, his shadow stretched long over the city she had fought so hard to claim.

Nova had always been three steps ahead, but now the clock ticked louder. She could feel it—the shift in the air, the weight of her reign buckling under the possibility of his return.

“Well, it is what it is,” she murmured to herself, a short laugh slipping past her lips—dry, devoid of humor, like a hollow wind passing through dead trees. It wasn’t bitterness, nor resignation, but something quieter: acceptance.

No, Nova had never feared challenges. They were the marrow of her life, the thing that kept her alive in more ways than one. But she’d learned that some battles aren’t worth the blood they demand. Sometimes, the hardest choice is to let go.

Vengeance? She scoffed at the thought. The two boys, and Charles Choi—they were never worth the weight of her anger. Rot always consumes itself, she knew that, and rotten fruit falls from the tree eventually.

And fall they did. The news came in whispers and headlines, carried on the tongues of her network and glowing screens alike. Charles Choi’s empire, the colossus of corruption and greed, had crumbled under the weight of its own secrets.

And then came the final note in his symphony of ruin: his leap from a skyscraper, a plunge into the abyss broadcast live to the world.

She hadn’t smiled at the news. There was no triumph in witnessing the inevitable. Only the quiet hum of the universe in perfect order, like a thread tying itself neatly in place.

And Gun—the unshakable, unmovable Gun—had taken the fall, as if shouldering the sins of his master. His prison sentence was whispered like a legend in the making, the kind of story that would ripple through the underground for years to come.

The mighty had fallen, indeed. Life worked its strange magic, whether cruel or harmonious, and Nova watched it all unfold from the throne she no longer wanted to hold.

Let’s rewind a little though, back to the aftermath of their fall three years ago. Gun and Goo—two untouchable legends brought down by a woman who operated like no one they had ever encountered. Her victory felt like something whispered in the dead of night, a fairy tale spun from improbable threads. A queen who felled kings.

And yet, such defeats linger. They don’t dissolve into the air like smoke but instead carve themselves into the memory, stubborn as scars. For most, it might have meant retreat, or the slow, smoldering fire of revenge. But for Gun and Goo, it became something far more dangerous: obsession.

For Gun, it was the kind that sharpened his senses and fed the hunger he lived for. She was proof that power could always be pushed further, boundaries could always be broken. Her strength, her unpredictability, and the sheer artistry of her defiance—it was intoxicating. She became his unspoken benchmark, the ghost of a challenge that whispered, Wow, can’t you do better than this? Better than her?

For Goo, the fascination was… messier. He’d always been a man who lived for the next big thrill, the next shiny thing to chase. And Nova? She wasn’t just a thrill; she was an obsession wrapped in silk and steel. That face, those eyes, that terrifying grace—she was every temptation he’d ever entertained, tasting like every dark thought he ever had. More than that, she was opportunity personified. She was a future, a wildcard, a queen in the making who could flip the board in ways he hadn’t even imagined yet.

She lingered in their minds, unshakable. For Gun, she was the fight that got away, the opponent he hadn’t truly bested. For Goo, she was a door left ajar, the promise of something more. Maybe a love interest? Well–give or take–yes.

Her decree had been clear: Gun and Goo were never to step foot in her city again. The words, sharp and final, had left no room for misinterpretation. She had built Busan into her sanctuary, her dominion, and their presence was a nuisance she would not tolerate.

For Gun, the ban had become a ghost he could not exorcise. Not because he feared her wrath—fear was an emotion long absent from his repertoire—but because he was caged. Locked behind cold bars for sins not entirely his own, he now had nothing but time to replay the memory of her. The way her strength had shattered his expectations. The way her movements had seemed to defy gravity, reason, logic. She was his unbroken record, the one challenge he couldn’t replay, and that haunted him more than any prison cell.

But Goo? Goo had no such limitations. He was free, unburdened by Charles Choi’s schemes and Gun’s watchful shadow. No longer a pawn in someone else’s game, Goo had become his own master, a chaotic force of nature with nothing to lose and everything to gain. His Secret Friends were thriving, his plans were unfurling like a meticulously crafted symphony, and the world itself felt ripe for the taking.

And yet, amidst all the chaos he orchestrated, she remained. A persistent thought in the back of his mind, like a song he couldn’t stop humming. Her image, her power, the electric charge of her presence—it was an itch he couldn’t scratch, a curiosity too tantalizing to ignore. The thrill of her had never left him.

Goo had always been a creature of impulse, but now he was something more: refined chaos. Experience had tempered him, not into a calmer man, but into a more calculated one. He understood the value of patience, the power of letting the game play out before tipping the board. But with Nova, patience was a luxury he couldn’t afford anymore.

The idea of seeking her out again wasn’t just tempting—it was inevitable. He didn’t care about her ban; in fact, it amused him. The queen of Busan thought she could draw lines he wouldn’t cross? She had underestimated just how far he was willing to go for the thrill of seeing her again.

And so, plans began to take shape. Subtle inquiries, discreet movements, the kind of groundwork that would lead him back to her city without a single warning flare. Not for vengeance, not for power—simply for the exhilaration of stepping into her world once more.

For Goo, the anticipation was everything. It was the prelude to chaos, the moment before the storm, and he relished it like a fine wine.

Busan’s queen didn’t yet know it, but the game was about to begin again. And this time, Goo was playing to win.

Playing to win. Only playing.

For Goo, life was a stage, a grand and unpredictable theater where he thrived on improvisation, on stirring chaos and watching the pieces fall where they may.

That day they were in his apartment. The room, dimly lit and filled with cigarette smoke, was a chaotic blend of personalities that somehow orbit around Goo’s gravitational pull.

Samuel Seo sat in the corner, tapping ash into a small tray. He was quiet, listening with that unreadable expression of his, his eyes sharp and calculating. Samuel rarely wasted words, but his silence carried a weight that even Goo acknowledged—albeit grudgingly.

Taejin Cheon, a stark contrast, sat stiffly, his cold and precise demeanor radiating a silent judgment of everyone else in the room. His calculating nature was as intimidating as his reputation.

Logan Lee, however, was the odd one out, hunched in the corner, picking his nose with no shame, his oversized frame slumped in the armchair that creaked with every move. His presence was always a question mark, his attitude laced with bitterness toward anyone more attractive, successful, or likable than him—which was, frankly, everyone. Yet Goo kept him around, maybe for comic relief, maybe for the sheer irony of it.

Goo was in his element, as usual, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on the table, juggling a golden pen between his fingers like it was a toy. He smirked as he spoke, his tone dripping with amusement and sarcasm as he laid out half-baked schemes and provocations, each one more outlandish than the last.

Yet deep down, he knew better. He knew when someone was several steps ahead, and even as he laughed it off, the thought of Nova’s face flickered through his mind.

She wasn’t playing. She never was. And that thought lingered, unsettling and undeniable, even as Goo turned back to his ridiculous plans with his mismatched crew.

Oh then there is Alexander, he was outside, “guarding the door”, so to say. He always been a man of pretense—bold when he could hide behind stronger shadows, and soft when the world grew too sharp around the edges. Goo’s plans—chaotic, absurd, somehow brilliant—had a way of infecting everyone with belief.

Then sound of heels—sharp, deliberate—echoed down the hallway like a metronome ticking against the silence. Each click reverberated with a weight that made his skin prickle.

He told himself it was nothing. Maybe a neighbor. Maybe someone delivering something. Nothing unusual.

But when he snapped out of his thoughts, a woman was already standing before him, like she just appeared out of thin air. Her frame cloaked in a sleek black coat that draped around her like liquid shadow. Her posture was relaxed, yet the air around her was suffocating.

Unsettling.

Alexander tried not to stare, but his eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She looked out of place, but not in a way that suggested she didn’t belong—rather, in a way that suggested the space was simply too small to contain her. Her presence expanded and pressed against the hallway walls, filling every crevice with an unspoken tension.

Her hair was tied into a high, slick ponytail, the strands catching faint glints of light like threads of silver. Designer sunglasses perched on her face, shielding her eyes, but Alexander felt them on him nonetheless. Or perhaps staring through him. The coat swayed slightly as she shifted her weight, and for a fleeting moment, the golden sheen of her heeled boots caught his gaze.

He cleared his throat, trying to summon a shred of authority. “Uh, excuse me, miss… Can I help you with something?”

She didn’t answer immediately, her head turning ever so slightly as if deciding whether to bother acknowledging him. When she finally tilted her face toward him, no words came. Instead, she simply tilted her head down a little to peak above her sunglasses to look down at him, her gaze cool and clinical.

Alexander felt his stomach twist. Her eyes weren’t cold; they were empty—a void that somehow managed to feel like it could see right through him.

“Is Joongoo here?” she asked, her voice low and smooth, unbothered and yet somehow impossible to ignore.

Her tone carried the weight of someone who didn’t ask questions often. Someone who didn’t need to.

Alexander blinked, caught off guard by her directness. “Uh… And who’s asking?” he stammered.

She didn’t flinch. If anything, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugged at her lips. “It’s not important who’s asking. Is he here?”

Alexander’s confusion morphed into suspicion. She didn’t look like a threat—no visible weapons, no bruiser stance—but something about her was wrong. Danger oozed off her in invisible waves, subtle but suffocating, like smoke in an enclosed space.

He straightened his back, puffing his chest slightly, trying to muster some of the confidence that had carried him through lesser skirmishes. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but if you’re looking for trouble, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

Her lips twitched, and this time the smirk fully formed. She chuckled—low, dark, and amused, like a lion humoring a mouse before the pounce.

“Oh, trouble?” she echoed, her tone dripping with mockery. She adjusted her coat with a casual grace, the ponytail behind her bouncing ever so slightly as she moved. “No, no. I’m not looking for trouble.”

She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. “But it’s funny, isn’t it? What if someone is asking for trouble from me? That makes quite the difference, doesn’t it.”

The words shouldn’t have sounded so threatening, but Alexander’s throat tightened all the same. He swallowed hard, the gulp audible even over the weighty silence. And then she chuckled again, softer this time, stepping back just slightly to assess the door once more.

“You know what?” she said suddenly, the grin returning to her lips. “Hell yeah.~”

There was no malice in her voice, but something about the way she said it made Alexander’s blood run cold. He couldn’t quite explain why—it was as though the promise of something catastrophic lay just beneath her words, hidden in the velvet smoothness of her tone. He didn’t move. He couldn’t. His feet felt rooted to the spot as she shifted her weight, standing tall and poised, utterly unshaken by his presence.

And then, just as suddenly as the moment had started, she tilted her head slightly, letting the smirk linger for a heartbeat longer before settling back into her neutral, unreadable expression.

“Well,” she said softly, almost to herself, “time to see if he’s as amusing as he used to be.”

Three minutes. Who knows what happened outside under a mere three minutes.

It ticked by in near silence, punctuated only by the muffled shuffling of feet behind the door. Alexander appeared in the frame—a man who looks like they just faced death itself.

His forehead was wrinkled with a sheen of sweat covering it. His chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid bursts, a twitching smile on his lips betraying an undercurrent of horror. His eyes were wide, unblinking, like he’d stared into the abyss and seen it staring back.

Goo, seated with one leg draped lazily over the other, narrowed his eyes, irritation blooming across his face. “Did you have a very uncomfortable shit or something?” he quipped, his tone lilting with mockery, though there was a razor’s edge of suspicion beneath it.

Alexander didn’t answer immediately. His mouth opened, closed, then finally worked to croak out a single sentence:

“Someone is here… to see you.”

Goo groaned, rolling his head back and gesturing dismissively with his hand. “Tell ‘em I’m busy.~”

But Alexander didn’t move. Instead, his body gave a subtle tremor, his laughter bubbling out in an uncomfortable, broken chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m afraid that would be… useless now.”

The air in the room seemed to thin as he spoke those words. Goo straightened slightly in his chair, the laziness melting from his expression as something more serious replaced it. His mouth opened to question Alexander, but before the words could form, the familiar prickle of danger crawled up his spine like a whisper.

Nova entered like she was born to command every eye in the room. Her movement was smooth, deliberate, each step exuding a lethal grace. The air shifted as though it, too, bent to her presence. She brushed past Alexander with barely a glance, and he collapsed without a sound, crumpling to the floor like a marionette with its strings severed.

But the others couldn’t spare him even a glance.

Samuel, always sharp and calculating, adjusted his posture with quiet precision, his fingers itching toward the cigarette perched between his lips. His narrowed eyes gave away his thoughts—Why is she here?

Taejin shifted in his seat, his impassive demeanor betraying little, but his attention locked onto her like a predator sizing up another. He had the look of a man who could feel the temperature of the room plummet and knew better than to underestimate what caused it. Logan scowled almost instantly. His lip curled, his beefy form tense with distaste, as though the mere sight of her polished beauty offended him. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, muttering something incoherent under his breath.

And Goo… Goo said nothing.

He wasn’t the type to lose his composure too often, but something about the sight of her again—her presence, her ease, her smirk—momentarily knocked him off balance. The playful spark that usually danced in his eyes dimmed. His expression hardened into something that bordered on serious, a rare sight indeed.

“How the fuck did she find me..” He thought to himself.

Nova let out a slow, audible sigh through her lips, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat. Her smirk widened slightly as she took in the scene before her: the four men frozen in place, each one trying to decipher the storm that had just walked into their midst.

“Mmm…” she mused aloud, her voice soft but sharp enough to slice through the silence. She inhaled theatrically through her nose, tilting her head back before wrinkling it in mock distaste. “It smells like male desperation in here.”

It definitely earned a few blinks of bitterness and disrespected confusion from the others. Bristle they did indeed.

She shook her head, clicking her tongue against her teeth like a disappointed schoolteacher. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought, her smirk fading into something unreadable. She reached up to slide her sunglasses off, holding them delicately between her fingers. She inspected the lenses with the same casual care someone might use when checking for smudges on fine crystal, before pulling a cloth from her pocket to clean them.

The tension in the room stretched taut as a bowstring.

And she wasn’t in a hurry either.

It wasn’t what she said or did—it was what she didn’t do. She hadn’t barked orders. She hadn’t made demands. She hadn’t thrown a punch or even raised her voice. And yet, somehow, she had the upper hand.

Goo’s fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair, his brow furrowing as he studied her. She was like him now—but more. More calculated. More bloodthirsty. More dangerous. It was as though someone had distilled all of his charm, his chaos, his danger, and polished it into something razor-sharp and terrifyingly deliberate.

Red lights flashed in his mind like a siren, but he couldn’t help the faint tug of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

Nova, oblivious to—or perhaps deliberately ignoring—the weight of the gazes on her, slipped her glasses into her pocket with the same languid grace. She finally looked up, meeting Goo’s eyes across the room with a knowing glint.

“I do have to hand it to you, Joongoo,” she said, her tone warm with mock amusement. “You’ve really gone and assembled quite the… crew.”

Her voice dipped just enough to make the word crew sound like the punchline to an unspoken joke.

She rocked back on her heels slightly, hands still in her coat pockets, tilting her head as if assessing her next move. The smirk returned, sharper now, her eyes glittering with something dangerous. She tilted her head slightly as she examined the occupants, her sharp gaze stopping on Goo. Slowly, her lips pulled into a faux pout, theatrical enough to rival any performance Goo himself has ever put on.

“But you know…” she began, her voice dripping with exaggerated hurt, “I’m kinda hurt…” she tapped her chest lightly, the feigned injury marked by a dramatic sigh. “Somewhere here, I guess.” Her perfectly manicured finger gestured lazily toward her heart, her expression shifting between mock surprise and wounded disbelief.

“How come I didn’t receive an invite to such an important meeting?~” She let the question hang in the air, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow. Her tone was syrupy, her cadence playful, but every word cut like a well-sharpened blade.

“And this crew?” Her gaze darted to Samuel, Taejin, Logan, and then back to Goo. Her lips quirked into a smirk, her voice dripping sarcasm. “How come I didn’t get scouted? Wow… I can almost feel my heart crack…”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the mocking edge in her words loud in the silence.

It was so him. So much like Goo that it felt like someone had taken his own brand of chaos, wrapped it in silk, and handed it back to him with a sharper edge.

But then came the laugh—a low, rich chuckle that curled around the air like smoke. She waved her finger at him, her smile widening. “Joongoo-ya..~” she cooed, her tone carrying that dangerous, teasing note. “You made it big now, didn’t ya?~”

Her eyes shone with something unreadable, the undertone of her words enough to send a chill even through Logan, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat, muttering something incoherent once again. Nova, unfazed, continued, shaking her head slowly as if she were in disbelief.

“Wow,” she mused softly, circling around him with the leisurely pace of a predator toying with its prey. Her sharp boots clicked against the floor, echoing through the room like a countdown. “I like what I see…” She paused deliberately before gesturing toward him, her hand fluttering in the air. “You. Polished and so handsome…~”

Goo didn’t say a word. His eyes followed her every movement, calculating, his signature smirk trying to hold steady but faltering ever so slightly at the edges. She chuckled again, the sound a deliberate contrast to the tension she was weaving. “I could just pinch your cheeks right now!~” She reached out as if to emphasize the thought, her tone sweet but dripping with mockery. Her fingers stopped just shy of actually making contact before she chuckled again, pulling her hand back and shaking her head.

Samuel shifted in his chair as Nova moved closer, stepping directly into his path. Her eyes slid over him like he was merely a piece of the furniture, and her smile widened playfully.

“Oops, sorry, hot stuff,” she said with a mischievous lilt, side-stepping with a deliberately exaggerated sway. “Step aside, please.~”

The casual dismissal of someone as sharp as Samuel was comical in a sense, designed to make its mark. And it did. His lips twitched slightly as he leaned back, choosing to observe instead of engage.

She grabbed an armchair with the ease of someone who had already claimed the room as hers. She dragged it across the floor, her strength apparent despite the soft scrape of the chair legs against the polished surface. It came to rest opposite Goo, right in the heart of their gathering. She sat down with an air of absolute entitlement, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back like she belonged there more than any of them.

It was a clear mirroring of Goo.

For a moment, she studied him. Her gaze was assessing, almost clinical, before she nodded approvingly. “Look at you…” she murmured, the mock sweetness of her voice still carrying that edge. “All grown up now…doing adult shit… playing big man games.~”

The others exchanged glances, clearly unsure how to process the scene unfolding before them. Nova wasn’t just commanding attention; she was demanding it.

“I am so happy to see you again.” She said finally, the words dripping with contradiction. The tone should have been warm, nostalgic, maybe even genuine, but instead, it carried a dangerous undercurrent. Her eyes, sharp and unforgiving, locked onto Goo, and in that moment, they weren’t just greeting him—they were dissecting him. Goo’s fingers twitched against the armrest of his chair, the first crack in his otherwise controlled demeanor. He wasn’t used to being on the back foot nowadays, and Nova seemed determined to keep him there. The smirk playing at Goo’s lips faltered for a heartbeat before he regained his composure, but by then, the power dynamic had already shifted.

Nova leaned back further, her smirk widening as if she could read the thoughts running through his head. “So…” she began, her voice light, almost playful, but carrying that undeniable weight. “Shall we get to the part where I tell you why I’m really here?~”

There were many questions brewing in their heads, but none dared to voice them.

Who was this woman? How did she find them? And, more importantly, why was she talking to Goo like they shared an infamous, bloody history?The answer was there, lingering like smoke from a distant fire, but none of them could grasp it. None, except Goo, whose eyes betrayed recognition and unease.

Nova let her head tilt to one side as she fixed Goo with a look that seemed equal parts mocking and predatory. “A little birdie told me,” she began, her tone playful yet deadly, “that you now feel bold enough to—not just make plans about—but actually step foot back into my city again.~”

Her words trailed off into a sharp, cold silence. For a fleeting moment, the air felt impossibly heavy, suffocating, as if the room itself braced for what would come next.

Then her expression shifted. The playful smirk melted away, leaving her face unnervingly blank, her sharp features cold and unreadable.

“I didn’t take you to be an actual idiot.” she stated flatly.

The air froze again, a tension that clung to the walls like frost.

And just as quickly, the smirk returned, disarming and unsettling in equal measure.

“I guess even I can be wrong sometimes, huh?” she mused, her voice light and teasing once more. She tilted her head, humming softly to herself. “This is the only defeat I’m willing to accept, then.”

It was the kind of emotional whiplash that left the room reeling, the kind that made it impossible to tell if she was moments away from embracing Goo like an old friend or popping his head off its place. Her tone, her body language, even the air around her seemed to shift with every word, keeping them all teetering on the edge of discomfort.

“Well…” She shrugged, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t.”

The word hung in the air, weighty despite its simplicity.

“It’s as simple as that, ya know?” She straightened her posture, taking on a nonchalant air, but her sharp gaze didn’t lose its edge. “Actually, hold that thought until the former King comes back.”

The words landed heavily, a thinly veiled reminder of who still stood at the top in her mind.

“I’m a woman who doesn’t like being bothered,” she continued with a sigh, her head tilting back as she fixed her gaze on the ceiling. “And, trust me, my plate’s already full, especially because not long ago Busan became a little divided.”

She yawned audibly, a casual display of disregard for the danger the others felt pressing against their chests. Craning her neck to one side, she let it crack softly, the sound somehow more unnerving than her words.

Finally, Goo broke the silence. His voice cut through the air, low and sharp. “You changed.”

It wasn’t a question; it was an assessment.

The Nova who sat before him wasn’t the same as the one he remembered. The woman from three years ago, the one who had once been all soft-spoken charm and warmth, was gone. In her place sat something steelier, something forged in the fire of whatever trials she had endured since then.

She opened her eyes slowly, her expression unreadable as she nodded. “No shit,” she said simply, her tone blunt. “Who doesn’t?”

Goo leaned back slightly in his chair, his smirk returning as he tried to read her. “True…” he muttered, letting the word hang for a moment. Then, tilting his head, he asked with a smirk, “So what makes you think I couldn’t take you now?”

It was a challenge, one that carried the weight of history and unspoken threats.

But Nova didn’t flinch.

Her sly smile returned, one brow arching slightly as if she were indulging in a private joke. “Take me in what way exactly?” she asked, her voice slipping into a tone that was deliberately suggestive.

The innuendo was clear as day, and it caught Goo off guard, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second.

She chuckled softly, her laughter like velvet laced with steel. “Ahh,” she said, waving her hand as if dismissing the very idea. “You never fail to not make me feel threatened.~”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with tension.

Her gaze shifted to the others, lingering on each of them in turn. She studied them as if they were pieces on a chessboard, her sharp mind calculating every move before it was even made.

“So…” she began, her tone light but her words weighted. “What are they for?”

The question hung in the air, almost rhetorical.

“World domination?” she mused aloud, her tone dipping into mockery. “Business ventures? Making a bank?—Shit, opening a bakery? One would never know with you…” She shook her head slowly, disapproval flickering across her features.

Then she paused, her expression sharpening.

“But then again…” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied Goo. “I have a weird feeling, ya know? Like you’re trying to replace a certain someone with these people.”

The weight behind her words were undeniable.

“Which he would certainly take as an insult,” she added casually, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Hell, even I would too…”

The room grew impossibly tense as her words sank in.

Goo’s jaw tightened, and his smirk disappeared entirely as he realized exactly who she was referring to. There was no mistaking it now—she was talking about Gun.

The air in the room had turned into an almost dizzying atmosphere, as if the gravity of Nova’s presence had sucked all oxygen out. Her sharp words were laced with biting mockery, the kind that left wounds more emotional than physical.

“I mean, you miss him, I get that, but…” Nova hummed softly, her tone almost considerate as she tilted her head in thought, gazing off like she was trying to solve a mild puzzle. “If my ex-partner in crime were to ever try and replace me with multiple Temu versions of me, knowing the reputation I have… ouh brother—I would be seething.”

She cringed to herself dramatically, her nose scrunching in disgust. “The absolute disrespect… ouhh!”

Her exclamation was almost playful, but the undercurrent of insult wasn’t lost on the others. The three men stiffened visibly, their pride simmering into something volatile. She wasn’t just mocking Goo—she was outright dismissing them as well, labeling them nobodies not just compared to Gun but even as a collective group.

Nova wasn’t done yet.

“Either way…” She shrugged with an air of dismissal, her eyes half-lidded in amusement. “Now that he’s on topic, I was actually thinking about visiting him, ya know? For old times’ sake.”

At the last sentence the other three’s eyebrows knit together momentarily.

Her tone was casual, almost whimsical, but it carried a weight that even Goo couldn’t ignore.

He audibly scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Good luck,” he sneered, voice low and laced with derision. “He doesn’t take visitors.”

It was true—Gun refused everyone, even Goo ever since he has been rotting away in jail. As far as he knows.

Nova merely hummed, seemingly unbothered by the obstacle. She crossed her arms, her gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. “Interesting…” she mused, as if the revelation were some grand mystery unraveling. Then she tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing ever so subtly. “Doesn’t take visitors at all… or just doesn’t take visits from you?”

The blow landed hard, and Goo’s smirk vanished instantly.

“Truth hurts, I get that.” She continued without missing a beat, her voice light and conversational, though the blade of her words remained sharp. “I mean, my time’s almost up as the one who reigns over Busan anyway… It’s right around the corner. Hell, it even makes my heart beat a bit harder, so I get it!”

She gave a little nod as if she were genuinely sympathizing, though the faint smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her mockery.

Goo, meanwhile, sat there brooding, her words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit.

Nova, ever perceptive, shifted her gaze to the other three, her expression softening into something resembling mild confusion. She leaned back slightly, one brow quirking.

“Why do they look so confused, by the way?” she asked, her tone genuinely curious as she glanced back at Goo. “Like they know who I am, but not really.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and Goo finally snapped out of his thoughts, his gaze sharpening.

“Especially when I said, ‘for old times’ sake. I definitely felt a shift in the room after my statement,” she added, her voice dipping into a teasing lilt.

And then, as if a realization dawned on her, she turned her entire body toward Goo, her expression shifting into one of mock shock.

“Don’t tell me…” she gasped, her voice dripping with faux disbelief. “They don’t know?~”

The silence that followed was deafening.

It was clear none of the three men—Samuel, Taejin, or Logan—knew what she meant. No one, except for her, Goo, and Gun, truly knew the history they shared. And Charles of course, but he already took this secret to his grave.

Nova pursed her lips, nodding slowly to herself as the pieces clicked into place.

“Oof…Now this is fucking awkward,” she muttered, rubbing her temples like she needed to process the absurdity of it all.

She sighed softly, lowering her hands and glancing back at Goo. “Well then, I guess I won’t run my mouth either.” Her voice was almost empathetic, as if she was doing him a favor. “You gotta keep your dignity intact? Understandable.”

And then, she slowly stood, her energy shifting once more.

Taking a step closer to him and ruffling Goo’s hair in an almost affectionate gesture, one that made him flinch slightly, and followed by two light pats to his cheek.

“I’ll leave you be then,” she said breezily, her tone as casual as if they were old friends. But just as she side-stepped him, she leaned in close to his ear, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“If I even sense you anywhere near Busan, you’re immediately a dead man. Yeah?~”

Her words weren’t a threat—they were a promise.

The chill in her tone, the sharp edge of her whisper, engraved itself into Goo’s very survival instincts. He stiffened, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

And with that, Nova straightened, her smirk returning as if she hadn’t just rattled the room to its core.

She waved to the others casually, like they were old friends she was saying goodbye to. “Be good, boys!~”

And then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.

For a moment, no one spoke. The other three exchanged wary glances, each of them trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Finally, Goo let his head fall back against his chair, exhaling a long, shaky breath like he’d been holding it in for years.

“I love her so much it makes me wanna throw up…” he muttered, his voice laced with a mixture of admiration and dread.

Samuel crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. “Who is she?”

Goo didn’t answer immediately, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling.

“She’s trouble,” he finally said, his tone soft and almost wistful. “The worst and best kind of trouble.”

The others didn’t know whether to take that as a warning or an understatement… or what he even meant by it at all.

“But we’re still going to Busan, right?” Goo asked, his neck suddenly straightening, his tone light and almost hopeful, his eyes darting between each men, as if he could somehow ignore the very real danger that Nova’s words had cast over the plan. His mind, however, was still replaying her threat on an endless loop. It gnawed at him, and yet, despite it all, his typical confidence found a way to resurface.

Logan immediately scoffed from where he sat, his massive frame tense with disdain. “Do I look like I want to die by the hands of a girl? Fuck no.”

Without another word, Logan shoved his hands deep into his pockets and stood up, his expression sour, and strode toward the door. His presence had already been tested more than enough today, and he wasn’t about to let a single woman undermine him further—yet he wouldn’t dare challenge her, either.

The door slammed behind him, leaving the room one body lighter.

Hah. Puns. (author’s note: I really don’t fw him, sorry.)

Taejin, for his part, remained still for a moment, his eyes cold and calculating. But inwardly, he felt like the entire foundation of his confidence had been shaken to its core. Nova had stepped into the room and shattered that image in a matter of minutes.

He cleared his throat softly, nodding toward Goo with his usual air of politeness. “I’ll have to pass as well. I’ve seen enough for today.”

With that, he exited quietly, his footsteps deliberate.

Goo’s gaze flicked to Samuel, who had remained silent throughout the ordeal. He raised a brow expectantly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “And you, Sammy? Don’t tell me you’re chickening out too?”

Samuel’s jaw clenched visibly, his pride warring with his self-preservation instincts. He knew better than to challenge Nova—especially after what he’d just witnessed. The way she carried herself, the sheer confidence she exuded, made it clear she wasn’t someone to trifle with. And the fact that she seemed to know things—deep things—about Goo and Gun made her even more dangerous.

“I’m not stupid,” Samuel muttered, his tone low and grudging. “If she says you’re dead if you go near Busan, I believe her.”

He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Good luck with whatever suicide mission you’re planning.”

Goo pouted, his usual playful demeanor masking the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Y’all are no fun…” He crossed his arms, rolling his eyes, but he understood their decision. It was the smart choice. No one should be foolish enough to go against someone like Nova, not with how powerful and untouchable she seemed. “What do you think, Alexander?” He asked, his voice light and almost hopeful.

Silence.

Alexander, still sprawled on the floor, didn’t even stir, his body utterly limp.

“Oh—never mind, actually,” Goo muttered, sighing as he rubbed the back of his neck. It was clear that Alexander wasn’t going to provide any answers anytime soon.

And so, in the aftermath of her perfectly executed performance, Nova left behind an impression that even Goo—master of chaos himself—couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

Ladies and gentlemen, and/or nonbinary people, this is how you utterly annihilate someone at their own game without breaking a sweat. No swords, no fists, no flashy moves were necessary. Not even a hint of physical aggression.

After all, why would she need to swing a katana at him? For comedic effect? She didn’t like those things anyway. The scar Goo had given her in their last fight, jagged and deep across her abdomen, served as an eternal reminder. Not of defeat, no—but of her own resilience.

Besides, what was the point of clashing swords when you could cut deeper with words?

All she needed was to dip into that unpredictable essence Goo prided himself on, twist it with her own chaotic brilliance, and let him taste defeat in a language he could understand—one he excelled at but couldn’t keep up with when wielded by her.

She was, in short, playing him better than he could ever play himself.

Why did she go through all this trouble, though? A fair question. The answers, as usual with Nova, weren’t exactly clear-cut.

Maybe it was the thrill of it—the pure satisfaction of planting herself so much more deeper in their heads that they wouldn’t forget her anytime soon. Perhaps it was a subtle reminder of the transformation she’d undergone, a subtle jab at the fact that her growth—her evolution—was, in part, thanks to them.

But most likely? It was to hammer home a truth they couldn’t ignore: no matter how much they evolved, no matter their blood and past, no matter how strong or smart they thought they were, they would never surpass her.

She existed on a level above them. Intellectually, emotionally, physically—she was untouchable, and she wanted them to know it.

The correctional facility’s visiting room was as sterile and uninviting as one would expect—grey walls, a faint hum of fluorescent lighting, and a large motivational poster hanging on the wall:

“LET’S LIVE A HEALTHY LIFE WITH MORAL INTEGRITY!”

Nova barely managed to suppress a laugh as she took her seat on one side of the glass divider, leaning back leisurely in the chair like she owned the place. The guards stationed nearby exchanged uneasy glances, her presence radiating an almost suffocating authority despite her calm demeanor.

Getting in here had been surprisingly easy. The request for the visit went as planned.

Of course, he accepted.

Gun’s initial reaction to hearing about the request had been predictable. The moment the guards mentioned someone wanted to see him, he’d been ready to decline outright. After all, he didn’t take visitors. It was a rule he upheld without exception… except for Daniel but– does that even need an explanation?

But then came the addendum, delivered with a mix of hesitation and disbelief:

“The person has kind of alluded to the fact that even if you decline, she will appear in your jail cell instead… which was sort of a threat and a promise at the same time.”

Gun had paused.

The guard’s tone was nervous—borderline frightened—but what caught Gun’s attention wasn’t the warning. It was the pronoun.

“She.”

He knew exactly who it was.

There was only one woman audacious enough to make such a statement. One woman whose promises, no matter how outrageous, weren’t just empty words but inevitable outcomes.

And now, as he was escorted into the room, the guards unlocking his cuffs before gesturing for him to sit, he finally saw her.

The first thing that struck him wasn’t her hair or her striking eyes, but the sheer presence she carried. There was no mistaking it—it was her, but different. Stronger. Sharper.

The guards seemed to shrink under the weight of her gaze, and even the most hardened inmates passing by stole glances, their expressions flickering between confusion and outright fear. She didn’t look like a woman visiting someone in prison. She looked like a queen surveying her dominion.

Gun took his seat across from her, his face carefully neutral despite the strange sensation churning in his stomach.

“Haven’t seen you in ages,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity. “I wonder what your reasoning is for being here.”

Her response was immediate, and it wasn’t at all what he expected.

“Just wanted to see for myself how funny life can be sometimes.” She smiled softly, leaning forward slightly. “And this right here in front of me? Is the butt of the joke!~”

Gun blinked. Once. Twice.

He didn’t know what to focus on—her tone, her words, or the sheer audacity of them.

“…What.”

It was all he could manage.

He had been prepared for a lot of things when he walked into this room—small talk, a bit of mockery of his situation, syrupy words and kind advice. But this? This casual, biting banter mixed with an almost childlike sense of wonder? It had completely blindsided him. Nova simply tilted her head, her expression unbothered, almost amused, like a predator watching its prey squirm.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Nova’s voice was soft yet sharp, laced with mockery as she tilted her head slightly. “This is, like, the biggest joke I have ever witnessed in my 23 years of living!” she exclaims.

"And you know, real recognizes real...and you're looking pretty unfamiliar to me right now." She adds, looking him up and down while she reached into her coat, pulling out a slim pack of cigarettes. Gun noted the lack of reaction from the guards, their indifference as clear as day. They didn’t even flinch when she took one out and tapped it against the pack, settling it between her lips, even though smoking was prohibited inside.

“I mean, it’s especially funny that you’re the one in this predicament, not Goo… or at least both of you.” She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly as she patted herself down. “I can’t tell if I should be disappointed… or just resigned to acceptance. Either way, it’s not surprising at all at the end of the day… you had your head stuck up so far up Choi’s ass, you didn’t even see where you were heading in life.”

Her muttering was quiet, more for herself than for him, but Gun heard every word. She frowned, her fingers brushing over her coat.

“I don’t have a lighter with me…” she sighed in mild irritation, before turning her attention to one of the guards stationed in the far corner. Raising her voice slightly, she called out, “Excuse me, sir? Can I borrow a lighter? You seem like someone who smokes.”

Gun blinked. He was certain the guard would ignore her, brush her off, or at least tell her she was not allowed to smoke here. Instead, the man moved without question, walking up to her and handing over his lighter like she’d cast a spell on him.

With a quiet click, Nova lit her cigarette, taking a slow drag before holding the lighter back out. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice dripping with nonchalance.

Gun stared, his chest tightening for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

But she wasn’t done.

She gestured toward him with her hand, her cigarette balanced delicately between her fingers. “Can I also give him one? He looks like he needs it.”

Gun stiffened at the suggestion, his eyes narrowing slightly.

The guard, however, shook his head, his tone apologetic. “Apologies, ma’am. Inmates aren’t allowed to smoke.”

Nova sucked in a breath through her teeth, her nose scrunching slightly as she nodded. “Ahh… right. Inmate.”

The word hung in the air like a slap.

To an outsider, her behavior might have seemed nothing more than arrogant—a woman with too much confidence and a penchant for theatrics. But to Gun, it was something entirely different.

This wasn’t arrogance. This was a demonstration.

It didn’t matter where they were—inside this facility, outside in the real world, or anywhere else in the universe. As long as Nova existed in the same space as him, her power would always eclipse his. The room itself seemed to bend to her will, her authority turning even his once-feared presence into an afterthought.

He glanced down at the blue uniform he wore, its number tag glaring back at him like a taunt. Here, in this moment, he wasn’t Gun Park, nor Shiro Oni. He was just another prisoner, indistinguishable from the rest.

The realization stung more than any insult she could have thrown at him.

“What a tragedy…” she began, her tone softening into something almost sorrowful. “You could’ve gone so far in life by yourself. You’re a capable, strong, and intelligent man—no dickriding intended,” She raised an eyebrow slightly, as if daring him to challenge her words. “But no...”

Her voice hardened, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You decided it would be a better idea to devote loyalty to an old fart with one arm who, by that time, wasn’t ‘Elite’ anymore but just a nobody. A nobody who used you like a cumrag, puppeteering you around because he knew damn well that he himself had no power left.”

Gun’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, his expression unreadable.

“And if that’s not enough…” She brought her free hand up to her temple, as if the thought physically pained her. “…you took all the blame for it. All of it. How stupid can you be?~”

Her voice carried an almost sing-song quality, but the edge in her words was unmistakable.

“I mean, what about Goo? Your friend? I heard you don’t even let him visit you for god’s sakes..”

Gun’s hands curled into fists under the table, his knuckles pressing against his knees.

“He’s not my friend. I don’t have any.” He says plainly, making Nova cringe visibly.

“Eugh.. okay edge lord. Your self-rot is palpable… and smelly.”

She shook her head, taking another drag from her cigarette and exhaling slowly, the smoke curling around her like a halo.

“Anywho, now you’re here. In your stained blue coat…” Her lips curved into a smirk. “Looking like every peasant in there. Congradolances.~”

The word—a blend of “congratulations” and “condolences”—was the final blow, as fitting as it was infuriating.

For the first time in years, he felt utterly, undeniably small. Again.

Gun clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together as he now forced his voice to rise again, though it came out low and taut, a simmering growl wrapped in defiance. “The world is all about results.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the phrase bouncing around her mind like a loose bullet. The corner of her mouth quirked, her cigarette lingering near her lips.

“Is he for real?” she mused silently, taking another slow drag, her lips curling just slightly as her eyes flicked back to his face. His expression was dead serious.

“Ohhh, he isss.~” She chuckled inwardly, a soft sound escaping her lips as smoke twisted from her exhale.

“It’s okay, Gun.~” Her voice was soft now, a touch of something almost tender threading through her tone. “There’s really no need to keep clinging to delusions anymore.”

Her gaze softened briefly, but the edge was unmistakable, like velvet draped over steel. She tilted her head slightly, her platinum hair catching the light as she spoke again, her tone almost patient, as if explaining a basic concept to a child.

“You know, it’s actually called the consequences of one’s actions.”

The words were deliberate, every syllable an arrow hitting its mark. She leaned back in her chair, her posture relaxed, a perfect foil to the storm brewing beneath Gun’s composed exterior.

Nova watched him, her pale eyes gleaming with quiet amusement as the reality of her statement struck him squarely in the chest, another crack in the fortress of his pride.

“But you know what? Let’s go with your little mantra…” She cleared her throat softly, still holding his gaze as she tapped ash from her nearly spent cigarette. Her voice dipped, taking on a smoother, more conversational tone.

“So… what kind of result is this one, then?” She gestured loosely around the room, the stark walls and buzzing fluorescent lights an unspoken testament to his fall from grace. “Or, better yet…” Her eyes narrowed, her curiosity genuine but sharpened to a fine point. “…is this the result you actually wanted?”

The question hung in the air, heavier than the cigarette smoke that curled between them.

Gun stared at her, his jaw tightening as he fought the urge to look away. The weight of her words pressed against his chest, every syllable forcing him closer to an abyss he’d never dared to look into before.

Nova tilted her head again, her tone light but unmistakably victorious, as though she’d just played her winning hand in a game he didn’t even realize he was losing. “Hmm, no answer? That’s fine.”

She stubbed out her cigarette—on the back of her hand, no less—and not even a single mark marred her flawless skin. The act was casual, but the power behind it was palpable. She smiled faintly, her voice dropping to a murmur that was somehow even more cutting.

“You live, and you learn, White Ghost.~”

The nickname rolled off her tongue with the weight of air—light, dismissive, and utterly devoid of reverence. From her lips, it felt meaningless, stripped of the fear and awe it once commanded.

Gun’s chest tightened further, an ache building in a space he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Nova suddenly clapped her hands together, the sharp sound breaking the charged silence between them. “Well then!” she exclaimed brightly, her tone breezy, almost cheerful. “I should go now. I have a life to live.”

She smiled warmly, but the dagger hidden beneath her words was impossible to miss.

Gun stiffened, her parting statement slicing through him far deeper than he expected.

“Thank you for allowing yourself to see me,” she added lightly, brushing a nonexistent speck of dust from her coat as she stood. “Glad to see you’re still in one piece. Alive? Well… that’s questionable.” She shrugged, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather.

Flattening her coat, she tapped a manicured finger against the corner of her nose, like she just remembered an itch, pretending to think of her conclusion. “So, it was nice seeing one another, eh?”

She straightened, her pale eyes locking onto his as her lips curved into a mischievous smile.

“Ganbare!~”

She sing-songed the word as she turned on her heel, her hand waving lazily over her shoulder.

Gun paled. Talk about a white ghost.

The word echoed in his mind, more deafening than any scream.

‘Good luck.’

It wasn’t just a farewell. It was a reminder of his insignificance in her presence, a taunt that lingered long after her departure.

His chest burned, anger, shame, and something deeper twisting together into a knot he couldn’t untangle. His fists clenched beneath the table, nails biting into his palms as he fought to suppress the storm rising within him.

And yet, despite the fury coursing through him, there was something else—a pull he couldn’t deny.

Gun sat in the suffocating silence of the visitation room, staring at the empty chair across from him, his thoughts whirling in a chaotic frenzy. It wasn’t the kind of storm that came from rage—no, this was deeper, darker, and infinitely more disorienting. The silence didn’t soothe him; it mocked him, amplifying her words as they echoed in his head.

Who talks like that? Walks and acts like that?

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake the weight off, but it clung to him like a shroud.

Funny, though.

Because him.

He does.

It hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, his breath stilled in his chest.

“Oh.”

The realization settled over him, heavy and unrelenting. He leaned back in his chair, the fluorescent lights above flickering faintly, casting his face in sharp relief.

It clicks.

There was no escaping the truth now. Her departure left him with a hollow ache that no fight, no broken bones, or bruised pride could compare to. He was utterly defeated by her, again, not just by her sharp words or her unbearable dominance, but by the sheer brilliance she held—a brilliance that mirrored his own.

Only this time, he wasn’t the one wielding it.

“This hurt a bit more than the previous ass-whooping I got from her,” he muttered aloud, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words tasted bitter, but they were undeniable as his fingers brushed against his own lips, almost in a manner of stopping it from more truths spilling out.

God, her presence was an inescapable weight. The way she carried herself, the way she knew—like she had stripped him bare without even trying. She didn’t need fists to hurt him; she didn’t need power or rage. She had cut him with precision, wielding her words and presence like weapons he couldn’t defend against.

He talks like that.

He could see her face, the faint smirk that wasn’t meant to mock but still stung all the same.

He walks and acts like that.

Her exit replayed in his mind, the lazy wave of her hand, the light delivery of his own words—a devastating parody that lingered like a ghost in the air.

“Good luck, huh?…” he repeated quietly, his lips twisting into a grimace.

His own mantra, thrown back at him, stripped of all meaning.

“Goddamn.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. No matter how much he wanted to hate her for this, he couldn’t. Not fully. Beneath the bitterness, beneath the anger, there was something else. It was the way she spoke with such clarity, such precision.

He hated her for it.

And yet–

He respected her for it.

No—more than that.

He craved it.

Her power, her brilliance, her ability to command a room without lifting a finger—it was maddening, infuriating, and utterly intoxicating.

Gun leaned forward, his elbows resting on the cold surface of the table, his fingers clasped tightly together. The burn in his chest hadn’t faded; if anything, it had intensified.

“God damn,” he muttered again, the words heavy with a mix of frustration and reluctant admiration this time.

She had walked out of his life just as quickly as she had entered it, but the mark she left behind was seared into him, impossible to erase.

She had been right about everything, of course.

That was what hurt the most.

And Nova strode through the bustling streets of Seoul with the kind of elegance that couldn’t be taught—only possessed. She moved effortlessly, a living enigma who didn’t seek attention but commanded it nonetheless. Her silhouette danced between the glow of city lights, her platinum blonde hair gleaming like a beacon under the neon signs.

“Today was very stimulating…” she murmured, her voice as soft as silk, laced with satisfaction.

Her gaze flitted across the passersby, their heads turning as if drawn by some unseen force. Men and women alike stole glances, their curiosity piqued by her undeniable presence. But Nova didn’t care for their stares or their admiration. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

The countdown was over.

Three years and some change since she had last stood face-to-face with either of them. Gun and Goo—two men who thrived on dominance, control, and a touch of chaos.

Today, she had proven them both right and wrong in ways neither could have anticipated.

Nova smirked to herself, the corners of her lips tilting upward as she exhaled deeply. “They’ll get over it,” she mused, kicking some rocks.

She cooked, ate, and left no crumbs, as today’s generation would so aptly say.

Her heels clicked against the pavement, the sound a rhythmic reminder of her triumph. She inhaled the cool night air, savoring the freedom of the moment. There was a strange sense of satisfaction in knowing she had set something in motion—a shift, a ripple in their otherwise unshakable lives.

“Three years,” she muttered, her tone reflective. “All for today.”

And it had been worth every second.

[pomegranatehymns]

PERSEPHONE

A informational post about Persephone:

Persephone is the goddess of spring, and passing of seasons as well as the queen of the Underworld. Kore being the epithet heavily associated with her connection to spring, translating to “the maiden”. Persephone also using many more epithets for diffrent aspects Associated with her. Persephone is the daughter of Demeter and Zeus. Persephone Deione- “Daughter of Demeter”. Being one of her many epithets.

"He [Zeus] came to the bed of all-nourishing Demeter, and she bare white-armed Persephone whom Aidoneus [Haides] carried off from her mother; but wise Zeus gave her to him.” (theoi.com- PARENTAGE OF PERSEPHONE)

stuff Associated with Persephone:

Pomegranate

Bats

Deer

Spring

Underworld

Flowers

Skulls

Garnet, gems, coins (stuff Associated with hades)

Cerberus

Dogs

The Eleusinian Mysteries:

i feel like this link sums up the mysteries pretty well.

https://web.archive.org/web/20030920115808/http://www.uwec.edu/Philrel/faculty/beach/publications/eleusis.html

“The Homeric Hymn narrates the founding story for the Mysteries as well. Demeter, disguised as a human, arrives at Eleusis while searching for her daughter, and the city takes her in as a nurse. She feels obliged to reward the city for its hospitality and reveals herself. Then she shares her secret rites, which consequently become the central theme of the Eleusinian Mysteries. But initiation to these rites was no simple task. Participants had to prepare for at least half of the year or more and nurture themselves spiritually to embrace the secret revelation.” (Eleusinian Mysteries: The Secret Rites No One Dared Talk About" TheCollector.com)

Proerosia:

(Demeter related but can Also involve Persephone)

“The Proerosia, is about the things to be done “before plowing”. The first fruits festival was in May, when the “first fruits of the cereals” were harvested. According to H. W. Parke (74), the offerings to Demeter were made to invoke her blessing on the plowing and seeding to come.” (proerosia- hellenion.org)

Hymn to persephone:

Orphic Hymn 29 to Persephone (trans. Taylor) (Greek hymns C3rd B.C. to 2nd A.D.) :

"Hymn to Phersephone. Daughter of Zeus, Persephone divine, come, blessed queen, and to these rites incline: only-befotten, Plouton's [Haides'] honoured wife, O venerable Goddess, source of life: 'tis thine in earth's profundities to dwell, fast by the wide and dismal gates of hell. Zeus' holy offspring, of a beauteous mien, Praxidike (Avenging-Goddess), subterranean queen. The Eumenides' [Erinyes'] source, fair-haired, whose frame proceeds from Zeus' ineffable and secret seeds. Mother of Eubouleos [Dionysos-Zagreos], sonorous, divine, and many-formed, the parent of the vine. Associate of the Horai (Seasons), essence bright, all-ruling virgin, bearing heavenly light. With fruits abounding, of a bounteous mind, horned, and alone desired by those of mortal kind. O vernal queen, whom grassy plains delight, sweet to the smell, and pleasing to the sight : whose holy form in budding fruits we view, earth's vigorous offspring of a various hue : espoused in autumn, life and death alone to wretched mortals from thy power is known : for thine the task , according to thy will, life to produce, and all that lives to kill. Hear, blessed Goddess, send a rich increase of various fruits from earth, with lovely peace : send health with gentle hand, and crown my life with blest abundance, free from noisy strife; last in extreme old age the prey of death, dismiss me willing to the realms beneath, to thy fair palace and the blissful plains where happy spirits dwell, and Plouton [Haides] reigns.”

Here are some of Persephone's epithets:

Azesia- “of the Dried Fruits” and/or “Who Seeks”. The epithet is shared with Demeter

Brimo- “the Angry” or “the Terrifying”..

Carpophorus- “Bringer of Fruit”. This epithet was specific to Persephone in the role of Kore.

Chthonia- “of the Earth” (used by several chthonic deitys)

Deione- “Daughter of Demeter”.

Despoena- “The Ruling Goddess” or “The Mistress.”

Eleusina- “of Eleusis”. This epithet is shared by Persephone and Demeter.

Epaine- “the Fearful”. (More like feared by her worshipers)

Hagne- “Pure” or “Holy One”

Kore- “The Maiden”. Usually used when referring to persephone before she became queen of the Underworld. I use it in reference to her spring aspects

Leptynis- refers to wealth with her role as queen of the Underworld and being a chthonic deity

Megala Thea- “Great Goddess”.

Praxidike- “Bringer of Justice”.

Sources:

theoi.com- PARENTAGE OF PERSEPHONE

Hesiod, Theogony 912 ff (trans. Evelyn-White) (Greek epic C8th or C7th B.C.)

theoi.com- Titles of Demeter & Kore: Ancient Greek Religion

The Eleusinian Mysteries, Edward A. Beach

Homer, The Iliad - Greek Epic C8th B.C.

The Homeric Hymns - Greek Epic C8th-4th B.C.

Orphic Hymn 29 to Persephone (trans. Taylor) (Greek hymns C3rd B.C. to 2nd A.D.)

Tareen, Zeynep. "Eleusinian Mysteries: The Secret Rites No One Dared Talk About" TheCollector.com, February 18, 2022, https://www.thecollector.com/the-eleusinian-mysteries-ancient-greece/.

https://www.tumblr.com/diana-thyme/737747722995712000/greek-gods-101-persephone?source=share

https://www.hellenion.org/festivals/proerosia/

[nazrigar]

All-Sparks: Members of the United States Government.

Because a Transformers story isn't complete without exploring human governments and how the Transformers deal with 'em! These are just the most important folks in the context of the AU of course!

Senator Lonzo R. Wilkinson of Michigan: A reformed criminal during his youth, he uses the experiences he learned growing up as well as his time in G.I. Joe to lead to him to go for public office. A native of Detroit Michigan, one can say that he had a hand in turning it from "Motor City" to "Robo City", as he was responsible for helping build the legislative foundations that allowed Sumdac and his technology to flourish. Also the chair of the Senate's intelligence committee. A member of the original Adventure Team, alongside Colton. He's still friends with Colton, but definitely concerned about Colton's inner rage, and doubly concerned about Colton's obsession with Scarlett and the reasons for her asking for a discharge all those years ago.

Senator Henry Masterson Sr. of Michigan.: a man who'd take a bribe with a smile. Supposedly under Blackshore's payroll, but in reality Masterson has no "real" paymaster. He'll appeal to any lobby if it interests him, and he'll switch positions (flippantly or gradually) depending on the "client". He considers himself first and foremost however, a survivor, and his "true" paymaster, in his eyes, is power. Has a son with wild ideas on robots. Based off the Inhumanoids character.

President Alexander Holt: Colton's Puppet President, knows it, and resents it.

An opportunistic politician who came into office in order to further his business ambitions, this in turn led him to be dependent on Colton to give him the image of a "strong American man who wants to keep America strong", and no one helps project strength like Joseph Colton himself. Being an energy mogul, his main motivation for seeking office was, in an act of extreme personal pettiness, was to try and get a leg up against Blackrock, to make sure that Blackrock's alternative energy solutions was as expensive as possible. He riles up the populace with bluster and theatrics, making people think he cares, when he actually doesn't.

He's really trying to find ways to undermine Colton's iron grip on the government, he's the President damn it. He should be the most powerful person on the planet, not Colton.

Based off an obscure character from IDW's Transformers run.

Secretary of Defense John Keller: Technically the only person below President in the chain of command within the United States military… and came into the office expecting such, but quickly realized many of the officers within the military have more respect and loyalty to one man, and it's certainly not the President. A man that truly believes in the rule of law and the use of appropriate force against whatever danger is presented to him, the concept of internal division of loyalties within the United States is a terrifying prospect for him. His strongest ally is Sector 7, insulated from Colton's influence only because it has remained a secret for so long within government, and its members are quite insular and cagey. The advent of Cobra however changed all that, and now Colton even has paws on them, if only in a limited capacity. With Cobra's defeat, John Keller has even more incentive to try have at least ONE government branch with firepower that operates independently from the Original Joe.

Senator Barbara Larkin of Oregon: Perhaps one of the rarest kinds of politician: born to wealth and status, but completely and utterly dedicated to public service for the greater good, much to the horror and disgust of her own parents. What Wilksinson is to Detroit and Sumdac Systems, she is to Portland and Blackrock Enterprises, because she is fully commited to the dream that energy shouldn't be expensive and energy is a basic need for a country like the United States. A vehement opponent of President Holt.

Is Col. Clayton "Hawk" Abernathy's lady wife. There are times when she wished Clayton would retire, not simply because she worries about him as we hunts whatever enemy still lurks in the world… but also because she doesn't want him to end up a jaded man who only sees the worst in the world. She believes Clayton has so much more to give to the world based on his experiences.

Based off Barbara Larkin from the Marvel comics continuity of Transformers.

Gabriella Constanza: The Woman of the Big Words. Literally, she's infamous for sparsing her words with material that one would need a dictionary AND a thesaurus to decipher.

Picked by Holt to be a completely nothing Secretary of State beholden only to him. After all, she's just some nothing teacher from a nothing town called Jasper with no other credentials besides running for Mayor of the nothing town, and she's easy on the eyes.

To the shock of everyone, she's actually really good at her job. She can talk to people well, is personable and pleasant to others, and can whip up a story on-the-spot. She's just occasionally confusing through the use of said Big Words(tm).

Based off Gabriella Constanza of the Unicron Trilogy.

[ashbeneviento]

Donna Beneviento slight AU Fic idea that I had but have no spoons to fully write about myself but still wanted to share-

Throughout the game, there’s hints that point to Donna’s family taking root just outside the village long before Mother Miranda arrived. Her collection of books and the way her home is set up reminds me of Secret Societies or cults, along with the symbolism of hanging corn/animal mounts along the wall. So who’s to say the Beneviento’s weren’t some powerful cult Miranda took inspiration from AND also sought them as a threat? Or waited until the family birthed daughters instead of sons to fufill her plans?

After the events of her sister and parent’s untimely demise (or was it?) Donna, being raised by her family’s cult or secret society (prehaps even a coven, based on her Sun and Moon symbolism) hatched a plan. In the game, Donna’s spare bedroom upstairs showcases a book titled: The Decline And Fall Of The Demon King. This can be based off the real book, “The Downfall Of The Demon King” where the synopsis is: "In the beginning, four beings ruled the world. They call themselves Entities. These creatures use their immense power to protect mortals from beasts and nature itself. And in return, the mortals built cities and shrines around them. For centuries, the world was at peace, until the fifth Entity was born. They called him the Demon King. It is said that his power was so dark and fearsome he could end the world. Terrified of the Demon's King strength, the four Entities combined their power and imprisoned him for all eternity. With the Demon King defeated, everyone lived happily ever after. At least that's how it was supposed to go…”

Maybe the Beneviento clan always birthed two sons, the women always being married in. This would prevent the events of the “Fifth Entity” from occurring, and the four “Entities” happened to be relative to the original “kings” we see in the game. (Images found at the bottom of this post)

The original four families being Berengario, Lord Cesare, Guglielmo, and Uncle Nichola. Canon states this: “Donna Beneviento was born into the gentry of House Beneviento sometime during the 20th century, a family with ancestral links to Berengario, a man rumored in folklore to have been an ancient mutant who settled the region with three other houses from which the Dimitrescu, Moreau and Heisenberg families are descended.”

Because Miranda knew this, she hatched a plan to destroy the other three houses by eliminating the families, leaving one relative unaware of their family lore as a means to keep them loyal to HER and leaving the Beneviento’s for last, as they were beings who may have inherited mutations from Berengario. That’s why when Donna and Claudia were born, daughters instead of sons..the events of the fifth entity (Mother Miranda) set in, and she was the last to be adopted into her cult.

But Donna is obviously very intelligent, still aware of the “prophecy” because her family wasn’t destroyed until she was older (Miranda couldn’t use Claudia like originally planned because the cadou killed her). And by secretly letting the other Lords aware of said prophecy using her powers, they all hatched a plan to fake being loyal to Miranda and their deaths by Ethan. This is why the megamycete didn’t fully use Rose as a vessel because it couldn’t produce enough energy for Miranda’s ritual, and she was ultimately defeated. Donna, now even more powerful than before by “stealing” Miranda’s gift of the cadou was able to turn their deaths into an illusion.

I’d also like to think Angie uses part Donna’s cadou, part soul to be animated- and the other dolls are created using only the souls of her relatives which is why they don’t speak. They were already dead, meanwhile Donna was not, yet it caused her to die somewhat to be able to pull a ritual of “possession” for Angie. This is why her eyes are pale and grey, a mimicry of what happens to the eyes after death.

Her facade of being a reclusive and shy woman leads Miranda to believe the Duke would never do business or interact with her, and is the only Lord where he does not show up to in the game. The Duke may be an old friend to the Beneviento’s and helps the “four entities” to defeat Miranda, given his interests in obtaining such rare items such as their crystal corpses. He would have all the items needed to help transport them to a different place undetected. (Again, the crystal corpses are just hallucinations caused by Donna and they aren’t actually dead)

Some other ideas I had for this AU was that instead of feeding on blood, fish, or nothing at all.. Donna fed on souls. This would match her constant dark, macrbe energy perfectly. She’s close to the dead, her family is an ancient cult/coven..it all makes sense 🤷🏻‍♀️

Sure, there’s tea cups set about her house in game and even a kitchen.. and maybe she enjoys human food to an extent but her energy comes from souls. The way she gets this is by trapping poor unsuspecting villagers who disrespect her/are bad people into other dolls, transferring their “lives” into puppets to do her bidding while also feeding from them which is why she makes so many of them.

Anyways that’s my idea rambles, feel free to share your thoughts and if you happen to use this in a fic please tag me because I’m desperate to read it 🥲 I just have no clue how to flesh it out but really needed to get it out of my system lol

(Pics from “The Four Entities and Original kings” section of this post)

[rubberduckydemonking]

@mothvalentino

Lucifer was perfectly aware of Valentino’s reputation — the glamorous pimp overlord with an, often-time physical, choke-hold on the denizens of Pentagon City. Behind the smooth-talking and depravity, Valentino was a powerful and undeniably dangerous man. The golden haired royal had heard countless tales from the mouths of those closest to him about the unsavoury deeds that the moth demon was capable of. Now, Lucifer was not intent on underestimating the man. However, that being said, each and every sinner that landed their soul in Hell was capable of all manner of abhorrent deeds. I mean, come on! They were in HELL for a reason. Lucifer had never been intimidated by the citizens of his realm (he was their king, after all) and he didn’t plan on making an exception for a porn director with laughably poor eyesight.

Now, his mission to speak to Valentino was a top secret one. Charlie held a monumental dislike for the overlord and the secret nature of his desire to pick Valentino’s brain was…well, a sore spot between them. A point of contention. A disagreement that Lucifer was publicly pretending to concede within in order to not push her away from him. Instead, he decided to undertake this secret mission in silence to support her in a way she didn’t currently foresee that she needed. Look, she’d thank him eventually~ Lucifer was certain that, if he’d had the ability to pick the brain of his darling daughter, Charlie, or her slender spider friend, Angel, then he’d have been able to prepare himself better for a meeting with Valentino. None the less, he made himself a small list of rules for himself. Number One: Do NOT allow him to fluster you. If you lose your composure, he gains control. Number Two: attempt not to make it clear what you want from him. It is better the less the Moth knows. Number Three: Show no weakness. Valentino doesn’t need to know about the unsanctioned, and entirely secret, nature of this visit. Don’t give him ammunition to knock you off-kilter. Lord almighty, it’d been a while since he’d engaged in the social and political sphere in Hell, he was so rusty.

The slight heel on his knee-high boots clicked against the tiled floor as the king was lead to the famous sex dungeon. Whelp, that wasn’t a situation on his bingo card for this millennia! Fuck. This was a mistake, right? Reality hit him like a sledgehammer to the face. What was he doing? He was walking directly into the den of wolves. Underprepared and entirely out-of-place. The devil began subconsciously twisted his wedding ring around his finger. A nervous tic he’d picked up over the years to try and soothe his anxieties. Lucifer swallowed down his uncertainty, plastering his game-face on as he was led towards a large set of double doors. This was about protecting Charlie. So there was only one choice: suck it up. ‘You’re Lucifer fucking Morningstar, start acting like it!’ he thought to himself firmly, clenching his fists tightly by his sides. As the doors were swung open, the poor, terrified-looking, intern tasked with leading him squeaked out an announcement to make Valentino aware of his royal visitor. At first, Lucifer could barely see anything through the red-haze of smoke, he breathed in a little too fast, taking a small gulp of the red smoke, that caught in his throat with a tickle.