#the perfect storm re-write

[emmaelix]

I Needed Love: The Perfect Storm Chapter Two Rewrite

I play Time Princess. Sue me. I’m writing fanfic for a video game. Won’t be the first, certainly not the last. This is basically a rewrite of chapter two of The Perfect Storm. Most definitely on the Charles Vane route, if you haven’t read TPS or finished the second chapter I do not recommend this as it is spoilers. And yes, I know that Vane's nickname (if anyone ever even had the guts to give him one) would most likely not be Charlie. I do not care. Enjoy!

Also, I wrote Admiral Hawke as a misogynistic asshole from my own personal experience. The things he says about Cordelia (and women in general) in this rewrite are all from my own experiences as a woman.

Full Title: The Perfect Storm Chapter Two Re-write: Cordelia Delamare X Charles "Charlie" Vane

Y/n: Your Name. Y/H/C: Your Hair Color. Y/E/C: Your Eye Color. Y/S/C: Your Skin Color

"Captain Delamare! How are you this fine morning?"

"Physically, Governor Hamilton, I am fit as a well-rested cat, waiting to pounce. Mentally I am restless. Restless beyond belief, so much so it's like an itch to my soul. I feel this- this desire to be back at sea!"

------------

"Vane, I'm a pirate captain. I've defeated a Kraken, outwitted mermaids, and ended Blackbeard's blockade on Charlestown. I certainly don't need your coat," but even as I say it I snuggle into the warm leather, enjoying Vane's cologne around me.

Vane smirks, and says in his Captain Commando voice, "Just take the damn jacket, Cordelia."

-----------

"I'm a monster."

"No!" I exclaim, a little louder than intended. "Just because your father is an asshat with little to no personality other than a large ego and superiority complex, doesn't mean you are. You are someone who has layers. Would it be wrong to call me a condescending frilly old woman just because my mother was?"

Vane scoffs. "Your mother isn't an abandoning loser who tried to push her son off a boat."

"No, maybe not. But she's still a terrible person. You're not. Our parents don't shape who we are as people. You aren't your father. You're a hot, amazing pirate who happens to be rivals with the most beautiful female pirate captain in all the Caribbean."

----------

I want you, Charles Vane. All of you-

My thoughts and daydreams are interrupted by a yell of pain. I've run into the confrontation of father and son, would be killer and would be killed, Hawke and Vane.

"Charles... Vane." Admiral Hawke spits out through a mouthful of blood. The wicked smile on his face and the red hair framing his face reminds me of Vane but in all the wrong and terrifying ways.

Vane says nothing and stands like a statue of doom and dread. His eyes are as black as hell, and his face shows nothing but hatred and disgust. He steps to the side, crunching on an already shattered chandelier.

Hawke echoes his movements. They are like predators, constantly watching each other for any sign of attack. I feel the pistol at my side, and I'm tempted to try and sharpshoot. But as I watch the face off I realize that wouldn't be a good idea.

As if my body has nothing more interesting to do my corset begins to rub against my shirt. "Damn thing," I mutter as I try to move it without too much noise. I hear Nameless call into the mansion, reminding me of both Molly's and of Hamilton's losses.

I peek back out from under the rubble. They look similar, but they represent opposite worlds. Distorted, mirror images of each other, but father and son indeed.

This feels like a showdown like you'd read about in Western books. "Good to see you," Admiral Hawke says, grinning wolfishly. "Son."

Vane is becoming his persona. Dark, and as ruthless as hell. A dark sign that death is coming. But what does Hawke do? He laughs in death's face.

"What is this? Do you want attention? You want to impress the pirate captain you're so smitten with? Or do you want a pat on the back from your old man? To show me how big and strong you are? Or maybe to show your captain?"

Hawke stops, as though admiring prey before he devours it. "I see myself in you, Charles. We are one and the same. Strong, ambitious, ruthless. Monsters," he steps forward as if in conciliation, but quick as a snake, he lunges to stab Vane in the heart.

Vane slides to the side, blocking underneath. If I'd blinked I would've missed the pivotal life or death moment. Vane laughs. "The same? I know I am a monster. I am the worst of the worst, a cold-blooded-killer pirate with an eye for all that sparkles crimson. But I am safe in the knowledge that in all my monstrosity, I am nothing like you."

"So you want to kill me, then?" Hawke asks, smiling as though he'd known all along. "Well, this world isn't big enough for the both of us. And I will not be defeated, so you will be."

Hawke lunges, and my heart is beating rapidly in my throat. But as I watch the fight I realize something. Vane isn't fighting to kill. It's taking all his strength, but he's only defending. They are so evenly matched this could go on for hours.

I can see exertion in both men's faces, but Hawke still carries his grin. "It was a nice trick today: planting your crew at the hanging, then rioting and storming port. I'm disappointed, though, that it was all to save your little girlfriend. Do you want some advice? Love makes you soft. Women are weak and frail creatures, fit for kitchens, not killing. If you try to protect them you'll only get hurt."

"Captain Cordelia Delamare is anything but weak. She is confident, beautiful, smart, and the bravest not only woman - but the bravest person I've met. She is a double agent, she knows the secrets of both sides. She is dangerous to any and all opponents."

Hawke swings his sword heavily. If it landed it could've cleaved Vane in half. The very thought makes me nauseous. But Vane ducks at the last second and only his arm is sliced. He shouts in pain, and I see red as bright as his hair blossoming along his white shirt. His sword arm. If he wasn't in danger before, he is now.

Vane's voice is deadly calm. "To you, my mother was a tool, and I was an inconvenience. She was so desperate for your affection, and without you to blame for all her misfortunes, do you know who shouldered her bitterness? Her rage and fury? Me, you bastard, me."

Hawke just laughs at his son. He's fingering his blade, and the sight makes me nervous. As I'm sitting here helpless I realize how painful it would be to lose Vane after everything we've gone through. From the library to the beach, to the dark moonlit night, everything would be - pardon the pun - in vane if Vane wasn't there with me.

"I was absent, yes. But I extended an olive branch of peace? Why did you reject my most generous offer? The most decent thing I ever did or will do for you?"

If Vane could reach far enough, I'm sure one hand would wrap around his father's neck, and squeeze. Watching this version of Vane is like re-living my old memories. It's someone I know, vaguely, but I don't feel any attachment to. I lo- I do. I love Vane. But this terrifying, thunder-crashing, hell-burning version of him makes my skin crawl.

"Don't pretend. It was a trap to kill me or put me in your debt, not a gift. I don't want anything to do with you," and Vane attacks. But the Admiral matches each strike with precision and force. It's like a tidal wave trying to destroy a mountain. Neither will budge, both impossibly strong.

I can't bear to listen to any more of this conversation, so I look for something else to do. I begin fiddling in the rocks, looking for weapons and hearing bits and pieces of the conversation.

"...Thank me... pathetic mother, I really did you a favor..."

I hear a yell and whip back around quick as lightning to see Vane's sword in Admiral Hawke's leg. "Kill me, son. Punish me! Go on... your blade drips with my blood, what's a bit more? Don't you want to plunge it into my chest?"

It's sickening, to hear this. Listening to Hawke's quick changes to the way he speaks depends on whether he's in control or not. "No, I won't. I won't begin to list the incorrect reasons why I won't. The reason I will tell you, however, is that I'm free. Free from you, my mother, the Navy, and those hell-bound bastards who keep trying to unsuccessfully take my ship and life."

I'm proud of Vane. "Thirteen years I wasted seeking your approval. I am your blood, but as a wise and beautiful female pirate captain once told me, 'Our parents don't shape who we are as people. Just because your father is an asshat with little to no personality other than a large ego and superiority complex, doesn't mean you are.'"

Vane pauses. "I live by the words of the woman I adore, respect, admire, and love. She and her crew have faced all odds and still came out on top. And she reminded me that our similarities end with red hair. You have no power over me."

Hawke looks disgusted. "You live by the words of a woman?"

"I am free. A man, not a child, free to make my own destiny. And by Davy Jones, I'm going to seize that chance. I do not allow you, or thoughts of you, to impact my life. I am free from you, so I choose to leave you."

Hawke rolls his eyes. "Don't pretend you're noble. You're as twisted as I am. You kill all the time, you're a pirate! Kill me! That's what you've wanted to do since you were thirteen, wasn't it? Take me out of the misery of knowing my son has become a woman worshipping door-mat! A pirate, too."

"Living is your punishment," Vane says, looking at Hawke the way he would someone who tried to pickpocket him. "You are nothing. No one."

"Then kill me and take my riches. You'll have everything you've ever wanted!"

I see Vane stagger, and I remind myself not to blow my cover. Vane sneers. He looks his father in the eyes, and says, "I have everything I've ever wanted."

Vane turns his back on his whimpering mess of a father and slowly walks out. As I see him limping I finally call out to him. His face changes instantly upon seeing me. "Cordelia! How long have you been there? Are you safe?"

As I rush over to him I feel the intense want to wrap my arms around him and kiss him like there's no tomorrow. But, ironically, that will have to wait until tomorrow. "I'm fine. But, Vane, what about you?"

Vane smiles. "I am free."

I smile back, pulling his head down slightly so I can kiss him. When we pull apart Vane gently brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. "De Vere is gone. And Hamilton... I did all I could, Read's with him now. But he might not make it."

I can see Vane recoil in horror, before quickly pulling me into a hug. He shakes his head. "Hamilton is a good man. I hope he does survive, Port Royal wouldn't be the same without him."

TWO MONTHS LATER

"Heartbreakers, with me! Our target is within sight! Unfurl the sails, full speed ahead! I want them quaking in their boots at the sight of us!"

Bang and Burns look particularly mischievous as Moondog begins to play her wild melody. Our stabbed heart flies proudly in the wind. It still gives me a rush of adrenaline to see it. And then I see it. The Ranger.

We approach Vane's ship at full speed. And as we go I see the tall red-headed man I'm looking for. Seeing him, in his pure pirate king form, sends the butterflies in my stomach fluttering. "Grapplers, prepare to board! No mercy, we are the Heartbreakers!"

"Captain Heartbreaker. You charge at me, threaten me, and pirate me? How romantic."

It feels like my jaw has just dropped to The Heartbreaker's hold. "What?!"

"You're recreating the moment we first met. So sentimental, doing this for our one-year anniversary."

I purse my lips, trying to stop myself from laughing. "I should call you Captain Adorable."

I hear Bang and Burns begin to snicker behind me. "No, this is a robbery!"

"Of my heart, yes, I see that. Well, come on. My cabin is where I keep my treasure."

Read, and most of the rest of my crew, are now laughing while Keats lightly scolds them. I sigh and swing over to the Ranger. I enter Vane's cabin. Vane is leaning against his captain's table, arms crossed. The expression on his face is one I imagine a wolf would have if a lamb walked into his lair.

I suddenly feel an urge to loiter at the entrance to Vane's cabin. But Vane beckons me closer, and I come all the way inside his cabin. "You've come to pillage, no? I believe resistance, at this point, would be considered futile. So what is it you desire most, oh Dreaded Captain Cannonball?"

"Well," I begin, my courage starting to grow, "I've come to the conclusion I'm hopelessly attracted to ruthless, ambitious, fiendish, and devastatingly handsome pirates."

Vane smiles. "Seems serious," Vane reaches forward for my waist. "Go check the top drawer of the desk. I have... a gift for you."

Suddenly suspicious, I eye Vane up and down as I walk slowly to his desk. I carefully slide open the drawer, ready to jump back if necessary. Until I gasp upon seeing the contents. I see a map. "This is amazing!"

"It's our map. If, of course, you want it."

I run to where he's standing and wrap my arms around him, hugging him tightly as he strokes my back, laughing softly. I guess that answered his question. Vane pulls back from the hug to kiss me instead, on the lips.

It's passionate, and the feelings rush over me like the sea we both love. When we pause for breath he strokes my cheekbone down to my jaw in a repetitive, strangely attractive way. His husky voice breaks the silence, "Happy one-year anniversary, Captain Cannonball. I hope my cabin survives this encounter."

Wow, two posts in one night. I must be crazy.

Well, that took longer than expected. Oh well, on to more things, I guess.

[umbracirrus]

I've basically not been on my laptop for a week and now I'm absolutely lost trying to look through my files trying to figure out where things are saved and screaming at past me for how bad my filing (or rather, naming) system is-

Though admittedly taking a break from things like writing has kinda helped with rebooting my brain a bit, I'm feeling more motivated to do things now such as writing.

I also know I've been tagged for WIP Wednesday during the week! I'll get to that some point this weekend and will look at what I've been tagged in too! 😊

[bratzkoo]

still the one | joshua hong

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: exes! joshua x reader Genre: fluff, semi-angst Rating: PG-15 Word count: 4.8k~ Warnings/note: i just want joshua to do something very loser of him just to get his ex back.

summary: 5 years after your break up, Joshua tries his best to get your attention. May it be creating a new instagram to get you to notice him, making your brother (Seungkwan) secretly invite him to his birthday party, and his latest act: begging you on his knees in front of your door to get him back. He just never gives up!

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

You didn’t really see it coming.

The autumn breeze carried a hint of crisp possibility as you walked through the park, fallen leaves crunching satisfyingly beneath your feet. Life was good – you had a successful career that challenged and fulfilled you, a cozy apartment in the heart of the city, and a circle of friends who filled your days with laughter and your nights with adventure.

As you strolled along the winding path, you couldn't help but smile at the scenes around you. Couples walked hand in hand, their heads bent close in conversation. Families spread out on checkered blankets, enjoying impromptu picnics in the fading warmth of the season. A group of friends tossed a frisbee, their shouts and laughter carrying on the wind.

You paused for a moment, tilting your face up to catch the last rays of the setting sun. Contentment washed over you, a feeling of being exactly where you were meant to be. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, likely Ranee confirming plans for your weekly wine and movie night. Life had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, one that you'd worked hard to create and maintain.

Little did you know that this carefully constructed peace was about to be shaken to its core. As you reached for your phone, you were blissfully unaware of the storm that was brewing, of the persistent force that was about to re-enter your life and turn everything upside down.

Somewhere across the city, Joshua Hong was steeling his nerves, his finger hovering over the 'Create Account' button on Instagram. He'd spent weeks crafting the perfect username, carefully selecting photos, and writing and rewriting his bio. Now, with a deep breath and a silent prayer, he was about to take the first step in his plan to win you back.

But for now, in this moment, you were simply enjoying the park, the autumn day, and the life you'd built for yourself. The future, with all its unexpected twists and turns, could wait.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you from your reverie. A notification from Instagram – a new follow request. Your breath caught as you read the username: J_Hong_1996. It couldn't be... could it?

With trembling fingers, you tapped on the profile. The photos were sparse, but unmistakable. Joshua, looking older but still achingly familiar, in various locations around the city. Your city. He was back.

For a moment, you considered hitting the 'Decline' button, shutting this unexpected door before it could fully open. But curiosity – or perhaps something deeper – made you hesitate. Before you could overthink it, you hit 'Accept', telling yourself it was just to see what he was up to.

Within minutes, your phone buzzed again. A direct message.

"(Y/N), I know it's been a long time, but I'm back in town. Can we talk?"

You stared at the message, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Anger at his presumption, hurt that still lingered after all these years, and underneath it all, a traitorous flicker of... what? Hope? Longing? You shook your head, banishing the thought.

Days passed, and more messages followed, each one a little more desperate than the last.

"I understand if you're angry. I just want a chance to explain."

"I've missed you every day for the past five years. Please, just five minutes of your time."

"I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm hoping you'll give me a chance to earn it."

You continued to ignore them, hoping he'd take the hint. But Joshua, it seemed, was nothing if not persistent.

A week after the first Instagram request, your brother Seungkwan called. His voice was suspiciously casual as he said, "Hey, sis! Just finalizing plans for my birthday party next weekend. You're coming, right?"

"Of course," you replied, a smile in your voice despite your turbulent thoughts. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Great!" Seungkwan said, a little too enthusiastically. There was a pause, and then, "Oh, and, uh, just so you know... Joshua might be there. He reached out, said he was back in town and wanted to reconnect with old friends. I hope that's okay?"

Your grip tightened on the phone, knuckles turning white. "Seungkwan," you said, your voice dangerously calm, "did he put you up to this?"

Your brother's guilty silence was all the answer you needed. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "It's fine. It's your party. Invite whoever you want."

As you ended the call, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being maneuvered into a confrontation you weren't sure you were ready for.

The night of Seungkwan's party arrived, crisp and clear. You'd spent an embarrassing amount of time choosing your outfit – a sleek black dress that hugged your curves, paired with your favorite heels. You told yourself it was for your own confidence, not for any other reason.

The moment you stepped into the crowded apartment, you felt his presence. It was like a sixth sense, your body attuned to his proximity even after all these years. You scanned the room, your heart racing, but there was no sign of him.

For the first hour, you managed to avoid him, sticking close to your friends and keeping your eyes averted from the door. But as you stepped out onto the balcony for a breath of fresh air, you heard his voice behind you.

"(Y/N)."

You turned slowly, steeling yourself. And there he was. Joshua. Five years older, a touch of silver at his temples, but still devastatingly handsome. His eyes, those warm brown eyes that had once looked at you with such love, now held a mixture of hope and trepidation.

"Hello, Joshua," you said, proud of how steady your voice sounded.

He took a step closer, and you fought the urge to back away. "Thank you for not running away," he said softly. "I wasn't sure you'd even talk to me."

"I'm here for Seungkwan," you replied, perhaps a bit more sharply than necessary. "This isn't about you."

Joshua nodded, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. "I know. But I'm hoping... maybe we could talk? Just for a few minutes?"

You sighed, looking out over the city skyline. "What is there to talk about, Joshua? It's been five years. We've both moved on."

"Have we?" he asked, moving to stand beside you at the railing. "Because I haven't. Not really."

You turned to face him, anger bubbling up inside you. "And whose fault is that? You're the one who left, remember? You don't get to come back after five years and act like nothing's changed."

"I know," Joshua said, his voice thick with regret. "I know I hurt you, and I'm so sorry. I've regretted leaving every day for the past five years. You're all I think about, (Y/N). I made the biggest mistake of my life walking away from us, and I'm hoping... I'm hoping you'll give me a chance to make it right."

You shook your head, stepping away from him. "It's too late for that, Joshua. We can't go back."

As you walked away, leaving him alone on the balcony, you couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't over. You were right.

For weeks after the party, Joshua's attempts to reach you intensified. It started with flowers delivered to your office – a stunning bouquet of your favorite blooms. Your coworkers cooed and speculated, but you simply moved them to the break room, ignoring the card that bore his familiar handwriting.

Next came the letters. Handwritten pages that showed up in your mailbox, pouring out his heart, explaining his actions, and begging for another chance. You told yourself you were going to throw them away unread, but each night found you poring over his words, tears staining the pages.

Then there was the singing telegram – a mortifying experience that left your entire office buzzing with gossip. As the poor college student in a ridiculous costume belted out a heartfelt rendition of "your song," you wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Each gesture chipped away at your resolve, even as you tried to maintain your distance. You found yourself lying awake at night, memories of your time together playing on an endless loop. The good times – lazy Sunday mornings tangled in bed, surprise picnics in the park, the way he'd look at you like you were the only person in the world. But also the bad – the fights that grew more frequent towards the end, the distance that had grown between you, the day he'd walked out with nothing but a suitcase and a broken promise.

Your friends were divided on the issue. Ranee, ever the romantic, thought you should hear him out. "People change, (Y/N)," she'd say over wine and takeout. "Maybe he really has grown up. Don't you owe it to yourself to at least listen?"

But Jihoon, who'd seen you through the worst of the breakup, was adamantly against it. "He had his chance," he'd argue, eyes flashing with protective anger. "He doesn't get to waltz back in and disrupt your life just because he's decided he made a mistake."

You appreciated their concern, but in the end, you knew the decision had to be yours. And despite your best efforts to stay strong, to remember the pain he'd caused, you could feel your resolve weakening.

Then came the night that changed everything.

You were settling in for a quiet evening at home, a glass of wine in hand and your favorite movie queued up, when a commotion outside your apartment door caught your attention. Frowning, you muted the TV and approached cautiously, peering through the peephole.

Your heart nearly stopped at what you saw.

Joshua was on his knees in the hallway, a bouquet of your favorite flowers clutched in his hands. Tears streamed down his face as he looked up at your door, unaware that you were watching. His voice, muffled but clear, carried through the wood.

"(Y/N), please. I know you're in there. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm begging you to give me a chance."

You pressed your forehead against the door, closing your eyes as his words washed over you.

"I was stupid for letting you go, and I've spent every day since then regretting it. You're still the one for me, (Y/N). You've always been the one. I'll do anything to prove it to you. Please, just open the door."

Your hand hovered over the doorknob, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he must be able to hear it. Five years of hurt, of carefully rebuilding your life, warred against the undeniable pull you still felt towards him.

"I'm not giving up," Joshua continued, his voice cracking with emotion. "I'll stay here all night if I have to. I'll come back every day until you're ready to talk to me. Because I know, deep down, that we're meant to be together. Please, (Y/N). Just give me one more chance."

You leaned back against the wall, sliding down until you were sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to your chest. Memories flooded your mind – the day you met, your first kiss, the night he told you he loved you. But also the fights, the growing distance, the day he'd walked out. You'd worked so hard to move on, to build a life without him. Could you really risk opening that door again?

As if he could sense your indecision, Joshua's pleas grew more urgent. "I know I hurt you. I know I left you alone, and I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for that. But being back here, being close to you again... it's made me realize that you're still the one for me. You always have been."

You found yourself standing, drawn to his voice like a magnet. Your hand reached for the doorknob of its own accord.

"I've tried to start again, to find somebody else," Joshua continued, unaware of your internal struggle. "But I can't get you out of my head. The memories, the things we said to each other... they're always there. I can't move on, (Y/N). Not without knowing I did everything I could to make things right between us."

With a shaky breath, you turned the knob. As you slowly opened the door, Joshua's eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of hope and fear. He scrambled to his feet, the flowers clutched tightly in his hand.

"You have five minutes," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "After that, if I tell you to leave, you go. And you don't come back. Understood?"

Joshua nodded eagerly, relief washing over his features. "Thank you, (Y/N). That's all I'm asking for. A chance to explain, to show you how much you mean to me."

You stepped aside, allowing him to enter. As he passed, his familiar scent – a mix of cologne and something uniquely him – enveloped you, bringing with it a rush of memories. You closed the door and turned to face him, arms crossed protectively over your chest.

"Talk," you said simply.

Joshua took a deep breath, setting the flowers on a nearby table. "First, I want to say how sorry I am. Not just for leaving, but for how I handled everything leading up to it. I was young and stupid and scared of the intensity of what I felt for you. Instead of talking to you about my fears, I pushed you away. I convinced myself that leaving was the right thing to do, that we'd both be better off. But I was wrong. So incredibly wrong."

You remained silent, watching him carefully. Joshua ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you remembered all too well.

"These past five years have been... empty," he continued. "I threw myself into my work, traveled, tried to convince myself I was living this great, exciting life. But nothing felt right. Nothing felt like home. Because home was always with you, (Y/N)."

"Why now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "Why come back after all this time?"

Joshua's eyes met yours, filled with a sincerity that made your heart ache. "Because I finally realized what an idiot I'd been. Because the thought of going another day without you in my life was unbearable. I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, let alone a second chance. But I had to try. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't at least tell you how I feel."

You turned away, moving to the window to look out at the city lights. "And how do you feel, Joshua?"

You heard him step closer, though he didn't touch you. "I love you, (Y/N). I never stopped loving you. You're the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing on my mind before I go to sleep. Every good thing that happens, I want to share with you. Every bad day, I wish you were there to make it better. You're it for me. You're the one."

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you blinked them back furiously. "Love isn't always enough, Joshua. You proved that when you walked out five years ago."

"I know," he said softly. "But I've changed. I've grown up. I know now that love isn't just a feeling – it's a choice. And I choose you, (Y/N). I'll choose you every day for the rest of my life if you'll let me."

You turned to face him, taking in the earnest expression on his face, the love and hope shining in his eyes. "And what if I say no? What if I tell you to leave and never come back?"

Pain flashed across Joshua's features, but he stood his ground. "Then I'll respect your decision. It'll break my heart, but I'll go. Because more than anything, I want you to be happy. Even if that happiness doesn't include me."

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with promise and possibility. You found yourself at a crossroads, the path forward unclear. On one side lay the safety of the life you'd built without him – predictable, stable, but tinged with a loneliness you'd never quite been able to shake. On the other, the unknown – the risk of heartbreak, but also the potential for a love deeper and stronger than before.

"I can't..." you started, your voice breaking. You took a deep breath and tried again. "I can't just forget everything that happened, Joshua. The pain, the years of trying to move on... it's not that simple."

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I know. I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking for a chance to make new memories, better ones. To show you every day how much you mean to me, how sorry I am for the pain I caused."

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through you. When you opened them again, Joshua was still there, waiting patiently, hope etched in every line of his face.

"I can't promise you anything," you said finally. "I don't know if I can trust you again, or if I even want to try. But..." you paused, hardly believing the words about to leave your mouth, "I'm willing to listen. To take things slowly and see where they lead."

The smile that lit up Joshua's face was like the sun breaking through clouds. "That's more than I could have hoped for," he said softly. "Thank you, (Y/N). I promise you won't regret this."

As he turned to leave, pausing at the door to look back at you with eyes full of renewed determination, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were standing on the precipice of something monumental. Whether it was the beginning of a new chapter or the final closing of an old one remained to be seen. But one thing was certain – Joshua's persistence had finally broken through your defenses, and now, for better or worse, you were embarking on a journey neither of you could have anticipated.

The door closed behind him, and you sank onto your couch, emotions swirling within you. You picked up your phone, needing to talk to someone who could offer an outside perspective. Ranee answered on the second ring.

"Hey, what's up?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

"I think I'm in trouble," you said, your voice shaky. "Joshua... he was just here. On his knees in the in the hallway," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "Begging me to give him another chance."

Ranee gasped. "Oh my god, (Y/N). What did you do?"

You closed your eyes, still hardly believing it yourself. "I... I let him in. We talked."

"And?" Ranee pressed, her voice a mixture of concern and excitement.

"And... I told him I'd be willing to listen. To take things slowly." You let out a shaky breath. "Ranee, what am I doing? Am I crazy for even considering this?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. When Ranee spoke again, her voice was gentle. "You're not crazy, (Y/N). You're human. And whether you want to admit it or not, Joshua was a huge part of your life. It's natural to have conflicting feelings."

"But what if I'm making a huge mistake?" you asked, voicing the fear that had been gnawing at you since Joshua left. "What if he hurts me again?"

"That's always a risk in any relationship," Ranee pointed out. "But let me ask you this – do you think you'd regret it more if you gave him a chance and it didn't work out, or if you turned him away without ever knowing what could have been?"

Her question gave you pause. You thought about the past five years, about the life you'd built for yourself. It was a good life, comfortable and safe. But there had always been something missing, a void you'd never quite been able to fill.

"I don't know," you admitted. "I just... I'm scared, Ranee. I worked so hard to move on, to be okay without him. What if letting him back in undoes all of that?"

"Then you'll pick yourself up and move on again," Ranee said firmly. "But this time, you'll do it knowing you gave it your all. No what-ifs, no regrets."

After hanging up with Ranee, you sat in the quiet of your apartment, mulling over her words. Your eyes fell on the bouquet Joshua had brought, still sitting on the table where he'd left it. Despite everything, a small smile tugged at your lips. He'd remembered your favorite flowers after all these years.

Your phone buzzed with a text:

From Joshua: "Thank you again for giving me a chance to explain. I meant every word I said tonight. I'll wait as long as it takes. You're still the one, (Y/N). Always."

You stared at the message, your heart racing. Slowly, you typed out a reply:

To Joshua: "I meant what I said too. Slow. I need time to process all of this."

His response came almost immediately:

From Joshua: "Of course. We'll go at whatever pace you're comfortable with. I'm just grateful for the opportunity. Sleep well, (Y/N)."

As you got ready for bed that night, your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Part of you was terrified of the vulnerability that came with opening your heart again. But another part, a part that had been dormant for far too long, felt a flicker of excitement at the possibility of reconnecting with Joshua.

The next few weeks were a delicate dance of tentative steps forward and cautious retreats. True to his word, Joshua respected your need for space, never pushing for more than you were ready to give. Your interactions started small – text messages exchanged throughout the day, brief phone calls that gradually grew longer.

Then came the coffee dates. The first one was awkward, both of you unsure of how to act around each other after so much time apart. But as the weeks went by, you found yourselves falling into a comfortable rhythm. You talked about your lives over the past five years – your career advancements, his travels, the lessons you'd both learned.

One afternoon, as you sat across from Joshua in your favorite café, he looked at you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"What?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

He shook his head, a soft smile playing at his lips. "Nothing, I just... I can't believe I'm here with you. There were so many times over the past five years when I thought I'd lost this chance forever."

You felt a familiar pang in your chest – a mixture of old hurt and new hope. "Joshua..."

"I know," he said quickly. "I know we're taking things slow. And I respect that. I just want you to know how grateful I am for every moment I get to spend with you."

His sincerity was almost overwhelming. You found yourself reaching across the table, your hand covering his. It was the first time you'd initiated physical contact since he'd come back into your life, and you felt him tense in surprise before relaxing into your touch.

"I'm grateful too," you admitted softly. "I won't lie – there's still a part of me that's scared. That's waiting for the other shoe to drop. But... I'm glad we're doing this. Whatever 'this' is."

Joshua turned his hand over, interlacing his fingers with yours. "It's whatever you want it to be, (Y/N). I'm here for as long as you'll have me."

As the weeks turned into months, you found yourself slowly letting your guard down. The walls you'd built around your heart began to crumble, brick by brick. Joshua was patient, attentive, and consistently present in a way he hadn't been towards the end of your relationship five years ago.

But it wasn't all smooth sailing. There were moments of doubt, of old hurts resurfacing. Arguments where past grievances bubbled up, threatening to derail the progress you'd made. But unlike before, you both made a conscious effort to communicate, to work through your issues rather than letting them fester.

It was during one of these conversations, late one night as you walked through the park where you'd first met, that Joshua stopped suddenly, turning to face you.

"(Y/N)," he said, his voice serious. "I need you to know something."

You felt your heart rate quicken, a mix of anticipation and anxiety coursing through you. "What is it?"

Joshua took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "I know we've been taking things slow, and I respect that. But I want to be clear about where I stand. I love you. I'm in love with you. And if you'll have me, I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you every single day."

You felt tears prick at your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words and the emotion behind them. For a moment, you were transported back in time – to the day he'd first told you he loved you, to all the dreams and plans you'd made together. But this time, instead of fear or doubt, you felt a sense of certainty wash over you.

"Joshua," you said softly, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. "I love you too. I think... I think I always have, even when I was trying so hard not to."

The smile that lit up his face was brighter than any you'd ever seen. He pulled you close, his forehead resting against yours. "So where do we go from here?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You took a deep breath, your heart full of hope and possibility. "Forward," you said simply. "Together."

As Joshua's lips met yours in a kiss that felt both familiar and thrillingly new, you knew that this was just the beginning. There would be challenges ahead, old wounds to heal, and new obstacles to overcome. But for the first time in five years, you felt truly, completely whole.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting his. A whirlwind of emotions coursed through you – love, frustration, happiness, and a touch of amused exasperation. Joshua's persistence had not only won him a second chance but had also reignited a love that had never truly died. As you stood there, hand in hand in the park where your story began, the future stretching out before you, a realization hit you.

"DAMN YOU, JOSHUA HONG!" you exclaimed suddenly, causing him to jump in surprise.

His eyes widened, a mix of confusion and concern crossing his face. "What? What's wrong?"

But before he could say anything else, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him close again. "Damn you and your persistence," you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips despite your words. "Making me fall in love with you all over again."

Relief and joy flooded Joshua's features as he understood. "I told you I wouldn't give up," he said softly, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"Well, congratulations," you replied, your tone a mixture of sarcasm and genuine affection. "You win. Are you happy now?"

The smile that lit up Joshua's face was answer enough, but he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "Happier than I've ever been."

With a playful roll of your eyes, you pulled him in for another kiss, this one deeper and more passionate than the last. As you lost yourself in the moment, you realized that sometimes, the most beautiful love stories are the ones that withstand the test of time and separation, emerging stronger and more resilient than ever before – even if they require a little (or a lot) of persistence along the way.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, you couldn't help but laugh. "You know," you said, intertwining your fingers with his, "if you ever pull a disappearing act like that again, I'll hunt you down myself."

Joshua grinned, bringing your joined hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Noted. Though I have to say, I kind of like this feisty side of you."

"Oh, you haven't seen feisty yet, Hong," you retorted, but your eyes were sparkling with happiness.

And if this man ever forget how lucky he is? Well, you'd be more than happy to remind him – right after you kissed him senseless, of course.

[hwaightme]

Lone soul

(masterlist)

🏢pairing: singer!seonghwa x gn!reader 🏢genre: comfort, healing, angst, fluff, sci-fi/spec.fiction, soulmate au 🏢summary: numb to the pleas of those who receive the 'lone soul' verdict, what can happen when a man who lives for love enters your office, and for the first time you are met with eyes that wonder, that care, that feel so familiar, so true? 🏢wordcount: 4.1k total 🏢warnings/tags: unedited, set in another reality (softcore 1984?), discussing romance/love, fictional gov structures, soulmate theory/lone soul theory, partnership, companionship, sweet conversation, romance/romanticism, learning about what makes you who you are, trust, bonding, mutual respect 🏢 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🏢 a/n: crafted after the beautiful ask from @sorryimananti-romantic <3 thank you my love <3 and to all, thank you for reading, any notes/reblogs appreciated!

Early morning - perfect time to check the mail, perfect time to watch the world fall apart. Each letter on the page left a searing sensation, hot iron piercing through the skin and twisting itself again and again, confirming the one thing that the reader feared, in cold formal terminology. There was little left to suggest any alterations, no additional words to imply an uncertainty or the need for a re-testing. Nothing. The letter, along with the rest of the contents of the hefty envelope were clear as the breaking of Park Seonghwa’s heart - he was a Lone Soul.

Rushing back inside, cowering away from the horrifically cheerful chirping of the birds outside, the young man stared at the piece of paper, flipping it again and again in his hands as if the words were going to magically change themselves and reveal a deeper meaning, or express their sincerest apologies for the mistake. He had been so certain in himself, in love, that Seonghwa had never even imagined the possibility of receiving anything from the National Soulmate Register Office aside from a prompt response to his request for a Soulmate Search.

What could this mean for his career? He, a song-writer with more lyrics written about love than he could remember - how would fellow musicians, artists, groups, companies, the public react upon hearing that the creator of their favourite tunes was confirmed to be lacking in a soulmate. How could he craft songs about love when he was not destined for it? When he would never find out the real feeling of meeting and having a soulmate, and watching the stars align? Seonghwa glanced at the awards that decorated the display case in his living room, settling on titles ‘Meant To Be’ and ‘Love, Love, Love’. This had to be a joke. A cruel joke. He knew love better than anyone could, he could feel it, express it and write it. Certainly better than anyone at that damn Office could. Seonghwa’s anguish rapidly transformed into a seething anger as he slammed the papers onto the coffee table and stormed away to change into the nearest outerwear he could find. With equally feverish determination and the envelope wedged under his arm, the man sped to the metro, only checking the location of the Office when he passed the turnstiles. 

If one were to ask any friend, neighbour or relative, they would all say that Seonghwa was a hopeless romantic. A believer in a happily ever after, a person who grew up overcoming so many challenges and turning to be surrounded by and receiving so much love that all he wanted to do was to share it. Truthfully, you were intrigued by his result as much as he was, this onyx-haired man with his head cradled in his hands, eyes studying the carpeted floor beneath him as he awaited for any elaboration from you. But there was no such thing as a mistake in your line of work. With a short sigh you finished your inspection of Seonghwa’s result letter, setting it down on the centre of the table, and began to type up his details for what you called a ‘routine check’ - truly, it was you making airs and pretending that you were trying your hardest to see if anything at all could be changed. A cruel, but necessary dance to ease the fall of those who ended up on the Lone Soul Registry, since, the sooner the individual accepted it, the sooner they could begin taking steps towards another future.

You suppressed a bitter smile; parents who were soulmates, brother who had found a soulmate early on in his life… no possibility of this outcome being hereditary. Checking key milestones of his life, you could only see things that point towards adoration itself and an appreciation of life’s beauty. There was even growth to self-acceptance and self-love - commendable. Scrolling, scrolling through, now accompanied by Seonghwa’s desperate gaze settled on your form that forced you to control your bored expression and settle on professional neutrality, there was nothing that gave you obvious hints on why exactly this young man was now in the Registry, but your judgement decided against pursuing this curious case further. It was far too early, on a Friday, and any more snooping would most certainly be above your pay grade and above average activity.

“Unfortunately, I cannot provide you with any more information other than what had already been given to you through the letter and booklet. If it is of interest to you I can provide you with some more resources on potential Lifestyle adjustments and point you to Lone Soul networks-”

“What I need is answers!” Seonghwa raised his voice, setting a hand down onto the edge of the desk a little too aggressively for you to feel totally comfortable. Your eyes narrowed as you regarded him with suspicion.

“Sir, all that could be provided to you-”

“This is a government office, for goodness’ sake. Don’t you have access to everything? This isn’t possible. This cannot be possible. How am I, of all people, a Lone Soul?”

“You are not the only Lone Soul, Mister Park. And yes, we are a government office, and as such, are able to offer you a number of resources that can help cope with the change and find a new rhythm-”

“New rhythm, you have got to be kidding.”

Biting the inner corner of your upper lip you admonished yourself for the joke that slipped through in response to the agitated visitor. Luckily for him, and perhaps unluckily for you, he had made it into the Office right at opening time, and coincidentally, you had no consultation bookings set for the hour. Of course, the receptionists had to be kind enough to change that in the blind of an eye, and now you had to power through yet another session of all stages of grief while not yet having drunk a single cup of coffee. The man was adamant on getting something, anything out of you - you were sure of it, even if it was a false promise. Inspecting his profile, which you pulled up and exploded onto the full screen of your monitor once again, you noted his request submission twenty seven days ago. And then another one, twelve days ago. All asking the same thing: who his soulmate was, what he could do, so on and so forth. The usual. So he was a desperate one. A shame.

“Unfortunately there is nothing I can do to change the status, seeing as it is permanent, but if you are interested in Lone Soul Matching then we can arrange a separate appointment to discuss this further.”

The mention of the Matching process seemed to be the final nail in the man’s hopeful coffin as he slouched forward, and whatever had been left of his anger quickly dissipated to reveal a shattered, melancholic artist who had just realised that whatever muse he had worshipped was nothing but a lie. You almost felt sorry as you slid the rest of the papers across, complete with a self-help guide and an information pamphlet summarising all services available in the NSRO. The minutes ticked away, but Seonghwa remained frozen in place. It was almost as if with your words, even though standard and practically scripted, you revealed to him a dark truth and the music that ruled the real world. You had uncovered his ears and sung the song of the harsh present, and he could not dare find himself relieved or content with the outcome. He knew that you were only a messenger, a passing face that represented thouSeonghwads of people working for an answer, but you could read a resentment in his expression as he finally raised his head after having hid his face from you. The usual agony, a standard response that you had been trained to not antagonise, and instead to de-escalate. You sat straighter, clasped your hands together and leaned forwards, an unreadable hint of a smile on your lips, somewhat comforting, but alluring to a chilling power that you still retained for as long as you were in this office.

“Shall we make another appointment? Or would you prefer to take some time to process the results and engage with us at a later date?” as you tilted your head a little, you took note of the clouded over, spaced out gaze of the man before you. Even when Seonghwa answered with a confirmation, you were not sure of what exactly he was agreeing to, nor if he was entirely there with you. “Mister Park, would you kindly state your availability?” he shook his head, evidently clearing the haze he was in, and you were met with the mist of two endlessly dark orbs.

His eyes were translating many stories to you, some of which you probably heard on the radio. Love songs, serenades, ballads, rap about love… songs turned into an amorous encyclopaedia a while ago. Even in this, Seonghwa was bound to be ‘just another’. At the same time, your heart hurt for him; perhaps the same as it did for others who came into your lonely office at the end of the corridor, perhaps in some other mysterious way. But anyhow, your expression softened, and you allowed yourself to sympathise with his misery. It was never pleasant to find out that you were not destined to have a life partner, to have that fairy tale happily ever after.

You have seen relationships fall apart before your very eyes after couples who naively thought that requesting the Soulmate Search would simply reveal one anothers’ names instead of a mismatch and a Lone Soul. You have seen familial disappointments, arguments… but at the same time, you witnessed unfiltered joy, liberation, excitement. There was never one answer to fated romantic solitude. You wished you could say that to the very distraught young man sitting in front of you. He was not much different in age to you. He was just like everyone - human. A human faced with intense change. Change that you yourself knew a little too well. In a moment of weakness, though you would like to think it was bravery, you made a tentative proposal, a tiny thin straw to grasp:

“I wholly understand how it must be for you, Mister Park. Which is why I would strongly recommend we meet again. Not for a request or escalation, but for a chat.”

“...a chat? You cannot be serious…” he uttered, head slipping into his hands once more, fingers running through long tresses, eyebrows furrowed.

“I am perfectly serious. Aside from human investigation and data management we do offer other types of services and support, considering our line of work,” while you were trying to be compassionate, the words would not twist themselves, choosing to remain in strict lines and scenarios, as though you were reading from a pre-prepared script. Thankfully, Seonghwa did not seem to mind, far too consumed by grief that you knew would pass eventually.

“And what would that be?”

“Like I said, a chat. Or many chats, depending on what feels most comfortable for you.”

“Are you saying you… are therapists?”

“Thoroughly trained and fully licensed.”

“I will be honest, that is quite impressive. I never knew that about the NSRO,” the hint of amusement was all you needed to know that he was climbing upwards, closer and closer to regaining at least some stability.

“The centre of our business and operations is people.”

“I figured.”

“Then, if this is of interest to you, would you be able to tell me the times you are available or prefer?”

“And about payment-”

“Government service.”

“Oh. Okay fair.”

“Then? Mister Park?” you tilted your head, eyeing the man. While his present demeanour was far from threatening - a quality which you had attributed to him following earlier outbursts, he was not quite a picture of comfort. A little dishevelled here and there, top a little crumpled. Many details reminiscent of a picture hanging on a wall being ever so slightly tilted.

“I have a concert in two days… then a festival next week… oh but that’s later so no trouble…” he was mumbling to himself as he recalled his schedule. It was awe inspiring to see his emotionality dissipate as soon as he talked about work. Your prior worries of how he would handle his career after being declared a Lone Soul disappeared rapidly, and you clicked on your calendar for Monday, feeling Seonghwa would be one unlikely to stall.

“Monday? Hm… four? PM? I have a couple of schedules in the morning but should be free then.”

“Four it is. Fantastic, well, Mister Park, I just booked the appointment for our chat, and the details should have automatically been sent to you via email. You will receive a text message reminder the day before, but should there be any other concerns do not hesitate to contact us.”

“Well I would assume I would be wanting to contact you, rather than the whole Office?” slowly, Seonghwa stood up, giving you one last tired smile.

“Of course. The email would be from me, and my official contact details would be in the signature. Anything else I can assist with?” While professionalism was preventing you from rushing the singer out of the office, your head was already drumming out an incessant, painful beat; it genuinely was far too early in the morning, and you were forced to feel far too many things. 

“Thank you,” the words were quiet, but genuine, and most certainly took you by surprise, “thank you for not leaving me alone.” The morning sunlight seeped into your office, casting a glow over his form. Tall, lean, disposition so familiar to you.

“Not at all. Good luck for the concert, and see you Monday.”

“See you Monday.”

He turned to leave your office, and as soon as the mutely coloured door clicked shut you closed his records, switching to massaging your temples. With one swift turn you were staring out of the windows behind you, wondering if the otherwise traditionally pleasant day appeared different to Seonghwa too. An artist, a dreamer, a lover. A couple of minutes passed, and you noticed him appearing out of the building and ambling across the concrete tiled yard. Another Lone Soul.

He would have been a great soulmate, you concluded, and with a sigh, rose to trudge to the shared kitchen for a cup of something mediocre, wondering if you had been like him when you discovered your own identical fate. No, no you hadn’t been. Passing a few posters that lined the corridors of the NSRO, you chuckled. No, you were not ambitious enough to dedicate yourself to what was essentially fuelled by love. Instead, you looked at the careers page of this exact place. In a few swift clicks, you had applied. In a few numb weeks, you had been interviewed and tested. In a few monotone months, you were no longer a Lone Soul, but a faceless, nameless entity that dissolved in the grey walls, unaffected, unobserved.

It was impossible to tell how many Mondays had passed. Even when Seonghwa decided to stop seeing you for ‘official’ chats, your meetings never exactly stopped, him having made it a habit to find you after your strenuous work hours and his own untameable scheduling. Quiet strolls, occasional bursts of conversation. A stop at a vending machine for beverages here and there. Nothing demanding on either of you. Except perhaps the fact that you decided to take the long way home on Mondays. But that was on you. And you did not mind. And neither did he mind nor care, apparently, considering how his frequent outings could always turn into a scandal, but somehow, it never turned out to be so. Maybe society had finally changed and people learned how to mind their own business, or maybe you really were faceless. At least one person could see you.

While Seonghwa had been surprised to find out that you, too, were a Lone Soul, you could see an immediate change in his approaches. A more relaxed, trusting manner and a sweeter resolve, he had transformed from a man mourning his future to a man who found a kindred spirit and in turn, rediscovered hope. You noted that a glimmer in his eyes did suit him best. He was inquisitive: almost in every session prior to their end he asked about what it was like to be a Lone Soul in the long term, and he quickly familiarised himself with all the relevant vocabulary that floated in the community’s shared lexicon. In part because it was your job and in part because you had been touched by his sense of self that was blooming anew, you told him all and then some. Of course, it was endearing how even though he was perfectly away that he would not experience that standard run of the mill romance nor that exhilarating, somewhat spiritual connection with another, he was still adamant on being a believer in romance.

Romance that went beyond love. Romance could be a good cup of tea drunk on a cool autumn day in one’s favourite cafe. It could be a particularly deep and vulnerable conversation with someone close that brought clarity. It could be a soothing melody trickling into the ears after drowning in cacophonous cityscapes. To Seonghwa, romance was everywhere regardless of whether one had a soulmate or not. To you it was bewildering, interesting, but a little outrageous. You would have agreed to disagree on this, not being one to enjoy dwelling in general, but there was one other thing that set Seonghwa apart from many you knew. He wholeheartedly saw a face in your fog, and the floating somnolence you had been for a number of years now was being kept on its toes, trying to collect all the pieces of yourself you intentionally scattered. You began to realise that sometimes, it might be important to know who you were. 

You had to start simple. You were you, an employee in the NSRO specialising in Lone Souls, from management of the Registry, to reporting and analysis, to direct support in re-identification as a Lone Soul. That much was clear, and that much you could recite to anyone and anytime. Now for other things… you were walking in a park, it was evening, the air was turning cooler and cooler. The city did not sleep, but the buildings appeared fatigued and worn down, much like yourself after a long day. No wonder this was your favourite part of this metropolis. Seonghwa would scold you for giving such vague descriptions and relying on your environment to define you. You looked off to the side to glance at the man himself who was huddling in a jacket - new, at least to you.

You did not like much, but tolerated most things. You tolerated how Seonghwa would debate with you, in fact you could dare say that you indulged in these interactions. You tolerated how he looked at you - kind dark brown eyes, stellar grin, all the attention in the world directed right at you. There was never a doubt that he was listening, caring, remembering. Now that you thought about it, again, you were not saying much about yourself, all of your mentioned tolerances leading back to your companion. Before you could drift any further into your musings, a sudden hum of a tune that you swore you knew from somewhere jolted you back into reality.

“Oh! Look over there?” Following Seonghwa’s hand, you spotted the source of the sound, “beautiful rendition of ‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love’, don’t you think?” You shrugged, simply satisfied with the fact that you were right in your suspicions that the song was indeed one you had heard before.

You followed Seonghwa as he trailed to the small crowd that gathered around the musician. Gracefully the saxophone turned into a live creature, entrancing the audience and inspiring the capable hearts. Blankly, you watched the flying fingertips that faded into shining metal and falling leaves. 

“Isn’t it romantic?” Seonghwa joked, his tone turning playful. 

“I… suppose? It might be?”

“Then tell me what you think of it, I’d love to know,” you turned to find him studying you, softly gleaming. The fairy lights strung up on the surrounding trees made him appear even more graceful than usual, if that was even possible. You could not help but return his blissful amiability with a quick smile of your own, and your best efforts to answer.

“Well… I think his technique is good. And many people are stopping, which suggests that he is objectively good and knows how to engage the audience.”

“Ooh, that’s true. Very interesting. What else?”

“I think that he picked a good time to perform. The park was recently redecorated and the weather this evening is clear. Plenty of walkers. Probably good business.”

“True, true…” he trailed off, seemingly deep in thought. You wonder if your observations were sufficient, “I really do love how you think.”

“What do you mean? Was that sarcastic?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Not at all. Never will be. It is just so unlike how I approach things usually, so I truly marvel at how you do it. In your great way,” not a hint of malice. Only that same curiosity. Those same eyes that saw you. Better than you saw yourself. 

That was what it was - the idea finally came to you. You were blunt, preferred all things to be direct, and any empathy was given similar to how one would prescribe medication. Clinical. With an analytical mind you had no trouble scrutinising individuals through numbers, but then could not ‘count’ on someone, that same analytical and hyper-logical brain preventing you from doing so. You felt for people, you could relate to people, you could guess their emotions, but remained the observer. That was your definition. That was who you were. 

“And um… how do you see it?” Seonghwa nodded at your question, and began.

“I see a soundtrack to many beginnings, middles and endings. I see the musical notes twirling in a waltz with the autumn leaves, the dance floor illuminated by the many fairy lights. I see each mind with their own story to this song, some reliving memories and others crafting a magnificent illusion. Beyond the park, I see residents in those apartment buildings over there,” he pointed at a couple of windows that were illuminated still, and were facing the park, “them looking out at the saxophonist wistfully, mystified by how he knew that this was exactly what they needed to dispel concerns of the earlier hours in the day.”

You two continued to journey on until you made it to a nearby bench, and decided to rest. Sat side by side, arm to arm, you observed the ebbs and flows of other friends, families, lovers who flocked to the musician, only to be swept away by the night and to be replaced by another. 

“Isn’t what you just said all made up?” cautious, you queried.

“Might be, but to me, it is romance. Or rather, the idea of romanticising. I am quite fond of seeing what I cannot physically see, and then inventing more and more on top of it until we have a complete tale.”

“No wonder your songs are such major hits.”

“Oh you flatter me.”

“No, no, you…this, you capture all of this so prettily. Few can.”

“Much like yourself.”

“I do not-”

“Just differently.”

“To you, perhaps, but not to many.”

“What makes you so sure?” he was countering you rapidly.

“Enough Lone Soul meetups. Most of us are like how I am.” pointing at yourself, you emphasised the point. 

“Hm, I should start going to them if there are so many cool personalities there.”

A sharp exhale the upwards twitch was all you could muster before falling completely silent, wanting to pretend that you could see the surroundings like how Seonghwa could. They remained dull and uniform, but the notion that there was this certain someone who, thanks to their past and present, could perceive so beautifully and had the unfathomable kindness to share his interpretations with you was what you were grateful for. Through his eyes, you could see what was around you. Through his eyes, you could finally see yourself. Through his heart, you could be understood.

“Thank you,” your voice barely a murmur, “thank you for not leaving me alone.”

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[smooth-perceval]

Angsty lando pleaseeeeee

This is my first rq omg, sorry it was rushed I have like 7 drafts and I’m trying to clear them out 🥲🫶🏼❤️

Surrender

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader was only trying to console Lando, Lando throws a hissy fit- and some truths are spilled. The ‘argument’ being quickly extinguished.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, very annoyed reader+Lando, fluff ending

Key: Y/N (Your Name) Y/L/N (your last name)

Word count: 1,397

A/N: I cannot see Lando being mean- so it was kinda weird to write 😂 Sarcastic asf? Yes! Mean- it seems so odd but I hope I done okay ❤️

Wether Lando was annoyed or not- I shouldn’t have recieved the back end of it.

I only asked a simple “you okay?” And I got back. “Just leave me the fuck alone.” Before storming back over to the car hopping back in and out on track.

Debating wether to go back to the drivers room or stay - I finally decided that going back to the drivers room was my best option. I felt embarrassed- after 4 people asked me if I was okay, I felt to upset and awkward to be around them.

My face was Ferrari red- no joke, shuffling my way back to the drivers room, I sat in pure silence. Did I really say anything bad? Did I actually annoy him and it wasn’t the car? Questioning my intentions for the next 10 minutes or so is all I did. Before I came to the perfect idea and decided to just leave in general, go back to the hotel and dwell on it all there.

While I had the chance to run I did. Straight back to our hotel and straight into the shower, a day washed away once again. I made quick effort to change into a simple shorts pyjama set, lounging out on the small sofa they had in the room.

—

My phone re-woke me. Grabbing ahold and answering, only to realise who it was when the angry voice spoke down the line.

“Where the hell are you?!”

“Back at the hotel?”

“I’ve looked everywhere for you! Nobody knew! You didn’t tell me!!” Rubbing my eyes, a yawn escaping me. I tutted at him climbing off the sofa and into the bed.

“I fell asleep and forgot to message sorry-”

“I’m nearly at the hotel.” And with that he hung up, here I anxiously sat. I get the annoyance but he was the reason I left in the first place.

Sighing I mentally prepared myself for the lecture I was about to withstand. And truthfully I couldn’t be asked for it.

“Y/N.” The door unlocked and he barged in.

“Seriously- what the hell is going on with you? I needed you at the pits today.” Frowning he stormed off into the bathroom.

“Errr- No, you told me to ‘leave you the fuck alone’ so I did.” Leaning over the bed I put my phone on charge.

“Just cause I said it, didn’t mean I meant it.” Tutting I hear him switch on the shower waiting around for it to warm up, he walked back out facing me.

“Wether you meant it or not Lando. I didn’t deserve it.”

“Well who else am I supposed to let my anger out on.” Throwing his hands up in the air like it’s the most problematic thing in his life at the moment.

“You can vent to me any day- you know that. But I won’t take rudeness.”

“I wasn’t fucking rude!” Shaking his head laughing to himself he went back into the bathroom slamming the door.

“There you go again. Just because your cars shit! Don’t take it out on me.” Laying back on the bed with a groan I stared up at the ceiling.

What a dick.

“My car is not shit-” glancing over at him now standing back outside the bathroom door, he looked so pissed off- but why is it okay for him to say stuff and not me.

“Did I touch a nerve?”

“What made you even bring that up? We wasn’t talking about that.”

“The whole reason for your sour mood is that car.”

“Can’t a guy just have a bad day.” Pulling his hoodie off throwing it on the floor.

“There’s a bad day and then a bad weekend. And you’ve been an asshole to me this whole weekend. If it’s not the car then what? Is it me?” Raising my eyebrows at him I sat on the edge of the bed.

“Your talking stupid again.” And once again he stormed into the bathroom, stripping down to his underwear.

“Then what is it?- I’m not a mind-reader Lando! I can’t help unless you tell me what’s pissed you off.”

“Your not listening! Nothing has pissed me off, fucking hell.” I could’ve got whiplash the amount of times he has stormed in and out that bathroom.

The hot and cold was pissing me off- and before I knew it, all the calmness washed away from me- and all the built up annoyance and anger reeled out.

“You are so frustrating- do you understand that.” Furrowing my brows I stood up, gesturing my hands in front of me.

“One minute it’s ‘can’t a guy have a bad day’ then it’s ‘I’m not pissed off’ or it’s ‘I needed you in the garage today’ but your not pissed off right? So why did you need me. Do you understand how fucking childish your being.” Chest rising and falling, we both stared at each other in silence.

“And while I’m getting everything off my chest for once- your car is shit! Man up and tell the team, don’t drive a shit car and then get annoyed at me for asking a simple question. I didn’t build the stupid car, I don’t drive it- I have no involvement!” Turning around grabbing a pillow off the bed I stomped towards the sofa. “Stupid fucking thing it is.” Mumbling to myself while shaking my head.

“Because I have human decency, I’ll sleep on the sofa. But don’t you dare speak to me unless your going to apologise for being a absolute prick.” Throwing the pillow down on the sofa, I went to the wardrobe pulling out the spare duvet, throwing that on the sofa also.

“What- why you sleeping on the sofa…”

“That doesn’t sound like an apology.” With a loud huff he disappeared once again.

When I turned around Lando had retreated back to the bathroom. It’s strange, lecturing someone tires you out, I flopped back onto the sofa, sighing to myself. Was I too harsh…? Yeah- maybe I should apologise…

Before I even thought about what to say I had dozed back off again, not even wanting to face Lando truthfully right now, I’ll only say more things I don’t mean.

—

“Baby…” rocking me gently, I was woken from my slumber. It was pitch black, I just about made out Lando’s face.

“You awake…?” Even though it was just us two, he still whispered. Humming in response, I rolled over facing the back of the sofa.

“I’m sorry…” pressing a delicate kiss to my shoulder, rubbing it gently, he then leant his head against my back. “I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you… your right about absolutely everything.” Followed by another soft kiss to my shoulder.

“Even about the car being shit??…” smiling to myself, I turned back over slowly, wrapping an arm around his neck, playing with the back of his hair.

“That’s the reason I’m so annoyed-” slowly he squeezed himself on the sofa, pulling me half on-top of him. “Your right- I should man up and tell them, not just keep allowing them to fuck up…” brushing my hand over his cheek, I laid my head on his shoulder listening to him vent.

“I just have had enough… I’ve had enough of feeling like a failure every race- because the cars so terrible…” sighing, he fiddled with my hand. “I love you- and that scares me…” smiling wide, I moved his head turning it towards me.

“You love me?”

“So fucking much.” Pulling him in slowly, I placed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Your not a failure, your absolutely wonderful…” a small smile crept on his face at my compliment.

“Your going to tell them what you really think about that car, your also going to give it your all the rest of this season, because you don’t give up.”

“Your also going to start understanding, I’m on your side always… no matter what, I’m battling from your corner. Because I love you, always have and always will.”

Smiling at me, he pulled me down slowly brushing his lips against mine, “does this mean I get some lovin’?” Laughing, I smacked his chest climbing over him standing up.

“You really are lucky I love you.”

“I know I bless myself everyday.” Standing up he placed his hands on my waist kissing me again.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Masterlist

[constantinerkives]

Dance Macabre // Drabble

PAIRING: Yoo Jimin x fem reader

WARNINGS: established relationship, yandere Karina, kidnapping, allusions to violence and unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy, and profanity. You and Jimin have children, Chairwoman! Karina, MILF! Karina and OC, Johan Liebert reference because I love that soft-spoken manipulative villain.

A/N: Before I begin the mean girl Aeri one-shot, this prompt has been plaguing me ever since I started re-watching 'Monster' so I had to do something about it because my hyper-fixated mind won’t stop unless it’s done. So to soothe this cursed thought, I’ll write about this and be free to begin orchestrating my next one-shot.

SYNOPSIS: To you, she’s your angel. To her enemies, she is death, and to your children: she is a god.

Your wife is a creature of habit.

You observed this when she started courting you during your college days. To you, she is the epitome of perfection; to those that cross her, she is death. 

For your safety, you must update her on your whereabouts. Karina liked knowing that she'll check the time, knowing exactly where you are and what you are doing. Failure to do so and consequences will follow. 

You didn't mind your strict schedule. You like sticking to a routine. 

Until you didn't, all it took was an argument with an entitled customer who broke your phone in anger and stormed off. And due to a broken phone, you didn't update your wife; she was angry. Karina's fury isn't like a volcano, no. It's silent, cold, and calculating. 

When you came home, the first thing you did was to get on your knees and begged for your wife to see reason - it wasn't your fault that your phone broke! But alas, your pleas fell on deaf ears - she wasn't having it.

Karina walks over to you and grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to look up at the older woman whose black, abysmal eyes swim with danger and twisted delight. She caresses your cheek, and your hope shatters as a faux disappointed sigh leaves her pretty lips.

"I still have to punish you, darling." Jimin pecks your lips. "Now run to the bedroom and wait for me, do you understand?"

"Do you understand?" Oh, the cruelty of adulthood.  

She fucked you raw and unrelentlessly, even when your throat became raw from screaming, even when your cunt was full of your mixed juices - the woman didn't stop. Not until she was satisfied.

And because of her treatment, you gave birth to her daughter nine months later. Ariadne Yoo, the carbon copy of her mother, is beautiful and sharp, even for a three-year-old. You and Karina cherished her, and it didn't take long for your daughter to ask for a sibling; naturally, you and Karina complied with your daughter's request, which brings you to your second pregnancy: another girl. 

Like your first pregnancy with Ariadne, Karina is protective of you and your unborn child. She made sure that she was updated on your whereabouts, even as far as placing a tracking device on all your jewelry. 

And it all went smoothly, until-

Pregnancy made you soft and vulnerable. That's why you felt sympathetic toward a group of innocent-looking teens whose car broke down. Motherhood made you want to make sure that this group made it home safely. 

It proved to be a stupid move because one minute later, your arms and legs were bound with tape on your mouth while they stuffed you in their supposed broke-down car and threw you into a cold, damp warehouse: a stark contrast to the luxury and comfort that your wife provided for you and your children.

After pulling the 'I'm pregnant' card, they were kind enough to make you sleep on a thin bed. And while they were discussing the desired amount for your ransom, you mull how this happened. Karina studied the map of the city to create a safe route for you to run your errands. Perhaps this is how they found out. 

They're smart, but not smart enough as your phone dings in the hands of one of your captors. She sneers and skips toward you as she shows you your wife's message. It read: 

You're late. 

Blood drains from your face. Your wife knows where you are, but she wants you to explain in front of her before she makes a verdict. 

"What's the password?" She asks; you tell her.

She licks her upper teeth as she types on your phone's keyboard. 

"Young lady," You tread carefully, "Whatever it is that your gang wants, it's not worth it." 

She gives you a dirty look as the group stops talking and turns their attention towards you and one of their members. 

One of them scoffs, a man. "Oh, it is." He joins the young lady and drapes his arm around her shoulders. "It's easy money for your wife." He looks at her, a sick smile gracing his thin lips as his beady eyes glow with repulsive greed. 

"Shall we make it $30 Million?"

The lady gasps, "Perfect," 

"You can't spend it when you're dead." You tell them. The man's face darkens as he storms towards you and grabs you by the hair, eliciting a yelp from you. "You're in no position to threaten us, bitch." 

"Please," You plead, "You have to trust me-"

"Shut that bitch up, please." One of them jeers and the man happily obliges as he slaps your face. The side of your face stings red, and he hits you again. 

You're sure that their fate will be worse than death; Karina hates it when you get hurt. 

"Shut up, bitch." He growls, and you whimper - your instincts telling you to protect your daughter inside you. But your hands are bound. 

He looks over his shoulder, "Send the fucking message. She's starting to bore me." And they walk away from you. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. 

"It's okay," You assured your unborn child. "Mommy's coming to save us." 

Karina's hand held her phone with a vice-like grip that she thought it would crack.

Her obsidian-colored eyes glower at the photo of your fearful state with the words: $30 Million typed below your image.

How dare they touch you, her wife, her equal. 

Cold wrath surges through her body as she puts down her phone and looks at her computer where it tells her your location. You were outside the city. She estimates that it could roughly be an hour-long drive.

A knock on her door snaps her from her reverie, "What is it?"

The door opens, revealing her secretary. "Chairwoman Yoo, the investors are ready."

The older woman stands gracefully from her seat and fixes the cufflinks of her blazer. "Have Miss Hwang take care of them." Karina's voice is eerily calm as she walks past the younger woman. Her secretary follows after her.

"What are you going to do, Chairwoman Yoo?"

The black-haired beauty looks over her shoulder. "I'm going to fetch my wife."

Pregnancy made you a heavy sleeper because moments later, you were awakened by Karina's soft hand caressing your baby bump while she cradled you. 

"Karina," You breathe. Impossible, you would've heard the screams of agony and fear. You crane your neck; your blood runs cold at the sight of their twitching bodies as they gurgle their blood. 

"Look at me, beloved." She coaxes, you obey and your eyes subtly widen. Karina's hair is tied in a high ponytail - she was presentable except for the blood splattered all over her suit and some on her face, decorating her cheeks like a demented blush. 

But she's beautiful regardless. 

"I'm sorry," You choke a sob as you hold onto her. "I tried, baby, I tried to-"

"Sh," She coaxes and pulls you closer to her, coaxing the side of your face against her soft chest as she cups the other side of your head. "It's okay, darling. It isn't your fault." 

"They're still alive, though." You whisper against her suit, and her chest rumbles with a dark chuckle. 

"I heard that dull blades are agonizingly painful than sharp ones. I will leave them to suffer for touching you and our baby, Y/N." 

With her other hand, she slips it under your knees, "Now hold tight," She stands up, "Our daughter's waiting for us at home." 

Karina effortlessly carries you to the exit of the warehouse. You take a good look at your dying captors as they lay in the pool of their blood, dull knives jutting from their bodies.

"Do you remember my first letter?" Your wife asks, forcing you to tear your gaze from the gang to answer her. 

"Of course," How could you forget? It was poetic. 

"I wrote about flowers and your love for them," She reminisces with a soft smile, a rare sight to see; you are blessed to see it. 

"And how you love peonies, especially pink ones, am I right, my love?" She looks at you. Her lips still form her rare, warm smile. 

"Yes," You sigh as you rest your right hand over her heart. 

"When we get home, you'll rest. And tomorrow, we will go to your favorite flower park so you can look at the flowers." 

You caught sight of a familiar Lincoln Continental. She opens the passenger door for you, and you allow her to guide you to the passenger seat. Karina lingers near the passenger door as she takes in your disheveled appearance. Your wife heaves a sigh, and takes your hand, her thumb rubbing the back of your palm soothingly.  

"Stay with me and Ariadne, Y/N." She comes closer. "I will give you everything. Everything is yours because I said so." 

She brings your hand to her mouth, where her lips ghost over your knuckles.

"Stay with us, and I will blanket you in flowers. I was born to smother you with flowers."

[felassan]

New today on DA:TV from Game Informer - their last DA:TV coverage article -

''Everything We Know About Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s Bellara Lutara by Wesley LeBlanc on Jul 22, 2024 at 02:00 PM "We've reached the end of Game Informer's Dragon Age: The Veilguard cover story coverage as we prepare to launch our next exciting issue. But I still have this one last feature to publish, and it's about Bellara Lutara, the Dalish elf and member of the new Veil Jumpers faction in the game. During my visit to BioWare's Edmonton, Canada, office earlier this year, I checked out the game's expansive character creator, its in medias res prologue, and the first mission after said prologue. Though BioWare released a big look at Veilguard's prologue via a 20-minute gameplay trailer last month, they haven't released much about that subsequent mission, where you meet and recruit your first companion, Bellara. I learned a lot about this character, and knowing I was one of the first outside of the studio to see the mission where you meet her, I spent a chunk of my interviews with the team's leads talking about Bellara. So, for my final feature on Dragon Age: The Veilguard, here's everything I learned about this quirky elven mage."

"Everything We Learned About Bellara Lutara In Dragon Age: The Veilguard In talking with BioWare's various leads, like game director Corinne Bushce, creative director John Epler (who is personally responsible for writing Bellara and leading her development), and BioWare general manager Gary McKay, it's clear the team has a deep love for this character. She's energetic, effervescent, and academic, and as a companion for combat, she's a character I’m pretty excited to use in my party.  "I love Bellara, I think she's fantastic," McKay tells me. "I see people that I know in her and so that's how she really resonates with me. I love the whole tinkerer aspect to her. It was a collective to bring that character to life. It was everything from the writers, to the editors, the animators, to character modelers, to the texturing, to how we light her. I'm really proud of that character." 

"Bellara In Combat When I ask Busche about Bellara, she gives me some insight into what I can expect of the mage on the battlefield. And Bellara sounds like an excellent choice for both support and elemental combos.  "Oh my goodness, she is amazing," Busche says. "So, first of all, she is a mage. She is an explorer of ancient Elven ruins. She is an elf herself and a member of the Veil Jumpers faction. They investigate the ancient ruins of Arlathan. Everything about her character as a mage leans into that, but she also challenges the kind of archetypal idea of a mage."  She does that by attacking with a bow at range using electrically charged arrows. But she's also casting spells that slow down time or heal allies and Rook. She does that by challenging magical energy into her gauntlet. Busche says she starts as a support character in combat, thanks to her healing spells, but notes players don't have to build her out that way. She also leans into electrical damage, and "damage type really matters a lot when we get into the strategy and tactics," Busche says.  "You can spec her out in a way where she's unleashing this devastating vortex that pulls in all enemies into an electrical storm. Maybe then we unleash our own [area of effect attack] with all the enemies clumped together," Busche adds. "She can debuff all the enemies with the shocked affliction, where they're taking passive damage. I mentioned she can slow time, she can heal. She is one of the characters that you can build out [to have her] healing spells heal you autonomously, so if you're the kind of player that likes to be on the frontlines [...] Bellara might just be the perfect companion for you." 

"Bellara's Place In The World Epler, who writes Bellara, tells me about her place in Thedas as an elf and the connection elves have to the magic of the world. He says if you've paid attention to the franchise, you likely already know that elves are historically an oppressed people in the games. Now, with two of their gods on the loose in Veilguard, magic has poured back into the world in a big way.  "She represents the Veil Jumpers," Epler explains. "Now, the Veil Jumpers are a faction that's appeared in the comics before, but otherwise, this is the first time it's appeared in the games, and they are the ones journeying through Arlathan, where the ancient elven empire used to exist and left a lot of artifacts when it disappeared. When the elves fell from immortality thousands of years ago, they still left a lot of their artifacts and a lot of their, for lack of a better term, magical technology behind, and Bellara represents this yearning to find the truth of who the elves were because not only did they lose their magic and their immortality, they lost a lot of their history.  "A lot of what they know of their past is based on myth, it's based on rumor. Bellara is a knowledge seeker. She wants to find out what's true, what's not; she wants to find the pieces of who the elves used to be and really understand what their story was, where they came from, as well as figure out where they're going next, and find a future for the elves. And within the context of The Veilguard, she joins the team, first of all, to help stop the gods because Bellara feels at least partially responsible since they are elven gods, but also to maybe find a little bit more of who they used to be. Because again, you're dealing with these elves that were around millennia ago that have now reemerged into the world, and who better to teach her who the elves used to be than them.""

"A Quick Detour: Magic During my discussion, Epler spoke about magic's place in the world and how it differs in Veilguard from previous Dragon Age games. Here's what he said: "Historically, as you've mentioned, we've been in the south of Thedas and south Thedas is Ferelden, Orlais. Both are fairly still oppressed, they still have circles. Mages are viewed with suspicion, but Tevinter has always been this land where mages rule, mages are in charge, mages make the rules, mages run the show. So what does that look like? And as we've gone through [Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition], magic has become more and more present. And part of that is because Solas has been slowly preparing this ritual for longer than anyone in the Dragon Age universe is really aware of, but also, just going into the spaces where magic is, by definition and by the lore, much, much more present. And it's been fun because, again, we do have rules; we want to make sure we're not violating the lore or violating things we've said before. But it's also, again, that permissiveness of, 'Okay, what is the most interesting way to do this? What's the most interesting way to tell the story? [In] Origins, II, on the Eclipse engine, we could talk about this fantastical magic, but the engine didn't really allow us to show it. For the first time, we're really able to let the visuals speak for themselves and not have to tell the player, 'Trust us, it's spectacular; this magic is really cool.' We can actually show you and let you drink it in.""

"For one of my last questions to Epler, I was curious about the contrast between Bellara, an elven mage who is optimistic and bubbly, and Solas, a determined and tragic character. He indicated there might be more to Bellara than meets the eye."

""Solas sees himself as the tragic hero," Epler says. "He's not capable of really being happy, he can't let himself be happy, partially because he carries the guilt of what he did bringing the Veil, doing what he did to the world. Whereas Bellara is somebody who has seen tragedy, and as you get into her character arc and get into her backstory, you realize this is a character who has seen a lot of tragedy. But that tragedy, instead of wallowing in it, she's forced herself to push past it. She looks at her regrets, and she tells herself, 'I don't want to feel regret.' "Whereas again, Solas tends to wallow in his to a large degree. And it allows us to create a very big differentiation. Part of it is also because Solas is an ancient elf, whereas Bellara is a Dalish elf, but she just sees a problem and wants to solve it. She feels a tremendous amount of responsibility to her people [...] to the Dalish, and to the Veil Jumpers, and that drives her forward. That said, she does have her moments where she has doubt, she has moments where she has a more grim outlook, and there are moments where you realize that some of her sunny, optimistic outlook is kind of a mask that she puts on to hide the fact that she's hurting, she's in pain. But in general, she doesn't see any benefit to wallowing in those regrets." We learned today that Bellara will be voiced by Jee Young Han, known for her roles in Perry Mason, Unprisoned, and as Sentinel Dax in a previous Bioware game, Anthem. To see the rest of the cast, along with Rook's four voice options, click here." [Editor’s Note: This article has been updated to reflect that Bellara’s last name is Lutare, not Lutara as it previously incorrectly stated] "For more about the game, including exclusive details, interviews, video features, and more, click the Dragon Age: The Veilguard hub button below."

[source]

[slxsherbunny]

Shelter from the Storm (Brahms Heelshire x GN reader)

Anon: Can we get some fluffy cuddles with wall boy, Brahms? Where he just craves cuddling time? 💞💞 (It's nice to see a new face btw! So far I really enjoy your writing :D Can't wait to see more of your work!!)

(Re-post from my older, defunct blog!)

When you return to the house, the windows are all dark, save for one. When you’d left in the morning, you had made sure the lights were all off, one of your duties that remained from when you’d first started working for the Heelshires. You had gone into town in the morning to fetch some groceries, and run a few errands, though your speed was admittedly hampered by the weather. The rain was heavy, thick droplets that seemed to chill you to the bone, your umbrella the last line of defense from the torrential downpour. It was rare these days that you would leave, though when you did, you felt a looming sense of guilt about it- you understood why Brahms might not want to tag along on your errands, but it made you feel awful leaving him behind at home. 

You shake off the thoughts and the rain, and unlock the front door quietly, slipping inside. You wonder if Brahms had seen you pull into the driveway, if he’d been watching all morning for your return. Your suspicions are confirmed when you turn to hang up your jacket, and Brahms is there. You greet him softly, part of you worried he’ll be angry you were gone so long. He waits all of ten seconds for you to take your muddied boots and drenched jacket off, before he’s got you in an embrace. His arms are tight around you, and you can’t help but notice how warm he is, especially compared to the storm outside. You find yourself melting into his embrace, a little desperate for the extra heat. “Did you miss me?” you tease, though the way he squeezes you slightly harder, a little warning, tells you he isn’t in a joking mood. In an instant, he has you by the wrist, leading you deeper into the house. You find yourself cursing the sudden loss of warmth pressed against you; but you follow, as you imagine there isn’t much of a choice.

You find yourself in one of the house's many sitting rooms, the fireplace already alive and crackling. You look around the room for a brief moment, and find that the window to the outside provides a perfect view of the long stretch of driveway. You feel that small pang of guilt again- how long had he been sitting here, waiting for you to come home? Before you can get too caught up in your worry, Brahms is pulling you down, onto the plush sofa, and into his lap. You go without hesitation, his arms snaking around you, and your torso pressed against his. He’s so warm, you can’t help but worm as close to him as possible, which you’re sure is what he wants. A crash of thunder sounds from outside, and his grip on you tightens, just short of crushing. It dawns on you then, that your absence may not have been the only thing troubling him today. He holds you like that for a moment, before seemingly growing restless. He moves you, his weight shifting on top of you, and for the briefest of moments you’re reminded of a heated blanket. He curls up on top of you like that, a bit too tall and wide to find comfortably with another person on the couch, and your hands find their way to his hair, stroking softly. He hums contentedly, fingers finding purchase in the fabric of your clothes. He holds you, as if worried that you’ll disappear if he lets go. Eventually, he slots his arms around your waist, and you suspect you aren’t going anywhere soon. Not that you mind; these moments of genuine affection could be rare with Brahms, and usually led to him wanting more than just cuddling. If you had to ride out the storm like this, in his arms, then that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

[vase-of-lilies]

❀  Pairing: Dark!Vampire!Wanda x Vampire Hunter!Reader(F) (Some Wolf!Bucky x Reader x Wanda)

❀ Warnings: Non-con, dubcon, violence, vampire-esque content, dark!Wanda (she’s a warning…), blood and gore, draining of a body, biting for sexual stimulation, overstimulation, fingering, violence, swearing, use of a dagger, knife play, forced to strip, getting bitten by a vampire but not turning into one, bondage (restraints from ceiling), a punishment, pet names (Sweetheart, little one, etc.), slight somnophilia, spanking, and more!

❀ This is my second entry for @eloquentreverie ’s dusk till dawn challenge! The sentence I chose is:

“Take off your clothes. Slowly. I want to watch you.”

❀ Disclaimer and Authors Note: The pictures only represent aesthetics and themes. There is no certain skin color, body type, ethnicity, or description other than Y/n and “you”. The pictures go to their rightful owners on Pinterest, and the comic-style pictures belong to the beautiful artist Jenifer Prince.

❀ I hope you like this addition to the collection of Creatures and Foreigners! I would die and be resurrected for vampire!wanda. Literally. This is a re-write, since the original was in 3 parts. To keep this organized, I just made it one post!!

It was time… It was time to catch the creature that was terrorizing the beautiful village you live in. Yorkshire is where you are from, where your beautiful home stands. It's a small cottage with a perfect view of the mountains gracing the East, the sunrises your favorite part of the day. When the sun sets in the west, it's when everyone locks their doors with iron chains, keeps a wooden stake by their beds, a garlic circle around their homes, and prays to the [whichever you believe in] and hopes they survive the night. 

You finally had the will to change this. To help the people you love feel a little safer at night who were terrified of the vampire who lived in the castle on the South Hill. The dark bricks and stones towered over the town, casting a large shadow over everyone at dusk. That shadow was the sign that it was time to prepare for the worst, for the creatures of the night to begin hunting for their midnight snacks. And lastly, for the vampire to find her next source of blood. 

For Wanda, she always loved human blood but never complained with cow, or sheep blood. It was the blood of a fighting soul that tasted best to her. There was something so satisfying watching the life drain from someone’s eyes once their body is empty of their blood. However, whether it was a man or a woman, she loved to torture them before she killed them. She would keep them locked up for days, weeks even, and keep them on their toes. She would feed them one day, and then break their legs the next. She was a storm that you never want to be stuck in the middle of. 

Packing your sash full of what you need was not a challenge at all. Each piece of equipment had a slot that it belonged to. One for your wooden sword, a small chain of iron links, garlic garland, iron cross bow, and last but not least your gun with the solid iron pellets ready to kill any vampire you see. It was not very heavy as one would think, having it around your shoulders made it very easy to access everything as well as keeping it light for you to carry around the woods. 

Wanda, being one of the only vampires in Yorkshire, knew she was being hunted. She could sense the tension coming closer to her castle every step you took down the newly stoned and paved pathway. She could smell your villager blood from miles away. It was a scent she could decipher in a split second. Cow blood smelled cold, almost like a winter morning. But human blood smelled like the moon had created it, making it much more appetizing than a mere animal. 

~~~~~~~

You could see the dark bricks of the castle from a far, your wooden sword drawn and ready to strike anything in its path. The forest became silent, indicating a predator was near and hungry. Leaves were heard crunching under fast footsteps coming closer and closer by the second. Your head whipped from right to left, not knowing where these footsteps were exactly. 

“Show yourself creature!” You shouted into the darkness of the forest. 

“Who are you?” A dark voice echoed in your surroundings, not pointing in a certain direction. 

Not shying from her, you answer honestly. “Y/n, of Yorkshire.” 

She chuckles, “Ah, so townsfolk, hm?” She watches from behind a tree as you struggle to find where her voice is coming from. She senses your fear, so to make matters worse she drags her nails against the trees creating an ear-splitting noise, making you drop your weapon and cover your ears. 

“Ah!!” You shout in pain. As you pull your hands from your ears your skin is coated in the sticky, crimson liquid. “Your time has come, y-you evil creature!”

Wanda chuckles at your struggle, “My time will never come… but yours have.” 

Your brows furrow and you reach for your iron bar. You smirk as you hear the hissing of the vampire, her power of sounding everywhere fading significantly, pointing in the direction of where she could be. “Don’t fucking come near me!” She growls, hiding behind another tree.

“Oh, so I found your weakness…”

She whimpers in response, “Don’t t-touch me!” Lighting your lantern, your eyes catch movement, and you grab the chainlink and throw it to where you see her. 

“Aha! Finally!” You walk over to her, smirking at her as she falls to the ground. “You are going to grant me a fortune…” You say darkly, looking at her with false pity in your eyes. Around you, a growling catches you off guard. Looking around, you don’t see anything immediately, but what Wanda says churns your stomach. 

“Y-your in t-tr-trouble.” She stutters, moving away from you slightly. Wanda smirks and you jump back in fear as a large black wolf shields the vampire. Grabbing your dagger, you lunge forward with no fear. 

“She’s mine!” You growl, slashing the wolfs shoulder making him whimper but he pushes through and pounces on you, biting your leg and ripping a chunk of skin off. You scream in pain, and scamper back as He rips the chains off of Wandas body. 

The last weapon you grab is your gun. You cock it back and point it at both the vampire and the wolf. “Stay back!” A whimper leaves your throat as you scoot back again, your leg dragging against the damp and cold soil below you. 

Wanda glares at you her eyes turning red and a red light appearing at her hands. Before you can pull the trigger, she flings the gun from your hands and your head follows it. Like lightning, your sash of tools was cut from your body and you were flung over Wandas shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

Your arms and uninjured leg flail as you fight against the strong grip of Wandas arms around you, and as you look down from over her shoulder you see the wolf looking up at you smugly. He was with her all along, he wasn’t trying to take her too… You sighed and continued to struggle, all the way to the castle, down two flights of stairs, and through a door to a dungeon full of cells. She throws you onto a dingy cot in the corner of a cell, cuffs your wrists with metal cuffs that don’t hurt her, and leaned against the bars. 

“Let me go you monster!!” You pull the chains connected to the wall hoping to break them. But to no avail were you able to get out of the rings that locked your wrists. 

“Not happening.” Wanda states, staring at you from the edge of the cell. She looks at your leg and her hands turn red once again. You were scared as you felt the tingle in your leg, watching in awe as the chuck of skin missing from your leg was miraculously healed with only a few scars. It was just like the townsfolk said, she will torture you one day, and heal you the next. Making you unaware of what is going to happen next. 

You growl and shout at her. “What do you want from me??” You look up at her, tugging and pulling against the chains again. 

A hard slap across your face shuts you up, and you fall against the cot in surprise. You feel the hand shaped sting and a bruise already starting to form from how hard she hit you. “You tried to kill me and wanted to kill my baby!” She rubs soft circles against the wolfs slick black fur, and he whines softly as she grazes over the cut on his shoulder. 

You look at the wolf who is now eye level with me and you glare as you see your blood staining his teeth. “F-fuck you.” You whisper at him, scooting back as you feel blood dripping from your nose, the act of the slap causing trauma to your nose as well. 

“Oh don’t listen to her baby,” Wanda says calmly as she kneels next to the wolf beside her. “You’re such a good boy.” She smiles as he lets out a happy ‘arf’ and you roll your eyes at them.

“He’s a dumb dog.”  You scoff, leaning against the cool brick wall as you hold a piece of your dress against your nose. To your surprise she slaps you again, making you whimper once again. 

“He’s not just a dumb dog!” She shouts, outraged at your utter disrespect towards her loyal friend. As she was about to lunge at you, a gust of wind blows against your body and you look up to see a greek god of a man, who was formerly the wolf. You yelp in astonishment, never thinking that a werwolf and a vampire would ever be on the same team. 

“Mistress, she’s not worth it.” The man says, holding Wanda by her hips as she tries to scratch and punch at you. You scoot impossibly further from them, and you see Wanda visibly relax as the man holds her hips in his hands. 

“Bucky, she hurt you… she has to pay.” She whispers, ghosting her fingers over the wound on his shoulder. 

He only chuckles and cups her cheek. “Hey, it’s ok… it’ll heal up in no time. She’s weak, it barely hurt.” He kisses her lips, and gently runs his fingers through her hair. You growl and you look away from them, telling yourself internally that you are strong and that you almost had the vampire until the stupid dog showed up. 

She only sighs, staring up at him. “Such a good boy, protecting your mistress…” You mute them in your head as you look around, trying to find any way of escape. Pulling against the chains keeping you locked to the wall was not an option anymore, and fighting was practically useless against either monsters. Maybe it would be a good idea to cooperate. NO! No, don’t fall for her enchantment. She is evil. 

As Wanda sends a final slap to Buckys ass, he leaves the cell and you jump at the door slamming. It was when you were alone with Wanda that your fear really kicked in. “Hmm… look at you all scared.” She saunters over to you, a sadistic smile pulling at her lips. Chills are sent up your spine and a shiver shortly follows. You are vigorously pulling at the chains, whimpering every inch she comes closer to you. 

She sits down on the cot next to you, grabbing your newly healed leg and digging her finger nails into the sensitive skin. “Ah!! St-stop! Stop!” You sob, trying to push her away with all your might. She doesn’t budge and chuckles. 

“Now why would I do that?” She raises her brows at your reaction, smiling as you writhe against her, your whimpers music to her ears. She is arouse by your writhing and she digs her nails even deeper, tears free-falling down your cheeks. She ignores your pleas, shaking her head in disappointment. “You hurt my love. I certainly won’t stand for that.” 

You turn your head, your teary eyes focusing on the lines of the bricks stacked around you in your small cell, trying to ignore the pain in your leg. “What d-do you want f-from me?” You ask in a shaky voice, trembling under Wandas touch. You are confused as you feel warmth on your leg where her fingers had drawn blood. 

“You taste so fucking good…” She whispers. You furrow your brows and you realize she had tasted your blood. You pull at the chains, managing to kick her away from you as you struggle. She growls, having none of what you are giving her. She pounces on top of you, making you groan in pain. “Be grateful I didn’t kill you!”

A pained whimper makes you resent her even more, so you gather spit in your mouth and spew it onto Wandas face. She wipes the spit away in disgust and smacks you across the face again, much harder this time. Your vision becomes blurry and your head feels like it is in a daze. “Please, l-let m-me go,” You stutter, whimpering as you feel helpless looking up at her from your position below her. 

She ignores you and she runs her nose against your neck and to your ear “No,” she whispers, her fangs barely grazing your neck. With a smirk, she closes her jaw, puncturing your skin with her teeth. You scream in pain, your back arching against her as you struggle underneath her. 

It takes everything for Wanda to not drain you, so she pulls back reluctantly. “Shit, you taste like heaven,” she moans at the taste of your blood, smiling as she licks up the puncture wounds adorning your neck. “Mmm, you look better like this…” She says, looking at your writhing and twitching body on the cot. She bites her lip, her pussy starting to form a slick spot on her under garments. Her smirk scares you, and you stare at the ceiling trying to pull at the chains but failing miserably. 

“Please, n-n-no mo-more,” you curl against yourself, trying to hide your vulnerable form from your captor. She smacks your thigh, making you turn around on your back again. She chuckles darkly and bites her lip once again. 

“Look at you…” She says, not pitying you one ounce. It takes much strength to try and sit up, but you manage to do so with a lot of pain. Bowing your head into her lap, you beg her to make the pain stop. 

“Please! Pl-please it hurts s-so b-b-bad!” The bite pulses in pain, my blood pumping to try and close the wound. Sobs and whimpers make your body shake, and Wanda takes notice to her puncture wound on your neck. She sighs and begins to heal it, gently lifting you up. 

“It’s ok…” She says, rubbing small circles on your back as she lays you down on the pillow at the top of the cot. You quietly thank her as you feel the wounds on your neck close, the pain ceasing completely. 

“Why are you keeping me here?” You ask in a raspy voice, confused as to why she hasn’t killed you yet. She looks at you with a tilt of her head, thinking as to why she is keeping you. She smiles to herself and comes to a conclusion. 

“Because I like you. I don’t like that you hurt my baby, but I do like you.” You shook your head. Because she liked you? What is that supposed to mean? Not wanting to be on her bad side, you take the time to apologize. 

“I-im sorry I hurt him. I was trying to make my town finally proud of me.” You sigh softly, scooting away from her and pulling at the chains again.

“It’s ok sweetheart, you’re safe with me.” She whispers. 

“Dont you understand that Im scared of you?” You whimper, “Y-you bit me, a-and hurt me,” Your eyes meet hers, your confusion making you angry. “What is my purpose? A-am I just a toy? What am I?” You ask her, salty tears rolling in beads down your cheeks. She sighs and wipes the tears from your skin, giving you a soft kiss on the nose, ignoring your questions. 

“You’ll get used to me, I promise.” She smiles and pulls away. 

Your eyes narrow, as she stands up, leaving you. “What am I? Pl-please tell me!” You ask desperately, standing up with her but only making it so far until the chains pull you back. 

“Ill see you tomorrow, sweetheart.” Wanda says with a soft smile on her lips, closing the cell door and locking it. She makes her way up the stairs, ignoring your screams and profanities as she locks the dungeon door behind her and hanging the keys on the hook right next to it.  

When the sun rose the next morning, you waited anxiously for Wanda to come back down. Maybe she forgot about you, or doesn’t want to deal with you. What you dreaded most was the fact she may use you as a human blood bag and kill you. You didn’t fear death, you feared the feeling of your blood draining slowly from your body. The blood bubbling at every bite she leaves on you. The fear blocked the fact that it was morning, and she was most likely asleep in the darkness of her chambers above you. 

As you waited, you too fell asleep, dreaming of a place where you would rather be. Safe and in your best friends presence. “Steve… I miss you so much,” You whisper before fully dozing off. Deep in sleep, you don’t hear the metal cell door open and Wandas soft footsteps enter the room. You were too focused on staying warm in your shivering state. 

Wanda took note of your cold and shaking body, so she waved her hand and a soft, furry blanket appeared around your body. She smiled as you cuddled into the soft material and watched you sleep for a moment. Falling out of her staring trance, she sits down on the cot next to you. She gently rubs your back whispering, “Sweetheart? Sweetheart, wake up.” Instinctively you lean into the soft hand against your back, but the memories bombard their way back into your head making you sit straight up and scoot all the way back. 

You stared at Wanda with wide eyes, scared of her further intentions. You are confused as she hands you a bowl of cut up fruit and vegetables, curious as to where she got this food. “Here you go, eat up.” You furrow your brows and look down at the fruit, picking at it. Fishing for some type of sign of poison. Wanda just chuckles and leans against her hand as she watches you. “I promise, its not poisoned. You need to eat, especially after I drank some of your blood yesterday.”

Exhaling the breath you were not aware you were holding, you pick up a ruby, red strawberry. Ripe and firm to the touch. You close your eyes and let out a satisfied hum as you take a bite, the sweet tasting strawberry surrounding your tongue with glorious flavor. 

Wanda moves closer to you, sitting right next to you as you eat. She nuzzles her nose against your neck where two little fang marks sit proudly. You don’t take notice of her fully, the delicious fruit distracting you from Wandas intrusions, even lifting your head up in response. She hums a small chuckle and kisses your cheek, “You are so beautiful, little one. So beautiful.” Freezing your chewing, you swallow and look up at her in slight surprise, her comment catching you off guard.

Butterflies flutter in your belly at the closeness between the two of you, her warm breath against your lips and chin. “Do you really think so?” You whisper, not believing what she is saying at first. 

She nods, “I do, you’re so pretty…” She whispers back, kissing the soft skin of your neck. “And you smell so good, little one.” She hums as her nose moves up your neck, her lips pressing soft kisses in between soft sniffs. The gentleness of her gestures makes you drop the glass bowl in your hands, causing it to shatter against the stone floor. 

Both you and Wanda jump and she pulls away quickly. “Damnit, I can’t get many bowls or plates these days.” She murmurs, starting to collect the broken shards. 

“I-im sorry, I-it slipped,” You stutter, kneeling down to help pick up the shards too. You were too quick with the glass, cutting your finger in the process making you pull back with a wince. A small amount of blood oozes from the small cut and Wanda freezes, her pupils blown full at the smell of the exposed blood. 

She holds back, grabbing a small cloth from her dress and hands it to you, “Here.” She says curtly, but she is stopped. She tilts her head as you hold your hand out. 

“I can see how much you want it,” You say softly, wincing as she gently holds your hand in hers. 

“Are you sure?” She asks hesitantly, softly moaning at the smell as she gets closer. You nod and she brings your finger to her lips, licking the wound and emitting a low hum at the taste. Her eyes close and you look at her curiously. She is in a euphoric state, she is vulnerable and not paying attention when she is drinking your blood. Slowly you begin to become dizzy, the amount of blood coming from your finger increasing by the second. 

Before you can warn her, you fall against the mattress, fully losing consciousness at the loss of blood. Wanda sighs, laying down beside you on the bed. “It’s ok, I got you…” She whispers, her hand roaming the front of your body softly. Her hands cup your breasts, her finger grazing your pebbling nipple from under the fabric of your dress. Wanting to feel more, she unties the twine keeping the leather vest of your dress on and she smiles as it comes loose, your breasts showing themselves under the thin tunic. 

She reaches down your tunic, rubbing your bud softly between her fingers. Her lips kiss your neck, moving slowly down to your slightly exposed back. You feel her as you sleep, but you can’t comprehend anything to stop her. A small whimper exits your mouth and she pulls away for a moment, waiting for you to settle down again. Once your breathing is even, she explores further, lifting your shirt from your tucked in skirt. 

Her hand smoothes over your belly and just over the waist band of your undergarments, pushing under the fabric and to your soft curls underneath. She smiles as she buries her face in your neck, her fingers softly opening your petals and gently running her fingers over your slit. As she holds your folds open, she rubs circles over your clit, making you moan quietly in your sleep. 

As she pleasures you, she bites your neck softly only sucking a small amount of blood this time. Your gasp makes her smile around the wound on your neck and it makes her want even more of you. Her finger moves faster around your sensitive bud, your back arching against her front. Your legs open even more as you lay your head back against her. 

As she moves even faster, a strong and mind numbing orgasm washes over you, pushing you over the edge. Your legs shake in your sleep, and Wanda smirks as she removes her fingers from your undergarments. She brings her fingers to her mouth and hums in delight. “Absolutely delicious, my love.” She whispers in your ear, smirking as your breaths calm down from pants, to a normal rhythm again. Her hand moves to your breasts again, just holding the soft flesh in her hand and palming against them. 

She sighs as she senses you waking up, and makes sure everything is back in order; your shirt tucked into your skirt, tunic back in place, and laces on your leather vest tied with a bow at the top. Sitting up, she frowns at the raw skin and dried blood from around your wrists and unlocks the cuffs. She wraps her hands around the raw flesh and heals them in an instant, kissing them softly. 

She has hope that when the sun sets and the moon rises, you will no longer be in pain. “Mm, such a beautiful girl…” She whispers before she leaves the cell for the night, not thinking twice of the unlocked chains and completely forgetting to lock the cell and dungeon doors. 

~~~~~~~

You were only asleep for a small amount of time, waking up without Wanda anywhere to be seen. You sigh and sit up, feeling quite odd in your lower regions. However, the lack of metal around your wrists made every other thought disappear. Being able to walk around the cell felt nice, but your curiosity took you further. Right to the door. As you pushed, you were even more astonished as it opened. 

Pushing your luck even further, you walk up the spiral staircase to the door of the dungeon. With a gentle nudge, it squeaks open to reveal a large corridor, torches lit on each wall and blood red curtains hanging from each tall window. You were trapped and you were finally free, but the first thought you had was, ‘Where is Wanda?’

You wandered through the hallways, finding your way to the great hall, you come across a grand staircase. Alining the stairs was beautiful red and gold carpet and above it was a dark and spider web-covered, crystal chandelier. It shimmered as the fired torches flickered around the hall. You start to make your way upstairs, and as you walked down yet another hallway, you are stopped by a growl behind you and a searing pain in your leg. 

You instantly scream in agony, struggling against the iron jaws of the werwolf. He didn’t let up, even after hitting his head as he dragged you down the hall and to a bed room. Wandas bed room. Your eyes widen and you dig your nails into the carpet, only resulting in bleeding fingers. As you entered her room, you look up in fear as the woman towers over you. 

“Well, what do we have here?” Wanda tuts, looking down at you. 

You sob loudly as the wolf digs his teeth into your freshly healed leg. You yelp and you look up at her, “I- I wasn’t going t-to es-escape! I wa-wa- AHHH!” The wolf bites down even harder and you try your best to hit him, but it doesn’t phase him. 

“Buck, stand down…” She says, calling off the dog. She grabs you harshly by your shirt and drags you to her bed, throwing you on the mattress. “Don’t lie to me!” She growls, glaring at you as you push yourself away from her, scooting to the top of the bed. 

At this point you weigh out your options: One, you try to escape and get killed by Wanda, “Buck” the dog, or your village when you get back with no vampire. Or two, you stay here and get food, possibly a lover, and a pet dog. The latter sounded more than enjoyable and you break saying, “I- I promise! Th- the chains we-were off me wh-wh-when I woke up! P-please! I- I don't want t-to leave!” 

“Are you sure?” She asks with a growl, crawling towards you with a scowl on her face. “If you’re lying, I’ll feed you to him…” She says, pointing to Bucky who falsely lunges at you just to scare you. As you jump back from him, Wanda only chuckles.

“I-I’m not lying! Y-you’re so kind, a-and fed m-me!” You try, and Wanda sits down across from you on the bed. She grabs your ankle and pulls you to her. Her hands glow a bright red and the pain subsides from your leg again. You sigh in relief, hoping that she will forgive you. 

As she looks at you, she shakes her head and sighs softly. “I believe you, but there will be consequences.” 

Letting out a breath, you nod in understanding. “Y-yes I understand, please forgive me, i-it won’t ever happen again.” You sob, following her gentle movements as she pulls you to her arms. Your head falls onto her chest and she comforts you as you calm down. 

“I forgive you, little one,” She whispers, kissing your head softly and tickling the skin of your arm. “Now let’s go, I need to punish you.” She says, sitting up. Suddenly cold as ice again. Her bipolar emotions confuse you, just like the village said, she keeps you on your toes. 

She hardly grabs your wrist and pulls you down the flights of stairs to the dungeon again. You swiftly follow her, trying to keep up with her fast walking pace. Once in the dungeon, she pulls you to a different portion of the room, one full of many torture devices now considered controversial to use. You freeze as you take in the new surroundings and you jump as the bars slam closed and lock behind you. 

Wanda steps into the far wall of the room and grabs her tools she desires: Rope and a wooden paddle. You stared in horror at the tools as she lays them down on the table next to a long chain connected to the ceiling. From a hidden sheath on the side of her thigh, she pulls out a sharp dagger, pointing it at you. 

She stalks towards you, holding the knife at the height of your neck. Backing up, you whimper as your back hits the cold, metal bars, Wanda then putting the tip of the blade against your neck. “Strip.” She says, pulling away from you. Frozen in fear, you don’t account for her command and you stare at her. To make you cooperate, she sends a glowing ball of energy towards you making you duck in response. 

“Im going to repeat myself, and you better listen this time…” She says in a dark voice, only warning you once. “Now, Take off your clothes. Slowly. I want to watch you.” 

Swallowing your pride, you obey her. Untying the twine holding your vest over your torso, untucking your tunic from your skirt, pulling the string from around the back, and finally the removing of it all. Wanda was in fact a very patient women, and she made that clear. She growls at your speed and makes her hand light up with energy again. “Slower…” She says. Once again, you obey.

One piece of clothing after another, no less than four (4) seconds between each. Finally, you were down to your brazier and pantyhose. Wanda watches at you, a sadistic smile on her face as she saunters towards you with the dagger in hand. She grabs your wrist and pulls you to the middle of the floor. Of course you struggled. Wanda was angry, and you had only seen a sliver of it. 

“Good girl… hold your wrists together.” She says, holding the dagger to your neck again. You felt immense fear as you held them together, and sucked in a breath as a tendril of red energy wraps its way around the dagger keeping it against your neck. Wanda moves around you, grabbing the rope from the wooden cart settled near by. She comes to your front again and begins to wrap a few rings of rope around your wrists. Circle by circle of rope, you were rendered unable to move your hands anywhere, only your arms could move up and down. 

You whimpered as Wanda wrapped a heavy padlock around the middle of the rope and easily pulled your arms up to the hook hanging above you. She steps away, taking the dagger with her and moves to the far wall. Using her strength, she pulls the chains connected to the ceiling up higher than it was before, pulling you up with them. You arms pulled against your body and when she finished locking the chains in place, you could barely graze the floor with your toes. 

Whimpers left your mouth and you could’t hide the fear anymore. Salty tears fell down your cheeks and landed on your chest and the floor. With false pity, Wanda pouted her lip. “Aw, don’t cry little one… It will only hurt a little.” Her voice was full of lies, and you knew this pain would be excruciating. 

Tears fell down your cheeks, but Wanda paid no attention to your emotions, only your reactions to the sensations she was going to give you. In an instant, she had cut through the thin material of your brazier leaving your breasts exposed to her. She smiles and leans down, kissing the ample skin of your right breast. Your nipples harden in the cold atmosphere of the room, Wandas mouth and hand going straight to them. She rubs, licks, sucks, rolls, and pleasures your buds, pushing a burning desire in your lower belly. She could sense this and smirks as she runs the knife down your torso. 

She turns the knife against your stomach, tilting it and smirking at the small bit of blood pooling at the surface of the small cut. “Mm, I can smell you… my god you smell so fucking good, little one.” She smiles against your breast and kisses along your belly all the way to the small cut just above your belly button. As her lips encase the wound, she moans in delight at the taste of your blood. Her sharp fangs graze against your skin and she nips as she moves lower. 

Her dagger is now in the waist band of your underwear, teasing the fabric, slowly tearing it. As she makes it through the elastic, she puts the knife down and rips your underwear in two, tossing the fabric at your feet. As you stand bare in front of her, she stands back, a smirk adorning her face. “So beautiful…” She whispers, starting to circle your hanging body. You cross your legs, trying to cover your most intimate parts, but are quickly stopped as Wandas hand slaps your thigh. “No, keep them open. I want to see what’s mine!” She growls, smoothing her hand over the skin of your legs. 

As she stands behind you, she grabs the paddle, spinning it in her hands. “Alright, how many should we do?” She asks to no one in particular. She hums and chuckles, “How about until you bleed?” She whispers in your ear, biting your earlobe. She takes a step back and raises the paddle, swinging it against your ass, hard. You scream in agony, attempting to walk forward, only moving right back to where you were. Wanda admires the red mark on your ass, smiling as she rubs her hand against your burning skin. 

Another swat, another scream. More tears fall down your face with each and every hit from the wooden paddle, yet the fiery feeling in your gut gets stronger. It was a confusing feeling, getting aroused from being beaten. 

It felt like ages when Wanda finally stopped. Your ass was sore, bloody, and bruised. A dark black and purple spot forming on each cheek. She puts the paddle down and reaches for more rope. You silently groan at the thought of there being anymore to come. Gently, Wanda grabs your knee, wrapping the rope around it and pulling the excess rope to the hook above you. The raises your leg, slowly starting to expose your slick folds to her. She follows by securing your other leg in the same fashion. 

Now fulling spread out for her, she hums at her work. “Are you ready for the good part?” She asks.

You shake your head and look at her, “N-nothing g-g-good is going to co-come.” You stutter, your voice scratchy from the previous screaming. She sighs and shakes her head. 

“You poor, little thing. There are so many things I can make good, if only you would obey, and submit to me.” She steps closer, her hands holding your hips. 

You look down at her, whimpering in response. Your silence is enough of an answer to her, indicating you were not falling for her games just yet. She removes one hand off of your hip and looks down at your pussy. “Look how wet you are,” she says, rubbing her hand over your soaked lips. You struggle to close your legs, the rope rendering you completely un able to move. Her fingers spread your pussy open, your clit revealing its throbbing self. 

Your slick covers Wandas fingers as she dips her fingers close to your hole, smirking at your reaction. “You must be so sensitive, huh? Your ass all bruised. Is that what made you so wet?” She tilts her head up, looking for an answer. You shake your head quickly, not wanting to admit that it was the exact reason you were wet. 

To your horror, Wanda approaches the chain holding you up again. She raises it until you are much higher than before, your body swaying with her movement. Wrapping the chain around the hook to keep you where you are, she returns to you, your pussy right in front of her face. “I’ve been waiting to taste your delicious nectar all day…” She says, kissing your inner thighs softly. 

You hold your breath as she takes her first taste of you, her tongue licking a stripe right between your petals. Her tongue swirled around your clit, the bud inching to be touched. You can’t deny it, the pleasure that she is bestowing upon you is mind-shattering. The moans from your mouth make Wanda smile, her fingers coming to join her mouth. 

She sucks on your clit, her lips closing around it, and her fingers poking at your hole. You try to avoid her but it doesn’t work. As she continues to suck on your sensitive clit, two fingers slide into your pussy. You let out a soft sob, an unintended moan slipping out right after. Something inside of Wanda loves the sounds you make, her pussy feeling the same tension as yours. 

As she works her fingers in and out of your cunt, you are already close to your first orgasm and Wanda can’t wait to see it. She witnessed one while you were asleep, but she knew it was nothing like when you would be awake. Faster her fingers became, and your moans became louder as they curl inside of you, rubbing against that one good spot. 

One soft graze of her teeth against your clit was what sent you over the edge. Your legs shake, your orgasm passing through your whole body. Your mind was empty and seeing white, your chest was heaving, your pussy was throbbing, and your toes curled in pleasure. But Wanda didn’t stop. 

An hour went by. She devoured your cunt, not letting you take a break. Five orgasms later, she finally pulled away from your pussy, letting you rest. You were exhausted, your eyes barely able to stay open and your mind unable to comprehend how long you had been tied up. Wanda looked up at you, kissing and rubbing your legs to soothe you. “It’s ok, little one, its all over now.” She says with a soft smile, your head hanging in front of your arms and looking down at her. 

She walks to the wall and gently lowers you to the ground. She unties your legs, but keeps the rope around your wrists. Picking you up, she brings you to your cell again, laying down with you. She pulls your tied arms over her head, forcing you to hold her and she hums as she nuzzles into your neck. 

You lay silently, sleep taking over your system. Wanda hums a quiet lullaby, knowing deep down you loved every minute you were in that dungeon. Maybe someday she will move you out of the dungeon and into a room of your own. Or even her room. But at this moment in time, she wanted to hold you and tell you everything is going to be ok, because it will be. She will protect you and never let you go despite your desperate attempts to escape. Some days she purposely lets you escape, get halfway into the forest, and have Bucky drag you right back into your cell. 

It is laughable what effort you put into it, even though you know she will catch you Every. Single. Time.

And you accepted that. She won no matter what. You even learned that Bucky really likes his chin scratched in his wolf form, but you both have a love-hate relationship. Always calling him a dog, or a mutt, and him calling you a blood bag. 

Wanda kept her word and protected you from anything that was thrown your way. In return, you kept her full of nutrients and energy. She used you for dessert, blood and body both. You learned to love it. Everything Wanda did to you, for you, with you, was out of love. Love and of course, lust. Your blood kept her alive, and she looked forward to it after a long night of hunting. 

She deserved it. After all, she saved you from your horrible town, right?

[vidalinav]

Part 2 of the Nesta gets sick, acofas re-write thing

This is not my best work honestly. It's more of my quick writing. But you know what? It is what it is. Not everything can be a masterpiece and I should post things even when I don't think it's perfect. Keeps me humble and keeps me brave. This was a pep talk for me.

Part 1

~

The icy wind scars his face, but it's a small form of torture. Her name sits on his tongue, but he has yet to see if the mountains will hear him or if the people of Velaris will point the way.

Which tavern? Which music hall? Which book store? Which person's bedroom will he find her in?

How drunk will she be?

Cassian wishes he was drunk right now, but...

Has he ever been sober since he's seen her face?

Cassian sees her and the words spill out his mouth. Nothing honest--no. If he were telling the truth, he'd have sunk to his knees. Human, fae, or... death.

She breathed life back into him.

Now Nesta's being haunted by her thoughts, drinking them away, so they may be silenced, so the ice on his face--the piercing slice of winter, is a small price to pay. A small sacrifice. A small revenge for he deserves more than this.

"Nesta!" he yells, but Cassian's sure the wind swallows his call, howling like a wolf to the moon.

Cassian doesn't like the thought of her traveling in this. The city is bright, but he's unsurprised that many of the businesses are closed. It is a holiday after all. Thankfully, the taverns are alight with patrons and noise. He's almost glad it's open if only to offer Nesta reprieve.

Because she isn't at home when he knocks on her door. He can't sense her at all. Cauldron knows her apartment must not have good heating, or at least the door felt as cold as ice. Quiet and mocking. For that alone, Cassian's sure she'd be somewhere here.

So which tavern will it be?

He clenches his fist, but he tells himself it's to warm them and not because the thought of her uncared for goads on his nerves. Not because the thought of her cared for in another's bed makes him want to gut someone brutally.

"We haven't seen her, my lord," the barkeeper says.

"Cassian," he quickly corrects, though he knows none of the workers will do as he asks, formality running heavy throughout town.

"We haven't seen her in a couple of days actually," a younger fae, who offers to pour him a drink, notes. "She usually sits right over there, nearest to the musicians. They've been traveling, you see, so perhaps she's tried another tavern."

"We hope she comes back, my lord. Our high lady's sister is always welcome."

Cassian is sure she is, since he's seen the bills collected on her behalf. "Do you know where she might be?"

The barkeeper shrugs, "maybe Blue Mill? Have you tried the Wolf's den?"

"She's not there," he says, though Cassian offers his thanks and moves on to another tavern down the way, much tamer than the last.

Nesta's not at that one either. The snow sprinkles down and it packs the ground in deep white. He can feel it in his boots.

Where can Nesta be?

Perhaps, he should have told Azriel to send his shadows, but he does what he knows, so he shoots to the sky, not bothering to think about how much his wings will ache from this weather.

He doesn't know how long he searches, before something starts eating at his gut. Something pokes and prods at his chest. Something is not right.

Something is terribly wrong, and it is not this storm or the sting against his wings. It's not the fact that the city sings even from above, as if nothing but him can sense this.

Nesta is nowhere in sight.

She's not at the bridge, the taverns, the trail to her house, the walk to the bookstores, along the Sidra. There is nothing that says that Nesta lives here, all he sees is white.

White is the color of death, he finds, and something morbid calls him forth.

Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.

He thinks the wind calls her name, an echo of his voice. A chant. Cassian thinks of death gods. Of monsters. Of villainous people.

What is happening to her?

Why can't he find her?

Cassian circles the mountain, pulling at his hair.

There.

A scarf circles around a lamp post and it looks like the one Elain gifts to Nesta for her birthday last spring. Light blue and waving hello, come find me, I need you. When he grasps it, Cassian can catch the slightest whiff of her scent.

"Nesta," he calls, peering at the space as if she'll come out of hiding. He sees piles of snow, no footprints in sight. All he can smell is wind and winter and cold. "Nesta!"

He finds a shroud near the stairs, her head lying against the stone. Touches of brass and pale skin. Snow has already begun to pile on her body. A blanket of white. A funeral.

"Nesta," he gasps. "Nesta. Nesta!"

She is so perfectly silent, it fills him with dread.

"Talk to me, Nesta," he demands as he grasps her shoulders, and then her hands, blowing into them as if that my warm her from the inside out.

Her cheeks are a budding pink and her lips are tinged in blue. Cassian thinks of death, corpses, and pale flesh. He can't help it. Nesta lays so still, he wants to throw up.

Her heart beat is faint, but Cassian thinks it might just be the wind drowning out any noise. At least he keeps repeating that to himself, because pulling out his own won't help hers beat louder or stronger.

"I'm going to take you to the house," he says, though she doesn't make a sound. Nesta's head lulls into his neck as he holds her to his chest. Cassian's surprised to find a touch of warmth at her skin and for that he sends a thousand thanks to the Mother.

"I've got you Nesta," he says, kissing at the top of her head without thinking. "I've got you."

I'm never leaving you alone, again.

~

You see I have a very good memory, so I had this book series memorized like the back of my mind. But then I went into a PhD program, and brain dumped it all. SO I cannot remember some details or at least I can't remember which things happened in what book... just like SJM ( LOL ). So if this is not bookly accurate, just ignore it. Nothing about this is bookly accurate anyway.

Also this is hella dramatic. I should have really just started off with... he found her with no explanation... which is what I usually do. But I tried to give explanation. And... it's dramatic. But whateva.

You'll see her actually sick in the next part.

[physalian]

“Endings are the hardest!” / “No, beginnings are the worst!”

I’ve never had a problem figuring out the way I want my stories to end but starting them? Yeash, that’s so much pressure. Both carry the same weight for different reasons while you have writers in both camps with legitimate arguments. One may be harder than the other on a writer-by-writer basis, but they are equally daunting.

—

So. Beginnings:

You have sometimes as little as three sentences to hook readers, at most the first chapter. I don’t even give fanfic more than the opening line sometimes (mostly because fanfic takes opening en media res to wild new heights). I’ve been working on a system of “I have one sentence to give you the setting, the protagonist, and the hook that makes this book different, go” and while it might not be perfect, it’s a starting point.

For example! The opening sentence to ENNS is:

Beneath the snowdrift of the longest blizzard Elias has ever endured, the last vampire in the dungeons has finally succeeded in taking their own life.

As someone who struggles with beginnings, I have given you five pieces of information in 25 words:

The setting, that concerns long and repeat blizzards and snow

Protagonist’s name

Establishing the existence of vampires

Establishing that those vampires are kept in dungeons

Establishing that those presumed prisoners are in such bad conditions, that they’re restoring to suicide, something vampires don’t tend to do

I think I did a pretty good job.

So much of the burden of your book is given to so few words. You can’t make it cliché, but try too hard to be unique and you risk looking pretentious. You have to establish the setting, the narrator, the initial setup and inciting incident and convince readers to pick your book out of hundreds of thousands of other options. I hate beginnings.

Best advice among an avalanche of others? Write a placeholder and come back later if it’s too daunting and frustrating because there is no writing advice that is one size fits all.

It’s entirely dependent on your genre, your demographic, the age of your protagonist and how self-aware they are, the tone of your story, your own personal writing style.

“First sentences should include THIS!”

Yeah, okay, but what if I have a better idea? Beyond that your sentence should have a hook that sets your book up as something apart from its genre neighbors, just go look at the most famous opening lines. They’re all different.

There is nothing in common between

Call me Ishmael.

and

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

And that’s the point.

—

Endings though?

Endings bear the burden of providing catharsis, or robbing you of it. Endings have to answer ‘but what does it all mean?’ and stick the landing, or they don’t. Endings can turn a TV show that took the world by storm for four magnificent seasons and drag it limping across the finish line in a finale that sucks the life out of the fandom forever.

Endings either leave you in an existential lurch staring at the ceiling, or in tears of joy or anguish, or frothing at the mouth at yet another cliffhanger. If you can’t answer ‘what does it all mean’ you have bigger problems than just your final lines.

People don’t have fan theories about your first page, they have fan theories about what comes after your last page. There are no rules to writing an ending and sometimes by its nature of being unfulfilling you become infamous.

Example: The ending of Mark of Athena, that prompted this dedication in its sequel House of Hades.

“We’re staying together,” he promised. “You’re not getting away from me. Never again.” Only then did she understand what would happen. A one-way trip. A very hard fall. “As long as we’re together,” she said. She heard Nico and Hazel still screaming for help. She saw the sunlight far, far above—maybe the last sunlight she would ever see. Then Percy let go of his tiny ledge, and together, holding hands, he and Annabeth fell into the endless darkness.

(one short Leo POV later)

Nemesis wanted him to wreak vengeance on Gaea? Leo would be happy to oblige. He was going to make Gaea sorry she had ever messed with Leo Valdez. “Yeah.” He took one last look at the cityscape of Rome, turning bloodred in the sunset. “Festus, raise the sails. We’ve got some friends to save.”

If you weren’t in this fandom when this book came out and ended with the protagonist falling into Greek Super Hell, to wait a whole year to find out what happens next—We lost our collective minds.

And then the next book opened like this:

Gettin’ a bit big for your britches there, ey, Riordan?

How you write your ending should reflect the kind of feeling you want to leave your reader with. In this case, it was anguish and despair and the pinnacle of “always leave them wanting more”. Maybe you’ve written a character who’s suffered constant setbacks to reaching their goal, and the final line is them at peace with, or without achieving it. Or it’s the final plot twist/reveal no one saw coming. Or it’s ambiguous, leaving it up to reader interpretation.

My favorite classical book ending comes from The Great Gatsby and while I had to crack open my copies of the PJO books, I know this line by heart:

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

There’s just something so melancholy and tragic about it, as it should be: Gatsby is not a happy story. That line is the answer to the thesis, that trying to live in the past and not embrace the future, not allowing yourself to move on, can only end in tragedy, and yet, so many of us do exactly that.

The image of a dinky little rowboat is always what I’ve pictured, as opposed to a ship or something more formidable. A rowboat bobbing around the thrashing waves, pitted against a force of nature it can’t ever hope to overcome, yet it endures.

The book opens on an equally melancholy note, “In my younger years…” as the protagonist reflects back on their life gone by. It’s an American classic for a reason.

Even if your final line is unspectacular, the line isn’t as important as how the narrator feels about the book being over. Quotable hashtags are great, but if the ending doesn’t feel like a proper fit, you’re going to leave readers disappointed.

—

Endings are so fricken fun though, no matter what’s at stake. It’s as cathartic for me to finish as I hope it is for the reader to read. There’s plenty of advice out there on the perfect opener or the perfect closer, the endless arguments over which is harder, and it’s all up to you in the end. They just come easy to me, I have no advice. I can picture them well before I get to the final pages and they just click into place. Beginnings, though? Ugh.

—

Thank you for 300 Followers!!!

[dreamlandcreations]

Twisted fate

Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader (eventually)

Summary: After the death of her sister, the twin of Daenerys meddles with magic, trying to change the past and ends up in the era of the Dance as Rhaenyra's daughter...

Warnings: this is like a note for the idea of a series (so basically a teaser) 🤷🏻‍♀️, canon-typical stuff, Reader is on a mission, fix it fic?, it's probably a mess as I am... writing at 1-2am with no idea where I wanna go with this

You were born after the storm... for the first time. While your twin was called Stormborn, you were given the not-so-catchy name of the Flame of Dawn after the red skies that could be seen at the time you had drawn your first breath.

Life was difficult for your sister, it seemed she had to bear all the burdens but you were always eager to learn. Dragons and Valyria being your favourite subjects but as soon as you were free to do so, you started to learn other things too. Your knowledge came useful when the dragons were born but flying them was seemingly not meant for you. You found solace in fighting and learning to use the magic in your blood.

After the war you asked Bran to teach you to see. First, it was just curiosity, as you wanted.. no, needed to see history with your own eyes. However, you soon found out that you can connect and perhaps shape the past through your visions. Bran warned you against it but you didn't listen.

You became obsessed with fixing the events that lead to the demise of your house and family. You have spent a lot of time observing, especially the Dance of the Dragons. Those events were the true end for the House of the Dragon, however, you wanted even more than they had and ventured back to Aegon then tried to see what you were most curious about. Valyria.

As you went further back, you found that some members of your family had stronger magic and could sense your presence. Although none like the dragonlord you came across in your first glimpse of your ancient home.

He lectured you and punished you by trapping you in the past.

You were born during the storm... for the second time.

Your memories of your old life surfaced as you re-learned things. It was a struggle until your adult years, keeping them. The memories and your old self came and went like waves of the ocean your not-blood-related father loved so much.

It didn't take long to realise you were not your father's daughter and that your mother's uncle, who mostly stayed at Driftmark but spent a lot of time with you whenever he could, was the one who fathered you.

When you could surface from the waters of oblivion, you were even prouder than otherwise. As a child, in both lifetimes, you idolized Daemon.

You were still a small child when your memories surfaced for a while, and you started to make plans to somehow avoid the Dance and make your new parents king and queen. In the gardens, you discovered a poisonous flower and decided to eliminate one major key for the war to come. Killing off all your villains was tempting, however, there were several problems with that idea.

You knew that would be too suspicious, even f no one would suspect a child. But for one cleverly timed murder, the innocent look of your current form would be a perfect disguise.

It was also the time your realised Rhaenyra having your Strong brothers was putting everything at risk and you had no good solution for that mess either.

The plan was to destroy the Greens but as you grow the memories of your past life become more like dreams than your reality and slowly, and ironically when they finally seem to settle for good, they don't feel like yours anymore. Of course, it's useful to know all that but you have a different life and you've become a different person too, loving people in this life and fearing losing them.

And that's the problem with the plan. You can't lose them. You can't lose him. Aemond, the only person in your childhood who understood you, besides your father of course. And even after the loss of his eye, and becoming distant, your uncle remained your best friend, who you couldn't give up on, hurt or even betray.

His sister was certainly not to blame for anything and you were fond of her too. After getting to know the Green Queen, you couldn't even blame her at times.

So, you put yourself in an even more difficult position, abandoning the plan and trying to make peace between these idiots of yours.

[dracobrooklyn]

Durge x Reader Part 1

When you really like the design of the Cannon DragonBorn and his voice is like butter making you melt. I was sad you can't romance him and your the playable character instead. So Here I am going to write Headcannons of what if he was a romanceable NPC that was in your party. These are my thoughts taking bits and pieces from the Cannon and putting my thoughts and ideas into Durge.

|| MDNI || 18+ this will contain Themes of Language, Violence, and of course Sexual Content. DO NOT READ!!

Cannon!Durge x Tav!Fem!Reader

This will be in a Fem!Reader POV!!

Word count: 1.44K

Part 1: Meeting Durge

Durge is a White Dragonborn that is a Storm Sorcerer. Literally born from the blood of Bhaal to be the perfect monster for his destruction on the world. Though... he does not remember. After being taken by the Mindflayers. He does not remember anything before he was a prisoner. The Ship Crashing, his head spinning with so many thoughts. He only remembers his name and that he can cast magic thankfully. But everything else? He's lost. Of course You Find him being attacked by a group of Goblins, coming to his aid, to make sure he is okay. Of course he's hesitant, but he thanks you for your help. You of course ask him his name, Durge. A Strange name but it's his, nothing with it. He would ask if you know where they are, and of course replying that you weren't sure yourself, being in the ship and all, you were snatched away by the mindflayers as well. A little frustrated not sure what to do, he gives you his thanks and about to leave. Is that such a good idea? To go out alone especially that you saw him get attacked by Goblins? No. You ask him if he wish's to tag along with you and your other party members. Strange bunch... why not? He accepts. After all where was he to go? He has no memories. Everything is dark. And you were all trying to find a way to get this cursed parasite out of your brain... before you did turn into a Mindflayer. Maybe you will be able to help him remember. Durge is a little distant towards your other party members. Wasn't a fan of Astarion, not one bit. The way he acted, the way he talked to you as if you were insignificant. You were very much capable of defending yourself, you saved Durge's life. So he always gives the pale elf a glare. Shadowheart he does not mind but her pride and stubbornness can be a little annoying. She at least gives you a little respect when she talks to you.

As your party grow, you get to try to help Durge try to get some sort of sense with his memories. But nothing seems to happen. He can only think about maybe... maybe he had a family or friends waiting for him to come home, or perhaps he has a lover, or maybe something else. You definitely joked to him he could be a prince that was out hunting, he did find the joke amusing though. It was good to have some sort of conversation and company. Being alone with no memories was a little sad and lonely at times.

You were having a hard time sleeping. Specifically with the damn worm wiggling into your brain. So you noticed Durge was having a hard time sleeping as well, tossing and turning into his tent, into his sleeping area. You see how his lips curl back almost in a growl showing his teeth, his eye crest furrowing either in pain or anger as his claws gripped onto the blankets, how he curls up in a fetal position. Is he okay? You quickly went to him to wake him up, and you do. He grabs your arm and pins you down onto the ground his clawed hand wrapped around your neck growling, glaring his red blood eyes into your eyes. He pauses and noticed it's you. He get's off you quickly, not wearing a shirt and only trousers in his sleep wear as Durge feels so awful. He almost hurt you. He apologizes and ask's if you were alright, of course you were shaken but told him you were okay. Everything was alright.

Those dreams... nothing but blood... screaming... yells of anguish. Remembering his dream too well, just looking down at his hands, remembering in his dream he had blood on them. Once you did go back to sleep at your bed roll and he looked at you... what if your blood was on his hands... they started to shake. Fear escaped him, he didn't go back to sleep that night. He just laid in his bed roll in his tent frightened he could have killed you.

He felt awful the next day and wanted to apologize. Durge said if there was anything to he could do for your forgiveness. Of course, you were kind to him. "You had a nightmare Durge, perhaps they were memories, not good memories but maybe your memories are trying to come back to you, and it was too much." You could see the look on his face, he looked a little... worried. You asked if Durge wanted to talk about it. He only shook his head and said "No I... I like to hope they are nightmares, and not memories."

He very much appreciated your kindness, he really was happy that you didn't treat him any different from your party members. When he was distant, it was him just thinking, trying to piece together his "Dream" he had last night. You gave him a journal that you bought from the Druids grove, for Durge to write his dreams so maybe he can go back to the, as you smile at him and say "If you need company tonight... if you have a nightmare, don't hesitate to wake me okay?" And Right there... that's when the feelings start to blossom. The gift of the Journal. The Way how you were comforting on his darkest moments, trying to remember his past. The Way you treated him normally. You invited Durge to the fire to talk with the others, bring him into the conversation, telling you about your past. Where you lived growing up. Durge is very envious of your memories. That you have them, though he out right does not tell you. He wants to know his past so much, who the fuck he is!? It leaves him in a bad mood leaving you with the others at the campfire and heading into his tent for the night. Going to sleep a little mad... but also sad at the same time. Maybe he had a group of friends that miss him dearly. That laughed with him like a bunch of chumps. He wasn't sure.

[littlemermaidx]

Finished season two of iwtv the other day and I'm still 😭😭😭 As someone who's always been a fan of the movie, I have to say that this show is so beautifully made and the acting is just superb! I keep forgetting that I'm watching actors act lol. It feels like watching a play and not a TV show and I really like that! I also can't believe that some people thought that the *last* scene between Louis and Lestat was cheesy and *horribly* written??? Like, wtf?? Have we watched the same thing or?? It wasn't out of character imo, to act the way they did in that scene because the show versions of Louis and Lestat have always been more vulnerable and, still kind of, human like? I'm a big fan of the movie, like I already mentioned, but it's obvious how differently written Louis and Lestat are in the film to the show. Although I love Tom as Lestat, Sam brought a certain vulnerability to the character and I really enjoy watching him play Lestat. To me that last scene was just perfect and, kind of in a way, very fan fiction-esque. Like seriously that's a type of scene we would all *probably* be writing and posting on ao3 if it didn't really happen lol. Lestat found Louis and then lost him and then found again and it took over 70 years for their reunion?? I mean, come on.. It was perfectly reasonable to me that he acted the way he did. I love it when he also asked Louis did he hurt himself that night when he spoke to Armand, in this lovely, emotion filled, shaky voice.. It was all beautiful and romantic and yes I even loved the lil touch with the thunder and the house literally falling apart cause of the storm that's been raging around them. This is a story about vampires and vampires do tend to get dramatic now and then (quite often actually!).. Anyway, I'm in love with that scene and their chemistry overall and just feel like re-watching it over and over again ❤️‍🔥

[briarcrawford]

Little Details For Writers To Make Winters Seem More Real ❄

In the past I did the post “Writing Realistic Winter Scenes,” but it did not quite cover everything, so I thought I would add some more tips! I hope they help for making your stories more realistic.

Stomping Feet.

Only rude people don’t stomp snow off their boots before coming inside. Where I live, you will often also see people giving their boots a good stomp before entering a store.

Once inside a home, take off your boots and (if they have one) put it on a boot tray to stop puddling. If you are entering a store, many locations have rugs by the door. Once inside, wipe your feet a few times.

Holding a drink with both hands and no metal mugs/plates.

Tim Horton drinks are called “Canadian hand warmers” for a reason, so you will often see people waiting for a bus or city train with a drink in both their hands.

As for the metal mugs and plates, I learned my lesson for this one very quickly. When I was an Air Cadet (teens) we would go on weekend survival trips, and most the kids idolized military kits. So, many kids(myself included) would purchase military mess kits. Now, I am not saying they are not handy; plates, bowls, and even a tiny frying pan, all fold up together neatly and flat in your bag, so what is not to love?

Well, when you are camping in places below -25c, and you take off your glove for a moment, you may find your skin sticking to the metal of your plate(thanks to the cold, and steam from your meal). Now, this might seem funny, but if you are not careful, you could actually remove skin.

So, metal is great for cooking and great for the summer, but I suggest being careful if you plan on using them to eat with in the winter.

Bringing Your Animals In

In medieval times, farm animals were often brought into the house. Some houses kept them on the bottom floor while living on the top floor, others not so much. This is to keep the animals from freezing to death, but also to add some extra warmth in the house.

It was not just in the past, either. My past co-worker grew up on a goat farm, and said if it was too cold out, they would bring the baby goats in to run wild in the basement. She remembers it fondly, but it must have been incredibly chaotic for her parents haha.

New Water Source:

Creeks, lakes, and wells will likely freeze over, but luckily you may have another option: snow! Just look for a clean patch, scoop it up, and heat it. It is not a perfect system (during my wilderness survival training days, there were times of picking pine needles out of the water) but it was better than wasting energy to go cut into the ice every several times a day(the holes will re-freeze over).

If it is cold without snow, cutting the ice is exactly what you’ll have to do.

Tree Wells:

Evergreens — like pine trees — are built to shed snow off their triangle-shaped form, so often have little pockets around the trunk with less or no snow. This might not sound like a problem, but occasionally people on skis and other equipment die in them. People are on the move, fall headfirst into them, and their skis are pinned above in the snow out of reach.

Alternatively, these wells can be an emergency shelter from a storm or hunting hiding spot. Do note that you (for the obvious reason of wood everywhere) can not light a fire in these shelters.

Easy Tracking:

It’s not easy to hide prints in the winter, and they are more obvious. This could be good if your character is tracking something, but bad if they are trying to get away.

Some shows have the characters sweeping the ground behind them, but if the snow is over a foot deep, that wont really work.

Realistic Ice:

If you are on a lake, do not expect it to be quiet. It is always flexing and cracking, and sometimes this sounds like a pop, and other times it can sound like the lake is singing.

Ice can also look different. Some (like Abraham Lake in Alberta) is known for it’s frozen bubbles, while others flex so much while freezing that the ice breaches the surface into what look like frozen waves.

While we are on the topic of ice, crampons/ice cleats. Crampons are spikes that attach to your boots, and people here use smaller ones just for walking the dogs. They bite into the ice, making you less likely to slip. They are not a new invention, either. They have found archeological evidence of them that are thousands of years old in different places around the world.

Sounds:

If it is very cold out, sounds are louder. This is one part because there are no leaves on the trees, but also because noise travels through cold air easier. Both these are why any sound (such as the crunching of snow) can seem so loud in the winter.

Alternatively, the snow can muffle sounds (it is an insulator) but only to a certain temperature. This insulation can make the world around you seem almost unnaturally quiet as it muffles any surrounding sounds.

So basically, mildly cold with snow means muffled sounds, while very cold means traveling sounds.

Multiple Socks:

If you are hiking in the winter, it is recommended that you carry at least three pairs of socks to change into at some time. The reason? Your feet will still sweat even if it’s cold, and that sweat can freeze. As a general rule, if your feet start getting cold, consider changing socks.

Boots Near The Fire:

In movies, characters always put their hands near the fire, and that does happen. It is not just the hands, though. People often sit with their boots near the fire and they may start to steam as the ice and snow melt.

This can be so tempting, that there is normally that one person in the group who accidentally melts the rubber of a boot by putting it too close to the fire, or by resting their boot on the metal rings that some campsites have. While we were sleeping in lean-to’s, one kid even scooted too close to his fire in his sleep, and woke to his whole boot melting. It melted so bad, his boot had to be duct-taped together or else they would send him home.

Since people in the past would not have rubber/plastic on their boots, they would react differently to the fires, but you can bet people in the past did the same.

Pack Sled:

If the snow is deep, you may see people (especially skiers and snowshoers) with a sled that has their pack in it. This is to help take some of the weight off you, which stops you from sinking as far in the snow.

Little Modern Details:

Shoveling the Walks

It’s a silly detail, I know, but it is never in books or movies. Here, you have to shovel your walks by law, but there are two other reasons as well. You need to keep the snow from piling up over your boots, and also to keep your vehicle from getting stuck. For this, people either own a shovel or a snow-blower, then put salt or gravel over the icy spots.

Our homes here are built with a roof overhang to keep snow and such from piling at the door, but homes that are not so lucky (such as places that don’t normally get snow) or homes that face towards the wind, might end up being snowed in if they don’t keep up with shoveling.

Prep your vehicle.

In movies and books in cold places with a storm, the hero jumps into the car and rushes away. In real life, they wouldn’t be able to see out the windows. The real process: Start your vehicle about 10min before leaving. While you wait for it to warm, brush off the snow and scrape ice from the windows.

If your character is in that much of a rush, they can put the window down (if it is not frozen) and stick their head out the window while they drive(100% not recommended lol. You can’t even use a seatbelt if you do this).

Fighting for the Register:

If you are a kid and you come in with wet boots, the fight for the spot over the heat register is on! Those with the lucky spot will have far drier and warm boots or mittens for next use.

Dead Batteries:

If it is really cold out and you have something like a phone with you, you had better keep it in your inside pocket(most winter jackets have them) closest to your body. If not, even a full battery can completely die out in record time. Batteries simply are not made to handle extreme cold. They sometimes turn on again if you warm them up, but other times you will have to plug them in and charge them.

[sleeplesssmoll]

Vertin has an easier time of letting go and moving forward now after getting so used to it, but the past is eventually gonna catch up to her and that weight becomes unbearable. How long until she's forced to face that unprocessed grief? Until she learns how to help others without it being at her own expense?

How long would it take for her to re-learn how to enjoy the present/her life without feeling immesnely guilty for what would never be and might've been, and indulge in her interests again without feeling that its selfish?

The survivor guilt and savior complex are real. Now that she isn't alone anymore, I hope she is able to see the value in her own life as much as she sees it in others.

PREPARE FOR MORE ANALYSIS AND LORE!

Sometimes I wonder if Vertin feels like she needs to live for the sake of other people. She has to remember them because the world won't once its Reversed. She has to find the truth and stop the Storm for all the people she's lost to it. Now that she has people under her personal protection, she pushes herself even more to be everything they need her to be.

I think the one thing she wants for herself and not for the sake of others, is the truth about her mother. Mr. Man mentions Vertin's rationale a lot, but he also prods at the trauma she holds in many of their interactions. He's pretty abrasive about it too. Here is one of my favorites for character analysis reasons. Chapter 4-20 Outside the Spotlight:

Here is just one example (there is more to this and some was cut out for readability). This is kinda what inspired me to write the fic tbh because it shows how helpless Vertin really is in the face of the Storm. The idea of Vertin wanting to create a perfect shelter for those close to her might be from the trauma of loss and is a way she copes. From the context clues this is when Vertin was at a ceremony for the new St. Pavlov Foundation Squad Leaders. Vertin is shocked to see Sonetto amongst them the others on stage.

Not only that, but the same people who allowed her friends to get Reversed are saving Sonetto for her. It's like Vertin sees Sonetto as someone she is supposed to be protecting and yet, there she is. Sonetto is standing on stage with other arcanists destined to be martyrs. It's symbolic of Vertin's own failure.

Sonetto isn't safe. No arcanist is safe under the Foundation. Look at what happened to poor Ken! She is worried about her other friends, but she is made painfully aware of how little she can do.

But she tries. And she keeps trying no matter how pointless her efforts are in the grand scheme.