#that first shot is so so so important to me

[httpvomitello]

Cold Heart *⁠.⁠✧ (part 2)

cregan stark x targ!reader

WARNING: angst, not a happy ending (?)

(part 1)

The days following your outburst in the Great Hall passed in a haze. You avoided Cregan as much as possible, and he seemed content to let the silence stretch between you. The icy walls of Winterfell felt more like a prison than ever before.

Rickon, sensing the tension but not understanding its source, clung to you with a desperation that only deepened your heartbreak. He asked you once, in his small, hesitant voice, if you were angry with his father.

“No, sweetling,” you whispered, stroking his dark hair. “I’m just… tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you—not from the duties of being Lady of Winterfell, but from the constant ache of loving a man who would never love you back.

One evening, unable to bear the silence any longer, you sat at your writing desk and penned a letter to your mother.

Mother,

I have done all that was asked of me. I have been patient. I have been kind. But I cannot thaw the North, and I cannot make a man love me who does not wish to. My heart feels as if it has been crushed beneath the weight of a thousand winters. I wonder if this alliance was worth the cost.

You stared at the words for a long time, your quill hovering above the parchment.

Do you even know what you have done to me?

Your hand trembled as you added the final line. You folded the letter carefully, but you could not bring yourself to summon the raven. What good would it do? Rhaenyra would only remind you of your duty, of the importance of the alliance, of the greater good.

The letter remained tucked away in the desk, a secret burden you carried alone.

The tension between you and Cregan finally came to a head late one night. The storm outside was fierce, the winds howling like wolves at the gates. You had been restless, pacing your chambers, when the door opened, and Cregan stepped inside.

He looked as tired as you felt, his shoulders heavy with some unseen weight. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, regarding you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“What do you want, Cregan?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended.

“I came to speak,” he said, his tone measured.

“You’ve had months to speak,” you replied, turning away from him. “And yet you’ve said nothing.”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You never know what to say. You never know how to feel. You don’t even know how to look at me without seeing her shadow.”

His jaw tightened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of anger in his eyes.

“Do not speak of things you don’t understand,” he said, his voice low and warning.

“Don’t I?” you shot back, turning to face him fully. “I understand better than you think. I understand what it means to love someone so deeply it consumes you. But you—” Your voice broke, and you forced yourself to continue. “You’ve never given me the chance to show you what we could be. You won’t even try.”

Cregan took a step forward, his expression stormy. “And what would you have me do? Forget her? Pretend she never existed?”

“I would have you see me!” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “I am not her, Cregan, and I never will be. But I am here. I have been here, trying, every single day, and you—”

Your voice faltered as he closed the distance between you. For a moment, you thought he might reach for you, might finally break through the walls he had built.

But he didn’t.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t give you what you want.”

The finality in his words shattered something inside you. You stepped back, your breath hitching as you tried to compose yourself.

“Then why did you marry me?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Because I had to,” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours with a raw honesty that hurt more than any lie could have. “Because the North needed it. Because Rickon needed it. But I never wanted this, and I never wanted to hurt you.”

You stared at him, your heart breaking all over again. “But you have,” you said quietly. “You’ve hurt me more than you’ll ever know.”

Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed in the silence of your chambers.

The days that followed were colder than ever, though the snow had stopped falling. You threw yourself into your duties, avoiding Cregan whenever possible. Rickon became your solace, his innocent laughter the only thing that kept you from succumbing to the despair that threatened to consume you.

But even he could not erase the emptiness in your heart.

Late one night, unable to sleep, you found yourself standing before the godswood. The heart tree loomed above you, its ancient branches creaking in the wind. You knelt before it, tears streaming down your face as you whispered a prayer to gods you didn’t fully believe in.

“Give me the strength to bear this,” you pleaded. “Or give me the freedom to leave.”

The gods, as always, were silent.

[iris-qt]

𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗

ᴘᴛ. ɪɪ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴅɪꜱᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ

ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

❆ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍɪᴄ ʀɪᴠᴀʟꜱ | 3.6ᴋ

❆ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱɴᴏᴡᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʀᴏᴏᴍꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴄᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ʙʀᴏᴏᴍꜱᴛɪᴄᴋꜱ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴏɴᴇ…?

Fate was indeed quite cruel for you and Theodore Nott

Fate? Or just an incredibly annoying best friend named Mattheo Riddle?

The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet that evening, the typical crackle of fire and hushed whispers replaced by a tense stillness as the storm howled outside. The wind battered the windows, sending flakes of snow spiraling in every direction. Inside, though, the four friends had finally returned from their little excursion to the Three Broomsticks, all of them dripping wet and looking far too pleased with themselves.

Mattheo Riddle collapsed into an armchair by the fire, his usual smirk more of a self-satisfied grin. “Well, well, well. That was absolutely perfect.”

Draco Malfoy, having shed his wet cloak and settled by the fire, shot him a glare. “Perfect? Are you out of your mind? We were spying on them. They’ll kill us when they find out.”

Pansy Parkinson kicked her booths off and flopped onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh. “They’re practically made for each other.”

“Yeah, a match made in sarcasm and tension,” Blaise Zabini chimed in, lowering himself onto the armrest beside her. “But I have to admit, y/n’s got Nott wrapped around her finger.”

Mattheo chuckled, leaning back and crossing his arms. “See? I told you. It was destiny. The universe wanted this.”

“Destiny?” Draco scoffed. “This was a disaster waiting to happen. Those two will never get along. They’re like oil and water.”

“You’re forgetting one important detail,” Pansy said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “They’re both annoyingly competitive. They’ll keep each other on their toes.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing,” Draco muttered, eyeing Mattheo. “You do realize we’ve practically pushed them into a blizzard together, right? They’re going to be stuck in that pub for the rest of the night. There’s only so much avoiding each other they can do.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the window where the storm raged outside. “It’s really coming down out there. I bet they’re already stuck in that pub for a while.”

“Good,” Mattheo said smugly. “That’s exactly what they need. The whole ‘forced proximity’ thing works wonders, trust me.”

“Uh-huh,” Draco said skeptically, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “And when they start throwing punches instead of witty remarks? What then?”

“You don’t think they’ll, you know, talk about their feelings, do you?” Mattheo asked, smirking.

“Talk about their feelings?” Blaise scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Theodore Nott and y/n y/l/n? The only feelings they’ll share are how much they loathe each other.”

Pansy raised her cup of tea, a wicked grin on her face. “To Theo and y/n. May they finally see what we’ve known all along: they’re perfect for each other.”

“Here, here!” Mattheo toasted, holding up his own mug. “No way they’re escaping this. Not unless they manage to hex each other into oblivion first.”

Blaise chuckled. “I’d pay good money to see that.”

They all fell into a comfortable silence, the fire crackling as they relaxed in the warmth of the common room, the storm howling just beyond the walls of the castle. Outside, Theo and y/n remained trapped in the Three Broomsticks.

The winds rattled the window panes of the cozy little pub.

As if getting stuck with the bane of his existence for a few hours wasn’t torturous enough, kind Madam Rosmerta, who Theodore was beginning to suspect was secretly evil, decided to share some unfortunate news regarding available rooms…

Madam Rosmerta gave them a sympathetic smile, her hands clasped tightly around a steaming mug. “I’m afraid there’s only one room left upstairs, dears. The others were taken by travelers when the storm started picking up.”

Your head snapped toward Theo, your jaw already tightening. “One room?” you repeated, voice sharp.

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. “Of course, it’s one room. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Rosmerta glanced between them, clearly trying to gauge if a fight was about to break out. “It’s got a big bed and a cozy fire. You’ll be warm, at least.”

“Great,” You said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Warmth will really help when I’ve been murdered by morning.”

Theo crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t flatter yourself. If anyone’s at risk here, it’s me.”

Rosmerta sighed, her patience wearing thin. “Look, I’m offering it as a courtesy. If you’d rather sit out here all night with the cold drafts and creaky chairs, be my guest.”

You shot Theo a glare. “Fine. But if you snore, I’m hexing you into next week.”

Theo smirked, grabbing his trench coat from the chair. “And if you start ranting about Potions essays at midnight, I’m jumping out the window.”

With a heavy sigh, you followed him toward the stairs, muttering under your breath about “the worst night ever.”

Rosmerta chuckled to herself, shaking her head. “Young love,” she murmured, returning to the bar.

...

The door creaked open, revealing a small but warm room. A crackling fireplace cast flickering light across the wooden walls, the flames throwing shadows onto a quilt-covered bed nestled against the far corner. A single armchair, worn but inviting, sat by the hearth, and a rug that looked as though it had been knitted decades ago lay sprawled on the floor. 

Theo stepped in first, his sharp gaze flicking around the room. It was simple and unremarkable, yet the warmth from the fireplace immediately softened the icy tension that clung to his shoulders. He tugged off his gloves, tossing them onto the chair before brushing the snow from his sleeves.

“Cozy,” he muttered, though the word carried a hint of sarcasm. He glanced over his shoulder at you, lingering in the doorway, expression hovering somewhere between annoyance and reluctant acceptance.

“Cozy,” you echoed flatly, eyes landing on the single bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Classic.

You huffed, stepping further inside and dropping your bag onto the floor with a thud. “I’ll take the chair,” you declared, pointing toward the armchair by the fire.

Theo snorted, shaking his head. “Good luck sleeping in that thing. You’ll be begging for the bed by midnight.”

“And you’ll be sleeping on the floor by morning if you keep talking,” you shot back, unbuttoning your coat with stiff, jerky movements.

Theo didn’t respond, instead shrugging off his trench coat and hanging it neatly on the back of the chair. He busied himself with the fire for a moment, adding another log and stirring the embers. The room grew even warmer, the heat seeping into his cold hands.

When he turned back, you had pulled off your scarf, revealing flushed cheeks and a few stray snowflakes still clinging to your hair. He watched as you brushed them away absently, the gesture oddly... endearing.

He frowned, shaking off the thought. “You should take the bed,” he said abruptly, the words surprising even himself.

You blinked, turning to him with suspicion. “What?”

“The bed,” he repeated, his tone more clipped this time. “You’ll be unbearable tomorrow if you don’t get any sleep.”

Your eyebrows lifted, and for a moment, he thought you were going to argue. But then you sighed, the fight draining out. “Fine. But don’t complain when you’re stiff and miserable in the morning.”

Theo smirked faintly, grabbing the blanket from the armchair. “I’ve survived worse than a night on the floor, y/l/n. Don’t flatter yourself.”

As he spread the blanket out by the fire, he caught himself glancing at you again. Your expression had softened slightly, your usual sharp edges dulled by the firelight. You didn’t look quite as insufferable now, standing there with your arms crossed and brow furrowed in thought.

…

The wind howled outside as Theo paced the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Meanwhile, you were glaring daggers at the small, frosted window in the corner, where an icy draft was sneaking through a crooked frame.

“Are you going to do something about that?” you asked, rubbing your arms.

Theo shot you an incredulous look. “Do I look like a handyman to you?”

“Well, you’re the one with the pureblood superiority complex,” you quipped. “Surely fixing a window is beneath my ‘mudblood’ capabilities.”

Theo’s jaw tightened, but then he smirked. “Fine. Stand back. Watch and learn.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall as Theo strode toward the window with unbelievable confidence for someone who had never fixed a thing in his life. He fiddled with the latch, muttering under his breath.

“Step one,” he announced grandly, “assess the problem.”

“You’re narrating this?” you deadpanned.

“Step two,” Theo continued, ignoring you, “apply logical reasoning and brute force.” He yanked on the window frame.

It didn’t budge.

“You’re going to break it,” you warned, suppressing a grin.

“I’m improving it,” Theo shot back. He gave the window another tug, and the whole frame groaned ominously.

With a loud crack, a chunk of ice dislodged from the outside and tumbled onto Theo’s foot.

You burst out laughing, doubling over as Theo hopped on one leg, muttering curses.

“Step three,” you said between gasps for air, “check if the window is laughing at you because I’m pretty sure it is.”

“Oh, you think you’re so clever,” Theo said, shooting you a glare as he hobbled back to the chair.

“Well, obviously I wouldn’t use brute force,” you said smugly, grabbing a blanket from the bed. “Here. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Theo watched with exaggerated skepticism as you climbed onto the chair, draping the blanket over the frame and tucking it into the edges. “Voilà!” you declared triumphantly, stepping back. “No more draft.”

The blanket immediately sagged and slid to the floor, letting the icy wind back in.

Theo barked a laugh, clapping slowly. “Brilliant. Truly groundbreaking work, y/l/n.”

“Oh, shut up!” you snapped, grabbing the blanket and tossing it at him.

Still laughing, Theo caught it and stood. “Move. You’re terrible at this.”

He stepped closer to the window, brushing past you. This time, instead of pulling or yanking, he gently adjusted the frame and tucked the blanket into the top corners, muttering charms under his breath to secure it in place.

When he finished, the draft was gone, and the room suddenly felt warmer.

“There,” he said smugly, turning to face you. “Step four: call in the expert.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. You win this round, Nott.”

“I always do,” he replied, his voice quieter now, almost teasing.

For a moment, the bickering subsided, and they stood there by the now secured window. The firelight flickered across their faces, and you glanced up at him, noticing for the first time how soft his smirk could look when it wasn’t accompanied by an insult.

“Thanks,” you said, surprising both of them.

Theo shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into something dangerously close to a smile. “Don’t mention it. Or actually, do. Preferably to everyone we know.”

And just like that, the moment passed, but the warmth lingered.

The wind howled outside, but the warmth of the fire in the room kept things cozy…except for one thing: the floor. Theo sat cross-legged by the hearth, his arms wrapped around himself as he gave the ground an occasional glare.

“This is a crime against my back,” he muttered under his breath, trying to get comfortable but only managing to shift in place every few seconds.

You glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re still complaining about the floor?”

“It’s not the floor, it’s the principle of the floor,” Theo said with a dramatic sigh. “The suffering of it.” He adjusted his position for the fifteenth time, finally giving up and lying flat on his back.

“Poor Theo. The floor is too hard for your delicate aristocratic back,” you teased, pulling out a bag of crisps from your bag.

Theo shot you a look but didn’t respond, instead reaching for the nearby blanket. His stomach, however, had other ideas, gurgling loudly enough to make you look over with a raised, slightly concerned eyebrow.

“Hungry, are we?”

“I’m fine,” Theo said defensively, as if his stomach hadn’t just betrayed him.

You held up the packet of crisps. “Well, I have snacks.” You shook the bag temptingly.

“Ugh, crisps?” Theo wrinkled his nose, but his stomach grumbled again, this time louder.

You smirked, leaning forward. “What’s the matter, Nott? Too simple for you?”

He glared at her, but his stomach won that round. “Fine. Give me one.”

You tossed him a chip, and Theo inspected it like it was a cursed artifact. He took a small bite, making an exaggerated face. “It’s like chewing on nothing.”

“Is that so?” you asked, unimpressed. “Maybe you’re just not sophisticated enough for the finer things in life.”

Theo rolled his eyes, grabbing another chip. “Finer things? It’s a bag of plain crisps, not an heirloom from my great-grandfather’s collection.”

“Well, sorry for not carrying around caviar in my school bag,” you replied dryly, reclining back onto the bed.

Theo ignored you, popping another chip in his mouth. “You know, I expected something better,” he muttered. “This is barely edible.”

You snorted. “You’re so picky. Can’t believe I’m wasting my high-class snacks on you.”

Theo rolled his eyes, grabbing another crisp. “High-class? It’s a bag of crisps, not some exclusive delicacy.”

“Just eat the damn crisps, Nott,” you laughed, tossing him another.

Theo sighed dramatically. “Fine. It’s not like I have a choice.” He slowly chewed the next chip, making an exaggerated show of tasting it.

“Is it really that bad?” you asked, barely hiding your smile.

“Look, I’m just saying… if I were to critique the flavor,” Theo began, licking his lips as if in thought, “I’d say it’s… offensive. Lacking a certain je ne sais quoi.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly fell off the bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s potato chips, not fine wine.”

Theo gave you an insufferable smile. “Exactly why I can’t trust you with snack recommendations.”

You picked up another bag from your bag, this one chocolate-covered pretzels. “You want to try these, too, Mr. Refined?”

Theo cautiously took one, studying it like it might explode. He bit into it, then paused, his eyes widening a fraction. “Okay, this is actually… tolerable.”

“Tolerable?” you grinned. “Are you really that hard to please, or are you just trying to be difficult?”

Theo shifted again on the floor, finally conceding defeat to the uncomfortable surface. “The floor is awful,” he muttered, as if the snacks were the only thing keeping him sane at this point.

You give him a slightly sympathetic look.

The two of them sat in companionable silence for a moment, Theo stuffing pretzels into his mouth like he was trying to make up for lost time. You finally cracked a smile, glancing over at him.

“You know, for a picky snob, you’re not terrible,” you said, the teasing tone light.

Theo swallowed his pretzel, his expression serious as he looked at you. “You’re not the worst company either, y/l/n.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment he’d given you, and though it was seemingly wrapped in sarcasm, you couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll take it.”

…

The fire crackled softly in the corner, casting long shadows across the room. Theo had long since stopped pretending the floor wasn’t absolute torture to sit on. His posture was slumped, his legs stretched awkwardly in front of him as he tried to find some position that didn’t make his back ache.

You, who had long since claimed the bed and made yourself comfortable, glanced over at him. He was practically squirming, his face a mix of annoyance and defeat, and you couldn’t help but stifle a smile.

“You okay there?” you asked, your voice light but with just a hint of genuine concern.

Theo shot you a look. “Oh, I’m fantastic. Just living my best life on this luxurious floor.”

You raised an eyebrow, sitting up in bed. “You don’t look very fantastic to me.”

“Thanks for the observation,” he muttered, glancing at the bed and then back at the floor. I’m just fine,” he added with a dismissive wave.

You studied him for a moment. Despite his usual bravado, there was something about the way he was holding himself, like he couldn’t quite escape the discomfort. His jaw was tight, and his hand kept fidgeting with the edge of his shirt.

A thought crossed your mind, and for once, maybe showing some kindness to Nott wouldn’t hurt. You swung your legs off the bed and stood up, walking over to where Theo was sitting with an exaggerated sigh.

“Get up,” you said, holding out a hand.

Theo stared at it like it was some sort of foreign object. “What?”

“I’m not going to let you suffer on the floor like that. It’s ridiculous.”

Theo opened his mouth to argue but then seemed to think better of it. After a moment of hesitation, he reluctantly took your hand and let you pull him to his feet. He winced slightly as he stood, stretching his stiff legs.

Theo hesitated but eventually sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he adjusted the position of his legs. He wasn’t quite comfortable yet, but the soft mattress was a welcome change from the floor.

“I still don’t know why you’re being nice to me,” Theo mumbled, not looking at you.

“Because I’m not entirely evil,” you teased with a little laugh, sitting back down beside him.

There was a pause as Theo’s watercolor eyes flicked to you, then away. He glanced at the small couch across the room that was far less comfortable than the bed but was still an option. He wasn’t entirely ready to admit that he liked the idea of staying near you for a while…

Finally, he sighed, and, almost begrudgingly, moved further onto the bed, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged beside you.

You watched him, noting the way his usual air of self-assurance was slightly dropped. It was strange to see him like this…vulnerable, not in control. and for some reason, it made him more… approachable.

“See? This is better,” you said with a teasing grin, glancing over at him.

Theo, still half-pretending to be indifferent, couldn’t quite hide the faintest hint of a smile. “Yeah, well… I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

The tension between them softened even further. For a long moment, neither of them said anything, just listening to the crackling fire and the sound of their own breathing. Theo, surprisingly, was the first to break the silence.

“Thanks,” he murmured, almost under his breath.

You blinked, glancing at him with mild surprise. “For what?”

“For… not leaving me to sleep on the floor like some kind of peasant,” Theo said, his voice light but sincere.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re really something, you know that?”

Theo shrugged, but his smile was genuine now. “I try.”

For a moment, they just sat there, quietly, but the air between them had changed. The teasing, the banter, the barbs…they were still there, but there was something softer now, something that wasn’t just about annoyance or putting each other down.

Theo’s thoughts drifted for a moment, and he realized, in a way that made his chest tighten a little, that this wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. In fact, this moment, this strange and unexpected peace with you, was… nice.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d like to stick around a little longer.

The Morning After

The room was bathed in soft morning light, the snow outside blanketing the world in a peaceful silence. 

Theo woke slowly, his eyelids heavy, the quiet of the room wrapping around him like a comfort he didn’t expect. The fire had long since gone out, but the warmth from the bed kept the cold at bay. He shifted, and that’s when he realized.

 His arm was around you. 

Your head rested against his chest, your hair slightly tousled, hand curled loosely over his side. The weight of you, the steady rise and fall of your breathing, was surprisingly soothing.

Theo didn’t want to move. Ever. He stayed still. He could feel your warmth seeping into him, and it made something in his chest tighten in the most unexpected way. He wasn’t uncomfortable; in fact, he felt… content.

You stirred in your sleep, nuzzling closer without realizing, your fingers twitching against his chest. Your soft breath brushed against his neck, and Theo’s heart did a funny little jump. He smiled quietly to himself, the kind of smile that didn’t feel like a defense or a mask but just a simple, genuine reaction.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let his fingers gently brush against your hair, the motion instinctive, as if he’d done it a thousand times. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a promise of something soft, something unexpected.

You sighed in your sleep, face relaxing further against him, and for a moment, Theo thought he had died and gone to heaven. His arm tightened ever so slightly around your waist, as if he were holding on to something precious. something he didn’t want to let go of.

He let out a soft breath, closing his eyes again, the quiet peace wrapping around him like a warm blanket. Maybe he wasn’t as good at pretending as he thought. Maybe, just maybe, he’d found something worth holding on to.

Taglist: @lazycrazyme, @lovrsm, @minhlajenni, @rafeluvrr,

(ty for the comments and support!!)

[mimicha-arts]

LC - YINGDU EP1 SPOILERS, TW - blood, death scenes

Yeah I logged in just for LC to sum up things in my DMs with Forest (love u), mostly about dives.

Still have too many ideas about how mechanics actually work, as well as abilities transmigration, so I'll focus on differences of dives and some things from previous seasons.

Scene with Vein.

In my understanding, the opening scene already includes 2 different developments of events.

1, where CXS, after being wounded, was led by LG into the room, while Vein went to pick up the gun. We see bloody footprints, traces on the table, but that's all.

2, where Wayne is already standing at the closed door, clearly shows other events - a chair, other objects scattered on the floor, according to the blood prints, the body seemed to have been dragged + there are no prints on the tabletop.

What is also interesting is that the background is slightly different in both scenes, if you pay attention to the shelves on the left.

There is a difference in the photos too - the first version shows only a crack, the second - a broken glass.

For me, the conclusion is that already here we see 2 different timelines.

Lu Guang's injury

In the first option, although Vein shoots at the door, he misses (time ~ 23:11), Lu Guang closes the door and is not injured

So , missing scene

We don't know what happened for about an hour. In the second version (cause it has stains on the floor, overturned things), the blood on the photo already speaks of the not shown scene. I doubt that Vein simply changed his mind and left, so Lu Guang had to "deal with" him.

At this point, he himself is deeply wounded, but the most important thing is that in these shots we are shown his yellow eyes - this is already a dive in a dive, some kind of repetition of the events.

s2ep12

At the same time, this drive is different from the drive that was shown in the second season.

The blood pattern on his clothes is similar, but even if we exclude the fact that he doesn't look out of breath/in pain, there are other details.

- blood stains on his face - furnishings, of objects on the table - blood on hands (by the way, in the scene with Vein, when he raised his hands in front of him, both of his hands were covered in blood)

Lu Guang's watch

For us as viewers, the watch on his right hand is a familiar part of the design, he wears it on his right hand in both s1 and s2

So, after diving, the first thing he tries to do is check the time, and looks at his right hand.

We still don't know the origin of his watch, since he didn't wear them in almost all the flashbacks. Except for the new one, where the watch is on his left hand.

Thus, Yingdu gives us a new diving point - April 12th (in addition to the dives on September 13).

Maybe the time of this dive will correlate with the time indicated in s2 (but with which there were no associated events)

Except for the poster, the watch on Lu Guang's left hand appeared in the flashback of CXS's death in s2, which probably separates this variant of his death from the ones shown in the scene with Vein, and perhaps the difference can give us insight into the timeline's chronologies later on.

September and April

To be honest, this whole thing makes me very excited, because of the existence of the old theory about the broken time in April and September - I wrote about it in detail a year ago in that post

Emma, April-September and chronology

For me, this means that circumstances of the case, who the unknown victim was, although they have faded into the background now, will still be a key.

Pretty sure this has all been discussed, but thanks for reading. Let's all… have fun with the new season ~

[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

extra: she’s really empathetic, she’d make a great wife.

➴ chapter warnings: rumors, mentions of cheating.

➴ word count: 2.9k

💌 from me to you: and today i reached 600 followers. may or may not have cried. thank you so much. i hope you enjoy this one, and thank you anon for giving me this idea, i hope i met your expectations!

𖧷

𖧷

JACK BLINKED slowly, as if he wasn’t really sure if what he was seeing was actually real.

He sat up straight, resting his naked back against the wooden headboard, staring at the girl in front of him.

Sophia was resting against the glass door, wearing nothing but one of Jack’s old t-shirts that he doesn’t even recall putting inside his luggage, which can only mean she did it herself, something the singer’s often doing, wearing his clothes around, like she’s seeking for some kind of closeness that only he can provide.

She’s breathtaking, Jack remembers thinking. Even with no makeup on, even with puffy, tired eyes, and even with her hair slightly tangled from sleep, she’s breathtaking.

She’s not even doing anything important; she’s not singing, she’s not dancing, she’s not smiling for the thousands of cameras which are frequently shoved up her face. She’s simply existing, simply breathing, and that is enough to make Jack Hughes believe she’s the one for him.

He knows he is lucky. He knows she’s too good for him, and he knows that, one day, she’ll probably realize it, if she hasn’t already.

But, he also knows that as long as she lives, and maybe some time after that, he won’t ever love someone like he loves her. His heart won’t ever beat this fast for someone else, even if he wanted to.

Her laugh is enough to get him through his hardest days, her voice enough to bring him out of his dark thoughts. When he watches her on stage, dancing, singing, smiling and doing what she loves most, he’s certain that she’s enough to make him the happiest man alive.

So, that’s why they are where they are today. Because he can’t lose her. Not again, not ever.

He remembers feeling his heart dropping inside his chest when he read the article. "NHL Star Caught in Cheating Scandal: Sophia Montenegro and Jack Hughes Relationship in Turmoil".

Gladly, he had been one of the first to read the excruciating story. After that one incident where Sophia thought he was fucking his ex, Ava he thinks, his Google Alerts notifications for himself and Sophia are always on, and he doesn’t miss a single thing anymore.

That’s why he almost crushes his phone inside his hands when he reads the article, over and over again, memorizing the nasty, evil words plastered for everyone to see.

There’s a picture, too. A blurry, probably edited one, showing his face beside a random girl’s he doesn’t even know. His name is beside the word “cheater”, “unfaithful” and he’s being compared with that one asshole named Harris Dickinson.

He wants to kill someone.

It’s late at night, and he is away. Sophia is back in Newark at their shared apartment, and he knows she’s probably asleep by now. He won’t get home until later that night, and he’s seriously considering murdering whoever thought that coming up with this lie, now out of all times, would be a great idea.

She’s not answering her phone, as expected, and Jack Hughes wants to scream. He just had a shitty game, they lost 4-1, even after he shot the puck at the net twenty-three times alone— not even one earned him the glorious “goal honk”.

He spends the entire ride silent, because he knows his teammates have already seen the article. He can feel their eyes on him, and he can sense their pity too. Even Luke, who always chooses to stay quiet and watch from afar, is looking at him with worried, hooded eyes.

“I didn’t do it.” Jack mumbles, looking through the window and watching the dark sky above them.

“I know,” Luke hums, sounding upset. “That’s why I am worried.”

“They can’t fucking leave us alone,” Jack hisses, his frustrated tone echoing through the silent bus. “Do they have any idea what this does to Soph? Do they have any idea how fucking messed up this is?”

“She’s a tough girl,” Luke tries. “She’ll get over this.”

“What if,” Jack stops himself. No. Sophia will hear him out, she won’t shut him out like she did last time. This isn’t the first dating scandal they have to deal with, and it certainly will not be the last. “Fuck.”

“I know nothing I say will help but,” Luke sighs, then turns his head around until he’s facing his brother. “I’m here, we’re here. I love you.”

Jack blinks, nodding once. “I know. It helps.”

He arrives at their home at three forty-nine that night. He opens the door and closes it in record time, and he doesn’t even think twice before running to their bedroom, desperate to see if Sophia had run away and desperate to see if he’d find their bed empty.

He doesn’t, though. Sophia’s there, just not like he expected her to be, asleep. No. She’s sitting on top of the covers, resting her back against the headboard, eyes glued to the TV in front of her, some random show Jack didn’t even bother acknowledging playing in the back, muted.

“Baby.”

Her eyes are tired when she looks at him, and he hates it. Hates it because he knows she isn’t tired because she spent the night doing what she loves— she’s tired because she’s thinking nonstop, and she’s not well.

“Jack.”

“You’re not asleep.” He stated, standing in front of her, looking for something he wasn’t really sure of in her face. He didn’t find it.

She smiles, tiredly, tilting her head to the side. “Had this bad feeling on my chest, like something I didn’t even know what was about to blow up in my face.”

“I didn’t do it,” he blurts out. He’s panting and he knows he probably looks awful, but he doesn’t care. “Soph, listen to me. I didn’t d—”

“I know,” she softened her tone, patting the seat beside her, on Jack’s side of the bed. He immediately complies, sitting beside the woman he’d buy the moon for if she asked to. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I know your heart, Jack.”

“Soph…”

“I know you,” she gulps, looking at something on his face, as she raises her hand and rests it against his chest. “I know you’re not him.”

“I fucking love you, Soph,” he says, and he can’t believe he’s on the verge of tears. Jack Hughes, the sassy, though player, is on the verge of crying because he can’t stomach the thought of losing his girlfriend. “I’d give you my life if you asked me to. You know that.”

“I don’t want you to,” she smiles, softly, her eyes filled with tears too. “Where’s the fun in that? I want you by my side, every day. I want people to write your name on my biography when I die, and I want people to know that you’re it for me.”

“I’m going to kill whoever wrote that,” he promises. “I know I can find them, and I know I can make them pay for what they did, I just know that,” he’s seeing red, and he’s ready to punch someone in the face when Sophia kisses him, sweet, honeyed lips touching each other.

“Let’s make the most out of this,” she whispers. “This time, let’s just see the glass half full.”

Making the most out of that awful situation turned out to be spending a week at Calilo, a private, five star hotel in Ios, a Greek island.

The room they chose had a private pool, and a private entrance to the beach, which they were in love with. Sophia cried when they opened the hotel’s room door because of course she did, and Jack took a picture of her there to send to the family group chat, before turning his wifi off, something he promised he’d do once they arrived at their destination.

For seven days, one hundred and sixty-eight hours, ten thousand and eight minutes, six hundred four thousand, eight hundred seconds, they weren’t going to be the famous singer and Hockey player, Sophia Montenegro and Jack Hughes.

No. They’d be Sophia and Jack, a normal couple living a normal life.

“We could be royalty, king and queen of nowhere,” Sophia sings, voice smooth and quiet, yet enough to make Jack want to jump out of bed and kiss her senseless. “Lose it all, everything. As long as we got you and I, you and me, they can tear this whole house down. All we have is love.”

“Did I die and go to Heaven?” Jack mumbles, and smiles as Sophia turns around and faces him. He barely tries to hide the way he scans her body with hungry eyes, lingering over the outline of her boobs for longer than he probably should.

“Some people do say I’m an angel,” she blinks innocently, and walks towards the bed, sitting on Jack’s lap, gracefully putting her legs on each side of Jack’s body. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a girl who just got knocked up.” He smirks, and Sophia laughs, throwing her head back as Jack holds her in place with his hands on her waist, carefully arranging her on top of him.

“We’ll have to work on this newly developed kink of yours…” she winks.

“Like it isn’t your fault,” he rolls his eyes, playfully, staring at the outline of her panties sitting right on top of his own boxers. “Making a song about wanting to get knocked up. Singing said song in front of thousands of people. Asking me to fuck you in unthinkable positions just so you could do them on stage.”

“I mean…” she smirks. “I gotta keep my fans interested, right? And what are boyfriends for if not for helping their girlfriends out?”

“You’re unreal, Sophia Montenegro,” Jack says, leaning forward and kissing the singer fervently. She tastes sweet, she tastes like his favorite person in the world.

But maybe that’s just because that’s what she is.

𖧷

SOPHIA HAD already forgotten how good it was to live a normal life.

She loves her fans, she really does. She also loves to sing, and she loves to be this huge pop star people say she is, but also loves to be human. She loves to walk around without thousands of people taking pictures of her and analyzing everything she does. She loves to eat a silent dinner by herself or with her friends and family and not have several cameras in her face.

When Jack suggested, after that terrible article, that they should travel somewhere quiet and safe, she thought he was just kidding. It was June, he was technically off his NHL player duties, and she did have some time before she had to headline festivals and make appearances in TV shows so it made sense for them to take some time for themselves, but they had never done that before— why, she doesn’t know, but now she realizes how dumb they had both been.

Ios was a small island, and the few people who were there didn’t know who they were. They walked around with their hands together without anyone batting an eye at them, and even when they asked for people to take pictures of them together, no one hit them with the usual “oh my God, are you that one singer and that one player?”

People treated them normally, and she couldn’t be happier. The past few weeks had been like hell, living on the edge and worrying that something would break them apart, but now?

Now, they were walking together after eating Chicken Gyros and Bubble Waffles with chocolate ice cream (“That’s too sweet, baby, it’s disgusting.”, “You’re disgusting, Rowdy.”), making their way to the private beach in front of their bedroom, which Sophia promptly said it belonged to them from now on.

She spent the entire walk singing, because Jack had asked her to. The lyrics of I Have A Dream slipped out of her mouth like syrup, each sentence sweeter than the previous one. Jack, who has been holding her hand and watching her the entire time, smiled and felt his hands getting sweaty.

“I have a dream, a song to sing. To help me cope with anything, if you see the wonder of a fairy tale, you can take the future even if you fail. I believe in angels.”

She loved this song, it had been one of the many who inspired her to be a singer. And to get to sing it in Greece, while holding hands with the person she’s sure to be the love of her life?

She won.

Her white sundress contrasted perfectly with the sunset in the background, and when she and Jack decided that they wanted to sit by the sea, the sun was already saying its last words.

“It’s beautiful.” She sighs, content.

“It is, yeah,” Jack answers, but when she turns around, he’s not looking at the view, he’s looking at her.

She laughs, smacking his chest. “Did you just call me ‘it’?”

“I don’t know, man, I heard the word beautiful and thought we were talking about you.” He cheesily answers, and she rolls her eyes at him.

“You’re actually so annoying,” Sophia chuckles, moving the sand around with her feet. “I don’t know how I’ve been handling your ass for almost five years.”

Jack stays silent for a while, something that isn’t like him at all, but Sophia doesn’t ask anything. He’s been like that since that one article, and even though she can tell it still bothers him, she promised him she wouldn’t ask any more questions.

It was upsetting, to say the least, to know that people were constantly praying for their downfall. At least once every two months they would come up with a new genius idea of how they weren’t together anymore, and how they hated each other, and how Jack was a freaking cheater and how Sophia was a homewrecker.

She understands that they may not look like the perfect match— who would’ve thought? The bratty, Mr. I-hate-media-attention dating the singer whose name is practically in every headline and whose face is in almost every magazine cover, not to mention her songs always doing numbers in the charts.

But they are happy.

So, so happy.

“I don’t think I want to leave,” Sophia whispers, listening to the sounds of the waves in front of them. Her head is resting on Jack’s shoulder, and he has his left hand wrapped around her thigh. “Like, ever.”

Jack hums. “Not even to make concerts?”

“Well. Maybe,” she sounds childish and Jack smiles. “I wish I could have all of that with all of this. You know what I mean? This peace, their love. Is it weird?”

“Not really, baby. A bit confusing, though.” He kisses her temple, and she chuckles.

“I’ve been in the spotlight for half of my life. Ever since I’ve decided that I wanted to be famous, I’ve been watched like some kind of wild animal,” she whispers, voice filled with emotion. “I love what I do. But… I also love who I am when I’m not performing. When I’m not Sophia Montenegro. I like it when I’m just… yours, for example.”

“Soph—”

“I’m sorry if it sounds confusing…” she pouts, and Jack smirks.

“Do you like being mine?” He asks, and she rolls her eyes at him, annoyed by the obvious question.

“You already know the answer to that,” she says. “Of course I do.”

“Would you like to be mine for the rest of our lives?” He lowers his voice, and Sophia furrows her eyebrows, lifting her head up and staring at the man sitting beside her.

“I mean I would but…” she watches his face. He looks beautiful, she thinks. His eyes match the sea. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I want to know if you’d say yes.” He simply says. Sophia notices he’s shaking, though.

“If I’d say yes to what?” She answers, but she can feel her heart racing inside her chest already.

“To be my wife,” he finally says, pulling a black, velvet box out of his jeans pocket, and opening at the same time her first tears start to roll down her cheeks. “I also love who you are when you’re not performing, but I love it even more when you’re just mine. So, please, Soph, tell me—”

“Jack—” she gasps, putting her hand in front of her mouth.

“Will you marry me? Will you make me the happiest man alive and let me make you my wife?” He asks, blue eyes full of expectations and hope.

Sophia laughs wetly before throwing herself in front of her boyfriend— fiancé—, kissing him messily, just because she can. And because she wants him to feel the turmoil going on inside her, and what he did to her.

How he found her, a garden with no flowers— and then he bought the seeds, planted and watered them, and how he’s now watching them grow and bloom. How he delicately took care of each one of them, and how he’d kiss them gently before going away.

“This could go very wrong,” she says, voice trembling as Jack puts the ring, a very fancy one she notices, on her finger. “You could get tired of me. And you could realize I’m not that cool—”

“Soph, forget it,” Jack laughs. “I’m not letting you go anytime soon. So either you start getting used to being called Sophia Montenegro Hughes now or you’ll have a very hard time.”

“I fucking love you.” She sobs, rolling her wet eyes at him.

“Always so romantic, my postar,” he kisses her cheeks, wiping her tears with his lips. “I happen to fucking love you too.”

𖧷

sophiamontenegro

Ios, Greece

liked by morgan.grace, tyla, elblue6 and 3,902,012 others

sophiamontenegro that feeling when you’re sooo empathetic he had no other option but to make you his wife 💌 that’s that me engaged i guess

View all 9,103 comments

user1 SOPHIA I FUCKING LOVE YOU

user2 HARD LAUNCHING YOUR ENGAGEMENT WHEN PEOPLE SPEND THE ENTIRE MONTH TALKING ABOUT YOUR “BREAK UP” WHAT A QUEEN

trevorzegras That feeling when you have knee surgery tomorrow :/

sophiamontenegro trevorzegras 👍🏻

morgan.grace YOU BETTER CALL ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW SOPHIA WHAT THE HELL

sophiamontenegro morgan.grace on it baby 🫡

user3 THE CAPTION

user4 ngl i thought they wouldn’t last a week but look at them 4 years later getting married

user5 soph you better live stream your wedding pls

jackhughes 😈

user6 we survived another “jack and sophia broke up” moment let’s GOOOOO

user7 album when

𖧷

jackhughes

liked by lhughes_06, njdevils, curtislazar95 and 293,928 others

jackhughes

View all 2,892 comments

lhughes_06 👍🏻

user0 lhughes_06 average hughes brothers reaction

user1 It’s okay Jack we know how overwhelming choosing a caption talking about your engagement with the world’s most famous pop singer can be…

user2 THE SCREENSHOT LMFAO HE DID SOPH DIRTY

sophiamontenegro delete that or i’m asking for a divorce

jackhughes sophiamontenegro we’re not even married yet ?

nicohischier Congrats Jack and Soph ❤️

_quinnhughes congrats!! love ya

elblue6 🥹

subbanator HELL YEAAAAH

trevorzegras Can’t wait until the priest says speak now or forever hold your peace and I get up 😌

jackhughes trevorzegras you’re not even invited

trevorzegras jackhughes 🙁

user3 didn’t know yall were locked in like that

user4 my sister just started screaming and crying 😂

user5 Mama and Papa 💜

user6 THE CONTACT NAME NOOOO

[adventures-in-mangaland]

Dead Boy Detectives Fic Recs: Christmas Edition

I've been racing to meet my GoodReads reading goal (lol) so I haven't actually read that many festive fics. �� Still, I can't stay away from this fandom, so here are a few recs. Please send me suggestions so I can catch up!

You Were The Heart Of It by dear_monday

A magic spell keeps manufacturing wintery romantic situations for the boys. Great use of holiday romance tropes and love confessions. Plus Edwin being awkward.

I also loved the last chapter of their and two_ravens' wonderful fic Wunderkammer, read it for New Years feels and an appearance by the Mari Lwyd, a Welsh Christmas folk tradition.

Ghost Wine and Keepsakes by Asidian

The boys get a bit squiffy and Charles tracks down a family heirloom for Edwin. Peak gift giving fic, really touching.

The Case of the Enchanted Mistletoe by Asidian

First kiss via forced proximity and a magic mistletoe infestation. Alas, the mistletoe can only be removed via kissing and there's rather a lot of it to get through... Very cute.

The Great Sock Garter Debacle of '24 by Asidian

In which Edwin misinterprets a Christmas gift, leading to kissing and angst with a happy ending. Interesting exploration of cultural differences with a devastating side trip into Charles' canon (self-esteem gift-related) childhood trauma.

All is bright by ghostinthelibrary

Missing scene from the fantastic fic Came up from that lake of fire. Alive again over Christmas, Edwin and Charles both try to recreate each other's Christmas childhood traditions. Kitchen mishaps ensue. Wholesome.

I also really enjoyed beneath the winter snow by the same author, which is a lovely early friendship fic about the boys playing in the snow. Spot on characterisation and early-years lore.

The Christmas Wish Debacle of '23 by Leandra

Charles accidentally wishes himself and Edwin alive again via a magical Christmas decoration. Cue the boys rushing to pack in all the alive-again culture shocks and Christmas/holiday romance tropes they can before the spell wears off. Lovely post canon fic with a fun concept and lots of pining.

above all I want you to be warm by shadowquill17

Alive AU about the boys making out and exchanging Christmas gifts. This is technically part of a series about the boys going to St Hilarion's together and being boyfriends, though it can be read as a standalone. I love how enamoured they are with each other and the gift exchange is lovely.

he's perfect enough without ever dressing up by thegirlofthorns

Christmas jumper fic! Charles attempts to teach Edwin about important Christmas traditions, like hideous jumpers and reindeer. Very cute.

my snowman and me by sunnylemonss

The boys playing in the snow with some Outsider PoV from the perspective of the neighbours. Very cute and I loved the neighbour lore.

Their fic (there's no place like) home for the holidays also sounds intriguing. It's an established relationship fic and Modern/Alive AU about the boys as young adults spending Christmas with Charles' mum after his dad's death. Sounds good!

burning bright by williamvapespeare

An interesting look at the boys' very different attitudes to Christmas with a focus on lights. Really sweet.

Mistletoe by softestpunk

Short and sweet one shot about the Night Nurse and Kashi meeting again at Hob and Dream's Christmas party. Via MISTLETOE. I'm always happy to see more of Kashi and the Night Nurse getting all flustered was adorable. I ship it.

@ghostinthelibrarywrites @softest-punk @sunnylemonss @tumblerislovetumblerislife @guardianspirits13 @shazziez @whatthehorsedoicallthisblog @shadowquill17 @neurodivergent-fangirling @many-gay-magpies @extremely-eager-reader @atariakana @colourmornings @herebehunters @avoiceofnerat @littlepocketuniverse @overlord-of-chaos @fairandfatalasfair @every-moment-a-different-sound @dear-monday @tw0-ravens @bibliomancer7 @c-rowland @nuttersinc @a-pale-jewel @nobledragonflying @sameen-shawv @tessaaaaa @williamvapespeare

[sandraharissa]

s2 intro was so fire. and I thought like s1 it showed/hinted at the things that would happen during this season. but most stuff didn't happen or it didn't live up to the imagery used in the intro

Vi smudging the VI tattoo. it implies that she would struggle with her identity and the name connected with it and the legacy connected with it, like Jinx did in s1. maybe this could even be her going so far as to reject the name itself, like denying that she's The Vi to keep a low profile. like how Jinx would insist that she's not Powder in s1. but none of that ever happened. Vi never struggles with 'being Vi' or what it means to her or with being Vander's prodigy even tho he's brought back from the dead.

this shot implying that this was gonna be a story about the sisters, but also that Jinx is Vi's burden or her shadow or a demon on her shoulder. but to explore Vi's feelings on her sister and what she's become they'd have to try to explore Vi at all

this shot which implies to me 'Jinx being Jinx' cos it's a callback to when she does the finger gun in s1, but even more so to when she does it as a kid in the Enemy MV. in the scene she, when she still went by Powder, aims a finger gun at enforcers and as she pretend fires at them it flashes to Jinx standing there. so a 'Jinx was always Jinx' message. but it also alludes to her having a target like the firelight in s1 or the enforcers in the MV, who she always hated.

the two times we see Ekko he reverses time, which ig he technically does but the meat of his story is him going to a parallel universe, not going back in time. idk ig I thought that time travel would be more relevant to Ekko's story than parallel universe travel. in the end time travel is only meaningfully used for the timebomb angst scene even tho it's not really necessary there. ig I thought the powers would be more relevant to Ekko's whole character and arc. in an Ekko lol short he reverses time to defeat the bad guy and when he finally succeeds it's at the cost of the destruction of the mural for dead kids, and so he goes back in time again. that's more meaningful than anything they did with firelights in s2 (and arguably more meaningful than the timebomb scene). why did they drop the sick tree plotline? the firelights? his past with Jinx? his involvement in the revolution? the past vs present and saving the things we love? I swear they were teasing me with an epic time travel episode but delivered a parallel universe (derogatory) episode.

this type of shots made me think that Cait would actually struggle internally to an extreme degree with her actions and how the power corrupts her etc. that she'd become horrified of what she's become. and how she'd hate and struggle with maintaining her appearances to the public.

the first shot made it seem like, just like Cait, Jayce would struggle with public attention and maybe scrutiny, considering he was the head of the council in s1. but then the first thing he does this season is resign and that's that for him being a public persona and struggling with his reputation even tho s1 and his lol lore focus on that. like that stuff's so juicy don't get rid of that.

the second shot hints to me at him discovering smth grand/important connected to the arcane, which ig kinda happened but what it ended up being is that Jayce got transported to a bad universe and learned that arcane bad. meanwhile this shot evokes to me smth more awe-inspiring, idk like smth mystical and magical, arcane, you could say. with white bright light often being used in media to communicate divinity. wild runes mumbo jumbo and Jayce being transported to a bad arcane universe seem so pedestrian compared to like, heavenly lights ig.

both concepts for Jayce's story that were introduced in the intro and the eps delivered on neither.

I don't remember the french revolution ending with the ppl teaming up with the royalty. I also don't get the impression that there are any french revolution stories out there with the hero thinking the revolution is an irritating nuisance. this parallel is so extremely unwarranted and borderline offensive.

Viktor did turn out to be evil and he did get a cult as this shot implied but the mask obvs references his lol mech suit that he never gets. there was no reason for him to be designed the way he was, as an arcane deity with specifically a mask, outside of for the purpose of having the faintest similarity to his lol design. the mask, the cult, all that third arm imagery in s1? it all references his lol lore, for nothing, cos they took his character in a drastically different direction. talk about blue balls. and same thing with the light as with Jayce, the light coming from the mask implies Revelations connected to the mask but also loss of identity/being consumed by it. maybe a glorious evolution? idk it again just feels like someone knew what the fans wanted but it wasn't the writers. but someone still put all this in the intro. teasing a better story that we'll never get to see.

there's also all the Black Rose imagery that seemed important even tho they weren't in the end. it being connected to Mel (politician) and Ambessa (politician/warrior) made me think that they would focus on the Black Rose being a political organization that wants smth connected to Piltover and the PnZ conflict, with all the imagery of holding the rose/squishing the rose/being the rose/picking up the rose alluding to the political scheming between Ambessa/Mel/the Black Rose. but they went the route of out of nowhere making Mel magic. imagine if in a random ep of s1 they made Silco magic.

why? why why why why why?

the intro did more for all the character arcs than the episodes themselves

[dedeinthewild]

paul aron x reader, no labels

- “I’m carrying my body weight in presents, so shut it"

The magic of Christmas was something special—something that could mend relationships, make adults feel like children again, and bring together those who had drifted apart.

Colorful ornaments adorned towering Christmas trees, hiding the gifts underneath just a little. And if Christmas was spent with family, it became even more beautiful.

The girl Paul was closest to had caught the last flight to Tallinn before heavy snow temporarily slowed down the flow of passengers at the Estonian airport. She had settled into the beautiful villa where the boys lived. She loved Christmas, the preparations that came with it, the wonderful smiles of children, and all the little things that brought her joy.

She was the kind of person who was content with very little, always smiling beneath the glasses she wore to avoid straining her eyes—the same eyes Paul never got tired of looking into.

They hated putting labels on themselves or talking about their relationship. Between them, everything was so simple that trying to define it felt like an unnecessary complication for something so pure and clean. They had met by chance and continued to see each other between video calls, with the occasional late-night message when one of them had fallen asleep and the other needed to talk.

And so, an extra place was added at the table that year. Despite her mind telling her to spend the holidays with her family, as she always had, her heart needed to enter that home and experience something new. Everything was new for her there, except for a few people who had grown accustomed to discovering new parts of her—and adoring every one of them.

Perhaps some would call it a bold move to invite her to something as important as Christmas with the family, but as everyone thought, there was nothing more transparent than the affection she had for the Estonian driver, his family, and their traditions—not to mention the huge smile that lit up her face when she saw the children. They were so blonde they looked like a little team of angels.

“I really, really want to help,” said the girl as she sliced bread on a wooden cutting board, ready to set it on the table. Margit, who wanted her to enjoy the evening without lifting a finger, tried to dissuade her.

“If I were you, I’d let her,” Paul chimed in, stealing a breadstick from the container as he walked behind the women of the house and Ralf, who was checking whether the evening’s first dish was cooking properly.

She turned, giving him an amused look, her hair tied back in a messy bun with strands of her bangs slipping loose onto her forehead.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the Estonian said, crossing his arms and leaning his lower back against the kitchen counter.

“I’m not violent or anything, I swear,” she said, raising her hands in mock innocence toward the driver’s mother, who responded with a sweet, elegant laugh.

“I have something to say about that,” Paul teased.

“Have you decided you’re a pain in the ass?” Anna shot back, trying to chase her brother out of the kitchen by pushing and holding him by the arm.

“Everybody hates me. I’m done,” he declared, stealing another breadstick behind his back as he disappeared through the door to lift one of his nephews into the air. The child had been loudly calling for Uncle Paul.

The atmosphere was beautiful. From the kitchen island, Margit, Anna, and the family’s new addition could see the entire living room, where an explosion of joy brought color to an otherwise minimalist home.

All the children were seated around the tree, with one of the more distant uncles dressed as Santa Claus telling stories, while the Aron cousins worked on drawings that the kids would later sign.

Ralf had connected his phone to one of the speakers scattered throughout the house and started playing a Christmas playlist, making the girl wrinkle her nose.

But the best part was sitting down to eat together. The children sat at their own table, engrossed in a conversation about the latest cartoon to watch, while the adults discussed various topics.

One of the evening’s focal points was the girl herself. Sitting next to Paul, she answered an endless stream of questions from everyone. She was having fun, watching how Paul’s grandmother got emotional at every one of her answers while gently stroking her husband’s hand with her thumb.

“You’d make a perfect couple,” the elderly woman blurted out, pushing her glasses up her nose to get a better look at them. Both smiled, a hint of shyness softening their carefree expressions.

Paul passed her the dishes, asked if she’d like something to drink, and, when speaking with relatives in Estonian, would place a hand on her shoulder and whisper a translation before resting his chin on her head.

At Christmas, Paul changed a little. Amid the noisy table, he withdrew into himself, speaking only when spoken to, his gaze often fixed on the children’s table where they played. But that year, she had managed to make him an integral part of the group, encouraging him to open up and join the conversations with that radiant smile of hers.

“How are you feeling?” he asked while Anna had already whisked away the dishes to prepare for one of their family’s beloved traditions.

“Good,” she replied with a smile, looking into his eyes.

He ran one of his large hands through her hair, letting it slide to her shoulders, and smiled back. The way she looked at him—it was what anyone would call “the look of love.”

After a few rounds of the family game, everyone got up and moved to the large living room, ready to open the first gifts with the children, all of them returning to a childlike state themselves.

The girl had ended up in an armchair near the tree, with one of Paul’s older brother’s sons on her lap, giving her a perfect view of the whole group.

The girls tore through wrapping paper, revealing dolls and dresses with tulle, smothering their relatives in kisses and tying ribbons around their wrists, pretending they were at a ball.

On the other side, the boys, more focused on messing with Paul and Ralf’s hair, patiently awaited their turn to do the same, while the boys’ father tried to figure out where Margit had hidden the gifts.

“Go and set the table for Santa,” Margit said with a smile, gesturing for the kids to grab the milk and cookies from the kitchen island.

“Come with us!” A dozen excited, slightly sleepy children grabbed the girl’s hands, making her wrinkle her nose in amusement as they led her to the kitchen island, where the older kids grabbed the bowls.

Paul, sitting on the couch with Anna resting her head on his chest, watched her from a distance.

Just as he always did.

He observed the way she moved, telling stories to the children, lifting them up to set the table where they couldn’t reach, giving them high-fives that made their tiny hands disappear in hers.

She was full of nostalgia—that was something he had learned.

And seeing her like this made him so happy that he couldn’t even express it, warmth spreading through his chest and his lips curving into a soft smile.

“Why do I feel like if I ever brought a girl home, you wouldn’t love her as much as you love her?” joked Ralf, placing his hands on their mother’s shoulders.

“We love everyone the same,” she said, stroking one of her son’s hands.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you enjoy someone’s company as much as hers,” Ralf continued.

“She’s a good girl, she is,” nodded the father of the Arons, making them smile as she returned to the room with a child in her arms and the others following behind.

She looked at everyone, letting them know the table was ready for Santa Claus, and then softly rubbed the back of one of Paul’s little cousins, who was just moments away from falling asleep.

The mothers took their children to bed, changing them into pajamas with little reindeer on them and making sure they were sound asleep before returning.

“Who’s in charge of Santa tonight?” asked Anna, stretching her arms as she got up from the couch.

“Paul,” said Margit, patting his shoulder as he stood.

“Yes!” whispered the Estonian.

Christmas Eve was the one night, besides the kids, where he had no desire to sleep at all, and staying up late to put Santa’s presents under the tree and do something special made him genuinely happy.

“Goodnight then, and Merry Christmas,” said the middle Aron sibling, giving everyone a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re staying up with me, you know,” Paul said to the girl as he approached her, a grin on his face, arms crossed as he looked down from his height of six feet.

“Why did I already know that?” she laughed, tying her hair back again as the rest headed to their respective bedrooms, leaving only Alpine’s reserve driver to follow her into her room.

They changed into pajamas and crawled under the covers, finally bringing out the gifts they had hidden in plain sight.

In the chaos of earlier gift-giving, no one had noticed that the two of them hadn’t exchanged anything, so now they found themselves doing so in the intimacy of her dimly lit room.

“Do we open them now or later?”

“We’ve got hours before we have to set the gifts, so now works,” Paul shrugged, trying to hide how excited he was to give her his present. He couldn’t bear to wait any longer.

The driver handed her the box he held in his hands, scratching the back of his neck with the other as he watched her begin to unwrap it.

Behind him, one of the house’s large windows opened onto the illuminated porch and gave a small glimpse of the darkness that usually gave way to the forest.

The Christmas lights, a warm white, framed the window and cast a soft glow inside the room, highlighting her silhouette.

He, too, was opening his gift, wearing a loose white shirt with the Grinch on it, his curls lightly tickling his forehead as he pressed his lips together and carefully untied the bow.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she said.

“I thought we were well past that kind of politeness.”

“Oh, I hate you,” she laughed, adjusting her glasses on her face.

And then she saw it. A certificate.

“I can’t read anything,” she said, turning her back to him to catch the light from the lamp on his side of the bed.

Paul took the opportunity to wrap his hands around her waist, pulling her to sit between his legs.

“The star with the following coordinates was renamed on 12/08 by Paul with the name ____.”

She read the inscription beneath the photo of a stunning star against a deep blue background, running her fingers over the thick paper of the certificate.

He had named a star after her.

And that was the most beautiful gift, the most heartfelt declaration anyone could have given her.

“I knew you’d make me cry,” she said, turning to face him.

“Don’t, or Santa won’t stop by,” he teased, wiping her eyes with his thumbs before pressing a playful kiss to her nose.

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close to her chest as though he weren’t twice her size.

And he loved it when she hugged him like that, making him feel so warm and protected—something no one but his family had ever managed to do.

Maybe that’s exactly why she was there that night, celebrating with them, closer to him than people he’d known since he was a child.

“And, by the way, your gifts are beautiful too,” he said, running his hands gently along her spine.

They talked about presents again hours later, lying on the mattress and chatting about anything and everything, just like they always did, trying not to laugh too loudly at the silly memes on their phones.

Their hair sprawled across the pillows, the blankets keeping them warm, the scent of the room was one they both associated with rest days, holidays, and happiness.

It was that soft, cozy smell—a mix of fabric softener, love, affection, and genuine feelings.

Whenever a video was especially funny, he’d wrap his arms around her, trapping her between his biceps to muffle her laughter while trying not to burst out laughing himself.

And before they knew it, the hour of Santa Claus arrived. While he scoured the house for the gifts his mom had hidden somewhere, muttering in Estonian, she grabbed some powdered sugar and made boot prints on the parquet floor.

“There’s one for you and me, too,” said the Estonian, balancing five or six boxes stacked in his arms as he walked without looking where he stepped.

“Watch your feet, idiot,” she laughed, fixing one of the Santa footprints he’d accidentally smudged.

“I’m carrying my body weight in presents, so shut it,” he replied, starting to arrange the gifts neatly under the glowing tree so the kids could easily find them in the morning before breakfast.

“Footsteps done.”

“Santa has to eat the cookies.”

“There’s a ton of them!” she complained.

“You should’ve taught the kids better,” he shrugged, stacking the gifts carefully.

A little while later, Paul joined her at the kitchen counter, biting into the carrot meant for the reindeer.

“Oh, I forgot you’re the healthy one.”

“As if you don’t like the fit version of me.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Ah! Got you. You said yes,” Paul grinned, winking as he washed down the carrot with some milk.

“Shut up, you’ll wake the kids!” she laughed, smacking his chest as she nibbled on a cookie.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured.

And after finishing the feast the kids had prepared for Santa, they walked past the Christmas tree, smiles on their faces and exhaustion finally setting in.

“You’re ruining all the footsteps,” she scolded, noticing that with every step, the driver’s foot came dangerously close to her creations.

He looked down, realizing how close he was, and in his attempt to avoid them, he lost his balance.

But she was there, placing her hands on his hips and helping steady him, even as she herself wobbled uncertainly.

And they laughed.

They laughed.

They laughed.

With powdered sugar on the floor, the taste of cookies still on their lips, and Christmas officially arrived, he cupped her face in his hands, brushing her cheeks gently.

And in the window, they were now reflected too.

Looking at each other with the eyes of love, as the lights illuminated them.

And outside, snow had begun to fall.

~ been working on this one for a few days and if I might say so, it's really worth it. I'm kinda feeding myself my paul obsession, but hey, I didn't find him under my tree so I might as well gift him to you💫

[the-owl-tree]

Is there a cat who you think had an unjustified death that you’d redo to be more satisfying or just undo the death entirely?

Sandstorm and Leafpool's deaths are the first and worst offenders that come to mind. Bumble is an obvious one, but I'll let Bumble's Official Representative tell you about how awful her death is.

Sandstorm dies by an infected wound, unremarkably with only her grandson around so that her death can motivate him and solely him. This was done A) so that they could pad out the SkyClan/Kin twist for the readers who hadn't read Firestar's Quest or any of the SkyClan books and B) in Kate's words to "thin the crowd":

And like, I get it, thin the crowd, ThunderClan is huge...but that's an arc one major character, that's Sandstorm. This is a book, a narrative, and Sandstorm essentially dying just so her lame ass grandson can get some short-lived inspiration is a bad ending to this character's story. It's just disrespectful to such a major character and it shows how little the authors think of their female cast, even one as prominent and important as Sandstorm. It was done solely for Alderheart's arc and it's honestly not even satisfying in that regard. It's bad writing.

Mind you, the Kin twist doesn't even last that long, any reader can smell BS a mile away. There's no reason Sandstorm couldn't have gone out fighting, pretending she was playing along before revealing the truth. Bad writing all around, disrespectful to the character and her legacy, just shows off how disposable the female cast is to the authors if it means giving their male protags a temporary arc boost.

Leafpool dies in Squirrelflight's Hope, a book in which you think will center the sisters in the narrative, as that's what the prologue sets up, but is actually about Squirrelflight and Bramblestar's awful relationship drama. She dies in a rockfall trying to save Moonlight, gets sent to StarClan where she is berated and yelled at and nearly sent to the Dark Forest before accepting her death. Afterwards, her children take shots at her once she's dead, awesome.

Like there's bleach in the wound when it comes to Leafpool's death. She is not killed in a mainline series, she's killed in someone else's super edition in which she is not even the focal part of the plot! Her own death is not even about her, it is a quick berating of Leafpool before it turns to Squirrelflight (and mind you, Squirrelflight's trial also sucks, it's bad the narrative seems to think she's done something wrong, but there's a big difference between how the two are treated). At her own funeral, Jayfeather takes a snipe at her for, uh, lying to protect him and blames Hollyleaf's death on her:

what does this mean?? what are you talking about??? she tried to kill leafpool over the lie, she died protecting ivypool????

And then!! That's not even the end of it!! Crowfeather, the cat who abused his son to the point it drove him to train in cat hell, blamed it on Nightcloud, took continuous shots at Leafpool purely to hurt her, and more not only gets an entire super edition in which everyone, including his dead mommy and his dead crush, comes down to teach him how to be nicies, the narrative rewards this development with deputyship. He is a light in the mist, he reconciles with his son, and he now continues to torment me with his continued relevance in the current arc (do not @ me i know and it hurts).

Onestar, a character with far more autonomy in what he had done, a leader with a law that essentially allowed him to be a dictator with no resistance just, uh, has to think really hard on his life for his trial. He just reflects on his life and Tallstar, idk after fucking off for five minutes is like "oh yeah you feel good now about what you did? yeah okay come on in bro :)"

The books are so painfully uninterested in Leafpool beyond reminding the reader of how awful they think giving her children a safe life was. She dies in a book that's not about her, given a trial when does who have done more get less, and her ex, her counterpart in a sense, is consistently given an insane amount of favoritism in how he's constantly offered chances to be angry, be forgiven, reconcile, and more. There is a massive difference in the autonomy (in-universe) that Leafpool is given versus her sister or Crowfeather or Brambleclaw.

There's probably more that I could find, Warriors looooves anticlimactic fridgings for its female cast, but these two came to my mind first. Character death in a series like this is good, but the authors are so...boring, offensively so, in how little they want to do cool and meaningful deaths with some of their long-lasting and impactful characters. Leafpool drives multiple arcs, she is the center of them, and yet they are so painfully uninterested in her. Sandstorm has been there since book one, she is a legacy character. Graystripe dies at the claws of the big bad in TBC, Ravenpaw is given an entire book about his passing, Dustpelt dies protecting his Clan in Bramblestorm's Storm. Sandstorm dies of an infection, to thin the cast (ineffectively) and give her grandson temporary angst.

[genderqueerdykes]

Just a rant about some things I have been seeing for a while now on some videos.

Basically the videos I'm referring to usually have something to with LGBTQ+ (Mostly TQ+) and then when I go to the comments I see something like this,

'I'm a gay/bi/lesbian and I don't really care about the TQ+ side and because of (random thing that really isn't an issue like pronouns) this is why the LGB is divorcing the TQ+ side day by day."

It really just annoys me how people can be acting like this to their own community. They make it sound as the TQ+ is the 'louder minority' as so they put it they are less normal than them the other people that a part of this community.

It really just annoys me, with the way they say 'The LGB side should divorce the TQ+ side because they're weird and making us look even stranger than we already are!' Like buddy, I have actually seen those stuff twice, one when I was a homophobe and the second one when I realized I was multigender and cupiromantic/demisexual.

And let me honest, my first reaction to those comments the first time were literally, 'Oh hush, you all still weird as fuck with or without the TQ+". Because seriously, no bigot sees any difference between the casual gay person and trans person. All still abominations in their eyes, talking from my point of view before I stopped being homophobic.

Plus, they are all meant to correlate?? Like you can be trans masc and be gay. You can be a nonbinary lesbian. So people who say the stuff genuinely confused me as I myself is a gay multigender who also so happens to be trans.

It really just hurts how some people don't understand we need to stick together.

yeah i've literally never understood this logic either ??? thanks for coming to point that out, i've been thinking about this a lot lately. like when i see "lgb without the t" my brain just goes ??? because it just makes literally no sense

like why on earth do some people think the queer community "belongs" to cis perisex lesbians, gays and (sometimes, not always) biexuals, and that they're just "lending space" to trans people, intersex people, other queer people, questioning people and so on. i've literallly never understood the logic that cis perisex gays, lesbians and bisexuals are the "real" community, and then everyone else is toxic weirdos trying to "invade" their community. where did they get this from, because it's not historically accurate at all

it's disturbing that this is about controlling the queer community to folks who say "lgb witout the t(q+)". nobody should be in control of the community. we all share it together. equally

trans people have been fighting for queer rights alongside cis queers since the beginning. genderqueer, gnc, genderfluid, agender, multigender and intersex queers have been standing right beside cis queers at marches and rallies. trans people have been writing about homophobia, lesbophobia, biphobia and intersexism alongside the cis queers in modern queer history. why do people think they need to erase that? why would you erase progress for the sake of being petty??

its wild as hell that people genuinely think like this, i agree, it's one of the most unhinged takes i've seen in the longest time. like imagine if us trannies said "gbtqi+ without the L" literally all hell would break loose. tumblr's servers would crash from the monstrous level of backlash people would be facing. you'd be shot dead in the water. but for some reason, it's perfectly okay when you slice off a huge, very important chunk of the community because some people are uncomfy with not being able to tell what genitals a stranger has. it's so petty

i hope people who think this way get past it soon. it's dumb. like you said, queerphobes see us all as gross nasty freaks. it doesn't matter what you identify as. the thing nobody fails to realize:

the queerphobe can't tell what you actually identify as.

let that sink in.

they are guessing. they can't read your mind. even if your pin says "I'm a genderfluid trans neutral butch!" that does not mean a queerphobe knows what the fuck that means. queerphobes see: dyke, faggot, tranny: one of them queers. that's all they see. that's it. they don't know what anything else is. it's not trans' peoples faults that they see us as dykes and faggots, so how is it trans people's faults that other people get slurs hurled at them? it's not. they hate you for being queer. that's. it.

blaming trans people for other queer people's oppression will never make sense. thanks for stopping by! take care. this shit pisses me off too, i'm glad it's not just me

[thebigqueer]

"Pretty Blue" - Caitvi - One-Shot

Summary: fluffy one-shot of drunk caitvi. there's no real story its just them being drunk and fluffy. Word Count: 2938 Notes: TWs for alcohol and slightly sensual content (but nothing sexual). also i know the ending is really abrupt but again this was more of a drabble vibe than an actual story so thats why its abrupt Read on AO3

“Cait!” Vi calls. When Cait doesn’t respond the first time, Vi says her name again and turns her gaze over to the bed. Cait’s lying on her back, facing the ceiling with her eye closed and her hair splayed out around her like a halo. When she still doesn’t answer, Vi decides it’s time to say, “Caitlyn,” because Caitlyn is her business name, and Vi means serious fucking business right now. 

This does the trick. Cait’s head tilts towards her, a frown pinching her eyebrows. When she spots Vi, she sits up. “What are you doing with that?”

Vi grins at her and pulls the cloak tighter around her. “I’m wearing your dumb cape.” She twirls around once, and the cape follows her movements, drifting around her. The lights of Cait’s room blend around her as she spins, and the floor underneath tilts before she finds her balance again, and she feels so free. She loves Cait’s bedroom.

When the world stills again, she hides her face behind the collar of the cloak and looks at Cait through her lashes. “Look at meee,” Vi taunts, now with an exaggerated attempt at Cait’s accent. “I’m a decorated officer. Commander Kiramman is my name. Caitlyn fucking Kiramman.” Vi snorts and pulls her face out of the cloak. She spreads her arms out, admiring the golden design in the light. “It’s snug in here. No wonder you liked it so much.” 

“I didn’t,” Cait mutters, watching Vi. “I wanted to burn it.” 

“Nooo,” Vi says, twirling around in it again. Her vision tips, but she doesn’t mind. She feels too important and shiny and warm to care. “You look so fucking good, though. You look like a candle. A really hot candle. I’d let you burn me.” 

Cait shakes her head, but a small, hazy smile slips over her. “Can you come back? I’m starting to fall asleep.” Vi starts stepping forward with a new fervor, but then Cait puts her hand out. “Without that thing. I don’t want to look at it.” 

Vi scoffs and wraps herself further into the cloak. “No way you’re telling me what to do. I’m Commander Kiramman. No one tells Commander Kiramman what to fucking do.” 

“If you’re Commander Kiramman, what does that make me?”

“You’re just a cupcake.” 

“Just a cupcake?”

“You’re the cupcake.” Vi grins. “You’re all the cupcakes in the world.” She starts stepping forward again, but something catches on her foot, and all of a sudden the world tumbles over her, mixes into a whirlwind of blue and orange and green and violet. Then an ache erupts in the heels of her hands, and when she looks up, she finds herself level with the floor. 

A twinkling sound echoes around her, and Vi’s heart soars at the realization that it’s giggles. She made Caitlyn Kiramman giggle. The thought makes her smile, because she loves to hear Caitlyn Kiramman giggle. She starts to lift herself up into a sitting position, and as she does, a weight on her back starts to slide off, too. 

Then a pair of feet block her line of vision, and she looks up to see Caitlyn Kiramman looking down at her. The golden lights of her bedroom arc around her like a halo, and Vi thinks that’s kind of fitting. She is an angel. 

A smile crawls over Vi. “You’re so fucking tall.” 

Cait laughs again, and the sound of it makes Vi’s heart flutter because she loves hearing her laugh. She sits down on her knees and reaches around Vi, and the weight that was on Vi’s back climbs away as Cait drags a blue cloak off her and tosses it to the side. Was Vi wearing that? No wonder her back felt so heavy. 

Cait turns her gaze back to Vi again, and a new giddiness bubbles in Vi’s chest. Something tugs at her jaw, and then her head is being tilted up, and suddenly Vi can barely even see the rest of the surroundings; only Cait fills her line of sight. Her good eye glows green in the soft golden lighting of her room, and the scar on her other one flashes, and her hair swings down her shoulders, so soft and perfect and beautiful.

Vi’s smile melts even wider, and she finds herself crawling forward on her hands as Caitlyn pulls. “Wow,” she breathes. “You’re hot.” 

Cait smiles, and the pressure on Vi’s jaw intensifies. She can feel the insides of her cheeks sinking into her teeth, and it makes her heart full. “You’re precious when you’re drunk,” Cait says, her voice echoing around Vi’s eyes. 

As Cait leans forward with the prettiest smile in the world, Vi reaches and pulls her along into her lap. Her arms rest against Cait’s waist, and she can feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her nightshirt. Something falls out of Vi’s chest, something airy and soft, and Vi realizes she’s laughing. “Who says I’m drunk?”

Caitlyn fixes her with a raised eyebrow, and the sight makes Vi’s stomach flutter. An audible sigh floats out of her, and she eases herself backward. She feels like she’s on a cloud. Except when she twists her head to the side, she realizes it’s just Cait’s bed cushioning her head. Cait has a really soft fucking bed.

“I say you’re drunk,” Cait says, and then she tilts her head a little, and a new ray of light shines right past her, and Vi’s heart swells. Her mouth falls open because, wow, Cait is so fucking pretty. She’s so pretty that Vi wants to bite a pillow. 

So Vi tugs Cait forward, pulls her closer so that she can feel her chest pressing into her own. And not only is she fucking pretty, but she’s fucking warm. Of course she is. And also she smells like violets. She smells so good. Vi wants to lick her, and that want turns into Vi kissing her, and she can feel Caitlyn’s arms tighten around the back of her neck, feels her hands fluttering through her hair, and she tugs Caitlyn even closer. Maybe if Vi tries hard enough, she can tattoo Cait into her skin. 

Vi pulls back to meet Cait’s eyes, and huff of amusement falls out of her. “I’m drunk on love,” she says, tucking a piece of hair behind Cait’s ear, and then something catches her eyes: the cuff piercing. She leans forward and gently touches it. When did she get that? Then she meets Cait’s eye again, and she doesn’t even remember what she was looking at. “Because I fucking love you.” 

Cait’s cheeks flush softly, and Vi touches them. She wants to soak in her heat under her fingertips. Vi drags her knees in and Cait leans back against her thighs. Her legs embrace Vi’s waist, and Vi feels so happy because she loves to be between Caitlyn Kiramman’s legs. Her legs are so fucking cool. Vi runs a hand over Cait’s thigh, soaks in the goosebumps on her skin, the growing hair trying to poke out. Vi knows Cait likes to shave her legs; she says it gives her an excuse to stay in the bath longer. Vi hopes she lets her be the one to shave it next time. Then she’ll give her a real reason to stay in the bath longer. 

Vi presses a kiss to her knee, then leans her head against it as she looks back up at Cait, and a brand new smile warms her. “Are you not drunk? Last I checked, you were a fucking lightweight.”

“Which means I know my limits.”

Vi scoffs. “Okay, Commander Cupcake. Who was the one ranting about the difference between a blimp and an airship fifteen minutes ago?” 

Cait tugs on Vi’s bottom lip, and the touch steals Vi’s breath from her. Her grip on Cait’s thigh tightens. “Remind me, who just fell over on my cape?”

“You did. Remember, I’m you. I’m Caitlyn Kiramman.” 

“Which means I’m also Caitlyn Kiramman.”

“No, you’re Cupcake.” Vi tugs Caitlyn’s finger from her lip and kisses it, then holds it gently between her teeth. Caitlyn giggles as she licks it, and Vi is so fucking happy right now. She loves feeling Caitlyn on her, loves tasting her, loves being surrounded by only her. 

Vi leans forward again, this time to kiss her on the mouth, but the momentum sends her head spinning and instead she lands against Caitlyn’s shoulder. 

“Myyyyy bad,” Vi murmurs into her shoulder. She should really lift her head, but Cait is so warm and soft, and she smells so good. She presses a kiss to Cait’s shoulder, but now, even so still in Caitlyn’s embrace, the world starts tilting under her, and she closes her eyes. “Ohhhh.” 

The hands in Vi’s hair start crawling away, onto her shoulders, and it tickles. Vi can’t help giggling, and the sound of her own giggles makes the color behind her eyelids spin in this really ugly combination of red and green and blue. Then, for a brief moment, she’s floating, before something soft hits the back of her neck again. When she opens her eyes, she’s staring up at the ceiling, the drapes of Cait’s bed posts fluttering overhead.

She doesn’t move her head, but something makes her gaze flick down, and she finds herself staring at Cait through her lashes. Caitlyn fucking Kiramman. Most beautiful girl in the whole world. A smile slips over her and she closes her eyes again. 

“Vi?” Cait’s voice calls, and it’s enough to bring Vi to open her eyes again. Her face is blurry, but Vi thinks she can see a smile on her. Except it looks strange. Not totally happy. Why doesn't Cait look happy? Tears spring into Vi’s eyes. She just wants to see Cait happy.

“Are you alright?” Cait’s voice rings around Vi’s head, but this time it feels something closer to gongs the way it reverberates through Vi’s skull. And Vi fucking loves Cait’s voice, maybe even secretly gets turned on any time she just says a word in that posh little accent, but this just feels downright uncomfortable.

“Yeahhhh,” Vi says, closing her eyes again. “I’m fiiiiine. But I think I should just keep my head here for a little bit.” 

Cait scoffs. “And you said you weren’t drunk.” 

Vi hums, but she doesn’t feel like answering. She just wants to feel Cait breathe against her. A pair of hands crawls over her face, warm and slightly calloused, and a smile tugs at Vi’s lips. She wonders how she even got here, with the hottest girl in the world on her lap, breathing through the alcohol buzzing in their bodies. 

“My head feels funny,” Vi sighs. Her words bounce around her ears. “Can you kiss me?”

A beat of silence passes before Cait speaks. “How is me kissing you going to help you?” But Vi can feel her voice on her lips anyway, so close she can almost taste her words. 

“You solve all my problems,” says Vi. “All of the world’s problems could be solved by a kiss from Caitlyn Kiramman. Commander Cupcake.” 

Cait snorts. “If only it were that easy.” Then her lips brush against Vi’s, not quite a kiss just yet, but Vi can still feel the smile against her lips. “But I do like solving your problems.” 

Then she catches Vi’s lips in her own, and Vi’s heart explodes. 

Cait’s thumbs press under Vi’s chin, tilt her head further back, and Vi can feel her tongue against hers, warm and soft and familiar. A desperate frown pinches Vi’s brows, and she brings a hand to the back of Cait’s head, trying to pull her in deeper, trying to swallow her whole. 

As if in response, Cait drags one hand down, painful and deliberate as she pulls it over Vi’s neck, down her chest, teases the hem of Vi’s shirt. Her fingers feel like matches dragging down Vi, as if she’s looking for something to ignite her fire.

“Fuck,” Vi mutters. It’s kind of embarrassing how turned on she is; Cait’s barely even done anything. But also Cait is just amazing, and anything she does drives Vi crazy, drunk or not. 

Cait huffs a laugh against Vi’s lips, and then a hand slips under Vi’s shirt. Vi’s neck arches further at the feel of her fingertips against her stomach, against her sternum. She feels like a painting, the way Cait’s hands brush over her, carving over the lines of her body. But then she presses a hand against Vi’s breast, and at first Vi doesn’t mind; she welcomes the pressure building at the pit of her stomach. But the second time Cait does it, the ugly red and green and blue colors behind Vi’s eyes come back, and the dizziness in her head feels a little worse. She sighs and then, slowly, painfully, she pulls Cait’s hand out. 

“Sorry,” she mutters. “Is it okay if we just… hold each other?”

Vi’s eyes open, if only to stop the ugly colors, and she meets Cait’s gaze. Through the haze building up in her vision, Cait’s eye is a star in Vi’s focus. It’s a pretty blue, prettier and bluer than the one behind Vi’s eyelids. She can’t tell if Cait’s smiling or frowning, but when Cait leans forward and presses a kiss to Vi’s forehead, a wave of relief falls over her. “Of course,” Cait says. Then, almost nervously, she adds, “Sorry. I got carried away.”

For some reason, the nervousness in her voice makes Vi’s chest ache. She made Cait feel bad. She hates making Cait feel bad. An ache presses against Vi’s throat, and she tries to swallow it away.

A thumb brushes against her cheek, and Cait says, “Why are you crying?”

Vi says, “I made you sad,” and she’s surprised at how badly it hurts to talk. She can barely get a word over the lump in her throat. 

“You didn’t.” Cait smiles at her now, a soft and warm smile, and Vi’s heart swells at the sight. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“I love secrets.” 

Cait brushes a thumb against Vi’s lip, then leans forward and presses her face into Vi’s neck. Her hair tickles Vi’s shoulder, and Vi leans her head on top of Cait’s. Cait’s arms wrap around her waist now, and Vi runs her fingers through the back of Cait’s hair. It’s so soft. It's so pretty.

“You make me so happy,” Cait says into her shoulder, and Vi shivers at the heat of her words. “Every time I have to go to some meeting without you, that’s what makes me sad. I only like the meetings where I can go with you. I love hearing you tell the council to go fuck themselves when they say something you don’t like.”

“They deserve it.” 

“They do.” Then Cait pulls away and gazes at Vi, and the way she watches Vi, it makes her head spin in a really good way. “I love you.”

Vi’s chin trembles. Caitlyn Kiramman loves her. Vi closes her eyes and sighs, and Cait kisses her shoulder. “You’re such a fucking cupcake,” Vi mutters. “You’re too sweet.” Then a grin creeps over Vi. “You want to know a secret?”

“Always.”

Vi presses her cheek to the side of Cait’s head. “I think I’m drunk,” she whispers. 

“That wasn’t a secret. Your head is rolling all over the place.” 

“That explains why I’m so dizzy.” 

Cait snorts, then she places her hands on either side of Vi’s face, and the grin on Vi’s face grows wider now. She loves feeling Cait on her. “Maybe it’s time to go to bed.” 

Vi nods, but now that Cait’s mentioned the prospect of having to stand up and move, her head starts to feel heavy again. Cait shifts against Vi, but Vi doesn’t want to get up, so she just tugs on Cait’s waist. “Wait. Not yet.” Before Cait can respond, she presses Cait’s body into hers, and Cait relaxes. “Give me a minute. I just want you right now.”

Cait sighs against Vi, but she gives her a minute anyway. More than a minute. Five minutes. And with each passing second, Vi’s head grows a little bit heavier. 

The ugly red and green and brown burst in Vi’s eyes again, and she frowns. Suddenly Cait’s breathing feels too loud against her, her skin too hot. But Vi doesn’t want to let go, not yet. 

Cait sits up, and the movement makes Vi feel even hotter. She kind of wants to peel her skin off. 

“Vi?” 

“I’m okayyy,” Vi says, but her words feel kind of like cotton in her mouth now. The ground tilts a little too much, and she presses the back of her hand to her eyes. She waits a moment, trying to will the world to stop moving. But it doesn’t. The ground starts pressing a little too hard into her right leg now, and with a start, she realizes that she’s tilted over slightly.

Her head falls back against the bed and even though it’s so soft, her skull pulses and the colors behind her eyes burst in an ugly brown. “Ohhh,” she groans. “I think that last shot was a bad idea.” 

A curtain of cold falls over Vi, and when she opens her eyes, she finds Cait standing over her. Even through her haze, she can see something soft and loving in her features, and Vi wants to smile, but the colors around her are starting to twist.

Cait holds her hand out. “Bathroom?”

Vi nods. “Bathroom.” 

[mjbarrosart]

My Dragon Prince Boards season 7, episode 705, part 1

It's time to talk about my boards for episode 705 of the last season of The Dragon Prince. I did a lot of stuff in this episode, so instead of going in order, I'll divide my work differently for this one, we will talk by group of sequences and not in order of appearance.

Let's start with the sunfire elf side of the plot. As a lot of you know, most of my work in this show was related to the Sunfire elves, and to be honest Janai and Amaya are two of my favorite characters of the show, so every chance to work with them is always a bless.

I did all the scenes of Karim talking with Amaya in this episode. It is hard to explain how I feel about Karim, he is such an idiot, but I am also kinda fond of him because I spent so many hours working on him thinking about his mannerism and motivations. I am fond of him, but I also hate him, hahahaha.

There is not a lot to say about this sequences, they are pretty straight forward. While I can understand why Karim hates humans so much, that doesn't mean he is right about it, and this hate is starting to feel like pettiness, and well fits him, he is a really petty man.

Let! Green! Say! Ass! hahahaha. Its always funny to board this kind of little jokes. I love Green and Amaya dynamics, they are such good friends, and I love how Green is always making sure that Amaya's bluntness is not coming out as "rude". But sometimes I feel he should just translate directly what Amaya is saying, because I don't think Karim deserves special considerations, haha.

That little speech Karim does about how he and Amaya are not the same was interesting to board for me. I wanted him to feel aggressive and menacing, even if his hands were tied. Like he was trying to intimidate Amaya, but she will not bend, she can see thru his BS. I wanted him to trespass into Amaya's personal space, portrait him as the bully he is. He says that his faith comes from knowledge, while the truth is that he leads using fear. Such a pathetic little man.

Another instance where is wish the rigs where able to translate between the expressions from the boards. I wanted him to spit his words trough his teeth when he says "humans are vermin, a plague", like his mouth is full of poison and hate.

But the Amaya, who is mostly motivated by making sure that Janai doesn't regrets the decision of killing her brother, does the right thing and reminds him of the fact that Miyana is pregnant, that there is a future worth to live for. Karim shows some doubts, so Amaya leaves and Miyana enters the stage.

I feel kinda bad for Miyana. I mean she deserves the punishment she got, at the end of the day she betrayed her people. But I feel bad for her, because I think that she honestly loves Karim. Imagine loving such a foolish man. And Karim can not learn a lesson, he keeps being an idiot. He is offered a second chance to be with his family, but the only thing he can see in Miyana is that she is carrying "his heir", and Miyana is right of being offended by that. But she wants to believe that he will made the right choice. And maybe for a minute Karim ponders it. I wanted him to loot vulnerable and maybe open in the final shot, so I made him kneel close to Miyana, laying his head on her belly, close to his child. We know how this will end for him, but for a moment there is maybe hope that he will change... no?

My next scene in this episode is one I am really fond of. Is the one when Terry says that the only person who can stop Claudia is her mom, and Soren is really against that idea.

First, is always fun to have a moment with Terry. I have really small ones during my work in the show, so this one was a blast. Second, I got to have another emotional Soren moment, and that is always nice, because Sores in my boy.

The back and forth of this conversation is pretty straight forward too. What was important for me was what will be the moment that will make Soren change his mind, and support the idea. So I decided to use Corvus for this.

Soren is struggling with the idea of bringing her mother back, even if that means they will have a real shot making Claudia stop. Corvus see his pain, and touch his shoulder. We talked before on how touching is a love language between this two, they don't need tons of words. Corvus is saying "I know that it's hard, but I am here with you". On my boards I had him giving Soren a little nod, they removed that for the final shot, and I think is ok. The nod is not necessary, Soren understand what Corvus means. With his support Soren can do it.

So he gathers strength and gives the drawing to Ezran. I like that in the animation stage they kept Corvus hand all the time on his shoulder. For Soren the idea of facing his mom is one full of pain and conflicted feelings, but he doesn't need to face it alone, he has Corvus at his side (as a partner, friend, soulmate, brother, whatever you see them being).

I love them so much...

The second part of this post is about the last sequence I did for this episode, it is a small one, but one that you could say... brings a "surprise"!

I will posted right away, so stay tuned!

[dharmafox]

(i cant stop yapping about Asakame please help me-)

Do you think every illustration in the Fusuma/Shoji doors decorated in the Ooku means anything to a scene? I saw in the Fire Rat trailer when the woman meeting is held the door was a tiger, it sort of gets me on a "cat-fight" between them. And will the final boss of the trilogy be a snake? Since the first ever teaser for the movie had snakes on them

(trying so hard not to mention when Asa said what kept her emotions on ground was Kame the scene had her place beside the WHOLE panel illustration of the Fox Wedding door and the fact that a foxes wedding is associated with sunshowers)

By all means keep posting about Asakame, I love it!

Given that it's Mononoke, the Symbolism and Metaphor show, I do think every piece of door and wall art has meaning. You can also see that there are tamari balls bouncing around on the wall of Mugitani's room (a tamari ball being the object she threw into the well).

I'm not sure what the meaning of the tiger would be. It looks like it's trying to get in, so maybe it symbolizes the rage of the mononoke trying to break through?

That's a good thought about the snakes... There is a snake youkai called Uwabami that's known for its gluttonous nature. It also once called down a huge rain and flood on a guy who ticked it off, so there are possible connections with the Kun Trigram (connected with the stomach) and with the Karakasa. Another is Yamata no Orochi. I remember someone suggested when we first saw the art that it was reminiscent of the Yamato no Orochi legend.

Snakes are also symbols of life, death, and rebirth, and in Buddhism they're symbols of the poison of hatred or anger. In the first "Bakeneko" arc, there are snakes on the walls behind Lord Sakai and his son, along with a red thread, which is a symbol of fate.

I think part of the Nue looks like a snake as well? It's quite possible that the final mononoke could have a snake form.

The fox wedding thing... Yeah, they may well have been going straight for the lesbians thing there. 😛

A couple other things I noticed about the walls in Karakasa:

The three "eyes" of the mononoke sometimes appear on the images. For example, they're in the eyes of the flamingos on the wall when Awashima cuts Kame's hair. It's notable, I think, that when those "eyes" appear on images and objects, they tend to stay put for a while, whereas when they appear in human eyes, they vanish quickly.

Also, the art is sometimes animated. When Kame is talking about wanting to become a concubine while Mugitani is giving them "the tour," the puppies playing on the wall are blinking.

In these shots where the wall art appears to be alive, I think it's connected to the idea of life existing in objects, like the objects the women threw into the well, which carried parts of themselves.

And of course there are flowers everywhere, with the idea of the women themselves as "flowers" being a big theme in the movie.

Kusu also has a mischievous little kitty and a demon behind him here, so make of that what you will. 😛

That same wall also has a kappa on it right above the cat. The kappa is an aquatic ayakashi, so that's a probable connection to Karakasa's rain/water theme. According to yokai.com, they're also "a kind of water god" in Shinto.

I'm sure there's a ton more that others who have seen the movie more times than I have, who are more observant than I am, and/or who are better versed in Japanese culture than I am have picked up on. But yeah, all that wall art is important for sure. I'd say all the wall art in the series is important as well, but that's a whole other post.

[ikkyfics]

The Proposal

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You looked up, noticing his fixed and enchanted gaze, and raised an eyebrow with an amused smile. “What’s up? Scared of the cake, Potter?” He laughed, shaking his head. “No. Just... you’re too beautiful.”

Warnings: none

A/N: yes, @meelusinee you convinced me to write this

Part 8 of Marry Me

Masterlist

James Potter was a walking disaster.

In his living room, he paced back and forth, his right hand making his already messy hair even more disheveled, while his left held a small blue velvet box with a tight grip. His footsteps echoed on the floor, a stark contrast to the carefree laughter coming from the sofa. Sirius, sprawled out as though he had no care in the world, watched his friend’s frantic movements with eyes gleaming in amusement.

“Prongs, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floor if you keep this up,” Sirius remarked, his voice laced with sarcasm. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Seriously, why are you so nervous? She’s been with you for years. It’s not like it’s a big surprise.”

James stopped abruptly, spinning on his heels to face Sirius. “Not a surprise? Not a surprise?! Sirius, I’m about to ask the woman of my life to marry me! What if she says no?”

Sirius burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the room, so characteristic that Remus, sitting beside him, rolled his eyes with a smile. “She’s gonna say no? Oh, Prongs, get real. The only thing she’s probably wondering is why you didn’t ask her sooner.”

James huffed, clearly annoyed by his friend's lack of seriousness. “You’re not helping!”

“Maybe because you don’t need help,” Remus replied calmly as always. He extended his hand to Sirius, who took it reflexively, a gesture so natural between them that James didn’t even notice. “James, she loves you. That’s enough. But, of course, you could try looking a little less… desperate.”

James shot a pleading look at Peter, who was sitting on the floor, watching the interaction with a hesitant smile. “Wormtail, at least you’ll support me, right?”

Peter scratched his head, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, uh… I think they have a point, James. You’re kind of… hysterical.”

“HYSTERICAL?” James exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “I’m being rational! I’m preparing for one of the most important moments of my life, and you guys are here laughing at me!”

“Only because it’s adorable,” Sirius said, winking exaggeratedly at James.

Remus sighed, standing up from the sofa and walking over to James. He placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders and looked at him seriously. “Alright, James. Let’s sort this out. First, do you have the ring?”

“Of course I have the ring!” James replied immediately, pulling the small box from his jacket pocket and opening it to show.

“Great,” Remus said, nodding. “Now, the clothes.” He took a step back, examining James from head to toe. “Sirius, do you think he looks presentable?”

Sirius stood up, striking an exaggerated fashion critic pose, hand on chin, with a theatrical look. “Hmm… The tie is in place, the hair is… well, as good as his hair can get. But something’s missing.” He flashed a mischievous smile and pulled a small spray from his pocket. “Fresh breath, Prongs. We’re not taking any chances.”

James rolled his eyes but obediently opened his mouth as Sirius sprayed. “Happy now?”

“Almost,” Sirius replied, throwing an arm around Remus’ shoulders. “But you could be a little less James. Maybe more charming.”

“That’s impossible,” Peter commented, glancing at the clock. “Guys, he needs to go. It’s almost time.”

“Alright,” Remus said, giving James a pat on the shoulder. “Breathe. Relax. You’ve got this.”

James looked at his friends, his heart racing but feeling a comforting warmth in their presence. “Thanks, guys. Really.”

Sirius winked again. “That’s what we’re here for, Prongs. Now go out there and crush it. And don’t forget to breathe.”

With the ring in his pocket and a nervous smile, James finally left the room, ready for the most important moment of his life. And, Merlin, he hoped he was up to it. Without daring to think any further, he left.

The heart in his chest seemed to leap when he appeared outside a small flower shop, softly illuminated by gentle lights. It was a simple place, but full of charm, the scent of flowers filling the air. He knew exactly what he was looking for: a bouquet of her favorite flowers, something that reflected everything she meant to him. The attendant, noticing the anxious expression on his face, quickly put together a delicate and perfect arrangement. The vibrant colors and the soft fragrance seemed to say more than any words ever could.

When James left the shop, the nervousness still clung to him, but the bouquet firmly in his hands was a reminder of why he was doing all of this. He took a deep breath before focusing on the next stop: her front door.

The world seemed to slow down when he knocked on the door. Each second between the sound of his knuckles hitting the wood and the echoing footsteps from the other side felt like an eternity. But then, the door opened, and there you were, and James felt the ground disappear beneath his feet.

You were absolutely radiant, and he needed a moment to remember how to breathe. The dress you wore seemed made for you, hugging your body in a way that left him speechless. Your hair fell in soft waves, and the night’s light seemed to play with the strands, illuminating them as if they were made of stardust. Your eyes met his, shining with genuine joy, and the smile you opened was enough to make James’s nervousness melt away like ice in the sun.

He gave a crooked smile, the one that was so characteristically his, and extended the bouquet toward you. “For you,” he said, his voice rougher than he expected.

Your smile widened as you delicately accepted the bouquet, holding it as if it were something precious. You brought the flowers to your nose, inhaling the scent with a graceful gesture, and James thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful.

“You know how to win me over, Potter,” you teased, your voice full of affection that made his chest warm.

He raised an eyebrow, his smile now more daring. “I think I deserve a kiss for that, don’t you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “So modest.”

Before you could continue, James stepped forward, pulling you gently closer. The bouquet was carefully set aside because, at that moment, the only thing that mattered to him was you. His lips found yours with a sweet urgency, as if he had been saving that kiss for hours — and maybe he had.

The world around them faded away. It was just you and him, the heat of your bodies close, the touch of your hands on his face, his fingertips caressing your back. The kiss was slow, but intense, a mixture of passion and tenderness that made both their hearts beat faster.

You sighed against his lips, a soft laugh escaping as you tried, without much conviction, to pull away. “James, the flowers,” you said, your voice breathless.

He opened his eyes, the mischievous glint returning. “I can buy more,” he murmured before kissing you again, and you gave in, laughing between the kisses.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, faces flushed, eyes sparkling. You gently touched his face, wiping the traces of your lipstick that now stained his lips. “You’re a mess,” you commented, but there was so much affection in your voice that he simply smiled.

“Messy, but beautiful?” he teased, tilting his head.

“Beautiful doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you replied before picking up the bouquet again. “I’m going to put this in the vase before we head out, okay?”

James watched as you walked away, the bouquet firmly in your hands. He let out a sigh, smiling to himself. How had he gotten so lucky to have you in his life?

The restaurant he took you to was small, with dim lighting and candles scattered across the tables, creating an intimate and cozy atmosphere. The walls were decorated with old paintings and dried flowers, and the soft sound of a piano played in the background, as if the night had been made just for them. James held your hand across the table, his thumb lazily tracing circles on your skin, as if he needed the contact to remind himself you were there.

“Did you like it here?” he asked, his voice light, but his eyes watching every small change in your expression.

“Like it? James, this is perfect,” you replied, smiling in a way that made his heart race. “It’s so... peaceful. It feels like it’s just the two of us.”

He gave a small, shy smile, the kind that was almost bashful, but with a touch of satisfaction. “That was the plan.”

You spent the dinner talking, laughing, and sharing stories. He seemed more relaxed than he had hours ago, as though your company was the cure for any nervousness he might have felt. Every now and then, he’d make silly comments that would make you laugh, the sound easily becoming his favorite music of the night.

When dessert arrived — a small chocolate cake with berries — James made no move to touch it. He was simply... looking at you.

You looked up, noticing his fixed and enchanted gaze, and raised an eyebrow with an amused smile. “What’s up? Scared of the cake, Potter?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No. Just... you’re too beautiful.”

Your smile faltered for a second, and you felt your cheeks warm. "You don't exist," you murmured, looking away at the plate, but James didn’t let you escape that easily.

He gently squeezed your hand, bringing your attention back to him. "I'm serious," he said, his voice lower now, filled with more emotion. "Every time I look at you, I think about how lucky I am to have found you. How lucky I am that you chose me."

"James..." you started, but he shook his head, interrupting you.

"I need to say this," he said, nervously laughing, but his gaze was fixed on yours, shining with something that made your heart race. "Since you came into my life, everything has changed. I never thought anyone could make me feel like this, you know? Like everything makes sense, like I've found my place in the world. And that place... is by your side."

You stayed silent, your eyes starting to well up as his smile grew wider.

"I don't want to imagine my life without you anymore," he continued, his voice growing firmer as he took a deep breath. "And I know I'm a mess, but I'm a mess that's in love with you. So..."

He slowly stood up, pulling the small velvet box from his pocket as his eyes never left yours. He knelt beside the table, his hand trembling slightly as he opened the box, revealing the ring he had chosen with so much care.

"Will you marry me?"

You blinked, a single tear running down your cheek as a huge smile took over your face. "James..."

He kept his eyes fixed on yours, his breathing slightly faster, as if he was holding himself together to keep from falling apart. The small distance between you seemed insignificant, and at the same time, every second felt eternal as he waited for your answer.

"Are you sure you want this?" you asked, your voice faltering as a knot of emotion formed in your throat. It wasn’t doubt — it was love, pure and overwhelming, spilling out in words.

His smile faltered for a moment, but only to give way to something even more genuine. He chuckled softly, the hand that wasn’t holding the velvet box gently reaching up to touch your face, his fingers gliding over your skin as if you were something too precious to rush. "I’ve been sure since the first day I saw you. Even before I understood what love was, I knew it was you."

Your tears fell freely now, but there was no sadness in them — only the overwhelming joy of hearing those words, of feeling his devotion in every syllable. You nodded, the smile trembling on your lips. "Yes, James," you whispered, then repeated louder, more confidently, so he would never doubt it. "Yes, I will marry you."

His eyes closed for a moment, as if absorbing the moment, engraving it into his soul. When he opened them again, there were tears there too, shining like a silent confession that he was completely, irreparably in love with you.

He took your hand with all the care in the world, as if he feared breaking something so precious. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice faltering as he slid the ring onto your finger. The gesture was slow, almost ritualistic, and when the ring finally settled into place, he leaned down to kiss your hand. His lips touched your skin with such reverence that you felt the warmth spread through your chest, the simple act, yet full of emotion, as if he were silently swearing that he would never stop loving you.

"Thank you?" you repeated, a soft laugh escaping as you wiped away the tears that kept falling.

"Yes," he replied, his tone husky and still full of emotion. "For saying yes. For existing. For being mine."

"James..." you began, but he shook his head with a small smile, leaning in a little more, so close that you could feel his warmth, the intensity in his blue eyes, which were even brighter with tears.

"No, let me finish," he asked, his voice softening. "I’m not perfect. You know that better than anyone. I’m messy, a little impulsive, and sometimes I’ll say or do something stupid. But with you..." He took a deep breath, still holding your hand. "With you, I want to be the best I can. Not because you demand it of me, but because you make me want to be better. You make me believe I can be."

You didn’t answer right away, because any word seemed too small for what you were feeling. So, you did what seemed most right: you leaned in toward him, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was both sweet and intense, a silent promise that you loved him as much as he loved you.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads still touching, you whispered, a smile playing on your lips. "You’re already everything to me, James. You don’t need to change anything."

He laughed, the sound muffled as he placed his lips on your hand again, still holding it tightly. "If I’m everything to you," he murmured, his voice full of emotion and a touch of humor, "then I’m already the luckiest man in the world."

You laughed, shaking your head as you looked at him with eyes shining with love. "And I’m the luckiest woman."

"Then we’re even," he joked, finally standing up and pulling you back into a tight embrace, as if he couldn’t stand the distance anymore.

In that moment, the whole world disappeared. It was just you and James, and the certainty that this was only the beginning of something even more beautiful.

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy

[doormatty3]

Surface-Dweller Traditions: Christmas (Orm Marius x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Ocean Eyes Masterlink

Summary

[Orm Marius x Female Reader] [Orm Marius x You] Life with Orm is always a mix of discovery and contrast—his Atlantean heritage often colliding with your everyday human traditions. From decorating trees and trying festive foods to marvelling at fireworks or enduring bustling crowds, Orm’s reserved demeanour softens as he experiences the joy and warmth of human traditions with you. OR: A series of unrelated one-shots and mini-fics about the many types of festivities Orm and you share.

Wordcount: 3,693

A/N: Merry Christmas y'all! My present for you: Some more of Orm x Marine Biologist Reader, with Orm being overwhelmed with human traditions and slowly learning This will be.. a few OS of traditions and festivities our favourite Atlantean can experience for the first time (feel free to request some lol) Also, this chapter is just pure fluff

Orm Marius, former King of Atlantis, lingered in the doorway of your cosy seaside cottage, framed by the quiet beauty of the snow-laden night. The moonlight glinted off his silvery blonde hair and sharp features, lending him an otherworldly presence that never failed to take your breath away. 

Yet, tonight, there was a vulnerability to him that you rarely saw. He stood stiffly, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room, taking in the string lights that draped the walls, the flickering candles on the mantle, and the Christmas tree glowing softly in the corner, its branches adorned with ornaments and garlands in various stages of assembly. His expression was one of wary curiosity—as if he were stepping into enemy territory.

You set down the ornament you were holding and turned to greet him with a smile. “You’re just in time to help me finish decorating,” you said, brushing your hands on your jeans. “How was your walk?”

Orm stepped inside, his heavy boots creaking against the wooden floor, and closed the door behind him. “Cold,” he said bluntly, shaking a few snowflakes from his sweater as he took off his shoes and changed into some cosy slippers you gave him some time ago. He paused, his gaze flickering to the tree. “This… Christmas,” he began, his voice low and deliberate as the tide, “it seems an odd ritual. Are you certain it is not a form of surface-world combat?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “No battles, I promise,” you said, walking over to him and cupping his cheek, his stubble rough against your palm. “Christmas is a celebration. It’s about family, love, and spending time with the people who matter most.”

His gaze softened slightly, though his brows remained furrowed, your hand seemingly grounding him in the moment. “It seems impractical to centre an entire season around something so intangible,” he said, gesturing toward the decorations with a regal wave of his hand. “In Atlantis, our celebrations honour duty and tradition. They have purpose.”

You brushed your thumb over his sharp cheekbone before reaching down and grabbing his hand, your fingers threading through his. Almost instinctively, Orm’s hand closed around yours, his large palm dwarfing yours and engulfing it completely. A gesture he had done countless times since you entered a relationship. “This has a purpose, too,” you said gently. “It’s about creating memories. About finding joy in the little things.”

“Joy,” Orm echoed, his voice tinged with scepticism. He looked at you as if you were trying to explain some elusive, surface-world concept that defied his understanding. “Joy seems fleeting. Impermanent.”

“Maybe it is,” you admitted, “but that doesn’t make it any less important. And,” you added with a teasing smile, “you’re here now. So…help me decorate. This isn’t just my tradition anymore. It’s ours. If you want it to be.”

His expression shifted, a glimmer of something unspoken flickering in his eyes. “Ours,” he repeated softly, as if tasting the word and gently squeezing your hand. Then, with a small incline of his head, he added, “Very well. Show me what must be done.”

You led him to the table where the remaining ornaments were laid out, each one carrying its own little story. Orm’s curiosity was evident as he picked up a delicate glass starfish, turning it over in his hands with reverence. “This is artful,” he said. “Did you create it?”

“No, I found it at a marine biology conference years ago,” you explained. “But now it reminds me of you.”

“Of me?” Orm raised a sceptical brow, turning it over in his hands, his long digits tracing the ornaments’ delicate contours. “A starfish? Do I resemble one?”

“Not literally,” you said, laughing. “But they’re resilient. They survive even when the odds are against them. They regenerate. They’re strong, just like you.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face—surprise, perhaps, or something deeper. Without a word, he stepped toward the tree and carefully placed the ornament on one of the lower branches, adjusting it until it hung just right.

“Is that satisfactory?” he asked, turning to you with a faint smirk.

“Perfect,” you said, beaming, stepping back to admire his work. “You’re a natural.”

“Hardly,” he replied, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

As the evening wore on, Orm began to relax, his initial awkwardness giving way to a quiet curiosity. He strung garlands with military precision, muttering about the string getting stuck on the branches, and listened intently as you explained the stories behind each ornament.

“This one,” you said, holding up a small wooden lighthouse, “was carved by my grandfather. He used to say it was a reminder to always find your way home.”

Orm’s expression softened. “A wise sentiment.”

“And this one,” you continued, picking up a tiny dolphin figurine, “was a gift from my mentor after my first successful research dive. I was so nervous, but she told me I had the heart of the sea in me.”

“You do,” Orm said quietly. His words caught you off guard, and you turned to find him watching you, his gaze steady, unguarded and loving.

A faint blush rose to your cheeks. “Thanks,” you murmured, setting the ornament on the tree.

When the tree was nearly complete, you reached for the final touch—the star for the top. Standing on your toes, you tried to stretch high enough to place it, but the branch was just out of reach.

You let out a small huff of frustration. “I might need a chair for this,” you muttered.

“Nonsense,” Orm said, stepping behind you. Before you could protest, his hands settled firmly on your waist. “Allow me.”

His touch was steady, his palms broad and warm even through the fabric of your sweater, the strength in his arms and shoulders evident as he held you aloft. In one smooth motion, he lifted you as though you weighed nothing at all.

You felt the strength in his grip, the muscles in his forearms and shoulders flexing with effortless control. He held you securely, his body solid and grounding beneath you. Yet, there was also a gentleness in the way he supported you, as though he were cradling something precious.

“You didn’t have to—” you began, your voice faltering slightly as you placed the star at the top of the tree, “I could have just gotten a chair.”

“It is my duty,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “If this is to be our tradition, then it must be done properly…and also, why deprive me of the opportunity to touch my girlfriend.”

Blushing, you adjusted the star until it sat perfectly straight. “How’s that?”

“Perfect,” he murmured. His hands lingered on your waist as he slowly set you back down, his touch gentler now. For a moment, you stood there, caught in the warmth of his presence, the faint scent of salt and the sea clinging to him like a memory.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his.

“It was nothing,” he replied, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—a quiet pride, perhaps, or just the love he felt for you.

Later that evening, the two of you sat down for dinner at the small table by the window. The scent of roasted vegetables, honey glaze, and perfectly grilled fish filled the cosy room. 

You had prepared the meal with Orm in mind, knowing of his love for seafood and also reminiscent of how much he missed Atlantis.

Each detail of the setting had been carefully chosen—a small vase of winter flowers at the centre of the table, soft candlelight reflecting on the frosty windowpanes. It was intimate and warm, a sharp contrast to the cold depths Orm once ruled.

“What is this dish called?” Orm asked, his sharp blue eyes scanning his plate with the careful scrutiny of a tactician surveying a battlefield. In the glow of the Christmas tree behind him, his angular features seemed to soften further. 

The mild, shifting lights illuminated his hair, and his eyes, bright and blue as a sunlit sea, caught and reflected the warmth of the room. At that moment, he looked both regal and human, a mesmerising contradiction.

“It’s roasted squash and potatoes with a honey glaze,” you explained, pointing to each component, “and grilled fish—caught fresh this morning. I thought you’d appreciate the seafood.”

Orm’s lips curved into a genuine smile, one that lit up his usually serious face and softened the sharp lines of his features. It was a smile he seemed to save just for you, and every time you saw it, your heart swelled.

“You know me well, my love,” he said, his voice warm and steady.

You couldn’t help but smile back, your chest filling with a deep, unshakable affection for the man sitting across from you. In moments like this, you were reminded of just how much you loved him—his strength, his vulnerability, and the quiet, unwavering care he showed you in everything he did.

You tried not to stare as he took his first bite, but your gaze betrayed you. His expression remained inscrutable as he chewed slowly, analysing the flavours as if they might reveal some hidden truth about surface dwellers. Finally, he nodded, placing his fork down with a quiet clink. “It is… satisfactory .”

For a moment, you blinked at him, unsure if he was joking or genuinely serious. Then, laughter bubbled up and spilled out of you, filling the small dining room. “Satisfactory?” you repeated incredulously, trying to keep a straight face. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Orm’s brow lifted in that familiar way, a regal expression that might have been intimidating if it weren’t for the faint curve of his lips. The subtle smile softened his otherwise sharp features, giving him an almost boyish charm. “In Atlantis,” he began in his ever-composed tone, “satisfactory is high praise. It signifies balance—neither excessive nor insufficient. It implies…” He paused, his blue eyes sparkling with quiet amusement, “…perfection.”

You folded your arms and leaned back in your chair, shaking your head with a grin. “Oh, perfection, huh? Well, forgive me for misunderstanding, Your Highness,” you teased. “But next time, I’ll save myself the effort and just grab a greasy burger and fries. You probably wouldn’t notice the difference.”

Grinning, you pointed your fork at him, a mock warning in your tone. “And if you keep being this critical, I might not even bother seasoning it!”

Orm’s eyes widened slightly, and he laughed. It was low and rich, a sound that seemed to rumble up from deep within his chest, warming the room like sunlight breaking through clouds. Raising his hands in mock surrender, he leaned back slightly in his chair, his smile broadening into something more relaxed, more loving.

“Peace, my love,” he said, his voice tinged with gentle humour. “I yield to your culinary expertise. I was merely joking. Your cooking is wonderful, as always.”

The sincerity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. For all his wit and formality, Orm had a way of softening when he was with you, his smiles and compliments carrying an intimacy that only you were privileged to witness.

“You’re forgiven,” you said, still grinning, though your heart felt full to bursting. “But only because I love you.”

Orm leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he regarded you with that piercing gaze that always made you feel as if you were the only person in the world. “I am most fortunate, then,” he replied, his tone low and intimate.

As the meal continued, the two of you fell into easy conversation. Orm began to share stories of Atlantean celebrations—vivid depictions of grand processions that wound through the glowing coral cities, ceremonies steeped in tradition, and bioluminescent displays that transformed the deep into a kaleidoscope of living light.

“There is a particular festival,” he said, his tone tinged with pride. “The Feast of Tides. It is held to honour the shifting currents that guide us and the sea creatures that sustain our people. The city pulses with song, and even the waters seem to dance.”

Your mind drifted back to the time Orm had taken you to Atlantis—a moment early in your relationship. The vibrant, surreal beauty of the city beneath the waves had been overwhelming: spires of coral that shimmered with an inner light, creatures that glowed in the darkened depths, and the hauntingly beautiful songs that seemed to resonate through the water itself. You had never felt more like an outsider, and yet, Orm’s steady presence at your side had made you feel protected. Made you feel like you belonged.

“It sounds incredible,” you said, leaning forward, captivated by the vivid picture he painted. “It reminds me of when you showed me Atlantis for the first time. Everything was so alive. It felt like stepping into another world.”

Orm’s gaze softened, a flicker of pride and something deeper crossing his features. “You adapted quickly for someone who had never felt the pressure of the deep nor seen the creatures beneath the waves.”

You smiled, a little embarrassed but warmed by his praise. “It helped that I had the former king of Atlantis guiding me.”

His lips twitched before breaking into a smile again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “A king who now decorates trees and eats roasted squash,” he said dryly, though his tone held no bitterness—only a quiet, soft acceptance of how much his life had changed. “The currents have carried us to strange places.”

“They have,” you agreed. “But they’ve carried us together. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing great with all the surface-world traditions. Even if you think they’re odd.”

Orm’s expression shifted as his gaze turned thoughtful. “Perhaps. If the currents align, and the surface is kind, there may be more of these… traditions to learn.” His words were wistful, carrying the weight of someone trying to balance two worlds, yet willing to try for you—willing to continue trying for you.

After dinner, the two of you decided to take a walk along the beach behind your cottage. The snow that had lightly dusted the sand earlier was now mostly melted, leaving patches of dampness that sparkled faintly under the silvery moonlight. 

You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, glancing over at Orm as the two of you walked along the beach behind your house.

His long coat swayed with his movements, and his posture remained as regal as ever, though there was an ease to his stride that you didn’t often see. He had refused a hat, of course, claiming it unnecessary despite the cold.

The ocean stretched out in its eternal rhythm, its waves gently lapping against the shore in whispers. Each crest caught the moonlight, creating an otherworldly glow that illuminated the vast, dark, endless expanse of water. The air was crisp, carrying the faint briny tang of salt, and the stars above were like scattered diamonds on a velvet canvas.

Orm’s eyes were drawn to the horizon, his expression contemplative as he walked beside you. 

The moonlight caught his features, accentuating the chiselled planes of his face and the sheen of his hair that glistened in an almost ethereal silver, the strands shimmering like liquid light. His blue eyes, so striking in daylight, seemed to hold the entire ocean’s depth in their gaze, glowing faintly as if lit from within.  

There was a serenity to his expression, but his gaze held an intensity that always set your heart fluttering.

He glanced down at you as you walked, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’ve grown quiet,” he remarked, his deep voice cutting through the gentle sound of the waves.

You turned your face toward him, smiling softly. “I was just thinking about how beautiful this is,” you said, gesturing to the sea and sky around you. “And how lucky I am to be sharing it with you.”

His expression softened, and he reached out, taking your hand in his. His grip was firm but warm, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that sent a pleasant shiver up your spine. “It is beautiful,” he agreed, his tone quieter now, almost reverent. “But the surface world’s beauty is fleeting. It does not endure as the depths do.”

“Maybe that’s why it’s so special,” you countered. “Because it doesn’t last forever. You have to cherish it while it’s here.”

He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. 

The moonlight framed him like a painting, casting a silver halo around his tall, imposing figure. His gaze searched yours, as if looking for something he had yet to name. Snowflakes clung to his lashes, and for a moment, he looked as though he belonged more to this world than the one beneath the waves.

“You are... unlike anyone I have ever known,” he said quietly. “You see the world with such hope. Such... resilience. It is both confounding and admirable.”

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. “And you,” you said, stepping closer, “are far more than the former king who once waged war on the surface. You care deeply, even if you don’t always show it. You’re strong, yes, but you’re also kind.”

For a moment, the only sound was the whisper of the waves and the distant cry of a gull. Orm’s gaze softened, and he raised a hand to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was featherlight, yet it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I deserve you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, and you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing gently along his cheekbone. “Orm,” you said, your voice firm but filled with affection, “you deserve every bit of happiness and peace. You’ve fought for so long, carried so much. Let yourself have this. Let yourself have us.”

His lips parted as if to say something, but he hesitated, the vulnerability in his expression making your chest ache. Instead of speaking, he stepped closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek. The moonlight reflected in his eyes, turning them into shimmering pools of silver and blue. 

“You remind me of the tides,” he said after a moment, his voice low. “Ever-changing, unpredictable. Yet constant in your pull. I can never seem to escape you... nor do I wish to.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned into his touch, your hand resting lightly against his chest. Beneath your palm, you could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat, strong and unyielding. His warmth seeped through the fabric of his shirt, grounding you in the moment.

“You don’t have to escape,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. “You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”

Orm’s expression softened further, a smile gracing his lips—small but genuine. “Here,” he murmured, his fingers tilting your chin up, “with you.”

He leaned down, his movements unhurried, as though savouring the anticipation of the kiss. When his lips met yours, it was with the practised intimacy of lovers who had kissed a thousand times before, yet each time felt new. 

His mouth was warm against yours, his kiss deep and deliberate, as if he were trying to pour all the unspoken things he struggled to express into that single moment. His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, your fingers tangling in the silken strands of his hair.

The sound of the waves and the cool night air faded into the background, leaving only the heat of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his breath against your cheek. 

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his breath mingled with yours in the cold air. Snowflakes continued to fall around you, landing on his lashes and catching in his hair like tiny, fleeting jewels.

“You make me forget everything else,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “The weight of my past, the conflict of my worlds—it all fades when I’m with you.”

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice filled with emotion.

His lips curved into a soft smile, his blue eyes shining with a rare vulnerability. “And I love you,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “More than I ever thought myself capable of.”

The look he gave you then was one of pure devotion, his blue eyes gleaming like the ocean at sunrise. He nodded slightly, as though sealing some silent vow, before pulling you into another kiss—this one softer, filled with the kind of quiet reverence that made your heartache in the best way.

“Let’s walk a little further,” you said, taking his hand.

Orm allowed you to guide him, his fingers intertwining with yours as the two of you continued along the snowy shoreline. The quiet was companionable now, filled with the unspoken bond you shared.

As you reached a cluster of rocks near the edge of the beach, you paused, turning to look back at your cottage. The warm glow of the lights spilling from the windows, the soft twinkle of the Christmas tree visible even from here—it was the picture of home.

Orm’s gaze followed yours, and his expression grew thoughtful. “This world,” he said softly, “is not without its beauty. I see now why you cherish it so deeply.”

“And now it’s your world, too,” you said, squeezing his hand. “Our world.”

He turned back to you, his smile returning. “Our world,” he agreed, his voice filled with a quiet reverence.

You laughed softly, a sudden thought striking you. “Merry Christmas, Orm,” you said, your tone light but full of affection.

He looked at you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as though testing the words. Then, his smile widened, and he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

[trinoxtrinox]

@doby-mans Aqui voy a agregar una traduccion para esta idea, puedes reblogearla si quieres para esparcir la idea aun mas :P

Translation for this idea under the cut, since I know for a fact that it won't be short XD

Something else I thought of DP x DC, this time remembering that canonically Danielle went to other places of the world by herself.

Now, Young Justice, Danielle being part of it, they all believe that she's a martian that focuses more on her magical powers and abilities of camouflage and phasing than anything else.

Until one day Miss Martian got sick and she can't use her telepathic powers to keep everyone comunicated during a mission y stay looking at her. Everything goes well regardless, they recover the dangerous magical artifact similar to a box with a strange inscription on it, until someone finally raises their voice.

Superboy: Why not share a psychic conection in the moment?

Dani: Because I don't have telepathic powers?

Superboy: We all know you're martian like her, so...

Dani: No I'm not! None of you understand the real nature of my powers and may never be able to, you don't know what it's like to be me!

Robin: What do we not understand? Being different? Having a power no one completly understands? Being an adolecent with hormonal problems?

Dani: No! Being a clone created in a clandestine lab!

Impulse: Let's see, Superboy, Red Arrow, Robin and now Danielle, anyone else I'm forgetting about?

Dani: What?

Superboy: You aren0t the first one in that situation here, so, martian DNA?

Dani: Worse... The real nature of my powers, ghost DNA...

Zatanna: If that's true then you're exactly what we need, according to the inscription on the box, one a "Halfa" can open it.

Dani: *tries to open the box but her hand starts to melt* Ah!... I can't, my ghost powers aren't stable, this hasn't happened to me for ages.

Robin: Pity that there's no other "Halfa" to open the box.

Dani: Well, that's not completly true, besides me there are two other, one of them a dangerous villain, my creator, that dissapeared a few years ago; and the other one...

Zatanna: What happened to the other one?

Dani: The other one... Well, he is...

All of the Justice League, Young Justice and the Batfam, who if they weren't present, were in a call the whole time: WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S THE GHOST KING!?

Dani: He's the only other halfa that's left in the worl and he's way stronger and stable than me, do you want to open the box or not?

Batman: This could be very important, call him.

Dani: I did, I asked him to find us here in the Gotham City base...

Nightwing: I think we have a problem, we were in the middle of a Poison Ivy attack when what appears to be a flying boy froze her in seconds.

Batman: Froze her?

Red Robin: That's not all, Joker, Penguin and Two Face were in the middle of an attack in the same street, that same boy did some kind of super scream and left everyone unconcious, including their goons.

Dani: Oh no... He's upset...

Robin: Umh... That same kid just duplicated himseld and imprissioned every villain and criminal of the city in what appears to be a box made with his own energy.

Dani: Oh no, he's very upset...

Danny: Of course I am! *he says appearing right behind her* I told you to call me as soon as you were unstable! You know very well what could've happened!

Dani: I know, I know, but there's no need to worry, I haven't needed an Ecto-shot for years, normally with some emditation it's enough.

Danny: You've melted before!?

Dani: Don't be so overprotective, I called you to help me with something else.

Danny: Don't change the subject, don't make me ask Clockwork to watch over you.

Red Hood: Clockwork?

Danny: Ghost of time.

Batman: We come asking for help with this box...

Danny: And who's this furry?

Dani: He's Batman, this city's hero...

Danny: Well bad job, I've been here two seconds and I've had to take charge... That box... It looks similar to Pandora's, where did you get it?

Wonder Woman: But Pandora's box should be protected by...

Danny: Pandora herself in my kingdom, yes.

Dani: We recovered in a team mission, apparently only a Halfa can open it, but I oculdn't, it deestabilized me.

Nightwing: I don't know what confuses me more, the box's thing or how many powers this boy got.

Danny: That's easy, I got the classic ghost powers, including those I used for the city, but as king I have access to old magical artifacts like the Crown of Fire that increases the Ghostly Powers a great amount, alongside the Ring of Rage the power would be infinite, but I made a deal with the old king when I defeated him, so he has the ring and his freedom in exchange for him to not cause any disaster; or Aragon's amulet that basically gives you dragon powers, there's also a ghost key that can literally open any door in mine or this world...

Dani: Is the list of magical objects really that long?

Danny: I only had the reality gems missing, which can alter reality itself as we know it, of course I destroyed those things already...

Batman: The box is what's important.

Danny: Yeah, we shouldn't open that thing, if it resembles Pandora's box then whatever is inside must be very dangerous... But if that's what you want... *Open the box and bot he and Danielle immediatly feel sick* I know that feeling, it's... a Blood Blossom.

Otra cosa que pensé DC x DP esta vez recordando que canónicamente Daniela fue a otras partes del mundo por su cuenta

Ahora, Young Justice, Daniela siendo parte de ello, todos creen que es marciana solo que se concentra más en su poder mágico y las habilidades de camuflaje y atravesar muros que otra cosa

Hasta que un día la señorita marciana se enferma y no puede usar su poder telepático para mantenerlos comunicados durante una misión y se le quedan viendo a ella, aún así la misión va bien, recuperan un artefacto mágico peligroso similar a una caja con una inscripción extraña en ella hasta que finalmente alguien alza la voz

Superboy: ¿Por qué no pusiste una conexión psíquica en el momento?

Dani: porque no tengo poderes telepáticos?

Superboy: Todos sabemos que eres marciana como ella así que...

Dani: No, no lo soy! Ninguno de ustedes entiende la verdadera naturaleza de mis poderes y puede que nunca lo hagan, ustedes no saben lo que es ser como yo!

Robin: ¿Que cosa no entendemos?, ¿El ser diferente?, ¿El tener un poder que nadie comprende del todo? ¿El ser un adolescente con problemas hormonales?

Dani: ¡No!, ¡El ser un clon creado artificialmente en un laboratorio clandestino!

Impulso: veamos, Superboy, Flecha roja, Robin y ahora Daniela, ¿Se me olvida alguno?

Dani: ¿Que?

Superboy: No eres la primera en esa situación aquí, entonces, ¿Adn marciano?

Dani: Peor... La verdadera naturaleza de mis poderes, ADN fantasma...

Zatanna: Si eso es cierto entonces eres justo lo que necesitamos, según la inscripción de la caja, solo un "halfa" puede abrirla

Dani: *intenta abrir la caja pero comienza a derretirse su mano* Ah!... No puedo, mi poder fantasmal no está estable, esto no me había pasado en años

Robin: Lástima que no hay otro "halfa" para abrir la caja

Dani: Bueno, eso no es del todo cierto, a parte de mi hay otros dos, uno de ellos es un peligroso villano, mi creador, que desapareció hace algunos años y el otro...

Zatanna: ¿Que pasa con el otro?

Dani: El otro... Bueno el es...

Toda la liga de la justicia, Young Justice y la batifamilia, quienes si no estaban presentes, estaban en llamada todo el tiempo: ¿¡CÓMO QUE EL REY DE LOS FANTASMAS?!

Dani: Es el único otro halfa que queda en este mundo y el es mucho más fuerte y estable que yo, ¿Quieren abrir la caja o no?

Batman: Esto podría ser muy importante, llámalo

Dani: Ya lo hice, le pedí que nos encontrará aquí en la base de ciudad Gótica...

Nigthwing: Creo que tenemos un problema, estábamos en medio de un ataque de Hiedra venenosa cuando lo que parece un chico volador, la congelo en segundos

Batman: ¿Congelarla?

Red Robin: Eso no es todo, el Guasón, el Pingüino y Dos caras, estaban en medio de un ataque en la misma calle, el mismo chico dio una especie de super grito y los dejo inconscientes a todos, incluidos sus matones

Dani: Oh no... Esta molesto...

Robin: Amh... El mismo chico acaba de, duplicarse a si mismo y encerrar a cada villano y criminal de la ciudad en lo que parece una caja hecha con su propia energía

Dani: Oh no, está muy molesto...

Danny: ¡Claro que lo estoy! *Dice apareciendo justo detrás de ella* ¡Te dije que me llamaras en cuanto estuvieras inestable!, ¡Sabes bien lo que pudo haberte pasado!

Dani: Lo se, lo se pero no tienes que preocuparte, no había necesitado una inyección de ectoplasma en años, normalmente con algo de meditación basta

Danny: ¿Te habías estado derritiendo antes?!

Dani: No seas tan sobreprotector, te llamé para que me ayudarás con un asunto diferente

Danny: No cambies el tema, no me hagas pedirle a Reloj que te vigile

Red Hood: ¿Reloj?

Danny: El fantasma del tiempo

Batman: Pedimos ayuda con esta caja...

Danny: Y este furry quien es?

Dani: Es Batman, el héroe de esta ciudad...

Danny: Pues pésimo trabajo, he estado aquí dos segundos y ya me tuve que hacer cargo... Esa caja... Se parece un poco a la caja de Pandora, ¿De dónde la sacaron?

Wonder woman: Pero la caja de Pandora debería estar siendo protegida por...

Danny: La propia Pandora en mi reino, así es

Dani: En una misión de equipo la recuperamos, al parecer solo un halfa puede abrirla pero yo no pude, eso me desestabilizo

Nigthwing: ¿No se que me confunde más, la cosa de la caja o cuántos poderes tiene este chico?

Danny: Eso es fácil, tengo poderes de fantasma clásicos, incluidos los que use por la ciudad pero como rey tego acceso a artefactos mágicos antiguos como la corona del rey que aumenta el poder fantasmal en gran medida, junto al anillo el poder sería infinito pero hice un trato con el antiguo rey al vencerlo, así que el tiene el anillo y su libertad a cambio de que no cause ningún desastre, o el amuleto de Aragón que básicamente da poderes de dragón, también existe una llave fantasma que puede literalmente abrir cualquier puerta ya sea de mi mundo o de este...

Dani: ¿En serio es tan larga la lista de objetos mágicos?

Danny: Solo me faltaban las gemas de la realidad con las cuales podría cambiar la realidad misma como la conocemos pero claro, ya destruí esas cosas...

Batman: La caja es lo importante

Danny: Si, no deberíamos abrir esa cosa, si se parece a la caja de Pandora entonces allí adentro debe haber algo muy peligroso... Pero bueno si eso es lo que quieren... *Abre la caja e inmediatamente tanto el como Daniela comienzan a sentir un gran malestar* conozco esta sensación, es... Una rosa de sangre

[hotasfahrenheit]

Yak and I are fake boyfriends. Yes, we started like that. But you know something? Yak is a huge green flag for me.

When I'm with Yak, I never question myself if I'm good enough. It's Yak who makes me realize how worthy I am.

Right now Yak is my peace of mind. I still don't understand why I wasted those eight years with you. Because right now, I really love myself when I'm with Yak.

Thank you, Yak, for coming into my life.

It's my pleasure. Alright then. Let's go home.

[Wandee Gooddday, 1.09]