#the lost {aria hall}

[formiito]

infinity aria ; prologue

fyodor dostoevsky x gn! reader. synopsis: two souls inexplicably intertwined, only for one to kiss death again and again, and for the other to stand witness. throughout the lifetimes, he watches you seek him out, curiously watching you seal your fate. read on ao3

warning : canon typical violence, mentions of death

author's note: holy SHIT i'm doing a series for once. this fic is set in the past, but eventually will become canon compliant. this is a reincarnated! reader fic. the chapters will be considerably longer (i'm aiming 2.5-3k words everytime, but this one will be short because it's a prologue. 

Unnerving.

  That was the first word you could think of to describe the feeling that seemed to crawl like a spider up the webbings of your veins when you entered the hall; this giant, grotesquely adorned opera hall with ceilings high enough to make one feel infinitely small, the arches too high to properly glean at the painted reliefs on them. The marble floor of the hall remains empty save for a few groups of guests. The linen note you received yesterday crumples in your tight grip. It states clearly in cursive, inked with clarity— that this was, or rather, should be the correct time and place for you to be here. With your best attempt, you try not to look lost, not keeping the eye or conversation of anyone for long enough to be able to feel the full weight of their gaze. Unremarkable people in their own right, yet the stateliness that their haughty gazes carried made their gaze a weight that rested heavily on your shoulders. Somehow, their superimposed, silent pride had made it a lot harder to freely move, every action carefully noted and judged, as if they were the sole authority worth doing so. Tonight only, they were all birds of a feather.

  You usher yourself into an adjacent room, pushing a heavy door on the far right side of the hall. Pinching at the hem of your opera gloves, your velveteen fingers lock the door behind you. When you turn around, you see the sender of the note in your palm, with his hands clasped in front of him. A pale young man, gracile and willowy in build, with unreadable yet deep eyes and pale pink lips curled in a sardonic, yet cordial smile. He was dressed in the fashion of the times; a violet cravat neatly tucked into his shirt, matching to the dim shade reflected in his eyes, a small brooch in the shape of an angel’s wings. Owing to the harsh weather, a winter overcoat was draped over the fineries, lined with fur— understated and respectable, yet not standing out. A glint of silver shines under his sleeve, hardly noticeable; not that of a watch or a bracelet, but the tip of a dagger.

  You have no reason to believe that the reveal is not intentional. 

  In your life, you have only ever met Fyodor Dostoevsky four times in person; your correspondence has been limited to perfumed letters that are burned soon after they are read. The first time was in a chapel, his form sitting in a pew with unmoving tranquility, like that only ever found in placid, glacial lakes—counting the beads of his rosary although his mouth had not once moved in prayer. You do not recall why you spent so much time watching him, yet he seemed to command your attention with not so much as a word. He could keenly feel your observation, but for some reason you could not tell, he only glanced at you with a knowing smile, whispered a morning greeting, and left.

  The second time, it was in midst of the crowd that followed a public execution, though you remember not what misdeed had led that young man to the scaffold, barely of age. A short drop; you saw the deadly tie placed around that man’s neck, the force not immediately snapping his neck, but rather slowly cutting off his breath, leaving him hanging limp off the rope. You did not wait long enough to see him pass away, but you heard the man next to you mumble something about how 'there's no hope for them, there's no hope for any of them…’ Rather than sadness or contemplation, there was a tone of cruel, self aware irony in his intonation.

  Fyodor had stayed behind, observing the condemned man a few minutes more. 

  The third time, it was through an associate of yours. While you could not fathom why a seemingly devout man would associate with criminals, especially those that specialized in the matter of political assassinations, you did not question your new patron much. So long as he provided his support, it would be unwise to question generosity out loud. It would not be the first time people wore religion like a disguise for their actions, a pretty accessory that could be discarded at will. It wasn't until the past three months that he started becoming more actively involved in these…projects of sorts, and while you could not help but wonder how he seemed to convince your usually suspicious and steadfast superiors so quickly, he had still not given you a reason to question him. That first night you had worked with him is only a fuzzy memory now. By the time you had even reached the location, he was already leaving. When he closed the door behind him, he only expressed formal concern about the late hour and your return home, suggesting that he shall fetch a coach for the both of you. 

  While his back was turned, your fingers reached tentatively for the doorknob, silently opening it. In the dim candlelight, the glimmer of still warm blood shone on the floors, the limp bodies of around five men with their eyes blown wide lay scattered around the study. You were no stranger to bloody sights, however, the reason your mouth had become dry and your head felt heavy was not the slaughtered bodies of those targets, but rather the one in the centre. 

  Fyodor Dostoevsky, laying decidedly dead, with a bullet lodged in the middle of his eyes. 

  You closed the door the moment you caught a glimpse of that sight. Perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you. It had to be, for the man you know to be Fyodor was currently not too far ahead of you, standing on the edge of the road and talking to a coach. You wondered why he hadn't locked the door after the deed was done. If he had intended for you to see what you had. The ride home had passed in silence, and you bid him a quiet farewell, head swirling from the events of the night.

  Tonight is the fourth time you have laid your eyes upon this strange man. One who has strangely made himself a recurring thought in your mind, an unwitting parasite. Usually, you had no choice but to curb your curiosity regarding certain people, given that asking too many questions could at best result in a stern rebuke or at worst, pointed violence. In that way, the new patron’s serene demeanor was disarming, yet could not entirely dispel the suspicion you kept close like an old friend. Before you could lose yourself in your silent perusal of his character any longer, the sound of his voice brings you back from your musings. 

  “Punctual, good. I trust you know what we're here for, so let us begin. Have you brought the vial?”

  The glass sits cool near your skin, and with a quick reach from your pockets, you produce the item. The liquid inside was clear, smelling like nothing in particular; the vial itself was shaped like those typically used to store smelling salts; slightly darker in color. A blend of arsenic and atropa belladonna distillates, or so you have been told. The vial he had given you looked worn, your thumb could feel the scratches on the glass and an weathered old apothecary label that read an year and initials. For F.D, 1606.

  These details remain in your memory, but they are like some sort of eccentric joke; disjointed and without meaning. Fyodor takes the vial, inspecting it for a moment, before giving it back. “It’s not full…but it will be enough for our task. Our guest will be in the box owned by his family, number five if my memory serves me. It will be high enough for no one to see you. The poison will take about an hour to act, and by that time the after party would have begun. Escort him down to keep up appearances, then lead him to one of the greenrooms. They will be empty at this hour. Wait till the body drops, and then meet me in the gardens with the corpse.” 

  You nod, movements a little exaggerated to combat the stiffness in your limbs. The stubborn feeling that accompanied the onset of missions like these; an ache in your head that felt as though someone was tightening an imaginary cord round your head. The feeling of bile in your throat that won't yet rise; no, that was reserved for after the body is buried. The danger makes you nauseous with anxiety, always has. Yet even as you hear the details of the disposal of the body, repeated by the man in front of you in a clinical tone, you hold yourself well. Back straight, looking at him directly, words uttered only with deliberation and no syllable empty when you discussed the details with him further; this is what you were made for.

  Your composure is admirable, he thinks, if only you knew who exactly you were attempting to fool. 

  “Are you nervous?” He asks, without pity or mockery.

“No. Does something make you think so?” 

“You are to kill a man in front of half the city, I would expect you to be nervous.”

You shake your head. “It’s what must be done.”

“I wonder if you say so with duty, or with compulsion?”

  You run the words you are about to say carefully in your head, numerous times. Conversations were not a means of amusement to you, but rather a delicate game. The most convincing lies are poisoned by truth. 

  “They're one and the same.”

Fyodor's expression shifts, the slight mocking lift of the corners of his lips disappearing. There is sympathy where the lights meet the cold violet in his eyes. Not the kind of sympathy that results from care, but sort of a cynical disappointment that communicates that he was expecting something different; you recognize it, for you have seen it in several places. In your friends, in the eyes of confessional priests through the wood mesh, in the men you work for. Where expectations die. “I must say, it is regrettable that you think so. But for a person in your situation, it was unsurprising. For the time being, this will suffice; now, head to the box hallway, the overture should begin soon. One last thing…”

  “Yes?” You pocket the vial, ready for your cue to leave.

  “... Your hands are trembling. It is unsightly, see to it before anyone else notices.” 

  The tremble of your velvet fingers stops once you begin to think about it consciously. Slightly embarrassed, you place your hands behind your back, clutching one with the other. It’s a strange feeling, for it's not the trembling that bothers you, but the fact that he could notice that small detail when his eyes seemed to be trained on your face the whole time.

  “Understood. Goodbye, then, I’ll see you once I’ve administered the poison.”

“I hope you'll be flawless in your execution this time as well. Good evening.”

  He gives a solemn nod, walking to the exit with light, fluid steps; movements as subtle and quiet as that of a ghost. As his back turns to you, your fingers itch to reach for the dagger on your thigh and thrust it into his neck, then twist and twist until you no longer feel seen in such an uncomfortably raw way. Till the discomfort of the moment fades and you no longer feel eyes in the back of your head even as he has walked out that door. When it shuts once more, you are left to quell the sudden rage that simmers under your skin, remembering what you are here for. 

    Unfortunately for you, Fyodor’s presence seeps into the mind like poison and sticks on it like honey.

[victoriajanssen]

Nebula Award Finalists for 2024 works:

Nebula Award for Novel

Sleeping Worlds Have No Memory, Yaroslav Barsukov (Caezik SF & Fantasy) 

Rakesfall, Vajra Chandrasekera (Tordotcom)

Asunder, Kerstin Hall (Tordotcom) 

A Sorceress Comes to Call, T. Kingfisher (Tor; Titan UK)

The Book of Love, Kelly Link (Random House; Ad Astra UK)

Someone You Can Build a Nest In, John Wiswell (DAW; Arcadia UK)

Nebula Award for Novella

The Butcher of the Forest, Premee Mohamed (Tordotcom)

The Tusks of Extinction, Ray Nayler (Tordotcom)

Lost Ark Dreaming, Suyi Davies Okungbowa (Tordotcom)

Countess, Suzan Palumbo (ECW)

The Practice, the Horizon, and the Chain, Sofia Samatar (Tordotcom)

The Dragonfly Gambit, A.D. Sui (Neon Hemlock)

Nebula Award for Novelette

The Brotherhood of Montague St. Video, Thomas Ha (Clarkesworld 5/24)

Katya Vasilievna and the Second Drowning of Baba Rechka, Christine Hanolsy (Beneath Ceaseless Skies 4/18/24)

Another Girl Under the Iron Bell, Angela Liu (Uncanny 9-10/24)

What Any Dead Thing Wants, Aimee Ogden (Psychopomp 2/24)

Negative Scholarship on the Fifth State of Being, A.W. Prihandita (Clarkesworld 11/24)

Joanna’s Bodies, Eugenia Triantafyllou (Psychopomp 7/1/24)

Loneliness Universe, Eugenia Triantafyllou (Uncanny 5-6/24)

Nebula Award for Short Story

The Witch Trap, Jennifer Hudak (Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet 9/24)

Five Views of the Planet Tartarus, Rachael K. Jones (Lightspeed 1/24)

Why Don’t We Just Kill the Kid in the Omelas Hole, Isabel J. Kim (Clarkesworld 2/24)

Evan: A Remainder, Jordan Kurella (Reactor 1/31/24)

The V*mpire, PH Lee (Reactor 10/23/24)

We Will Teach You How to Read | We Will Teach You How to Read, Caroline M. Yoachim (Lightspeed 5/24)

Andre Norton Nebula Award for Middle Grade and Young Adult Fiction

Daydreamer, Rob Cameron (Labyrinth Road)

Braided, Leah Cypess (Delacorte)

Benny Ramírez and the Nearly Departed, José Pablo Iriarte (Knopf)

Moonstorm, Yoon Ha Lee (Delacorte; Solaris UK)

Puzzleheart, Jenn Reese (Henry Holt)

The Young Necromancer’s Guide to Ghosts, Vanessa Ricci-Thode (self-published)

Nebula Award for Game Writing

A Death in Hyperspace, Stewart C Baker, Phoebe Barton, James Beamon, Kate Heartfield, Isabel J. Kim, Sara S. Messenger, Naca Rat, Natalia Theodoridou, M. Darusha Wehm, Merc Fenn Wolfmoor (Infomancy.net)

Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erdtree, Hidetaka Miyazaki (From Software)

The Ghost and the Golem, Benjamin Rosenbaum (Choice of Games)

1000xRESIST, Remy Siu, Pinki Li, Conor Wylie (Fellow Traveller Games)

Pacific Drive, Karrie Shao, Paul Dean (Ironwood Studios)

Restore, Reflect, Retry, Natalia Theodoridou (Choice of Games)

Slay the Princess -- The Pristine Cut, Tony Howard-Arias, Abby Howard (Black Tabby Games)

Yazeba's Bed & Breakfast, Jay Dragon, M Veselak, Mercedes Acosta, Lillie J. Harris (Possum Creek Games)

Ray Bradbury Nebula Award for Outstanding Dramatic Presentation

Doctor Who: "Dot and Bubble" by Russell T. Davies (BBC)

Dune: Part Two by Jon Spaihts, Denis Villeneuve (Warner Bros)

I Saw the TV Glow by Jane Schoenbrun (A24 Films LLC)

KAOS by Charlie Covell, Georgia Christou (Netflix)

Star Trek: Lower Decks Season 5 by Mike McMahan (Paramount+)

Wicked by Winnie Holzman, Dana Fox (Universal Pictures)

[koiiiji]

HYPERFIXATION

sangho in old style drawing>>>

tw ; ; possessive, jealousy, egoism (tell me when sanghon don't), yandere.

warnings ; mentions of death (not main char.), mention of depressive episode, suggestive.

please no spam likes, ageless/empty blogs DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU!!

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Sangho have a perverted concept of love.

for sure, he love his siblings, he love Hwangyeon in his own way, always approaching him to train, study, not to rely always on him, fucking his brains about army and work, because Hwang already was old enough to take responsibility for his own life, but this brat always was too relaxed and reliable on Sangho's money and wealth.

for Aria things was quite more easy, since she didn't brought any harm and extra work to do as Hwangyeon, who was the master in bringing extra pain in the ass to his older brother. Sangho just provided Aria with all essentials and nowadays popular stuff and he thought that would be enough. his younger sister go to nice school, wear nice clothes and always have money on her bank account, so she doesn't need to go through what her brother went, she can have above the normal school life - Sangho totally understand concept that she just a teenage girl.

but with you… oh dear, his love for you is whole different level. just start from the point that you was with him from beginning, this is the point why he appreciates you in the first place.

he happened to met you in training center where he went to train for his earliest competitions, even before he was in national team. but hold on. you was with them. with him and Maheyon. yeah, that too optimistic and windy guy who thought that in this world you can just enjoy bike ride...that bitch.

unfortunately, you didn’t make it to the national team with them, and the women’s team was not formed yet, so you were allowed to train with them and be part of the team as an analyst and technical assistant. so you three always met in the hall of training center and went homes together.

many things changed from that times, but Sangho always remember your smile. oh, dear, he never forget you had different types — gentle smile when you even close your eyes slowly, as you greet them each meeting, exiting one when your eyes shines and you run towards them for a tight hug, congratulating them with another win on completion. and his personal favorite - that comfort, soft smile you have when you look at something you like and it seems that even atmosphere around you is shining.

and Sangho hated that he needed to share any of your smiles with Maheyon.

he knew what kind of feelings that bastard had for you, and it makes his blood boil. every time he saw how your naive eyes blink at another Maheyon's attempt to flirt with you, Sangho was thankful for his stoic face and self control for not slamming that brat face right in the wall. but you, such a pretty, little thing were naive enough not to catch Maheyon's romantic feelings for you, but still the fact that you took him as a really close friend irritated Sangho. he never liked to share.

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as the news of Maheyon's tragic death spread, a somber cloud descended upon whole team. the accusations of doping tarnished his legacy, leaving behind a shattered reputation and unanswered questions. the loss of your friend hit each of you differently, but none felt it as profoundly as you, who regarded Maheyon almost as a brother.

tears flowed freely as you stood by his graveside, the weight of grief heavy in your heart. memories of shared laughter and cherished moments flooded your mind, each one a painful reminder of what was now lost. your sobs mixed and echoed with all other people who came to honor Maheyon's memory in the quiet cemetery, a haunting melody of sorrow that pierced through the silence.

Sangho, standing nearby, observed your anguish with a conflicted heart. while outwardly offering you comfort and support, inwardly he was faced with a strange feeling of joy and elation. with each tear you shed for Maheyon, a small part of Sangho couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction that now, finally, all your attention would be directed solely towards him. he will make sure of it.

in the following days and weeks, as you grappled with the overwhelming grief of losing Maheyon, Sangho found himself basking in the newfound attention that came his way. sport sponsors and managers seemed like beasts, not having time to properly mourn one athlete, they quickly found a replacement for him in the form of Sangho, once hesitant to invest in him, now saw an opportunity in his rising star. offers poured in, promising lucrative endorsements and opportunities for financial growth. the whispers of his business ventures grew louder and louder, drawing more and more attention of investors and entrepreneurs alike. Sangho seized the opportunity to establish himself outside of the shadow of Maheyon, determined to prove his worth and carve out his own path to success.

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the rain hadn’t let up in days. it was as if the entire world had become soaked in gray, the heavy, endless downpour matching the numbness that had settled over your heart. every day felt the same. long, quiet hours alone in the apartment, staring at nothing, feeling the weight of your grief press down on you like a constant, invisible force.

if it weren’t for Sangho, you weren’t sure how you would have survived these past weeks. he was the only one who visited, the only one who still checked in. your friends had gradually disappeared, maybe busy with their own lives, or maybe they just didn’t know how to deal with your constant sadness. and your parents, living too far away to visit regularly, could only call. but Sangho… he had stayed. every night, he brought food, sat with you in the quiet, and listened when you had the energy to talk.

you were grateful. grateful for his steady presence, for the fact that he hadn’t abandoned you like everyone else seemed to.

you heard the familiar knock at the door just as the rain grew heavier outside, the dull thud of raindrops on the windows now a constant, almost hypnotic sound. you stood up slowly, wiping your face, though you hadn’t realized you’d been crying again. Sangho was here.

opening the door, you were greeted by his familiar, calm face. his expression softened when he saw you, concern filling his eyes. “you haven’t been sleeping, have you?” he asked quietly, stepping inside and setting down a plastic bag of food. scent of warm takeout filled the room, a welcome distraction from the cold, lifeless atmosphere that seemed to cling to everything.

“i guess not,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. you felt like a shell of yourself, too tired even to fight the exhaustion. “thanks for coming again, Sangho. i don’t know what i’d do without you…”

his lips curved into a small smile, though there was something darker behind it that you were too weary to notice. “you don’t have to thank me. i’m glad to be here.”

he moved into the kitchen, unpacking the food with practiced ease, like this was routine now. and in a way, it was. time to time, he’d show up, bringing food, keeping you company while the world outside your window seemed to disappear under the heavy rain.

as you sat on the couch, staring at the steaming containers of food, you realized how much you’d come to rely on him. his presence was the only thing keeping you grounded, the only thing that felt real in the haze of your grief. you didn’t have the energy to reach out to anyone else anymore, and they didn’t seem to be trying either.

“Sangho,” you started, your voice soft and hesitant. “you’ve been coming here almost every day. i just… i feel like i’m leaning on you too much.”

he looked up, a gentle smile on his lips, but his eyes flashed with something unreadable. “you’re not. you need someone, and i’m ready to be that person for you. after everything, it’s the least i can do.”

you smiled weakly, your heart twisting with both gratitude and guilt. “i don’t know how to repay you…”

he walked over to you, sitting down beside you on the couch, close enough that you could feel his warmth. “you don’t need to repay me,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing. “i’m doing this because i care about you. and Maheyon wouldn’t want you to be alone.”

Maheyon. his name still hurt, still brought the sting of tears to your eyes. you nodded, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “i miss him,” you whispered. Sangho’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, but his voice remained calm. “i know. but i’m here too. you don’t need to keep thinking about him.”

you blinked, confused by the sudden shift in his tone. “what do you mean?”

he leaned closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “i mean that you’re not alone. you have me. you don’t need to keep clinging to someone who’s gone when i’m right here.”

his words sent a ripple of unease through you, but you dismissed it, telling yourself that he was just trying to help. after all, he was right. Maheyon was gone, and you were still here, trying to piece together the shattered remains of your life. Sangho was the one who had stayed. the only one who had stayed.

“i’m not trying to forget him,” you said softly, lowering your gaze. “it’s just hard to let go.”

“you don’t have to let go all at once,” Sangho replied, his voice suddenly gentle again, as if sensing your discomfort. he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “just let me help you through this. you’ll feel better if you stop thinking about him so much.”

the way he said it made it sound so simple, so reasonable. and you wanted to believe him. you were so tired of feeling this way, so tired of the pain, the loneliness. maybe Sangho was right. maybe if you just stopped thinking about Maheyon so much, you could finally move on...

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hours passed as the rain drummed on, and your head eventually fell against his shoulder, exhaustion finally overtaking you. good, he thought. you needed rest, needed to stop thinking so much. thinking about him.

when your tear-stained eyes finally closed and your breathing deepened into the soft rhythm of sleep, Sangho stayed still for a moment, just watching you. you were so fragile, so beautiful, clinging weakly to the fabric of his shirt as if he were your anchor. his ego boosted with pride at the thought — you didn’t even realize how much you needed him now, how completely you depended on him.

but there was still one problem. Maheyon. ghost that haunted your every thought. every time you cried, it was for him. every time you seemed lost, it was because of him.

carefully, Sangho shifted you from his lap, laying you gently against the couch cushions. his eyes lingered on your sleeping form for a moment, the soft rise and fall of your chest, your lips slightly parted as you breathed. he almost wanted to kiss you right then, to claim you in a way Mahyeon never could. but no. not yet. he had to be patient.

Sangho stood, his gaze shifting around your apartment. it was truly your place, lived-in, but to him, it was polluted. everywhere he looked, there were reminders of Maheyon — photographs of the three of you from past competitions, souvenirs from trips abroad when you were all together, little things that held too much meaning, things that kept you tethered to a memory that should have been long dead.

a photo on the shelf caught his eye. you, Maheyon, and Sangho standing together, smiling after a big win at a cycling competition in Japan. Sangho remembered that day well, but not for the same reason you did. back then, you had admired Maheyon, looked at him like he was some kind of hero. and Maheyon had basked in it, clueless, while Sangho watched from the sidelines.

Sangho's jaw clenched, a cold rage building beneath the surface.

without a second thought, he picked up the photo frame, turning it over in his hands. his fingers traced the edges of the glass, his heart pounding with anger as he stared at Maheyon’s face. slowly, deliberately, he placed the frame back on the shelf — face down. it wouldn’t be there the next time he visited. one piece at a time. one memory at a time. he would erase Maheyon from your life, remove every trace of him until you forgot he ever existed.

satisfied, Sangho moved to the small table near the couch. there was a little trinket — a souvenir from that same trip, a gift from Maheyon. it had been with you for years, something you always kept close. but not anymore.

with practiced ease, Sangho slipped the small souvenir into his pocket. it wasn’t the first thing he’d taken. over the past few weeks, he had been quietly removing pieces of Maheyon from your apartment, exchanging them for little gifts of his own. new vase here, a framed photo of just the two of you there. you never noticed. how could you? you were too lost in your grief, too dependent on him now to care about such small changes. but those small changes added up.

he reached into his bag and pulled out a new gift — a delicate necklace, simple but elegant. he placed it carefully on the table where the souvenir had been, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. every time you looked at it, you’d think of him. not Maheyon. Sangho been patient. he knew it was only a matter of time before you realized how much better your life was with him in it. and when that time came, you would be his. completely.

as he returned to the couch, he sat down beside you again, watching you sleep. his fingers brushed against your hair, tenderly, lovingly. you belonged to him. you just didn’t know it yet.

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you woke to the sound of the rain, the world around you still dark, still gray. your head felt heavy, your thoughts sluggish as you tried to remember when you fall asleep. then you felt it — Sangho’s presence beside you, his hand resting gently on your arm.

“hey,” he said softly, smiling down at you. “you fell asleep. i didn’t want to wake you.”

you blinked, rubbing your eyes as you sat up. your body ached with the weight of your exhaustion, but Sangho’s presence, as always, made you feel just a little lighter. “thanks for staying,” you softly murmured, grateful for the comfort of having him there. “i don’t know what i’d do without you...”

his smile widened, but something flickered behind his eyes, something dark. “you don’t have to worry about that. i’m not going anywhere.”

you smiled weakly, still too tired to notice the subtle shift in the room, the way something felt... different. you glanced at the table where something familiar small had once sat, but your eyes landed on a new necklace instead — a gift from Sangho, no doubt. you didn’t remember moving the old trinket, but it didn’t matter. you didn’t have the energy to question it.

Sangho watched as you stare at the table, your still groggy from the nap eyes blinking up, reaching for his gift. he couldn’t help but smile. you looked so unaware like this. so vulnarable.

you tried to sit up, your body still heavy with sleep, and as you moved, your hand brushed against his thigh. the innocent touch sent a jolt through Sangho, a thrill he hadn’t expected. he froze, his eyes darkening as his mind raced. the thought came unbidden. you were so close, so fragile, and the way you unconsciously leaned into him, trusting him — it made his blood run hot.

he couldn’t take it anymore. weeks of patience, weeks of restraint. late-night visits, the careful words, the slow dismantling of everything that tied you to Maheyon and past life. he’d been so good, so careful. but seeing you like this, vulnerable and unaware, stirred something primal in him.

before he could stop himself, Sangho leaned in. his hand slipped behind your head, fingers threading through your hair as he gently tilted your face up toward him. his gaze locked onto your lips, and for a second, his breath caught. he needed you.

and then he kissed you.

it wasn’t a soft kiss — not the way he had planned. no, this was desperate, hungry. his lips pressed hard against yours, and his hand tightened in your hair, pulling you closer, almost as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. he could taste the salt of your tears from earlier, could feel your soft gasp of surprise as your lips parted beneath his. but you didn’t pull away, not immediately.

for a brief, dizzying moment, he thought you would give in. that you would melt into him, let him consume you the way he had always wanted. his free hand moved to your waist, fingers grazing the soft skin just above your hips, feeling the warmth of you through the thin fabric of your shirt and you felt a shiver of something unfamiliar — something that made your skin tingle with a strange mix of heat and fear. his grip tightened, his fingers possessive as they pulled you closer, towering over your figure, and his kiss deepened, more forceful, more demanding than anything you had ever imagined coming from him.

your heart pounded in your ears, panic rising as you realized what was happening.

finally, you pulled back, breaking the kiss with a soft gasp, your hands coming up instinctively to push against his chest. look in his eyes was wild, dark — something you had never seen before. for a moment, you were frozen, your mind racing, trying to piece together what had just happened.

and then, he felt it too — a tremor in your body, a hesitation. and reality crashed back in. Sangho blinked, his breath shallow, heart racing as he realized what he’d done. his lips still tingled from the kiss, the taste of you lingering in his mouth, but something cold settled in his chest. he wasn’t supposed to do this — not like this.

“i-i…” you stammered, your voice trembling, unsure of what to say. your mind was spinning. this was Sangho. your friend. the one person who had been by your side past all this hard time. but the way he had kissed you — it didn’t feel like friendship. it felt like something much more intense, something you didn’t know how to process.

and the way he was looking at you now… it scared you.

he looked at you, saw the confusion and — was that fear? — in your eyes. his stomach twisted. too soon. he’d lost control.

“i’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice softer now, trying to keep the panic from showing. he reached out to touch your arm, but you flinched. the movement was small, barely noticeable, but Sangho felt it like a punch to the gut. no, no, no. don’t be scared of me.

“I didn’t mean to… it just… i got caught up in the moment,” he lied, forcing a smile that he hoped looked apologetic. inside, his mind was racing. you weren’t ready yet. he had been so careful, so patient, and now he had almost ruined it. but he could still fix this. he just had to pull back, make you trust him again.

“i-i just wasn’t expecting that,” you said softly, your voice trembling with embarrassment. your cheeks were flushed, and you couldn’t meet his gaze for more than a few seconds. “Sangho… we’re friends... you’ve always been my friend. i didn’t think…”

“Of course, it's okay” Sangho said quickly, swallowing down the dark frustration bubbling up inside him. your hands fidgeted in your lap, and you gave a small, awkward nod.

Sangho forced another smile, though his insides churned with impatience. it wasn’t okay. none of this was okay. but he held back, telling himself this was a minor setback. he could still play the long game. you were still dependent on him, still clinging to him for support. he just had to be more careful, more patient.

not for much longer, though.

“let’s just forget about it,” Sangho said, his tone gentle. “we can go back to the way things were. i don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

you smiled weakly, still embarrassed, and nodded. “yeah… thanks...”

as you leaned back against the couch, closing eyes to calm your nerves, you couldn't notice how Sangho's lips curled a little.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈౨ৎ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

author's note ; I FINALLY FINISHED IT!!! I THINK THIS FIC WAS IN DRAFTS FOR 5(??) MONTH!! BUT I FINALLY DID IT OMGG🥸

MASTERLIST

[resident-rats]

perhaps… 39? for chreon? 👀👀

Here you go 👀👀

Prompt: “What the fuck. Do that again. I liked it.”

Word count: 1212

[18+ under the cut]

Originally all Leon had meant to do was return some gloves. Nothing exciting. Chris had left them at his after a rather… intense night, and Leon just wanted to return the item. And maybe see the man again. But mostly the former - if he continued to believe his own lies.

It had escalated quick though, going to the BSAA headquarters, seeing the man in person, remembering that night they had shared. Seemed like they were both on the same page anyway, because before Leon knew it Chris had him pressed up against one of the gym’s walls - where luckily they were alone - already having slid hands under Leon’s top, pulling him closer by the hips. Gloves on the floor somewhere forgotten.

Leon moaned into Chris’ mouth, only encouraging the manhandling. His own fist clenched in Chris’ hair, once again feeling how soft it was, barely long enough to poke through the crevice of his fingers. Lightly nipping the man’s bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to sink in further. Oblivious to the outside world.

Fuck he needed it. After Arias everything had been a whirlwind. Chris constantly checking in, leading to him staying the night more than once, which then lead to…

It was so easy to get caught up in it all. Never thinking for a second that anything would ever be reciprocated. But alas there he was, Chris’ hands inquiring further as his lips parted, teeth knocking together every so often, feeling the desperate exhale of breath.

Perhaps though they were a bit caught up. Voices in the hall growing louder. It was Chris to pull away, glancing over his shoulder to the door.

“Shit,” Muttered to himself mostly. Then his head snapped around, looking for any other solution. Maybe they could have played it off, but realistically anyone with eyes would have immediately clocked them. Not exactly a good look for Captain Redfield. “Quick, in here.”

And just like that Leon found himself being shoved backwards into a closet. Fantastic. The thing barely big enough to hold one of them.

“What the hell?” Spoken in a sharp whisper.

“Got a better idea?” Chris matching it.

No, not really. But hiding away in a closet after making out like some stupid teenagers wasn’t exactly high on Leon’s to-do list.

Before he could reply though, that door opened. The conversation close and more than legible.

Though… perhaps it wasn’t all that bad. Chest to chest, practically feeling how the man’s heart raced. Hands brushing. Neither daring to move.

Whoever was there started using the equipment. Obviously. Why else would they have gone to the gym? Well, Leon had gone there with other things on his mind, but he wasn’t exactly the norm.

“How long-”

A finger instantly placed to his lips, stopping the sentence mid flow. He was going to protest, bat the hand away, but then he was quick to notice. The people outside sounded close. Maybe enough to discover them.

Chris body was tense. Breath almost still. But then there was a sort of miracle. Music. Playing through the gyms sound system. Not particularly loud, but loud enough to cover them.

“What’s the plan now, huh? Think that far ahead?” Still whispering.

“Didn’t see you coming up with anything better.” Chris quipped back.

“Wasn’t exactly thinking.” Earning Leon a huff of amusement.

They stood for a few more seconds.

“What, so we just wait until they’re gone?”

“Pretty much.”

“See why you’re the Captain, with your bright thinking.”

“Hey, watch it Kennedy.” The grin obvious even in the dark. Chris moving forward just an inch or two, probably without realising. But Leon did. All to aware of the knee pushing further into his groin. Applying perhaps a bit too much friction to his already riled up cock.

Biting back a soft moan, Leon lost his footing a bit. Lucky to be caught by Chris’ arms. And unfortunately doing nothing for the whole semi erect situation stirring in his pants.

“What the fuck, do that again.” Words brushing the shell of Chris’ ear, no longer caring about the people outside. “I liked it.”

“You really have no shame do you?” Though it didn’t matter, because Chris’ knee rocked upwards, thigh rubbing against the sensitive area.

Looked like perhaps they were picking up where they had left off.

“Hardly a saint yourself.” Leon’s head nestling it’s way into Chris’ neck. Basking in the sensation the leg brought. Rolling his hips against it.

One strong arm secured it’s way around his torso, a silent encouragement.

By then Leon was fully hard, not that it took much. Angling himself tactically, ensuring attention was applied to all the important bits. Straining into the denim.

Again, Leon caught himself before another moan slipped. Not quite forgetting where he was.

“Shh, gotta be quiet.”

“Think I don’t know that?”

In that position he could feel Chris’ erection as well, clearly enjoying it just as much as he was.

If Leon wasn’t careful he’d be walking from that building with a wet stain on the front of his jeans. And god save his underwear, which was more than ruined.

“You really can’t resist, can you?” Chris taunting low.

“Fucking-” Interrupted by his own gasp. “Fucking says you. All I wanted was to give back those gloves.” A half lie.

“Oh right yeah, because that’s why you came here, instead of just waiting until you next saw me like a normal person.” That knee. That fucking knee. It was sturdy, holding Leon’s weight. Moving just right.

“I think you’ll find,” Taking a moment to catch his breath. “This is when I next saw you.”

Not that Chris could particularly argue with that.

Though the priories shifted, Chris clearly focused on making Leon cum. Aiding the thrusts. Wanting him to fall apart in his hands. And like fuck was Leon complaining about that.

“Just take what you need, don’t think about me.” The instruction purred to him, feeling how those words moved through his body. “That’s it, just like that. That’s my good boy.”

Leon found himself having to bite Chris’ shirt to keep quiet, stifling anything that came out.

“Weren’t lying when you said you liked this.”

“Shut up.” Just about audible, spoken into the man’s shoulder.

“Come on, I’ve got you.” Grinding Leon further into him. “Just let go.”

And how could he argue with that? Cumming hard into his underwear, Chris being the only thing keeping him upright. Legs shaking, threatening to buckle from beneath. The twitch of his cock evident as more spilled out. Glad that Chris’ body continued to mask the fucked out gasps.

Afterwards felt hazy. Still feeling rather limp. Ignoring the sticky situation between his thighs

“Can’t say I saw this coming when I arrived.” Said as he attempted to regain himself.

“No but I saw you cumming.” Chris laughing a bit. Even Leon finding it entertaining.

“Shut it Redfield.” Giving him a playful smack across the upper arm before shuffling backwards.

And that was when the music stopped. Both froze. Briefly having forgotten the situation themselves. Perhaps they were okay. Could scamper as soon as the coast was clear.

Though that was when they heard it, unmistakeable.

“Looks like someone left equipment out, maybe we should put it away?”

Oh no.

For this ask game!

[cl0udy-wolf]

This Day Aria

Inspired by this post by @rodion87g ! And inspired by the My Little Pony song by the same name.

tw: canon typical violence, goofiness

og link here (from my ao3)

"This day is going to be perfect."

Under his breath, Raiden sang to himself as he admired a bouquet of assorted flowers on his vanity, feeling the delicately soft petals with his fingertips, his musings accompanied by a gentle smile upon his face.

"The kind of day of which I've dreamed since I was small."

He slowly plucked a flower from the vase and twirled it in his fingers, watching the light from the windows play off it. 

"Everybody with gather 'round, say I look lovely in my gown."

His hand balled into a tense fist, crushing the flower, and he watched the petals become enveloped in green flames and disintegrate as they drifted down to the tile.

"But what they don't know is that I have fooled them all!"

Green magic shining off his form, Raiden let his mask slip, and revealed his true form.

Shang Tsung, had taken his place.

-

Luckily, Kung Jin had noticed his cousin and his cousin's soon to be husband were acting...off. Kung Lao was tired, irritable, and had even snapped at him. Raiden on the other hand...a whole issue in itself.

But the moment he and Takeda found out about Shang Tsung's plans, they were sent to the sorcerer's laboratory- banished along with the real Raiden.

And so, they listened to him lament over his would-be wedding.

"This day was going to be perfect, the kind of day of which I dreamed since I was small."

All hope seemed to be lost for him. Having been stuck here for days- weeks, even, without finding a way to escape...

"But instead of having cake with all my friends to celebrate, my wedding bells, they may not ring for me at all."

-

Shang Tsung threw the bouquet off the vanity, his magic making it turn into mere ashes as it fell and sent pieces of glass flying across the floor.

"I could care less about the dress, I won't partake in any cake. Vows, I'll be lying when I say..."

Leaning against a mannequin, Shang Tsung walked his fingers up its plush arm, feigning adoration. "That through any kind of weather I want us to be together."

One moment, he gently carressed the doll, and the next, he had shoved it to the ground and stomped on the hat it once wore.

"The truth is I don't care for him at all! No, I do not love the groom, in my heart, there is no room!"

His magic shining against his body, Shang Tsung returned to his mask- the Champion, and Kung Lao's finance, Raiden.

His plan to infiltrate Lord Liu Kang's defenses and earn everyone's trust was working out perfectly.

"But I still want him to be all mine!"

-

After wrangling with the lock on their cell, Raiden and the boys ran through the halls of Shang Tsung's laboratory and evaded as many of the demented experiments as they could.

"We must escape before it's too late, find a way to save the day."

There was no time to waste.

"Hope, I'll be lying if I say"

In an attempt that would be considered in vain, perhaps due to Raiden's pure fatigue, he shot a bolt of thunder at the locked door separating them from their escape.

"I don't fear that I may lose him"

But instead he collasped, taking a knee, peering up at the door weakly.

"To one who wants to use him"

Kung Jin and Takeda assured him, and with their combined efforts were able to break down the heavy wooden door. Raiden had certainly weakened it.

"Not care for love and cherish him each day"

Jin threw the doors open as Takeda rushed to Raiden's side, throwing his arm over his own shoulder and taking the man's weight. 

"For I, oh, so love the groom, all my thoughts he does consume."

Jin took Raiden's other arm and the boys supported him as they made their way out, staggering yet forcing themselves to push on.

"Oh, my Kung Lao,"

"I'll be there very soon."

They could finally see light.

-

The grand hall of the Edenian palace was completely decorated with only the finest for friends of the royal family. Sunlight shone through stained glass windows, casting a multicolored hue on the aisle. And on either side, their mutual friends watched as who they thought was Raiden walked down the aisle.

"Finally the moment is in bloom, for me to be one lucky groom."

-

"Oh, the wedding we won't make."

The trio was moving as fast as they could- but would they make it?

"He'll end up marrying a fake!"

Raiden couldn't stop his mind from racing. If they went on with the wedding, there might've been no way to get his Kung Lao back.

Despite his debilitating pain, he was determined. 

And so he began to run, with Jin and Takeda behind him.

"Kung Lao will be!-"

-

"Mine, all mine!"

Shang Tsung erupted in laughter. After getting a few stares, he simply played it off as a giggle from an excited groom.

-

second chapter here

[abjectdiscordance]

Long ago, and far away

In the center of a beautiful kingdom there rested a beautiful palace, high up on a stony rise, from which a king saw over his lands with a rule that was noble, just, and true. He kept court in his palace with his wife and their daughter, and would hear the plights of his people, and see them cared for. His wife the queen, however, was a rueful, cruel-hearted woman who coveted power and wealth, and cared little for the love of the people.

One day, the King took ill, and soon passed away, leaving the kingdom in the hands of his wife. A cruel woman, she treated even her own daughter poorly, turning her from princess to chambermaid, beating down the Princess' spirit, that she may never challenge the Queen's place.

But such tight grip caused power to slip through her fingers; these long years hardened the young Princess' heart, until one day the she discovered the hard and gruesome truth; it was the Queen's poison that killed the King. In her anger, the Princess herself took the Queen's life, and shut closed the doors to the Palace to stew in her misery and loss, so too closing her heart off to the people she was now duty-bound to care for.

And so it went for some years; the Princess had abandoned love and light and happiness, and with all of it her people. A great dark wood grew up around the roads that led to the palace, and the road itself fell to ruin. The people moved on without their royalty, and the girl grew more and more sour and stony hearted and full of miserable fury until one night, amid a great storm, a knock came at the Palace's door.

Answering it, the Princess found herself looking into the wretched eyes of a hobbled old crone. "A flower I offer for but a nights rest in these halls, away from the storm."

"No," said the Princess. "None may stay, for there is no warmth or care or love here. Begone."

The old crone begged once more, offering her a beautiful red rose once more, but the Princess, made furious by this persistence, struck the flower to the ground in anger, and went to close shut the door only to be blinded by a flash of light as the old crone's glamour fell away, revealing herself to be a beautiful and terrible enchantress. "Warmth and care come from within," she bellowed. "I see there is none in you, and so as true beauty springs from both, I strip you of your winsome shape."

Too late did the Princess' apologies come, for the Enchantress had made up her mind, and transformed the Princess into a monstrous wolfen Beast, and placed a powerful spell upon the castle, shrouding it in gloom and darkness, the only winsome thing left behind a singular rosebush in the palace's courtyard with a singular beautiful rosebud, which would bloom for some ten years more. If the Beastly Princess could learn to love another, and find that love returned before that time, the spell would be broken. If not, then she would remain a beast for all eternity.

The Beast fell into a great despair, though, for she had abandoned her people, and her duties and fallen into little more than hazy memory. The palace, so cut from the land by the great dark wood, had fallen into more myth and legend, and as the end of the tenth year nears and the Princess' Twenty-Fifth birthday looms, the beautiful rose in the courtyard begins to see its petals fall and the Princess begins to lose heart and hope, for who could learn to love one so hideous and so wrathful as she?

One day, the likes of a local merchant became lost in the dark wood, and found his way to the Palace on the stony rise. He took up shelter there away from the gloom and cold and was set upon by The Beast, made furious at his trespasses, who threw him into a cell in the tower.

===

Some time later, the merchant's daughter came looking for her father, and when confronted by Lady of the Castle, struck a deal. The Beast would let her father go, but only on the condition that she stay within the grounds of the Palace forever. The girl, Aria, agrees, and The Beast sends the father home under the care of her magicked servants before returning to the girl's cell, throwing the door back open and stooping as she comes inside, stepping into the lone ray of light creeping in from the moonlit night outside.

Not quite woman, not quite wolf, she stands, or hunches somewhere between the two, head to toe covered in wiry fur, arms and legs that end in clawed, paw like hands find themselves wrapped in linens, for there is very little in this castle that will fit her. From beneath a dark and ragged cloak that might have once been opulent and beautiful, two bright blue eyes peer from a monstrous face at the girl in the corner, curious as to just who she's won in this bargain.

@royalharmony

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

Lottery Winners: Mingling - Jayden & Aria [Plus Jamil & Najma]

[Pyroxene - The Gala Hall]

Jamil: What do you mean you lost sight of them? I asked you to watch them for a few minutes.

Najma (Sitting at a table): Jamil, you're overreacting. Jay and Aria are gonna be fine.

Jamil: Najma, you don't know...

Najma (Looks in a direction): Don't I?

Jamil: *Looks in that direction*

[Jayden & Aria were dancing a slow waltz - gazing into each other's eyes with smiles on their faces. In their own world.]

Jamil: ....

Najma, looks at Jamil: Have you ever thought of getting someone?

Jamil: At this point, they'd probably only be with me for the money and the fame.

Najma: That's sad that you'd reject love that easily.

Jamil, sits down: Mmh.

Najma: There's someone for everyone.

[bubblecat-co]

A kiss while laughing!

For Alecto & Arya ❤️

Ok I struggled with this one and had no idea the direction I wanted to go. I changed ideas like 4 times before settling on this one!

I hope I did Alecto justice 🫶🫶

Aria ran down the halls, her feet pounding on the floor as she turned the corner. There were many things that could have gone wrong but losing one of Viago’s precious snakes was not the thing she wanted to have happened. Getting bit by one? Sure, just like her guardian she had been building an immunity to the snake’s venom since she was eight and that would be kinder than what she could imagine Viago would do when he found out. 

“Alecto!” She scrambled into the older crow's room. “I lost one of the snakes.” Alecto spun around, dropping the dagger that she held but now clang to the floor. 

“What?” Her face was in shock and slight horror. “You’re saying one of them is lose? Right now?”

“Yes and I need to find it before it kills someone or worse, finds a way out.” Alecto had already brushed passed the elf and stormed down the hall. Aria followed her close behind. 

“You’re sure that it got out?” she asked, keeping her head straight as she made her way back down where Aria had just run from. 

“I’m positive, I went to feed the damn thing, and it was gone.” she kept close behind Alecto who walked with a determination. Out of everything that could have happened finding the snake missing was not something she thought could happen. Why did Viago even trust Aria with the blasted things, she liked them enough but to take care of them was more of a responsibility than anything he had given her in the past. Maker, Alecto was sticking around and was more than capable of caring for them. It had to be some test, that or Alecto had opted out of caring for them long before. 

Alecto pushed open the door to the room where the snakes were kept, right there where a snake should be instead an empty cage. Luckily the other two snakes were still there, watching the two crows intently as they walked to the empty cage. She examined the cage “well…” Aria fidgeted with her hands as she waited for Alecto to continue. “Looks like…I got you.” Alecto turned back to the elf with a smile on her lips. She begins let out a loud laugh. “Oh, you were so scared.” 

“Alecto! What do you mean? The snake is gone!”

Still laughing Alecto walked over to the corner of the room opening up a small room to the side before pulling out another cage, with the missing snake inside. “You think these guys can get out on their own?” she swapped the empty cage with the other one. “Sweet Aria.” she cooed before walking over to her and giving her a small kiss on the forehead. Aria could feel her try to reign in her laughter in the gentle kiss but ultimately fail. 

“That’s such a dick move.” she moved away from the other crow “I really thought I was dead for sure!” Alecto just shrugged with an amused smile and a twinkle in her eyes.

“That’s what makes it fun. You should not worry so much. I suppose you should get back to feeding them. Don’t let them sneak out.” Alecto winked as she left the room, laughing as she did. 

[final-girl96]

Broken World: Chapter Forty-five

Yn

I lost him. I lost Larson. This prospect had so many twists and turns it wasn't hard to get lost if you don't know where you're going. It's also easy for someone to hide especially if they know where to hide. I had my gun drawn as I did a sweep of every cell and door I came by. I could hear a taunting whistle echoing off the walls. That's what he did when he would hunt down the terrified women he let loose only to chase them down again. He would whistle the first part of Motzarts’ Queen of the Night Aria.

It has been stuck in my head for years. I still have nightmares once in a while of him chasing me down in the woods. It was definitely the most horrific case I had been assigned to. I was young, but I was the type he would typically go after. But he did. He honed in on me, latching himself to me like a leech. There were countless times that I've seen him standing across the street from my apartment. He would stand under the streetlight and stare up at me. It felt like I was in some old classic horror movie or something.

“Come on, detective, I want to play. Come and find me!”

A chill ran down my spine. I would honestly rather be dealing with a herd of walkers right now. This man was a certified psychopath. The corridors were dark, and some of them had a few walkers shuffling around. I would take them out as quietly as I could; I'd push my knife up through the bottom of their skulls and gently bring them down to the floor.

“You're getting warmer, detective.”

I was in a hall that was lined with cells on either side. It was almost pitch black, the only light coming from the small windows high on the walls every few feet. He could easily be in any of these cells. I made sure to have both my gun and knife out. I didn't want to fire the gun in here. The sound would echo through the whole prison and bring walkers right to me. But I also didn't want to fight this mother fucker hand to hand.

“You know, detective, I've missed you. You're the one that got away. We could have had a lot of fun together. You were different; special. So young and pretty. I would have treated you differently.”

I could feel my heart rate pick up with how close his voice was. He had to be in one of the cells. He would jump out at me, catch me off guard, and take me down. He was much bigger than me. Six-foot-six man who worked out on the regular was not something I wanted to deal with. He could literally pick me up and throw me. “Why don't you just come out so we can end this. I didn't want to play your game back then and I still fucking don't!”

A shadow darted across to the other side where there was a staircase. The creak of the door opened and then clicked shut. “Fuck.”

Daryl

Daryl was frustrated and furious about yn going after that crazy mother fucker. He wanted to go after her, but stayed behind to help T-Dog keep an eye on the last two inmates. Rick had run off after the short one and he didn't want to leave T-Dog alone. When Rick returned they helped get the last two inmates to a cell block that was clear.

The only thing they needed to do was take the bodies that laid on the ground in front of some of the cells. They had their hands zipped tied behind their backs and then were executed.

“I suggest you take those bodies outside and burn ‘em,” T-Dog told them before they all walked away.

“I'm gonna go find yn,” Daryl told Rick and started walking the opposite way. “Hold up, Daryl! I don't think that's such a good idea. According to what she said about this guy he's dangerous. We need to plan this out before we go any deeper into this prison. There could be a hell of a lot more walkers deep in.”

Daryl saw nothing but red, his anger boiled up and over, making him snap at Rick. “She fucking told you! You didn't listen and now she's somewhere in this fucking prison with a fucking serial killer! I ain't stayin’ here and waitin’!” Daryl didn't give a fly fick how loud he was being. He'll kill anything and anyone that gets in his way.

Yn

I waited a while before moving towards the staircase. When I opened the door the stairs only led down. I stepped back and looked around for anything I could use that would tell someone which way I went, if anyone comes looking for me at all that is. I was hoping they would come after me and not just leave me alone.

I made an arrow on the floor with junk I found on the floor and made my way down the stairs. The staircase was dark and cold. With my gun pointed out and my knife was held in my hand like I would a flashlight. My right rested, with my gun in hand, atop my left arm. If I needed to stab someone or something I would be able to do so, well, if it happens to be on my left side, that would be easier than if I got attached on my right side.

When I finally made it to the last step there was another door. I looked through the window to see the office spaces where the visitors would come in and where the staff would be. He could be in any of those offices. Hell, he could be pressed against the door waiting for me. I took a deep breath and swung the door open, quickly looking on either side to make sure it was clear. When I saw it was, I stepped out of the stairs well.

“I know you're in here, Larson! You know you're gonna die so just come out!”

I checked each office I passed until I got to the last one. It was the reception area where visitors would signin. I looked through the glass but didn't see anyone. My hands were shaking, heart pounding out of my chest.

“I think I want to start where we left off, Detective.”

A chill ran down my spine when his hot breath fanned against the side of my neck. He was right behind me. How'd he sneak up on me? The grip on my knife tightened and I spun around sinking it into his left right. “Ah!! Fucking bitch!” I ran for the stairwell door and flung it open. “You know I love a chase, Detective! It's just like old times between us! Just this time the dead are walking!”

[forgottenalaric]

Sunlight | Alaric & Eilionora

It had been days since the riots, but still the palace had been on lockdown. Guards were posted at nearly every door and even Alaric himself had taken some shifts at their posts to ensure that no one was overtired when assuming the responsibility of guarding those within.

As for the Staffords, between the riots and the announcement his brother had made regarding the manner of their birth, they had both been moved to smaller quarters "temporarily" for "their own protection", but it seemed to Alaric that they had been placed there to be both out of sight and out of mind.

They had been kept there nearly since the ball and had not been allowed to leave. While Alaric had noticed that Arthur had managed to take Aria for a walk this afternoon, the same courtesy had not been extended to Eilionora who had been summoned by his brother. Whatever Roderick's plan, Alaric did not think that declaring the Eilionora to be baseborn would further his cause either in endearing him to the Astairan peoples or in convincing Eilionora to be his wife.

He did not think that whatever he said to her today, would change Eilionora's mind.

When the former queen had been returned to her quarters, Alaric suddenly found himself at her door. There was a part of him that wondered if there had been a formal engagement arranged, after all, and, if it were true, he wanted it to be known to him immediately.

Perhaps if he knew that she was truly lost to him forever, then perhaps he could learn to forget her.

He stormed in, without so much of a courtesy of a knock -- eager to see if there was any change that had come over her, as though he might have been able to tell with only a look. But her face was unreadable to him, aside from the same sadness he saw written upon it everyday.

Sunlight streamed through the tiny window, reflecting upon her hair and lightening up her eyes. He realized then, how she must be craving it -- a desire for the fresh air; for the sun to warm her skin. The day was particularly beautiful out -- the sun melting away the last snow from the storm that had, days ago, rendered the palace impossible to leave.

It was in this moment that he realized that he had not yet spoken. "Come. You aren't to be here," He announced gruffly, "The Queen wishes to use these rooms to receive her guests and she would not appreciate your presence."

Alaric knew that this wasn't the room Queen Marian had requested to use, but it was the one at the other end of the hall, so he would be able to disguise this as a simple mistake.

"I shall give you a moment to dress warmly. You shall wait in the courtyard until she is finished."

[prpfz]

🔎👁️ M4F Looking to do ocxoc or ocxcanon play in these fandoms Hello, I'm a third person, multiple paragraph roleplayer who very much enjoys a number of fandoms. I'm looking for someone willing to play canons or OCs within this fandom list (or anime similar to these). I watch a lot, so feel free to suggest them) I have a kinklist that will be provided in DM, and I'd love to play out a long-term plo in any of the fandoms at the end of this comment, wholesome or dark equally open. If you have any fandoms that I don't list or plots that you'd like for me to check out, please feel free to ask. I mainly play ocs, but I can play canon males upon request as long as I know the source material well enough.

Don't worry about putting a massive amount of effort into your introduction. Just tell me who you are and what fandom and characters you're here for. All I ask is that you respect my boundaries and limits.

Accel world Ao no exorcist/blue exorcist Black Bullet Black Cat Clannad Chuunibyou demo koi ga shitai Code Geass C control Fate Series Freezing Gate Girls und Panzer Grisaia series Touhou Gundam Haruhi Suzumiya .hack//SIGN High School DxD Hidan No Aria Heavens Lost Property Infinite Stratos Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon Kill la Kill Komi Can't Communicate KonoSuba Neon Genesis Evangelion Twin star Exorcist Madoka Magica Rosario + Vampire Re:Zero Sympogear Summertime Render Sailor Moon Samurai Champloo Seraph of the end Strike witches Suisei no Gargantia Sword Art Online Shakugan no shana Tenchi War on Geminar To Aru Majutsu no Index/railgun To Love-Ru Yu-Gi-Oh

Games Tales of series Megaman series Ys series Zelda series Persona 4 and 5 Star ocean series Fantasy life series Gunvolt series Armored core series Pokemon series Gundam breaker 4 Vall-hall-a Card En Ciel Grisaia

like or dm

[wildestdreamcatcher]

Nixie

Summary: Summer talks to Jude and tries to navigate her pregnancy in the process

TW: Arguing, crying, implied depression and mental health struggles, pregnancy, mentions of abortion

When I found out I was pregnant, I had a panic attack in Aria’s bathroom, but I thought that maybe things would get a bit better. My grandparents told me that having the baby would be God’s miracle and I needed something to tie me down. They practically threatened me if I got an abortion. And now here I was, feeling so fucking stupid after realizing Jude and I hadn’t saved as much as we thought we did. I was 4 and a half months pregnant with our daughter and I already felt like I’m fucking up her life. All we had for her was some clothes, diapers, and a crib.

I was lying in Jude’s bed. His bed was comfortable: the sheer dark green canopy surrounded the bed, the blackout curtains darkened the room which made the searing pain in my head more bearable, and the blankets were so fucking soft. I was so zoned out right now as I tried to detach from the shitshow that was going on right now. I’d lost track of how long I’d been here but I’d been here since Jude got home from school.

It was always awkward when I came over. I didn’t know what to think about Jude’s parents. They were friends with my parents and I knew them since I was a baby, but things changed so quickly. They didn’t find out about the pregnancy until a few weeks ago and now Jude argued with them all the time now. They stopped caring if I was over at the house or not, if Jude was home, if he skipped classes, etc. They said he had to deal with his own shit now and they couldn’t fix it for him. We never really spoke at all except for simple “How are you” or "How's the baby” and never much outside of that. Marley was no different but we didn’t really speak that much before the baby so it didn’t matter as much. Kai spoke to me all the same and he never really changed. I felt grateful that he didn’t act weird around me.

I woke up to Jude yelling at his parents in the next room over. They were yelling about how he was irresponsible and immature. I didn’t know how the argument started but it wasn’t the first one they had. I couldn’t tell if Jude picked the arguments or if his parents started it. I tried not to listen because it was all the same shit that everyone said about us. I felt like everyone in Coralie Ridge had something to say about the pregnancy. I hated the way people looked at me whenever I went out, I hated how people talked about it in church. I already judged myself as a mother and Calliope wasn’t even born yet, I didn’t need the judgment from people older than me by 20 years or more.

Jude came into the bedroom. I could tell he was seething with anger right now.

“Come on, Summer. Let’s go.” He threw his black tote bag on his shoulder and his keys, holding out his hand for me to grab. It almost felt like a walk of shame as I followed him through the hall. His parents were standing in the kitchen looking nothing less than exasperated and angry.

________________________________________

We drove around in Jude’s van for an hour. A David Bowie and Joan Baez mixtape had been playing on the radio the whole time. We used to go on midnight drives all the time last year; we’d drive around after gigs and mess around on the beach until I had to sneak back into my bedroom. I remember all the midnight movie showings we’d go to at the drive-in theater, 2 am Waffle House, sneaking into hotel pools and hot tubs. A year ago, everything felt like a romance movie and I didn’t think the bliss would end. I never imagined I’d be pregnant at 17 with his baby, desperately trying to figure out how the hell we’d take care of our daughter.

Jude stopped at Nixie Cove; the beach where we’d spend hours after gigs. But all the memories I had of us there felt like they took place 20 years ago. Everything was changing too quickly and that felt like a completely different version of the people we are now. I got out of the car, sitting on the blanket he laid out in front of the waves. He bought 2 blizzards from Dairy Queen specifically for this. Just like old times.

“I missed doing this with you, Summer.”

I thought about how we could do this with Calliope, starting our own traditions with our daughter. I wanted us to be like all the cute families I saw in movies. I was so tired of all the stress, tears, judgment, and anger. I wanted a happy white picket fence family in a nice house but that didn’t seem like it would be possible for 2 broke high school seniors. Jude was always around. He was at all of the appointments, he spent most of his time with me, he was busting his ass off for me, for us, but I still felt so alone.

I started to cry. That wasn’t new anymore; I cried more easily since being pregnant but this was different. My sobs felt guttural. I hated it.

“I miss you so fucking much. I miss how shit used to be. I miss when my grandparents could look me in the fucking eye. I missed when I could go to school and play sports and gossip with Aria. I’m so tired of it and I don’t know what to do, Jude.”

I didn’t mean to dump all this shit on him. I just didn’t know how to feel about anything and the people who promised to help me weren’t ever there. I don’t know how my grandparents could cry and beg me to keep my baby but treat me like shit for keeping her. They didn't speak to me, they didn't invite me over dinners after church, and they didn't want me near them.

“I’m sorry. I can leave your house when we get back.” I felt like I needed to get over it. That’s what I would be told by my grandparents, anyway.

“Stop apologizing, Summer. You’re not the problem.”

I love Jude, but I can’t make myself believe that. Since elementary school, I’ve felt a searing sense of guilt. Everything has always been my fault.

“I just feel like I’m fucking you over, you know."

“Well, you’re not, Summer. You can't fix what’s going on with my parents, you can’t do anything. You don’t have to do anything about it. If you start worrying too much, you’ll just make yourself sicker than you already are.”

I didn’t really know what to say anymore. I made a mental note in my head to stay away from his house for the next few days. I told myself I wouldn’t come over as often and that I wouldn’t tell him all the bad shit that was going on. I just didn’t want him to worry about me, I wanted the fighting to stop because I was doing that enough with my extended family. I don’t know what else to do, no matter what anyone else said.

@vommitgirl @blowflygrls @sadlonelyyogurt @jackvaginal

[dailycharacteroption]

Class Feature Friday: Warrior Muse (Pathfinder Second Edition Bard Muse)

(art by Nawol on DeviantArt)

And we’re back with another bardic muse, this time in the form of the warrior!

While violence is often considered an ugly affair, there can be no denying that a trained warrior can move with remarkable precision and grace, making them akin to dancers in how they move. In fact, in many cultures, the perfection of these graceful forms is considered an art form in and of itself, regardless of whether they are truly used for combat.

Regardless of their intent, the bards we’ll be covering today seek to master their body and mind in the deadly dance of steel and blood.

As far as actual inspiration goes, these bards typically treat a skilled and disciplined warrior as their muse. Some might be mortal warriors or generals, living or dead. Others, however, might be divine in nature, such as the disciplined archons of the armies of Heaven, or even a war deity such as Gorum (before his death, anyway. Other war gods are available).

No matter their exact inspiration, these warrior bards promise to become skilled combatants in their own right.

The flow of combat defines these warrior-poets, and their primary ability allows them to prolong the effects of various combat-enhancing performances as long as they continue striking foes. Meanwhile, they learn basic magic to instill foes with fear, disrupting their ability to fight back.

There are of course also feats associated with this muse, including the Song of Strength to bolster the physical ability of allies, Courageous Advance to inspire movement alongside combat zeal, Defensive Coordination to direct allies to raise their shields as you inspire their defense, Reflexive Courage to strike foes that present an opportunity, Courageous Assault to inspire allies to immediately strike, Shared Assault to inspire even more allies to attack, Courageous Onslaught to grant movement as well as attacking, and Triumphant Shout to begin an inspiring performance after attacking.

Beyond these, the following feats are also good choices, such as Hymn of Healing, Lingering Composition, Emotional Push, Combat Reading, Inspiring Resilience, Rallying Anthem, Triple Time, Dirge of Doom, Steady Spellcasting, Call and Response, Ode to Ouroboros, Victorious Anthem, All in My Head, Discordant Voice, Fatal Aria, as well as any others that suit your build.

Being able to sustain the basic buffing performance cantrips of the class is pretty good if you plan to be up front and center in the fight, always striking. As such, I’d recommend you take buffing spells that so that you don’t have to do anything but attack once you’re buffed up before the fight starts, with a handful of attacking spells for when a spell would be better.

Like all bard muses, it’s left up to interpretation what sort of performance you use as a bard. While dancing makes most sense for the whole “battledancer” thing, a singing performance also works since such performances require no hands.

The College of the Wind’s Voice is one of the greatest bardic colleges in the world, and it’s halls are populated by people of all ancestries, though those of sylph blood are quite common due to it’s location and open-door policy for new students. While plenty are devoted to the spoken or sung word, or any number of instruments, their winddancers are particularly famous for their deft moves and deadly skill in combat.

The Mighty Queen is a multifarious goddess, one whose worship is often split up among different epithets to the point where one can wonder if there are more than one deity sharing the same name. Whatever the case, the party follows a lead to a lost temple of her in her aspect as a goddess of both dance and warfare. Within, they will find divine guardian statues built in the shape of the dancing warrior maidens who once were among the most devout followers of her faith.

There are many ways to combine magic and the martial arts, and with those differences come rivalries as different schools of thought try to outdo the other. Such is the case in the feud between the Crescent Moon Bladedancer Academy and the Arcanothanc Collegium’s Magus division. The great irony being that the founders of both schools were once closer than friends.

[sakurarisen]

εїз

Unimplemented HCs!

Back when Sera was in her original life and known as Aria, she was taught how to use a sword by one of the knights in her temple - Particularly her head knight, who often lost track of her in her attempts to dodge her role as a leader and flee from the Frostlight Temple. Being pretty young himself, he was still learning how to wield a sword on his own, and with her frequently trying his patience, the choice was made: Everything he learned, he'd come back to the temple and teach her, too. Given Aria couldn't hide who she was in full no matter how hard she tried, he'd figured she needed a secondary way to protect herself aside from her skills with a bow, and claimed it made him 'feel better' about losing track of her whenever she vanished from the temple's frozen, crystalline halls.

Those memorized skills have followed her through each and every lifetime, and Sera herself still retains the muscle memory and ability required to use a sword, but, just as she had as Aria, she vastly prefers her bow over a blade, and tends to leave any sword usage to Zack and the others in her life who're better trained with them, like Cloud and Sephiroth, and Childe, Kaeya, and Diluc in GI verses. After gaining her bow, she even largely retired the knife she traveled with prior to that; blades feel far too personal to her for her liking, and being a close-range weapon, she very much dislikes having to see the damage they cause so up close and personal. Their weight and the fact she has to put so much more effort into using them is... Unsettling, personally, though she will never judge anyone else for their preference for a sword.

if she has to, Sera could still use one, for sure! A short sword was what she was taught to use as Aria, but a combination of not using one for actual millennia, along with memories of those techniques and skills being sealed away along with her history as Aria means that muscle memory or no, Sera's going to be incredibly clumsy with one, and probably more of an issue if handed one to use in a fight than if she were completely unarmed and hiding behind someone's back with a strong grip on the back of their shirt. Her former tutor would be ashamed. XD

A big part of why this is unimplemented is largely due to the fact it's heavily rooted in Sera's more distant backstory, and pertains to parts of her that have been sealed up for the time being. Aria is currently asleep and hiding, and Sera was never taught to use a sword, even personally disliking them for herself, so it's hard to really implement swordsmanship skills for someone who's mainly a bow and magic user, y'know? Twice as much when it's linked to a side of her she legitimately can't access and doesn't know exists. Even if she wanted to access these skills, a lot of them aren't available to her, and she'd have to learn them all over again - Which would come naturally to her, but take a lot of time, work, and overcoming that dislike of using them for herself, and they would never be as good as they were in the past, just the same as her magical abilities are now limited for the same reason.

It's not impossible of a thing to implement, just... Difficult. <3

[forgottenbrigit]

Meetings in the Dark | Brigit & Aria

The tables had been piled high with food. There had been delicacies from all over the world -- most of the dishes Brigit had never seen before. And, almost if by magic, they never seemed to to dwindle - even as the guests refilled their plates two and three times over. She had never seen so much food in one place in her entire life, and it surprised her all the more to find that a selection of fruit and bread and cheeses had been left in their rooms that evening: as though any of them could have eaten another bite.

Brigit could not remember the last time she had laid down upon a soft feather bed, while having a full belly and a roaring fire to keep her warm. She had been sure that she would fall asleep straightaway, but although her body was tired and comfortable, her mind was restless.

The palace was crawling with Varmont soldiers and she feared for the guardians who were meant to protect this place. She had not seen them since her arrival and it left her wondering: Were there any of them left here at all? Was there even anyone brave enough to leave them an offering upon the hearth? And could they access it, even if they had wanted to?

When the room had grown quiet -- the only sounds were of her sister's soft breathes and the crackling of the fire, Brigit got up from her bed. She took as much of the food as she could easily carry and bundled it up in a cloth. Draping a blanket round her own shoulders, she lit a candle and decided to brave the dark halls of the palace.

Brigit planned to say she had gotten lost, if any guards spotted her wandering about (surely they would easily believe that -- she was, after all, nothing but a silly girl!), but she was determined to make it to the great hall. It had been the one place she had ever seen the guardians who lived here: even though that was years ago now.

Her memory served her well, even in the dark, and she managed to find her way with only one wrong turn.

The great hall was cold and dark: the great fires and torches that had illuminated and warmed it during the festivities had long been extinguished. For a moment, everything was still and then she saw a shadow move in the darkness.

Someone else was here.

Brigit had come too far now, to loose her nerve, and holding the candle higher she moved forward until the shadows fell away and she recognized the familiar face.

"Your Highness." They may have been alone in the middle of the night, but Brigit was determined to still show the Staffords the respect they deserved. Whatever Roderick Varmont had declared that evening, was nothing to her.

Brigit's eyes fell upon the hearth where Aria had already left an offering of her own. "You haven't forgotten them," Brigit managed. Whether Aria was here because she was deeply religious -- or deeply defiant given the Varmont determination to wipe their religion and traditions from existence -- Brigit could not tell, but she was overwhelmed to see her there.

It gave her hope.

[merrychristmasfaith]

TV Shows Watchlist

TV Shows:

Tom Jones

(Adaptation of the classic novel by Henry Fielding.)

Downton Abbey

(Maggie Smith, Hugh Bonneville & Elizabeth McGovern star in Julian Fellowes’ hit series, a glittering period drama following the lives of the aristocratic Crawley family.)

Lost

(After Oceanic Airlines Flight 815 crashes down, the survivors are on what seems to be a deserted tropical island. Their survival is threatened by a number of mysterious entities, including polar bears, an unseen creature that roams the jungle, and the island's malevolent inhabitants.)

The Forsyte Saga

(Damian Lewis & Gina McKee lead this sexy & powerful period drama about three generations of the upwardly mobile Forsyte family at the turn of the 20th century. Based on the novels.)

Death Comes to Pemberley

(Adaptation of PD James's bestselling homage to Pride and Prejudice. Elizabeth and Darcy, now six years married, are preparing for their annual ball when festivities are brought to an abrupt halt.)

The Lost Flowers

(After losing her parents to a mysterious fire, nine-year-old Alice Hart is raised by her grandmother June on a flower farm where she learns there are secrets within secrets. But years on, an unearthed betrayal sees Alice forced to face her past.)

The Miniaturist

(THE MINIATURIST, the debut novel by Jessie Burton, has become a publishing phenomenon. Selling in over 35 countries, it stormed to the top of the bestseller lists in both hardback and paperback. Winner of the New Writer of the Year, overall Book of the Year in the National Book Awards and Waterstones Book of the Year, it has now reached an audience of almost a million readers.)

Little Dorrit

(Andrew Davies's adaptation of the classic Charles Dickens tale of hardship and struggle in 1820s London. The Dorrit family has spent years in a debtors' prison due to the financial mess in which father William (Tom Courtenay) managed to land himself as a youth.)

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

(Powerful, haunting and disturbing, Anne Bronte's classic story is as unforgettable as those of her more famous sisters. In a remote village on the Yorkshire moors, a beautiful widow and her son move into the near-derelict Wildfell Hall. Befriended by a handsome young farmer, she remains mysteriously silent about her past and why she is afraid - until she becomes the focus of village gossip.)

Black Work (i'm not sure this has the best reviews but i think Sheridan Smith is a really good actress so thought i'd try it? it's a murder mystery)

(Sheridan Smith is a grieving cop in this fast-moving police thriller. When there are unanswered questions around the death of her husband, can PC Gillespie hold it together?)

The Suspect (again idk how good the reviews are but i love Aidan Turner lol)

(Tense thriller starring Aidan Turner as a psychologist with a secret. Does his glowing career, media profile & family mask a different story? Five-part series airing now.)

Truly Madly Deeply (idk why this is listed under TV shows i'm 99% sure it's a movie)

(A love story and a quirky ghost story starring Juliet Stevenson and Alan Rickman.)

Cilla

(Sheridan Smith stars as the hit singer in this lively biopic. Chart "our Cilla's" rapid ascent, from hanging out with the Beatles in Liverpool, to new-found stage stardom.)

Big Little Lies

(Based on Liane Moriarty's bestseller, this subversive, darkly comedic drama series tells the tale of three mothers of first-graders whose seemingly perfect lives unravel to the point of murder. Reese Witherspoon, Nicole Kidman and Shailene Woodley star.)

Pretty Little Liars

(Set one year after the disappearance of Alison, the manipulative queen bee, the one-hour drama revolves around four 16-year-old girlfriends — Aria, Spencer, Hanna and Emily — who each receive taunting messages suggesting Alison is watching them. Linked by their former bond and the panic and confusion the messages cause, the estranged friends are reunited, though each girl has her own secrets.)

Leonardo

(A compelling look at one of the most restlessly brilliant men of all time, Leonardo gets inside the mind of the genius, showing the drama behind his art and exploring a tantalizing murder-mystery.)

Desperate Romantics

(All six episodes of the BBC period drama series depicting the turbulent lives of four young artists in mid-19th century London: William Holman Hunt (Rafe Spall), John Millais (Samuel Barnett), Dante Gabriel Rossetti (Aidan Turner) and Fred Walters (Sam Crane).)

Sharp Objects

(Based on the bestselling novel by Gillian Flynn ("Gone Girl") and directed by Jean-Marc Vallee ("Big Little Lies"), this limited series stars Amy Adams as a journalist who returns to her hometown to cover the apparent murders of two preteen girls.)

Howards End

(The Schlegel sisters are two independent and unconventional sisters seeking love and meaning as they navigate an ever-changing world.)

Gentleman Jack

(Sally Wainwright adapts the extraordinary life of Yorkshire landowner Anne Lister.)

The Undoing

(In this HBO limited series based on the book You Should Have Known by Jean Hanff Korelitz, a successful therapist, wife and mother tries to survive in the wake of a spreading and very public disaster.)

Thirteen

(Tense psychological drama about a woman freed from a cellar after 13 years in captivity.)

Sanditon

(First-class fictional retelling of an unfinished novel by Jane Austen. A spirited young woman moves to a sleepy seaside town, and it's not what she expected.)

Tipping the Velvet

(Nan journeys from a simple provincial life by the sea to the margins of society in 1890s London, where she finds she is a wanted, and wanton, woman… When Nan, a young innocent oyster-girl from Whitstable, goes to a music hall for the first time, she embarks on the journey of her life.)

War and Peace

(Leo Tolstoy's epic story of life, love and loss in nineteenth-century Russia.)

Vanity Fair

(A period drama series adapted from William Makepeace Thackeray's classic novel. Olivia Cooke is heroine Becky Sharp, who attempts to claw her way out of poverty and scale the heights of English society; against the backdrop of the Napoleonic Wars.)

Bridgerton

(As a new crop of debutantes yearns to become brightest of the ball, a wallflower with a double life finds her light amid secrets and surprises. )

Miss Julie

(Daughter of the manor Julie breaks off her engagement only to fall for one of her staff. A romance that begins innocently ends in a tragedy.)

My Lady Jane

(Are you ready for an epic tale of true love, high adventure, regicidal maniacs, deadpan heroism, devious intrigues, swashbuckling swordfights, a soupçon of magical realism and oodles of yearning, banter and undeniable chemistry? Of course you are. Welcome to My Lady Jane.)

The Woman in White

(When Walter Hartright, a young drawing master, encounters a spectral woman dressed all in white on a moonlit road on Hampstead Heath, he is drawn into a web of intrigue that will transform his life forever.)

Deceit

(Niamh Algar shines in this gripping true crime drama about a controversial honeytrap. In 90s London, a mother's murder sparks a police investigation that spins out of control.)

The Fall

(Gillian Anderson stars in this dark & twisty thriller about a London police officer who is sent to Northern Ireland to review an unsolved murder case. When Stella Gibson arrives, she realises that this case might only just be getting started.)

Kidnapped: The Chloe Ayling Story

(The victim no-one believed. Held captive on a modelling job in Milan, Chloe's nightmare didn't end with her release - the media frenzy was just beginning.)

Deadwater Fell

(When a devastating house fire rocks a close-knit community - was it a tragic accident or something more sinister?)

Paranoid

(The sleepy town of Woodmere is devastated when a local doctor is murdered in a children's playground in broad daylight.)

Midsomer Murders

(World-renowned murder mystery series set in the idyllic Midsomer county. Inspector Barnaby and his young sergeant probe an alarming number of suspicious deaths in the community.)

Killing Eve

(Being recruited by an intelligence agency puts Eve in the direct path of Villanelle, an assassin. Though the mission is to kill her, the two women find themselves strangely drawn to each other.)