#there is always time to seek redemption

[mrmanbat]

We cannot be friends if you refer to any of the bats as “twinks.”

…

Like bro they’re all insanely fit and tall. Most of them aren’t even gay??

Sure some are lean but none of them fit the twink description.

[javierduffy]

drabble about chapter 3 javieran late night discord (campfire) conversations because i love writing the turning point where javier finally lets himself start making moves 💔☹️

“so,” javier gestures with his bottle, the last quarter of it sloshing to get his conversation partner’s attention, “tell me about yourself.”

“oh, i’m…” kieran fiddles with his hands, pries his eyes away from javier’s bottle as the other man takes a swig of it. if he let himself look any longer, they’d end up on his lips. “i’m just me, sir. just kieran duffy. ain’t got much to tell.”

“mh.” javier grunts a reply, and kieran would think that’d be the end of it, if not for the bottle thrust at him to punctuate the response. he thinks javier is just tipsy enough not to be offering essentially backwash on purpose. he hopes it is a kind gesture. he takes it and a swig to boot. rather not be drinking with a man so pretty, but he’d rather not be one to resist one, neither.

“”just” you say. what makes you so little?” javier’s beginning to pop another beer open on his seat. without the light of the moon, the scout campfire now feels like a long, long way from the clemen’s point camp, and he now feels like no one in the world could hear his curiosity. like not a soul in this world around could accuse him of gentility.

kieran, taking the new bottle as an offer to keep the old one, finishes off his drink. shakes his head like it’s bitter. like he isn’t trying to pick apart which taste is the beer and which is javier. “i ‘unno. suppose- no one’s cared so much before. i feel so little, i can’t say i feel right justified in going around and advertising myself. plenty of interesting folk around, and they sure don’t look like me.” javier cocks an eyebrow.

for once since months ago in colter, dark brown eyes meet green, and they stay there. grass plants it’s roots in rich soil, and it feels like home. kieran can see javier’s eyes flicker to his lips, and he convinces himself it meant nothing. uproots himself and looks back at the fire.

javier lets his eyes roam kieran’s profile a bit- his long lashes, his hooked nose, his sunspots- and suddenly he really, really needs another drink. he’s parched. he mirrors the other man’s fixation on the fire with another swig. “can’t say any of us nowadays look too alike. not unless you get the privilege of being born in the city, with money. every man has his story. if you think it is a competition, maybe you should consider yourself lucky that you haven’t lived enough chaos to be “interesting”.”

kieran snorts, “you don’t know the half of it… sir.” he tacks the term messily onto the sentence, hoping it’ll be enough to keep javier from strangling him to death for his tone. instead, he turns to see javier with a wide smile, drooping eyes creasing like a canine with it’s fangs bared. it makes kieran feel cold- like prey who yearns for the warm embrace of his predator’s breath on his neck.

“tell me then. what makes you so interesting and me so ignorant?”

[griffonsgrove]

omg hello!! I saw you post those vox headcanons and wow I was literally kicking my feet and giggling LOL. I also saw you take requests right now! (at least that’s what it said in your rules) and I wanted to request something : D

could I request general alastor headcanons with a GN! Reader please ? :D

Thank you!

General Dating Headcanons | Alastor

a/n: Of course my dear!! I love how Alastor is portrayed in the series, he’s easily one of my favorite characters! I’ve been wanting to do these for quite a bit, so thank you for the request!

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Wordcount: 1991

Cw: Hazbin Spoilers, minor violence, mentions of death, murder

(PLATONIC):

Ah so you managed to capture the attention of the infamous Radio Demon? You should be honored he even considers you worth his time! Not most demons have that luxury, they never live long enough to see.

Al strikes me as the kind of guy who knows everyone, he’s very observant and has eyes everywhere (his shadow friends extend throughout the entirety of the pride ring). He’s got connections in just about anything. He’s bound to have at least seen you once.

That being said, he views other sinners as inferior to him, if you don't have any power, he doesn't really see you as much of a threat (let’s be honest even if you did, he still wouldn't feel threatened)

He’s quite intrigued when he sees a frail little thing like you walk through the hotel doors. You're here on your own free will, seeking redemption? Oh, this will be quite entertaining.

You’re well aware of who he is, having been in hell for quite some time, even before his 7 yearlong disappearance, you knew to be wary in his presence.

It often left you being timid or skittish around him at first.

The deer demon had a knack for popping up at the most inconvenient of times, out of nowhere it seems (perks of being able to shadow travel). He would scare the daylights out of you nearly every time. Whether it was intentional or not, it always got a good laugh out of him.

And that smile…He was always smiling, you can't ever recall a moment where he wasn't, not even a falter. It's definitely an intimidation tactic you think. After all, you're never fully dressed without one!~

Despite this, he’s a charmer. He has this flare about him that oozes confidence whenever he speaks with you, to anyone really. He’s able to talk his way into and out of anything. One of the many perks of being a showman. Alastor is witty, charming and entertaining to say the least. Life is never dull with him around.

And if you happen to be from the same time period?? It’ll only want him to be around you even more! Finally, someone he can relate to in this cesspool.

This man is quite the chatterbox. He looooves to reminisce about the good ol’ days, always talking about how things were in his radio days. He could talk for literal hours and not break a sweat. You’ll often have to politely interject when he rambles on for too long, not that he minds.

Did I mention he can cook too?? Really well, surprisingly. He claims he learned from his dearest mother. He had to put a name to her famous Jambalaya recipe! When you tried it for the first time your socks were nearly blown right off from how much cayenne pepper he put into it. He likes a little spice.

He's!! Always!! Humming!! The man loves to sing, he often finds himself absentmindedly humming old tunes from the 20’s as he goes about his day. Whether he’s out for a stroll, enjoying a nice cup of tea, or running around the hotel, he’s humming.

This has been stated before, but Alastor is not big on physical touch from others unless he's the one initiating it. There have been many times where he’s pulled you into a little dance or twirl while he explains something. It never fails to surprise you each time.

He’ll often use his microphone staff to push or touch something, more specifically someone. He doesn't like to touch sinners that often, God knows where they’ve been. You’ve seen him whack Angel upside the head with it before, the spider tried getting a little too close for comfort. But for you he’ll make an exception.

Very well groomed!! He puts a lot of effort into his appearance, and cares about how he projects himself to the public eye. His hair is always neatly styled to perfection, shoes shined, and is always dressed to the nines. I mean did you see how mad he got when Pentious ripped a part of his coat off?

As the two of you begin to spend some more time together, you find yourself often having little meetups, the both of you would chat, share a cup of tea and just enjoy each other’s company. He liked to sit on the patio, he had a little table, and everything set up for you two.

Alastor makes sure to keep an eye on you regularly. He may have his shadow sneak around and stalk you while you're out. He’ll use the excuse that ‘Hell is a dangerous place!’, He can't have some low-life sinner trying to harm you, that would make him a terrible friend!

Undeniably has a soft spot for you that he’ll never admit aloud, he genuinely enjoys your company and likes having someone around that will humor him and listen to his stories. Grandpa.

Overall, Al is quite a good friend to have, you feel like you can confide in him at any point, he’s surprisingly a wonderful listener. The more time you spend together only strengthens your little friendship. Even to the point where you both will grow to have a mutual respect for each other. He initially scared you at first, given his reputation, but underneath all the ruthless chaos is a true gentleman.

(ROMANTIC):

My man is sooo conflicted at first, He’ll spend hours in his den thinking about his feelings. (We’ve all seen the inside of his room, literally half of it is a swamp). The scenery can only soothe him so much as he contemplates on what to do.

This is probably where you will begin to less and less of him for a time being as he works out his inner turmoil.

But, once he finally comes to terms with these undeniable feelings, he decides to confront you privately, away from any prying eyes. Ahem Angel…

Very old-fashioned, this is where he will properly ask to court you. 

You’ll never know this but he was actually kind of nervous, he was worried you’d reject his offer, but imagine to his surprise when you said yes!! He kind of felt giddy.

Congratulations! You now have a cannibalistic deer overlord as your boyfriend

He’s such a gentleman, I literally cannot say it enough, the man was raised right and he respects you! 

You literally never have to open a door with him around. He holds your chair out for you, always walks on the outer side of the sidewalk, pays for every meal and is constantly giving you compliments left and right. And they say chivalry is dead.

Alastor loves to gift flowers to you. Every few weeks or so he’ll give you a new bouquet. They're different each time, some have a meaning while others he simply thought you’d enjoy. You have a special place in your room where you keep them.

Now that you’re in a relationship, the two of you are basically joined at the hip. Wherever you are, Alastor is not far behind. He doesn't want to admit it but the overlord is kind of clingy. He doesn't like being too far from you.

If there’s ever a reason he has to be away from you, he’ll often have a few of his little imp dolls watch after you. You always thought they were cute little fellas anyways.

The both of you aren't exactly private about your relationship, but at the same time you’re not screaming it out from the rooftops either. Alastor is well aware of the dangers you could possibly face due to his status. He’s made a lot of enemies in his time, and doesn't want to see you get hurt on his behalf.

That being said though, no demon in their right mind would try to threaten you.

God forbid they touch you either. They’d be ripped in half before they could even get another word out. 

He's fiercely protective over you. He tries to play it off as nonchalantly as possible, but you know he cares about you immensely, it’s rather sweet really.

Now about physical affection. Things will go very slowly in the beginning, as said before he's fine with things as long as he's the one initiating it. If you two are out for a stroll you’ll have your arm gently looped with his as you walk down the chipped sidewalks. You’ll have to be extremely patient with him, he’s not used to this “love” and “affection”

If you’re ever having a bad day however, he’ll slip out of his comfort zone for you, and allow you to hold onto him for as long as you please, in the privacy of your own room of course.

One of his favorite things to do with you, is to slow dance. There's something so intimate and special about it. It could be late into the evening, when everyone else had gone to their respective rooms for the night, If you listen closely though, you’ll hear the soft hum of music coming from Alastor’s den, he has you in his arms, the both of you gently sway in a slow waltz across the room to the quiet love songs emitting from his radio. It’s here that you truly savor these private moments with him.

Speaking of music, Al loves to sing to you. Oftentimes it may be a ballad or love song, and if you join in with him? He’ll fall for you even more. 

Cooking! He loves to whip up all his favorite dishes just for you, oftentimes you’ll help him in the kitchen, even if it’s the smallest thing. It's become an annual thing you two like to do together. He makes sure that you get only the best meat that this side of hell can provide.

He’ll often call you a mix of different pet names, here's a few of his favorites: Cher, Darling, Beloved, Dearest, Love, Mon Amour, Doll

Which btw on the topic of meat, Al is canonically a cannibal, he’ll often eat demon meat in his meals, and will have you try it at least once.

Admittedly has gotten slightly jealous of his own shadow. The mischievous thing was always trying to steal your attention away from him, oftentimes it would work, you would always give in and humor him, saying that ‘Even his shadow needed some loving too!’. With a strained smile, Alastor shoots a glare at the inky mass of himself, who just looks at him with a smug grin.

Will have you meet Rosie at least once. She’s one of his other closest friends, and a real sweetheart. At first she comes off as really scary and intimidating. but the more you get to know her, and she's for certain that you wont hurt her friend, she’s much more friendlier. 

You two actually bond together somewhat, having little chats about Alastor occasionally, or about her business.

It’s safe to say that this man would kill hundreds if not thousands for you. You have him wrapped around your little finger. If you ever have someone bothering you, they might as well already be dead, because this man will hunt them down like prey. And eat them too.

Honestly, Alastor as a lover is nothing short of wholesome. He’s so attentive and caring when it comes to you. Which is so refreshing to see, especially coming from one of hell’s most feared overlords. Things will most likely start of slow, but if you’re patient with him, all the hard work will be rewarded tenfold. He had initially thought the Princess of Hell’s Hotel was one of the biggest jokes of the century, but what he wasn't expecting was you to be one of the best things to come out of it. You both were cast down to suffer an eternal damnation in hell, but at least now you can endure it together <3.

[jiminrings]

four seven eight, phase 3 (1)

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 9k

glimpse: jungkook's secure when it comes to being a husband and a dad, knowing that he grew to love being both after everything you've been through. what he isn't so secure about is the possibility that it's everything he'll ever be.

alternatively, jungkook pursues his dream of making a film, even if it means making your rival his main lead behind your back.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale — complete series masterlist, from phase 1 to 3 ]

[ the return of 478jk (derogatory), major angst, fluff, the weight of devotion except jk's mean this time, flashbacks to phase 1 (im so sorry), the both of them r in an identity crisis, The Return of yoongi, yearning and the ache of unfulfillment all over, eventual redemption ]

notes: FINALLYYYYYY after a long wait, phase three is finally here :-) the og era of 478 is a time i'll truly never forget so now that i'm putting them in Several Inconveniences again, i look forward to creating another era with u citizens!!! mwah thank u love yew

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Jungkook likes to be needed.

He likes to be needed fully, sometimes even all at once to the point that every mention of his name makes him think that his assistance is needed. He wants to be needed like the way you rummage through your old film canisters that you dumped in a large drawer just to retrieve a specific picture of him; needed like the way you sigh in relief when you find said roll.

Jungkook wants you to seek him in a crowd, past all the banners of your name from your fans and lanyards of your staff, and ask specifically him for a cold water bottle he keeps in his bag for you. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t even mind if you ask it from him indiscreetly — he wants to be needed, even if neither of you are alone with each other.

He’s used to the feeling of being needed because it’s practically routine for him. The way Jungkook loves you has changed and evolved (needlessly to say for the better) through the years, and although he tries to look for the balance in it all, there’s a tiny, tiny part of him that wonders what would’ve happened if neither of you changed.

It’s perhaps the change in seasons, or maybe it’s the build-up of the stupid little things Jungkook’s seen recently; one of those things happen to be a ridiculously long thread by your fan, who happens to also be a fan of Yoongi, assuming that your marriage with J*ngkook (that’s exactly how they typed his name out) is ending, hence your recent collaboration on a brand deal. Jungkook, of course, has half the mind to go on his secret stan account and snark at said poster before reporting, but even then, there’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch.

Whatever weather it is outside nowadays or whichever stupid little thing pisses him off online, Jungkook can’t shake off the nagging question of what if in his mind.

When Jungkook cleans your water bottle every night for you to take to set the next day, he wonders if the two of you would still be together if only he didn’t rush to your place by the exact second your month-long break ended, right when he takes off the rubber from the cap to clean the ridges thoroughly.

When he blowdries your hair (even if you tell him not to bother) after you begrudgingly take a shower because you can’t sleep in bed after going outside and not washing up the second you come home, he wonders if you would’ve kept loving him even if the very incident with Sora didn’t push him to change, right when he sees you close your eyes while his hands scratch your scalp.

When Jungkook sounds out syllables to Hwayoung and tries his very best not to baby-talk her (he can’t help it sometimes) as he recounts his day to the toddler, he wonders if you would’ve even had a daughter with him if he stayed the same silent lover that he used to be, right when she parrots your name back to him with a smile.

“Young-ie’s probably starting to need me less and less,” he sighs to you with a pout, eyebrows knitted in concern as he gives you his rookie version of a blowout he’s still trying to perfect. Jungkook can’t flick his wrist the way professional hairstylists do, just in the same way you can’t pick up why he’s brought up the thought out of nowhere.

“How could you say that? She’s the biggest daddy’s girl ever,” you chuckle, placating him with the truth despite your initial confusion. If you weren’t fully awake awhile ago, you certainly are now — mostly because Jungkook springs up an unbelievable idea, and partly because whenever he tugs the brush at your hair, your whole head comes along with it.

“Not really. More like biggest mommy’s girl, you mean,” he defensively scoffs, apologizing quickly when he hears you wince at a particular experimental tug he does on your ends.

“Should we wake her up right now and let her decide?” you murmur, your eyes locking with his on the mirror.

Jungkook, at his most comfortable state, wearing ratty oversized pajamas and glasses on his face that he’s yet to update the prescription on, has never felt more competitive in his life.

“Well we could-…”

“I was joking,” you deadpan, the silence between the two of you getting long enough to the point that you suddenly find yourself laughing, effectively getting Jungkook out of his daze.

“… I knew that.”

You may have had an inkling about Jungkook feeling slightly off before in the past weeks, but all it took was his random, unprompted question tonight for you to solidify that seed of concern in your chest.

Jungkook likes to be needed, even if he can’t say the same that you need him as much as he thinks you do. He thinks it’s a perfectly rational feeling to want to be needed by both your wife and your daughter, and although he’s not as receptive to being needed as much by anyone other than his family, the feeling still stays the same.

He has all the time in the world. You’ve enabled him to do so even if he’s the one mainly looking after Hwayoung while you worked, but despite that, Jungkook doesn’t feel needed enough.

There’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch with neither your constant affection nor Hwayoung’s grabby hands. There’s an unplaceable, agitating urge in Jungkook’s chest to put a pause on everything and be back to who and what he used to be, despite your affirmation that he is needed.

There’s that tick going on in Jungkook’s brain that amplifies everything he does to seem wrong; that makes him grumpy when he wakes up to prepare you breakfast whenever you had early shoots, that makes him purse his lips when his daughter asks him to watch the same movie with her for the third time in the week.

All of the uneasiness in him, however, disappears when Namjoon, the acclaimed screenwriter that he has for a friend (whom he actually met through you), calls him up with an offer that Jungkook can’t refuse.

It’s an offer that releases the ache from his bones, makes him want to blowdry your hair better, and watch the same movie over and over again with his daughter — but Jungkook postpones saying it to you when you come home and want nothing more than to be in his arms, and for Hwayoung to be in yours.

( ♡ )

Jungkook could wait more.

He convinces himself that he can because although there’s a date set for the short film that Namjoon’s pitched for him to produce, it hasn’t grown yet to become the unstoppable force against Jungkook’s immovable object: family.

He knows he needs to tell you eventually and that he’s not really asking for permission in the first place, but there’s a sense of guilt in him whenever the thought of breaking the news to you comes into mind. He’s not nervous per se because he knows you’re as supportive of him, if not more, like he is with you.

It just happens that it’s within the fine details that Jungkook truly feels hesitant to tell you that he has to leave for awhile.

Jungkook could wait more, and although that means he has to deal with the occasional voice in his head telling him that lying to you (even under the guise of protecting you) has the capacity to bite back at him, he manages. He swallows down the words whenever you unintentionally give him an opening to tell you about the news of him going abroad, and just settles for holding your hand.

He could wait more because telling you now wouldn’t be the right time, now when you’re on your day-off as you’re close to wrapping up your current project before moving to the bigger, more exhausting one; not now when you have a time of reprieve to spend with your family before taking on the biggest project of your career to date.

Jungkook hums to himself as he looks down on Hwayoung who has a tiny shopping cart to herself, her strikingly round eyes that she got from him (Hwayoung looks more like him the older she gets) looking up to his own.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he lulls, mumbling loudly enough for only her to hear. “You’d understand if appa left for awhile, right?”

“Left?” she questions, holding up her left hand at the mention yet she reels at his query, brows furrowing as she seems to digest the question. “Why?”

“Yup. That’s your left. Good job, baby,” Jungkook praises, the knot in his throat growing when he looks to his daughter who looks confused at the sudden query, again, that came out of nowhere. “You would, won’t you?”

Hwayoung hums because she doesn’t quite understand, but that’s the thing that Jungkook fears most — she’s young and smart and although he wants to use those facts to his advantage, he realizes that Hwayoung being the age that she is in now could also prove him to be dispensable.

Jungkook likes being needed, but he’s much too afraid of the possibility that Hwayoung won’t even recall him as soon as he leaves.

Your husband’s snapped out of his reverie when you go downstairs with a skip in your step, the tell-tale mischievous tone to your voice already predicting that Hwayoung would make the two of you chase after her in the backyard all day. “What are the two of you plotting again?” you ask playfully, hands on your hips as Jungkook chuckles at the sight of his two girls.

“Nothing!” Hwayoung giggles, the word slipping out of her seamlessly as she even shakes her hands fervently, accustomed to what you mean exactly with your tone of voice. She’s young and bright and you see so much of Jungkook in her, even if Jungkook would argue otherwise.

Jungkook’s dazed this morning with the way his gaze locks in from far away, his bottom lip bit between his teeth more often than not as if he’s always at war with himself.

“You okay, Kook?”

“Mhmm. Couldn’t be better,” he hums half-heartedly, his lips grazing your temple as he guides you to sit down on the carpet with him. “You finally slept for more than eight hours. That’s good,” he says as an afterthought, the pauses in between his words growing in distance as his gaze is fixated on everything but you.

Jungkook looks at your daughter who’s now pushing Miso around the house in her shopping cart, and while your cat (who’s always seemed to hate your husband) looks more than pleased at being played with, she meows to Jungkook and only at him with a hiss at the end of her spiel as if in warning — as if Jungkook is guilty of something that only the two of them know about.

Almost as if out of everyone in the room, it’s only your cat who knows that Jungkook’s lying.

Jungkook can wait, but he’s certain that he can’t wait any longer because if his brain is unoccupied for long enough, he’ll start to hear Miso cursing at him through her yowls.

“Hwayoung doesn’t look like she needs you any less,” you say gently, your line of sight following Jungkook’s as he tenses at your words.

“Oh,” he sighs, jaw grinding down to a halt. “Right."

Your words seemingly came out of nowhere, even if the both of you know deep down that they’re influenced by his impulsive thoughts from last week.

“You can say the same for me,” you add, not as an afterthought, but as a lesser-known fact that Jungkook seems to forget every now and then.

There’s a weight in his chest because all of a sudden, Jungkook can’t wait anymore. The itch in his mind has already been scratched too much that it had already bled and scabbed.

There’s a weight in his chest that reminds him he can’t wait anymore, because in hindsight, the weight of him and everything that comes with him settles on his shoulders.

Maybe, Jungkook doesn’t want to be needed as much.

( ♡ )

Jungkook drops the news on you while you’re folding laundry.

He was meant to go for sincere but the way the words leave him, right when you’re in the middle of folding Hwayoung’s pajamas that she’s about to overgrow in the soonest, it sounds as if he’s been dying to tell you; now that he has, he sounds beyond relieved.

“Namjoon offered me a script,” he announces, taking the pajamas from you to put in his pile as he sees your eyes widen, the remnants of the heavy mascara they used on you on set awhile ago highlighting your surprise. “He wants me to produce.”

“What?” you punctuate, tilting your head as you try to make sense of what Jungkook’s saying. You know he’s speaking and you’re familiar with said words; you just never expected for them to be compacted in the same sentence, meaning the way that he makes it out to be. “Kim Namjoon, as in the producer for In Terms of Eternity?”

He chirps at that, posture straightening as he tries to jog your memory. “Yeah. You’ve worked with him before and introduced us, then turns out Jin’s also a friend of his and-…"

“I mean I know Namjoon and that you’re friends with him, Jungkook,” you interrupt, trying to reel yourself in as you’ve lost your focus trying to fold Hwayoung’s clothes and talk to your husband at the same time. “But I didn’t know you were that close for him to ask you to produce something for him.”

Jungkook doesn’t completely crash from the high he’s in over finally telling you the news, but there’s that spike that flashes briefly over his face, the frown on his lips letting on more than he shows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?"

You sigh at the impossible position the both of you are in, the words that try to line themselves up in your temple being no match to the way they translate out-loud. “It means nothing. I’m just… surprised that he’d ask you to be a producer for his script, that’s all. It came out of nowhere.”

Jungkook recoils at that, a stubborn brow raised as he tries to keep his composure. “Because you don’t think I’m capable of being a producer?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you inhale sharply, gripping a random article of Hwayoung’s clothing beside you to pace yourself. “Namjoon’s.. big. He’s established, and well, you’ve never become a producer before.”

“And you have?” Jungkook digs, even if it’s unnecessary to do so, and the way his face falls at the forthcoming regret that creeps up to him lets you know that he thinks so too.

“Jungkook,” you try again, quirking your lips to the side as you try to manage with the pace he’s set you up on. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. This is all new to me. All new to you, even. If anything, it’s nice that Namjoon trusts you a lot.

“He does. We’re close,” he nods, clearing his throat as he feels that the both of you could move on to the other phase of the news you had interrupted him at. “As a matter of fact, we’re taking it on a global scale.”

Jungkook doesn’t get why your face falls.

He doesn’t get why your shoulders rise and fall, not in relief, but out of controlled tension that threatens to pour over.

“What?”

“The script. The film,” he smiles, trying to get you to finish his sentence and connect the dots together but to no avail. “It’s… it’s — we have to film in the US for a few months.”

“What?” you repeat, the knot in your throat tangling up more and more hesitance in you the longer it stays there.

“I said, we have to-…”

“No, I heard what you said,” you interrupt, jaw clenching tightly as you try to grasp everything Jungkook has said.

You don’t get why Jungkook’s smiling.

You don’t get why he’s completely at ease and only in confusion as he sees you piece everything out.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“Kook, all of this is new. Everything you’ve just said is and will be new,” you chuckle humorlessly, running your hand through your hair in frustration as you try to relax. “I’m happy for you, believe me, but Jungkook, what you’re saying is serious. It’s a lot to take in,” you pause, eyes wide as you repeat the words to yourself. “You. Producing. In the US, of all places, a-and for months.”

There’s not one exact emotion that runs through you because the longer that Jungkook looks at you, ecstatic, while you’re weighing what he’s just said like a bag of bricks — you feel even more conflicted.

Your husband wrings his hands together, nervously smiling at you as if he’s asking for permission, but the both of you know that his mind’s already set. He thinks the opportunity of producing a short film that’s been drafted by his friend is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, eager to take off even if he’s had no experience at all in the industry.

“I don’t know, baby. It’s just been so long since I got this excited and alive, y’know? It’s a nice change of pace and I get to do something nice-…”

“Isn’t being with your daughter nice?” you ask abruptly, unable to mask the conflict that’s been brewing in your mind ever since Jungkook pulled you aside to talk. You feel hesitant; disconnected even from wrapping your head around his wording.

Even convincing yourself that you’re just spent from working sunrise to sundown doesn’t work. No matter how hard you try, Jungkook’s tone remains as is.

“Y/N,” he sighs, lips in a tight line as he screws his eyes shut. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything, Jungkook,” you grit, crossing your arms in defense. You feel guarded more than ever, not because you’re the one whom he’s pertaining to, but because your Hwayoung is involved and you won’t sit around for it. “It’s just that when you put it like that, it sounds like taking care of Hwayoung is a chore.”

You used to be sure awhile ago that you were seeing double because in between memorizing scripts and going from schedule to schedule without any time to rest in between, you’ve been worried sick because Jungkook hadn’t texted you the whole day. You were shocked enough to come home to your daughter playing by herself downstairs (with Miso watching her the whole time), even more-so when you saw Jungkook engrossed in a highly-enthusiastic phone call.

Jungkook sighs as if talking to you completely exhausts him, pinching his nosebridge before muttering under his breath. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me?” you blink in surprise, tilting your head in sheer confusion. You’re about to shrug it off but he does that thing again, the one where he almost rolls his eyes at you but realizes it at the last minute.

“Nothing.”

“Say that again, Jungkook.”

“My god,” Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. He runs his hands through his hair frustratedly, sucking in a rushed breath. He looks straight at you when he gives his grievance. “I’m just saying! Why do you get to live out your dream but I don’t?”

“This is my job,” you bite back instantly, the second it took for you to digest his words being enough time for him to groan again. “If it were up to me, do you think I’d work six days a week? Do you not know how much it kills me to stay away from my family?”

You’re at a loss for words, the tiny bit of insecurity you have being dug up once again. You feel guilty because you actually don’t — you know to yourself that you still dedicate so much of yourself to Jungkook and Hwayoung even if you work full-time.

Jungkook chokes up a laugh in front of your face.

“Then quit your dream if you’re so miserable.”

Your jaw clenches quickly in annoyance, unable to retain the disbelief that builds up in your chest. “My dream is my job! It’s why we’re living this life in the first place, Jungkook! Your dream is this project that was pitched to you like what, two weeks ago?”

“Can I not live my life the way that I want to?” he asks exaggeratedly, eyes wide in defense. “Why am I only your husband and why am I only Hwayoung’s dad? Why can’t I go to the US a-and try things out? Why can’t I be free from all this even for just a while?”

Your mouth falls apart at that, your moment of shock simultaneously being Jungkook’s instance for guilty. He wants to reel it in right then and there, but the small part of his pride grows to hold him back.

“Do we hold you back that much?” you whisper, the headache that has been building in your head since this morning shrinking to the size of Jungkook’s words. “What are you getting so angry for? I’m not saying no. I’m asking you why you’re so hellbent on suddenly leaving to do this.”

A large part of you, if not all, feels more disappointed than angry. Hwayoung has not and should never be an afterthought for the both of you yet Jungkook brings her up with you like mere variables.

You can grasp the fact that being a parent is a full-time job like yours yet what you can’t get a hold of is your husband’s apprehension; his sudden need of pursuing something beyond your family.

“Because I’m scared, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers, exhaling heavily. “I’m scared that this is all what life could ever be for me.”

It’s only when you’re completely silent that he comes back to the severity of his words, the tension that’s been building up in him breaking the moment that you break eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry for being your wife.”

“Baby, that’s not-…” Jungkook tries to correct himself, hot on your heels as you get up from your seat on the couch. You’re not even speeding up yet he catches you just as urgently, the hold he has on your arm doing little to put you at ease.

“And I’m sorry for making you a dad.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, I’m-…”

“You should do this project if you really want to,” you quip, back still turned to him as you enter the bedroom. Jungkook noticeably stops in his tracks, the furrow in his brows fading because you’ve put him on whiplash.

“What?”

“You’ve held down the fort while I was out being the breadwinner. It’ll be nice for you to do your own thing,” you smile tightly, eager to sleep on the whole thing just so you don’t stay hung-up for too long.

“What about Hwayoung? What about your film? They want it to be an entry for the Academy, right?” he asks in concern, different from the worry he had awhile ago when he thought you were against him leaving.

You nod, easily shrugging despite the weight on your shoulders. “I’m her mom, of course. She’s gonna come first. And for the film, I think I can still do it. I’ll juggle them both if I have to.”

Jungkook nods, eyes set on the floor. He didn’t think this far at all.

“Do you want to hire a nanny? I know a friend.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t trust nannies.”

There’s an overwhelming silence that engulfs the both of you, the white noise machine in your nightstand unable to fill it completely. Jungkook looks at the ceiling while you look at Hwayoung who’s sprawled in the middle of your bed, clutching Miso like a teddy bear — she already fell asleep waiting for the both of you.

“I didn’t mean what I said awhile ago, I’m sorry. It came out the wrong way,” Jungkook apologizes after some time, hand darting out to hold yours while you only hover above your vanity, taking off all of your jewelry except for your wedding ring.

“When do you leave?” you ask, still unable to meet his gaze.

“Next week,” he clears his throat. “When do you start filming?”

You nod, coming into terms that Jungkook would leave no matter what you say. “Next week.”

You’re arranging the covers when your husband tries to hold you again, voice strained and rushed. “Y/N, I really am sorry. I love being your-…”

“Shh,” you interrupt, pursing your lips. “Hwayoung’s sleeping.”

( ♡ )

You asked for a day off.

You’ve rarely ever asked for them throughout your entire career because you were built on the mindset that at the end of the day, you’re also an employee no matter what gig you land. Be it the cameos you used to book with Yoongi or the titular characters you take from studio after studio, you’re still the employee who had worked her way up fairly.

You didn’t ask for it during that instance when you fell sick after back-to-back shoots because you didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. You didn’t ask for it when you woke up with the type of fatigue that settled in your body no matter how hard you closed your eyes or laid your head against the cushions.

You’ve never asked for it for your sake, but you’ve asked for a day off now because Jungkook’s leaving for a place you can’t come and go to as you wish.

Unlike your house or the hotels you book for him and Hwayoung to be at whenever you have to film out of town, Jungkook’s out of reach. He’s one call away, granted that your timezones match up and there’s a connection strong enough for it to continue without a hitch. He’s far from your grasp and he will be for months on end, and you don’t think you can ever stomach working on the same day he’s leaving.

“Are you seeing me off at the airport?” he asks during the car ride, voice audible enough for only you to hear and not Hwayoung who’s sprawled across both of your laps, sleeping soundly with her plushie that resembled Miso.

“I will, but I don’t think I can see you off near the gate. I can only manage up to here,” you answer honestly, willing yourself not to break down even if the both of you are still in the car, away from any prying eyes of the media that lurks outside. “So can Hwayoung,” you add, a large part of you being grateful that she’s asleep when Jungkook has to leave so neither of you would hear her cries.

Jungkook sees that hesitance in you, the same kind that softens him into fragments.

“It’ll only be for awhile, okay? Just for a few months,” he smiles tightly, rearranging his backpack next to him, the keyring that held Hwayoung’s second-favorite toy (not the ultimate favorite because she won’t ever let him take it) clattering loudly. “I love you,” Jungkook murmurs. “Do you know that?”

“Mhmm.”

“Say it back.”

You refuse to do so because saying it back feels finite, perhaps even forced, because although you love Jungkook, saying so at the moment only weighs you down as reality sinks in. “This is gonna be easy for us, right?"

“It’s not like we’ve never been in a similar set-up before,” he shrugs, the pout on his face casual as he tries to level with you.

“But this is different, Jungkook. This is beyond different. We have Hwayoung and now, we’re both working,” you stammer, chest rising and falling as you wrap your head around everything. “This— this isn’t Seoul to Jeonju. This isn’t a leave by day, come back by night type of trip. This is-…”

“You’re freaking out,” Jungkook interjects, his soft yet stern voice cutting through your thoughts as he lays a hand on your thigh, the platinum of his wedding band looking right up at you.

You surrender in defeat, not because you’re fighting with your husband, but because there’s simply no other answer he could ever conjure for you as to why this is happening.

“Why aren’t you? Why am I the only one scared?” you whisper.

“You’re not supposed to be.”

“Of course. It’s not like you— we put everything on the line,” you clear your throat, looking down on your shoes as you convince yourself. You ignore how you’re still not entirely aware of what’s with Jungkook’s project, other than the fact that Namjoon’s the screenwriter, all in favor of giving you a semblance of sanity before Jungkook leaves you and Hwayoung. “Right?”

( ♡ )

You wonder if Jungkook already ate breakfast.

You wonder if he ate the supposedly excellent in-flight meal that comes with first-class tickets, or if he ate the ramen he’s always had a penchant for eating especially during your trips, whether by land, sea, or air. You wonder if he’s grumpy with the altitude and the way he has to pop his ears ever so often, along with the way he always seems to be too long for airplane seats turned into beds.

You call but Jungkook doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll never not purchase in-flight wifi because he’d rather knock himself out than have to read a book or something of the sort. You message, but then again, your husband doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll much rather reply via text than to record a voice note because he’s shy with people hearing him in public spaces, albeit closed.

Hwayoung waits patiently beside you, swinging her legs back and forth on the couch as Miso stays up with her. She should’ve been in bed half an hour ago but you let her stay up with you, all in the pursuit of getting Jungkook to respond.

“Appa?” she asks again after a minute of you trying for her dad but through another app, her pout reminding you of Jungkook’s who’s unreachable.

You try not to frown in front of her, leveling yourself as you settle for kissing her forehead to cover up the sigh that originates deep from your chest.

“Not yet, Young-ie.”

.

.

.

There’s no text from Jungkook when you wake, but there is a picture of him in the buffet of the private lounge he’s staying at during his layover.

Atleast Jungkook did eat breakfast and Hwayoung was able to sleep without him (the first of what you dread is many), nevermind the dull thrum in your chest in Jungkook’s absence.

( ♡ )

Hwayoung's been behaved the whole time you were on set.

With Jimin prioritizing his voluntary role of being a babysitter to your daughter over his position of being a manager to you, you became instantly comforted at the reassurance that you're not in this situation alone.

It's only been a week since you started working right after Jungkook left, his absence rearranging every system you've previously had in place. You do your very best to have Hwayoung still thriving, and even just the reminder that you are succeeding at being the only present parent for the meantime melts all of your fatigue away.

Your trailer's more equipped for her than it is for you, the space apparently reminding Hwayoung of home so much that it's enough to make her remind you that Miso should go join the both of you sometime. Your dressing room's always been hers, and so has been the affection of everyone close to you.

“I take my role of godfather very seriously.”

Yoongi explains even if you haven't asked him anything. In fact, you weren't talking to begin with. It's not in his nature to talk for the sake of talking (that's Jungkook's), but even with Hwayoung in his arms and you still being lost in your thoughts, he can't help but to feel concerned.

“I can tell," you snicker, finally taking notice of the sight in front of you. The earpiece that was previously on Yoongi is now slung over Hwayoung's shoulder, obviously too big on her. She wanted it as an accessory (it reminds her of the toy stethoscope she'd put on Miso as a collar) and with Yoongi being himself, he can't bring himself to say no.

Your shooting day's nearly over and although today wasn't as long as your previous record of hours on end, you already seem exhausted. Yoongi, of all people, knows what scenes wear you out. You hated doing monologues as a rookie and still despise monologues (but with random, out-of-place advertisements in between) as a veteran — you’ve done neither today.

"What's with the frown?" he asks gently, not only because Hwayoung’s been quiet for the past two minutes and she’s getting groggy, but also because if he were to ask you any louder, he feels as if you’d break.

"It's nothing," you answer automatically, looking at Hwayoung to ground yourself. "Just usual family things, I guess."

"Trouble in paradise?" Yoongi asks with a chuckle, abruptly stopping his fit of amusement when he gets goosebumps starting from the tail of his spine. He instantly recognizes it as deja vu. "I've asked you this before, haven't I?"

The realization doesn’t hit you until he points it out.

"Mhmm," you hum absent-mindedly, playing with the hem of your dress. “I don't think the problem now is anything like how it was before, though."

One night several years ago, you and Yoongi were sat side-by-side in the booth of a club, the heartbreak you had over what Jungkook’s done (and haven’t, at the time) being the wedge between you.

Now, Yoongi’s standing in front of you while you’re sat down, your daughter with Jungkook in his arms.

“Me neither. I don't know how you and Jungkook can encounter any problem worse than last time, to be honest," he chuckles, shaking his head at the recollection of the hell you’ve been through. "Also, I think I can say that because I literally don't know what's going on with you. But if you do tell me-!"

"You're so nosy,” you snort, the brief moment of playfulness welcome because your head aches the longer that you dwell over your worries.

"I can be the judge to see if what you're going through now is worse than before," Yoongi shrugs to fake nonchalance, unaware that you’re gasping in awe until you kick him lightly in the shin.

Hwayoung’s asleep in his arms.

"She's never did that with anyone before," you murmur, fishing for your phone to take a picture, but not before quickly skimming to see if Jungkook’s sent you any messages; he hasn’t. “She only either sleeps in mine or Jungkook's arms. Not for my parents, not for my in-laws. Just me and him."

Yoongi smiles proudly, stroking Hwayoung’s hair proudly. "What can I say? I'm godfather of the year."

He only sways her gently back and forth, rocking her with the patience and attention that remind you of Jungkook’s when Hwayoung was a newborn.

You’re calm and quiet to see her adjusting so well already, but you can’t help but to feel lost because you feel the exact opposite. No one’s gonna stroke your hair for you and tell you to take your time — those are Jungkook’s tasks alone, yet your grievances are also because of him.

"Jungkook's producing this short film in the US. It's by his friend," you mutter under your breath after some time in silence. Yoongi flicks his eyes up at you as if you’re talking about the weather, careful not to make you feel more conflicted than you already are. “You know… by Namjoon.”

"Since when was he into that?" he asks out of curiosity, eyebrows furrowed because he didn’t know that your opening line would ever transition to this point in the conversation. Yoongi catches a second wind the longer he processes your words, the scoff that leaves his lips making his bangs loose despite the hairspray on them. “Since when did Jungkook and Namjoon belong in the same sentence?”

"I don't know either.”

"So we're both producers now?" he snickers, the teasing already coming natural. "Nepo husband alert."

You roll your eyes in recognition, clearing your throat as soon as the laughter died between the two of you. “We got into this argument and I don't know, I-I realized I was being selfish for a moment because I didn't want him to go at first, you know?" you admit in full sincerity, exhaling the lump that forms in your throat. “He said he was afraid that this is everything he'll be. My husband, Hwayoung's dad. So on and so forth."

Yoongi only listens this time, giving the occasional hum there to remind you that he’s still there.

"And last night, he, uh, he forgot to call," you gulp, already feeling the weight of your worries settle in your stomach. "The call wasn't even for me. It's for Hwayoung because he promised he'll still read her whatever she wants."

The three of you cherish that time together because normally, it happens as soon as you get home from work. Hwayoung’s long graduated from storybooks and has now branched out to the most ridiculous texts that Jungkook indulges her with nonetheless — from the ingredient list at the back of milk cartons, and all the way to Reddit threads of how cats find their way back home to owners.

"He's been secretive about the whole thing and I-I… I do that too with my projects, I get it. But only at first because I'm literally bound to an NDA," you stammer, pinching your nosebridge to get past the frustration. “I’m just-…!" you give up, admitting the truth. "I did some snooping."

"And?" Yoongi prompts, tilting his head in anticipation.

"I think he's been secretive because the main lead's Eunsu."

Yoongi recoils at that, so much so that it almost wakes up Hwayoung.

"Eunsu? As in Park Eunsu?" he repeats, the scowl on his face getting deeper the more that you stay indifferent. “Eunsu as in your nemesis?"

You relent, the mention of her finally hitting close.

"Nemesis sounds a little childish."

Yoongi scoffs immediately, rolling his eyes at your correction. “I mean yeah, because people keep pitting her against you when she doesn't even come close," he shrugs easily, make you tut in warning. "What? I'm just saying what everybody's been thinking."

To know that you can still confide in Yoongi no matter what comforts you — what doesn’t is that this time around, your gut feeling’s stronger than it had been the last time.

"I hope I'm wrong."

"I hope so too," he exhales, shaking his head in disbelief. "What kind of asshole sleeps with his wife's enemy?"

"Don't put that out there,” you grumble, the unintentional yet weird arrangement of words making you dizzy.

"Sorry. It's a metaphor, dummy," Yoongi surrenders, clearing his throat. "Okay. Retake. What kind of husband produces a film featuring his wife's rival?

"Hopefully not mine."

( ♡ )

It takes little effort to love you.

Loving you specifically doesn’t have to be hard.

Jungkook thinks that loving you isn’t hard when you serve as the peace to his otherwise hectic and turbulent mind. You manifest into the comfort he looks for in all seasons, be it the heat pack you wordlessly put in his coat pocket or the scrunchie you put around his wrist no matter the weather whenever his hair got too long.

You don’t text him at every hour of the day whether you were working or not, but you’ve made it a point to always check up on him multiple times even if the both of you are at home, going as far to randomly waking up in the night to pause your breathing and check up on his with a hand on his chest.

It’s easy love — one that could be grasped by everyone because as the world has proved to him time and time again, you’re easy to fall with and for.

You may not coo and awe at every single thing he utters, but the adoration behind your eyes always makes him warm from the inside because you held onto him, no matter how anticlimactic his stories could be.

Neither you and Jungkook are easy, that much he knows.

He knows it because although it’s never been his intention to come home late during his allotted short break between filming (it’s disguised as a break even if he only came back to take care of work-related matters personally), you make it known that you’re irked with him for every other reason.

He knows that you aren’t easy because for the past three weeks he’s been gone, you’ve reiterated twice in the last hour alone how you’ve asked him again and again who will star in his short film. You’ve asked Jungkook repeatedly to give you details outside of Namjoon and the vaguest bits he could ever give you, establishing the fact that he isn’t even bound to an NDA.

It’s the persisting barrage of questions in your head that bothers you without a single break. It’s the hovering feeling of doom above your head because having no answers to any of them, on top of Jungkook closing himself off with or without the physical distance between the two of you and being Hwayoung’s sole caregiver, that your patience ultimately thins.

Your annoyance towards your husband is clearly obvious and it bothers him to the point of frustration. Jungkook’s been convinced since last week that if he just dodged your questions for long enough and blamed it on the connection of your call, he wouldn’t have to answer to you; he wouldn’t have to explain the fine details of the project he’s kept from you.

If he had only avoided you for long enough, you would’ve forgotten about the rumors surrounding Namjoon’s upcoming screenplay that had been leaked to the press, and the roster of actresses thought out to be the main lead of his short film.

If he had only ignored your pleas for long enough, he would have never succumbed to the preliminary guilt that comes with lying to you under the impression that he’s only being protective, pushing him to drink until his vision spins — enough for him that when he admits the truth to you, your face of heartbreak directed at him isn’t as anguishing.

“Fine, fuck it! Since you’re so nosy, yes. Eunsu is my main lead, there! She’s my muse!” Jungkook just about yells, breathless from the burn of alcohol in his throat that spreads all the way to his chest, and from the back and forth he’s been going at with you for the last hour.

“Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?!” you retort, fists clenching at your sides as the thought of Jungkook with Eunsu, with her of all actresses, in a foreign place at almost every minute of the workday irking you.

“Would it have made a difference? You’d still be angry at me,” he rolls his eyes, placing a hand on his hip as he tries to stabilize his gaze on you.

“And even then, you wouldn’t do anything about it, right? Because that’s just your nature, Jungkook,” you scoff, your dig at him being incredibly low yet you steel your pride, unwilling to back down at the thought that Jungkook’s been lying to you for three weeks– perhaps even longer.

He presses a tongue to his cheek as you pertain to the past loud and clear, the sarcastic nod he gives you making your breathing tremble.

“Why? Why does it have to be her?” you try again, this time with your jaw clenched so your anger won’t flare up because you’ve been dying to have a decent explanation from Jungkook for weeks.

“Why can’t it be her?” he counters. “B-because she’s what, she’s your rival or something? You’re jealous? Bitter?”

The knot in your chest tightens, the recall you have of the woman who had sabotaged you repeatedly when you were still a rookie putting a metallic taste on your tongue. She’s hindered you in ways that not even Yoongi could explain fully despite being the closest friend to you in the industry, the vitriol you’ve had for Eunsu in the past reviving back to life.

You have no words except for the fact that begs to be acknowledged without a single syllable.

“I’m your wife, Jungkook,” you exhale shakily, the gravity of it seemingly not enough for him because he refuses to use it as a reason to get on your side.

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think everybody knows that by now?” Jungkook spits. “When I’m producing my film with Eunsu, I don’t want to be your husband, Y/N! I’m sick of it,” he seethes. “Eunsu has nothing to do with me. Why should I fight your battles for you? Why do I have to carry your grudges for something that doesn’t even concern me?”

Jungkook’s the drunkest he’s ever been in his life, yet he utters the clearest words you’ve ever heard him say.

“This is showbiz, Y/N. It’s inevitable for you to get caught up with shit.”

“You’re talking as if being my husband and being Hwayoung’s dad is a chore.”

“Because maybe it is!” Jungkook bursts with a cry, the tears that spring out of his eyes momentarily blinding him. “Because maybe, I’m fed up trying to be sickeningly devoted to you all the time.”

There’s something akin to white, hot, searing pain that spreads across your chest all the way to your temple, the tremble of your lips not enough for Jungkook to realize that you’re on the verge of sobbing.

“Sometimes I hate this. I… I-I hate this life I’m living because of you, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers. “I hate how you’re so, so perfect in juggling everything. I hate how I could spend an hour just convincing Hwayoung to eat a single carrot and you come in the room, and she finishes the bowl with a smile on her face. I-I hate how you never complain whenever you need to do late night feedings after a long day because I’m already snoring. I hate how with or without work, you’re still just—…” he stills, looking at you with a distraught gaze. “You’re still so content. You’re still able to be yourself like you’ve always been.”

There’s no words left in you; no thought at all that could ever pick you up from the ground and gather yourself the way you’ve always had whenever you and Jungkook had felt the furthest from each other.

“Jungkook,” you sniffle, even if he waves you off half-heartedly. “I’m sorry if-…”

“There it is. There it fucking is again!” Jungkook whines, foot agitatedly stomping against the floor as he pulls at his hair. “You’re apologizing for being so perfect in life that it’s making me feel bad!”

“But I’m not! I’m far from it, what the hell are you talking about?” you rasp, the sarcastic laugh that goes past your lips making his ears ring. “I’m sorry if it seems that way but I’m telling you myself that everything is not perfect the way you make it out to be. I’m sorry because it makes you feel bad, but if anything-…”

Jungkook raises a finger at you, his jaw tightening the longer he stews in displacement.

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t tell me how content you are with everything despite being exhausted, or how you juggling everything is worth it. Don’t tell me how good of a dad I am."

“Then what can I say to make it lighter for you, Jungkook? What can I say that won’t make you resent me?” you grit in surrender, chest falling so lowly, you’ve forgotten to breathe for a long second. “Do you hate the life that we’re living now so much that you can’t even look at me?”

Love isn’t always a matter of ease and although it’s always stuck to you, you prove now that Jungkook coming home to you at this instance, in this light, that he makes love the most difficult thing.

“Do you hate the life that I gave you so badly?”

“I don’t,” he answers, mouth dry as his vision spins. “Sometimes. Tonight, though — maybe I do. It comes and goes.”

“Then what can we do about it?” you whisper, your vision hazy as you look at him. “Where do we go from here?”

“It’s getting late,” Jungkook only whispers, unwilling to look at the bed you share. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”

[acid-ixx]

You know what would be a good add for you yan bat fam fic? We refer to our father as Bruce! We don’t call him dad or wtv we call him by his name sense we don’t see him as a dad!

I can just imagine the heartbreak look on Wayne’s face!! Ooo even better if we call him by his last name!

a/n: this !! it's already hinted at during chapter one that you literally despise writing bruce wayne as your father in legal documents and even hated him to the point of changing your last name back to your mother's after your eighteenth birthday. the angst potential was stated in this drabble so it's something i had already expanded on but i love talking about my plans for the story so yk. this is basically the reader disowning their own father LMAO. p.s. one of the paragraphs here would be used for the next chapter !!

bruce knows that you have every right to not even refer to him as your father— he is way beyond unworthy to be called "dad" or "father" or any parental name you had in mind. but he wishes you have a sliver of love to even refer to him as "bruce" like your other siblings would call him.

but no, the world always has something else in mind.

"sorry, mr. wayne. but i am not your child, and will never see myself as one. and you? you will never be my dad."

your heartless tone, the way you look at him like he wasn't your father, but a mere stranger. maybe in your mind, he was just a sperm donor for your mother, and he knows he would only amount to that, seeing as how he wasn't even there for when you were born; not acknowledging your existence for five years and simply taking you in when your mother had left you, then forgetting about you again—

it's now that it isn't batman who has gone too far but bruce wayne. your supposed father, the man who should've been there for you, to nourish your growth, watching you as you accomplish all the great things in the world.

he was supposed to be the man who should've kissed your wounds away whenever you go out to the park with him to play. he should've been the man who would sit on the crowded bleachers to watch you perform on a talent show. he was supposed to be the father who would hold you close to your chest as you cry about your first heartbreak, about your overdue projects, about the bullies in the school.

but he wasn't that father for you. and now, you seek love and attention from people who weren't even family. because they had failed you, he had failed you.

it reminds him of all the times he was left brooding alone, in the manor as he forces himself to remember the scene of his parents dying all over and over again.

yet it was you, his precious baby, that he had lost. not physically, but emotionally and spiritually.

he doesn't want to lose hope at any instance for redemption but fuck, he doesn't want to delude himself into thinking you would easily forgive and forget.

but damn it all, because he would have nothing to lose to show you just how much he loves you. and he will, he will spoil you rotten to the core, he'll give you the entire world if that meant he would hear you would call him your "dad" just for once.

[shewolfofvilnius]

I feel sorry for Orin

repurposed from an old Reddit post of mine

Edit: Wrote an epilogue fic where my Durge, Sofija, seeks redemption for her sister with the Gods

Raised from birth in the Bhaal cult and has never known ANYTHING else. Literally the result of incest between her mom and Sarevok (her father AND grandfather) - and for her entire life is actively manipulated and groomed to worship her "Grandfather" second only to Bhaal (leaving a disgusting implication that Sarevok might eventually try again). Literally every single day of her life spent in a murder cult, never knowing anything else.

Her mother is actively manipulated when Orin is seven to try to kill her daughter, only for Orin to reflexively kill her first, at which point Orin was briefly possessed by Bhaal himself (per some Sarevok dialogue). AT AGE SEVEN. And even from a young age, Orin's true gift is her artistry, a talent that outside the Bhaal cult probably could have been nurtured into something phenominal, but inside the cult is twisted into a sinisterness in the kill that, when she's out of earshot is decried as wasteful.

She eventually rises through the ranks (never have had any choice), having never felt a meaningful moment of compassion or kindness and, desperate to be cared about, sees the power and fear and respect her bloodkin (The Dark Urge) has gained and uses their hubris to take them out.

Ironically, in the timeline where Durge lives, they get a gift Orin couldn't even dream of - a 2nd chance. With their brain scrambled and the tadpole present but being interfered with, the Dark Urge got a chance to be someone new. (Whether they accept or reject that 2nd chance, they at least got a choice this time).

What did Orin get for her troubles? Her (grand)father openly coveted to either take her out, or worse, take her out - when the time was right, her own allies both detested her (Gortash openly revels at the idea of working with the Dark Urge again)

and most brutally, if you manage to confront her with the truth, any of it? About Sarevok, about her mother, etc? She immediately believes you. And for one (1) moment, maybe there's hope for her.

Hope that Bhaal immediately rips away; an Orin confronted with the truth and showing even the slightest hesitation is immediately forcibly transformed into the Slayer by Bhaal himself, with a strong implication that the core of the old Orin is gone forever win, lose, or draw. "No more doubts, no more fears, no more Orin. Become murder.". Seeing what Bhaal's reaction was the moment Orin had one (1) instant of hesitation also confirms that she'd likely have never had the chance to choose differently, either Bhaal would always step in or else she'd eventually meet her end.

Imagine the AU where Orin takes her CLEAR flair and artistic talent to become a truly great artist. Where she gets the same second chance that Durge got - If she'd been able to use her talent for impersonation and desire to great to do something powerful instead of being forced by her family from childhood into the family business of murder.

She literally never had a chance. Even Bane and Myrkul and their respective cults were never so unfathomably cruel, and she never knew anything else.

At least for my own first game, though, my Durge recognized that without her "sister," she'd have never gotten the chance to save the world, never met Shadowheart, never stopped a century worth of Ketheric's torture on Dame Aylin, never set in motion the liberation of the Githyanki...In the right world states, Orin unwittingly saved the world, but it's a world she'll never get to see or know, and probably never could have.

That's tragic as hell.

[shrimpybbq]

affection is a remedy for many a problem

continuation of a contended husband is no menace to the kingdom

Aegon doesn't entirely change just because he feels loved and cared for, no. The trauma and lack of affection in his childhood still incites his drinking, but it's to a lesser degree. Still, it's not uncommon for his niece to wake to his slumbering frame reeking of cheap Flea Bottom ale, his late night antics with his sleazy friends having ended with the guards dragging his body into their shared chambers in the early morn. One would think she would be repulsed by such situations, and yet, Aegon often finds himself in the large tub with his wife washing his hair, her delicate hands bringing a soothing pressure to his waning headache. The Prince would be silent as a deep sense of shame settles over him, his expression settling into a grimace as he remembers the conversation that led him to Flea Bottom this time. His mother had been yelling at him for declaring his lack of desire for the throne - a desire that had never increased no matter the number of conversations they had. A sharp slap to his cheek before she sent him away from her chambers had been his final straw. He didn't remember much after that. Aegon is thankful that his sweet wife understands him, knowing he is trying to be better for her. She is always by his side.

The one thing that cheers him up the most is seeing his sweet little babies. The twins had come soon in the course of their marriage and though he'd been reluctant to become a father, there was soon nothing more important to him than caring for his children. He saw opportunities for redemption in them, and his wife was so good with them. She was motherly in a way that his own mother had never been, always coddling them and squeezing them tightly, praising them and laving them with affection. To see his own children loved so much healed something in Aegon. The married couple spend many hours together with the children in the nursery each day, playing with them and conversing. When the Twins had learnt of their mother's second pregnancy they had become even more excitable, always babbling to the babe and asking when their brother or sister would be born. As Jaehaera clings to her father and plays with his matching silver strands, Aegon can only look over at his wife and Jaehaerys as he presses his ear to her stomach, seeking to hear the babe. His heart swells at the realisation that he finally has a family that love him, and he who loves them more than anything in the world.

(I 100% believe half of Aegon's problems could be solved with a lot of love and affection)

[writers-potion]

Writing Morally Gray Characters

Morally gray antagonists and heroes can bring up many interesting questions about your story's theme and plot. Yes, your hero does want to save the world, but resorts to cruel ways of bringing peace?

Being morally gray can also mean that the character is highly goal- oriented and values efficiency and success over anything.

Deceiving Appearances

As is true in real life, a person's intentions aren't always obvious. A character, their title, background or really just how they look might at first indicate they're the hero type but surprise - they're not.

By hiding ulterior motives behind more apparent ones, you can add depth to your morally gray characters. Appearances can be deceiving, and that makes for a juicy read.

Morally Gray vs. Villains

Morally gray characters and villains are not strictly one and the same. Yes, there is overlap-they can be villains-but the distinctions are there nonetheless.

I don't think having a dark past to provide motivations for morally gray characters is too effective. They do intend to harm others, and sometimes, that's just the way they are.

Recognition

Your morally gray character should recognize that their choices can cause harm, intentionally or otherwise.

Although he's willing to risk the chance in his pursuit of knowledge, he does actively recognize that his actions can result in negative consequences. He sometimes acknowledges this before he does something, and sometimes only in hindsight.

Remorse

They must understand and experience remorse. When the consequences of their actions wreck and story world and kills people around her, she would certainly have regrets and even struggle to undo what she did.

The point here is, she won't regret until she has already caused the wreckage.

Redemption

Finally, when even they feel things have gone too far, your morally gray character must seek redemption however that manifests itself in your story.

For all their logic and reasoning, they are not without feeling. They can grow to care for other characters and go out of their way to help them at times, even save their life.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[sleepydeprived]

A Chance for Redemption

—A mysterious high school student appears out of the blue, bearing the face of the late Martha Wayne and puzzling even Gotham's greatest detectives.

[chapter 3]

Mama I’m Chasing A Ghost.

| Platonic!Yandere!Batfam x Reader

The floor-to-ceiling windows of my bedroom looked out onto the manicured gardens of the estate, and in the distance, was a view of Gotham that never seemed to change.

The same scenery, the same routine.

The butlers, the maids, the drivers who ferried me from one lavish location to another.

Every day was like the last, but with one major exception;

Gotham Academy

For the first time in my life, I had been thrust into a world that wasn’t mine. My mother had insisted I’d go, telling me it was for my own good. I was homeschooled my entire life, my education confined to private tutors and digital classes.

That is.. until my mother moved me to a prestigious school a few months ago. I don’t know what changed her mind. She was always so hellbent on keeping my life private. Her sweet little girl that only she knew about.

But now here I am attending a school that is closely watched by weird, content-hungry journalists and creepy paparazzis hoping to catch a photograph of children with high titles.

Nevertheless, I felt like an outsider. A puzzle that didn’t quite fit. I was the new kid—the girl who came out of nowhere.

But being an outsider didn’t automatically mean loner.

My presence didn’t go unnoticed.

I was different. People knew it, felt it, and stared. Maybe it was the fact that I came from a family—a clan—that held such an influence over Gotham’s elites. I was basically one relative away from a famous celebrity or a corrupt politician.

But, of course, there was also the resemblance to Martha Wayne.

It was a ghost of a resemblance, really, but it haunted me all the same. From the first day I stepped onto campus, I heard the whispers;

She looks like Martha Wayne.

The wife of Thomas Wayne?

She could be her daughter...

Or granddaughter.

It had started out as idle speculation, but as the days passed, the gossip only grew.

People stared, talked behind my back, and pointed at me when they thought I wasn’t looking. They didn't know me, but they had already formed an opinion. The mystery girl. The girl who had somehow, inexplicably, appeared out of nowhere. The girl who had the same smile, the same eyes, the same air of dignity and grace as Gotham’s most beloved figure. The figure whose tragic death had left an indelible mark on the city.

I had never cared for the attention. In fact, I hated it. I’m not interested in being some object of fascination, and that’s just how I was raised. I’m not Martha Wayne nor am I related to her—or at least, that’s what I’ve been told. The more people asked, the more I pushed that idea away. But the whispers were constant.

It made me think. A lot. So much more than what I preferred.

And suddenly, the buried thoughts from childhood of who and where my biological father was came rushing back.

Ever since I was a child, I had learned to bury my feelings—bury the questions about my father, and why my mother wouldn’t speak of him. There had been one conversation about it, years ago when my mother still had the time to let me in her study.

"Your father is not someone you need to concern yourself with," mother had said, her voice cold and stern. "Do not ask about him. Do not seek him. He is not a part of your life. Understand?"

And now, in the halls of Gotham Academy, that memory itched at me, more often than ever before. The bell rang, signaling the end of another school day, but I didn’t hurry to leave. I stood at my locker, staring at my reflection in the shiny surface of the metal.

Do I look like her?

————————

taglist:

@leeleecats @mariadvorak @deans-spinster-witch @rainlovewrites @xoacesgf @whiteoakoak @uknowimdumb @otterluver05

[jazjelspen]

my angel baby (part 4)

alastor w/ angel daughter reader

(notes: alastor joins charlie and vaggie in heaven to convince them about the hazbin hotel. angel reader physically resembles a fawn. )

(requested tags: @insomniacfigure @pooplyface1423 @mo-0-o @thekanrojimitsuri2 @maliciousmace @nevermorekisses @wildfire153)

(thanks to my amazing editor for helping me with this chapter!! @kruncher mwa mwa! /p)

It's been half a month, and you still aren't sure if you really wanna do this.

Sure you have done your research on spells, blessings, everything to protect yourself and maybe even others while venturing into Hell, possibly even in battle if you felt brave enough.

But nonetheless, it was conflicting. Not only were you going to see your father again but you're going to be literally in hell-- the terrible place was always a tempting topic to bring up in a hushed conversation, though few actually dared to do it. It's the worst place to go to after death, everyone on earth hated speaking of it and mentioning it was somewhat like a bad omen, at least from how you've seen others react to it at certain times.

Why bother diving head first into a realm where none of it’s events or residents were any of your business? The souls are in hell for certain specific reasons, so why bother saving a world that was meant to be the end of the line.

Oh but-- Charlie.

Charlie Morningstar's case and evidence sure intrigued you, but was it really worth the risk? Is it worth the sacrifice, the hiding, the possible dying to try to save a bunch of sinners? All of them, more than likely... are very much similar to, if not the same as, your father.

"Maybe..n-.." you breathed out loud, your hand moving away from under your chin as you were stuck in thought sitting at your desk. You were reluctant, of course you'd be.

You looked down at your bag on the floor beside your desk, filled with supplies and necessities for venturing into hell-- you planned it out but-- was it really.. Do these sinners truly deserve to be saved? Helped?

Why, of course they do.

At the very least.. some of them. 

Those who genuinely want redemption and those who committed sins in which they had no choice before they died or to help others. Those are the ones who should be saved.

And from what you learned in the court trial exactly half a month ago, you could only imagine how many sinners Adam and his fleet of Exorcists slayed that were genuinely hoping for a better chance at this 'second' life.

Besides-- why not save lives? Even if they weren't worth saving, even if you didn't know them personally or at all. Isn't that why you got into heaven anyway? Because you sacrificed yourself for someone you didn't know in the slightest?

You died for that reason, what's so wrong in doing it a second time?

Besides, souls like that one sinner Charlie showed the court, Angel Dust, could be on the path to light and eternal paradise... you could almost feel it in your bones and you bet Emily did too.

Wait, that's right--

Emily!

You could have almost jumped from your seat, Emily was the key to your path to Hell! But how to get to her-- Sera was always around..

Oh-- No, no, this is too good.

Ever since the court day Emily has been getting a bit more distant from Sera, if you could find Emily alone once without any inclination you were seeking her out then you could do it! Convincing shouldn't be too hard, she feels the same way as you do in a certain way.

You've been so caught up in your plan to escape disguised as an exorcist that you couldn't see the answer right in front of you! All those weeks wasted-- the initial plan was bound to fail anyway no matter the amount of preparation since, according to your research, the exorcist angels were scattered everywhere in their HQ like a beehive swarm; like busy bees buzzing with bloodlust. They seemed to all recognize each other and have specific physical attributes that you lacked immensely, even if you were to try and steal a uniform you really couldn't because-- you didn't know where they kept them inside.

You took in a deep breath in and out, 'I'm definitely not coming back unscathed..' you thought 'but.. everyone deserves a second chance, even sinners. And if they really don't deserve it then might as well save them so that they may continue living out their eternal sentences with no easy way out.'

You then looked towards a corner of your desk, grabbing a small and recent photo you took with someone very dear to you. You smiled softly at it before letting out a gentle huff of confidence and then carefully stuffing that photo in your bag for your trip to hell.

You then grabbed your bag, put it over your shoulder, and carefully walked out of your home.

It was currently early night in heaven, the sky as always was filled with stars that glow immensely so that heaven is never in utter darkness. At this time of the evening everyone was home and getting ready for bed, shops closing, people walking home. Thankfully you've hung around Emily long enough to know that when she's bothered by something, she doesn't go to sleep easily till she can fix it, and from what you knew the extermination in hell was still going to happen. 

Your wings started to gently flap and as quietly as they could they flew you up to the home quarters of Emily and Sera, them owning a taller building than the ordinary 'winner' would have considering their higher statuses.

It wasn't that hard to fly by since there was no need for security or guards, heaven never exactly needed to be protected from the inside.

You made your way around a high up balcony, one that you knew led to Emily's quarters. You noticed the balcony doors closed but light flickered from within; she's in there.

Your feet carefully plopped themselves on the balcony, nervously lifting your hand to knock on it-- still hesitant.

'Do I really want to do this?' 

It was too late to even ask that now, for your hand already knocked on the glass surface of the balcony door, breath hitched-- you awaited an answer.

...

The sound of pitter pattering steps could be heard from the inside as they neared where you were standing, a figure approached you from behind the glass.

Emily!

You smiled and waved at her awkwardly as she looked at you with a mix of shock, joy, and exhaustion. She opened the door to you with anticipation.

"______! How are you!... wait-- what are you doing here? It's late, you should be at home.."

"Look Emily," you said breathlessly due to your anxiety. "There's no easy way to say this but I need a huge favor from you.. bigger than anything I could ever ask for and will ever ask for. Not only that but- I'm sure you'll believe in my cause.."

She hummed in thought, eyes narrowed at you in an attempt to see if she should listen to her head or heart. "I'm listening..."

You then nodded towards the inside of her room, silently asking if you could go inside so no prying ears could hear you, even if it's unlikely. She read the words in your expression as she nodded and welcomed you in, closing the door behind her carefully.

You started whispering, "I need you to teleport me into hell."

Emily's breathing scuffled a bit, absolutely shocked from your request. "Hell??.. but why?.. ______ you nor I have ever been to hell!.. you could get really hurt or worse die..!" she whisper-yelled in concern to one of her best friends.

"Well-- we aren't sure if they can truly kill angels but I've practiced a few spells to try to defend myself. You know I'm a lot faster with my wings and if I find Charlie I'm sure she'll keep me from getting hurt!.."

"Charlie?.." she asked, now fully remembering what happened on that fateful court day "Wait, you want to go to hell to see Charlie?"

You nodded, "I have to, it's the only way I can survive there. Besides, I need to help her.. you know that what Adam and Sera are letting happen is unjust and inhumane.. you and I both know and agree about this and you can help me by sending me down there."

"but.. _____ I--"

"Emily, the extermination is going to happen in less than a month now.. there's no time left to leave this in the air."

"______.. are you even sure you'll survive a second down there? how do you even know you need to be there, if you really want to help you can try and stay up here where it's safe--"

You let out a quick sigh of fear, afraid that she's getting cold feet "C'mon.. even with your influence Adam won't stop and neither has Sera ordered him to pause for even a moment.. Besides, if they need to have sinners show their improvement and actually redeem themselves.. they need someone who actually has been in heaven and knows how to get there. 

They need a role-model, an example, and I'm willing to help and sacrifice myself a second time to at least give other people a second chance at 'living'.

This time, you shut Emily up, she's speechless-- you truly took her breath away with how determined you were. You were right to some extent, help from a 'winner' for sinners, become just like them as a teacher and be an example could genuinely make much improvement and possibly open the case once more. 

She softly smiled at you, a small amount of pride swelling in her chest, pride that she has for you and hope that she has in your mission.

"Well.. I'll take you there but not without one thing--" she stepped closer to you and folded three fingers of her right hand, then crossed you with them in an all too familiar pattern. Right shoulder, left shoulder, forehead, chest. The sign of the Cross. A sudden glow shined from you for a split second as if a star bursted around you,

"A protection spell. To protect you from the strongest blow that encounters itself towards you, it only works once but it's the strongest spell I know that can be an extra safety net for you down there.. meanwhile I'll try my best to convince Sera to think differently about the genocides.."

"Oh.. thank you Ems!.." you hugged her and she hugged back tightly, both of you guys brimming in a flurry of hope, determination, and anxiety. "I won't let you down.. I promise when I come back, and I will, Adam won't need to kill anymore people with his exorcists anymore.."

"Just-- be careful, _____. You're one of a kind, no one helps and brightens things up like you do.." she backed away from the hug only to hold your hands and smile at you, conflicted but convinced by you.

"Promise. I'll be back before you know it."

"Pinky.. promise?" she took out her pinky finger for you to hold onto, to reassure her that she's making the right decision. Helping you.. she doesn't want to lose you by sending you down your death sentence.

"Hehe.. pinky promise." you took out your own pinky finger to wrap it around hers, another spark lighting up around your wrapped fingers as if sealing the deal.

"Good.. once again are you sure you're prepared??.." she couldn't help but ask-- she didn't want to lose her best friend..

"I'm ready to face what I have to face, ready as I'll ever be." you let out a shaky sigh, betraying you slightly.

Emily let out a shaky sigh of her own before stepping back and slowly summoning a portal, it starting from a little glow in the air to slowly trying to mass itself into your height and size so you may go through with ease. It was difficult since it was mostly Sera or Adam opening them with constant ease and she never really had to until now, unfortunately though.. it was starting to make noise.

You hold your bag as tightly as you could, double checking if all the zippers are closed before preparing yourself for the even growing yellow portal.

"I don't know exactly where the Hazbin Hotel is so-- be... be careful _____.."

You looked at her and nodded with confidence, a look of strength emitting from your face. 

There was shuffling from the hallway outside Emily's room, "Emily? What are you doing at this time of the night?" Sera could be heard from afar, her voice loudly echoing across and even through the closed doors. 

Emily sped through her magic as she used as much of her mental strength as she could to open up the portal, it shouldn't be that hard but-- she never had to do this, she never thought she would do this. She was only in charge of keeping you happy-- but if this were to make you happy, then she's obliged to do so.

The portal was finally big enough for you to enter through, both of you hearing loud oncoming steps coming from outside the halls and in a quick motion you waved at Emily with a smile, her doing the same thing before finally-- you jumped into hell.

Right as you disappeared into the yellow and gold void, she let herself go from holding it open and right as Sera was opening the door, without even knocking mind you, the portal disappeared from thin air and all that was left was Emily standing in the middle.

"What are you even doing?.." asked Sera looking puzzled.

Emily chuckled nervously, shrugging her shoulders "Practicing for next show's fireworks..? heh.."

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You on the other hand-- were being slammed against a hard metal surface that smelled like rotten flesh and food, dried blood, and other stinky items. Hitting your head against it causes you to groan in pain and slowly hold your head, the smell beside you slowly making you feel a bit sick.

Your halo, clattering to the ground, its glow still present on it.. confirming your status to still be an angel. 

"Fuck.." you mumbled, rubbing the back of your head while picking yourself up from the ground. Looking at your surroundings you were in a sort of alley, the metal surface being a large dumpster. Your wings flapped a bit to stretch them out from the hit you took. 

You look at your halo and feel a huge sigh of relief get out of your mouth, despite knowing that only becoming a fallen could only happen if the court officially banishes you from heaven from all you knew it still felt good to know you're still the same you. Besides, you didn't know if a winner has ever become sinner before so.. that at least helped your mind keep itself from flipping over.

God..but your surroundings?

It reeked.

You peeked a bit in the dumpster out of curiosity but the intensity of the smell made you wanna puke so your nose begged you to move away. Now looking at the exit out of the alley you first picked up your halo to then place it above your head, floating above you right after letting it go. Picking up your bag once again to hold it tightly near you so no one would steal it.. being as cautious as you could.

Slowly peeking out of the alley you noticed a humble little town with colors of red, shades of pink, and filled with a few sharp toothed people. Everyone walked around casually and happily, like how normal humans would. Despite how huge the place is there seems to be a lack of crowds.. as if half of the town is missing.

Huh, this place reminded you of a sunny day in New Orleans when you were alive. Is this.. really hell? You haven't come across any people jumping out to kill you or anyone else randomly but a few explosions from far away still made you jerk from fear.

You carefully stepped out of the alley, feeling especially out of place the moment you started walking out. People with various shades of gray skin, everyone with blacked out eyes, sharp teeth, and all still dressed in clothes from around the time you died, maybe a bit of more older fashions but still.. reminded you of back home on earth just slightly.

Each step you took was a new question that you gave yourself.. where were you? is this a level or part of hell? does hell look this way all the time? is the Hazbin Hotel of walking distance? is Emily okay? why does the air smell weird? is your dad Alastor around? is it obvious im not from here-- oh of course it is you have a fucking halo damn it.

'Everyone looks almost normal," you thought 'Maybe I can try to find someone to help m--'

"Oh!.." you bumped into someone, someone small. You looked down to see a fairly normal looking child with eyes entirely blacked out, no pupils to be seen. Geez.. you couldn't lie but they creeped you out a bit.

"Hello there.. sorry I didn't see you.." you spoke to the kid despite how weary you were, giving it an apologetic smile while waving a little towards them in a very awkward manner.

They spoke nothing but instead flashed you a large sharp toothed smile that made your blood curl a bit, what made it worse was what it did next.

"It's okay missy! I like your wings!" Normally you'd smile more and make small talk but-- then the kid took out a cut off hand from behind their back and started chomping it on it as if it was corn on the cob. With your skin crawling and your face as white as a sheet from the shock, the kid then proceeded to run off nibbling on the bleeding hand.

You stood there frozen, your stomach begging to release anything you ate before you came upon here. You slowly turned your head to the right, your peripheral vision noticing a large wooden sign.

'Welcome to Cannibal Town!'

'Well that.. really explains it.' you took a few deep breaths as you tried to control yourself and your upcoming panic as to not alert other cannibals of your fear.. but you could've sworn they could probably smell it off of you.

Would they eat you? Are they going to eat you?.. but some have been looking at you walking by-- are they getting ready to pounce on you, bite off your flesh and--

You stopped in your tracks, noticing how further you are in the town from all your overthinking. You looked up to see that you are at the front steps of a small stage?.. gazebo..? you couldn't remember how hard your heart was pounding.

All of a sudden you felt an incredibly sharp pain on your wing, one that made you shriek aloud and everyone suddenly stopped and stared at you. You turned to see an old lady with a cane looking very similar to other residents around you-- BITE your wing?? what the actual living fuck??

The old woman seemed to grin and licking the golden blood from the bite she got from your wings, fortunately for you she only bit and didn't actually get a chunk of your wing off instead.. either way it fucking stung the way a large wasp sting would.

"Angel wings.. not bad at all-- OUCH!!" The old lady then let out a shriek herself, being hit by the end of a sun umbrella this time and whoever was holding it was shooing her away from you.

"Shoo! Shoo! Susan!! Run off now! We don't bite new otherworldly guests like that!" The voice shouted before the old woman scurried off just as fast as she came. 

You whimpered a bit as your bitten and slightly bleeding wing leaned towards your hands, your palms and fingers then gently caressing them as an attempt to soothe the pain with tears brimming and silently sliding down your eyes.

"Oh I'm so sorry about that sweetheart, that old hag has no manners." The same voice, a woman's voice, called out to you. Her appearance also looks similar to everyone else, the only difference is her large hat decorated with elaborate feathers and adorned with a small skull. 

"Let me see that dear.." she leaned in with her hand reaching towards your wing but of course you flinched away from her, absolutely not trusting her in the slightest form your first terrible experience and the many words of others before you.

You looked at her with fear you've never felt before, fear that you haven't felt since your death. You quickly backed away, your injured wing cowering towards your hands and chest.

'Holy.. fuck..'

"The names Rosie, sweetheart, what's a pretty little thing like you walking around here with no sense of danger?"

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alastor held you in his arms as your nine year old self was fiddling with a toy in your hands after a long day of being taken care of by one of Alastor's lady friends. The man was coming out of work from hosting his famous radio show as he usually always did and now was entering his home after a tiring day from work and honestly he wasn't up for taking care of you right now. If anything he should've probably let you stay with the woman forever and he wouldn't have to be dealing with baby troubles..

Yet everyday you somehow always gave him a reason to keep you despite his almost heartless nature.

He walked in his home and closed the door behind him, locking it as well. Walking over to the sofa he turned on a nearby lamp before setting you down on the cushions and let you be in your own world while he then went to go eat something himself. You didn't have to since the woman that babysat fed you quite well and you liked what she gave so there was no need for you to be overfed.

Alastor went to prepare a meal for himself, not saying much to you in the process since all he wanted was to eat and sleep so better to just fill one of the boxes on that checklist as soon as possible. So while you were still distracted he quickly made himself a meal and started eating so he wouldn't starve before bed.

You were playing with your toy the nice lady gave you, mumbling small nonsense here and there while playing around. Until you decided to speak up loudly from afar,

"Papa, can I ask something?" you talked as you kept yourself entertained with your toy.

Alastor sighed a bit "Yes dear, what is it?" exhaustion evident on his voice that contracted to his permanent smile, be it small or big.

"Is it true that when you found me, my mama and papa didn't want me because I was an ugly and loud cry-baby?"

Alastor almost spit out his food, inevitably starting choking on it. Saving himself from dying of choking by drinking his drink he set with his food and calmed down. "W.. Why do you think that sweetheart? Who told you such an untrue lie!.." 

In truth, he didn't actually know why you were abandoned in that alley. All he found when he picked you up was you wrapped around in baby blankets in a basket and a note with a date on it, most likely your date of birth, but other than that he never knew why you ended up there and why. He simply just took you in and called you his own.

"The boys in the playground I played with said their mamas and papas knew you, and knew you found me. They then started saying I dress too girly and that my real mama and papa left me because I was ugly and a loud cry baby and that's why I don't have a mama and papa." Your little voice seemed to shake a bit but obviously tried your best to hide it away even at this young of an age.

But your father could see and hear right through you. 

Alastor sighed before taking one last spoonful of his food before leaving his meal there to walk towards you, settling himself on the same sofa you both always make the best of memories, this being one of them.

"Well darling, those boys obviously have parents who don't educate them! And are as dull as a doorknob if they say all that foolish nonsense.. you do have a mama and papa!"

You looked at him incredibly confused, since when did you have a mother?

He noticed this and laughed a bit at your expression "Silly, I'm your mama and papa! I do both jobs! I make you food, I have clothes for you, I give you a home, I get you ready for school, I talk to you all the time because you're mine!" He spoke cheerily, as if stating a very well known fact "Their eyes also must not be working also since I think I got the prettiest daughter in all of New Orleans if I do say so myself!" he pinched your cheek playfully, making you giggle. 

He continued on "Yes, you did indeed cry a lot as a small tiny baby but do you think I would've kept you if you were an enormous crybaby? Of course not! Which is why I still have you here with me." Alastor-- "And you dress too girly??.. why, but of course you'll dress the way you do.. you're my little girl! how will my little dove be able to shine in her natural beauty if she doesn't wear the most marvelous pieces of wardrobe I can get her!" He then continued to pinch both your cheeks at the same time, some of your cute baby fat still present on your face despite being a year behind in heading towards the double digits. 

You giggled and laughed loudly, smiling.. just the way you should always be.

Yes he was too tired for this, he was downright exhausted, but hey-- if he can keep an unfaltering smile despite feeling this then of course he can keep up with you even if he's not in the mood. You're the only person who he doesn't like to see in pain, in tears-- 

It's his job to do this, for what is he if he leaves you wilting by yourself with no 'light' of your own to guide you.

Certainly, he wouldn't even deserve to be called your father.

"Oh and dear?"

"Yes papa!"

"What are the boys' names? And their parents? I must have a little chat with them soon!..."

Oh, Alastor.

[jmliebert]

☆lovesick astarion☆

who has a voice like silk, luring you in with every whisper

who sips wine with you, even if it's bad, your arms touching

who hides himself behind wicked words and sarcasm, his heart wary

who is stargazing, lost in thoughts, yet his mind is always wandering back to you

who is self-confident, but also not confident at all

who desperately clings to his meticulously crafted facade of indifference, only for it to shatter when you offer him your kindness again and again and again

who laughs with you, only to realise he hasn't laugh like this for the longest time

who finds you weaknesses adorable

who lets you do his hair (!)

who visits your tent every night, craving not just the taste of your blood but also your company; he realises

who takes a long time to open up, but when he does it's heart-wrenching, soul-ripping, clawing at your insides type of experience

who seeks redemption in your eyes

who craves your touch, even if he's scared, even if he's conflicted

who cries in your arms

who sinks his teeth into your skin, breathing deeply, his longing reaching far beyond a simple thirst for blood

who cares for you more than he cares for himself

who longs to hold you close, quietly wishing he could stay in your arms for centuries

who falls for your gentle touch and knowing eyes

who often wonders how different his life could have been if only he had met you sooner, way sooner

who feels a deep need of your constant presence, but it's hard for him to admit it outright

who kiss your neck and lick your wounds

who wants to be strong so you never have to feel afraid

who would literally become ascendant, losing himself completely in the process, only to keep you safe

who is scared of how much he cares for you, how much power you have over him, you could crush him in the palm of his hand and the worst part is; he would let you

who gives you kisses that leaves you breathless

who lets you sleep with Halsin despite it not sitting right with him, only so you could stay close to him

who is learning his sexuality all over again with you

who appreciates your patience

who travels the world with you, trying to make up for the years he’s lost

who yearns with every fiber of his being to walk in the sunlight with you

who kneels at your feet, his lips brushing your hands with tender devotion

who lets his ears droop when you say something hurtful, his emotions showing despite himself, so vulnerable with you

who looks at you with a soul-piercing gaze, his crimson eyes haunting your thoughts

who would burn the world for you

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

about this part when I said he would let you crush him, I felt it so much during the quest(?) with the drows and this moment with a *thousand yard stare* and it fucking crushed me, okay? when i'll be romancing astarion again in my playthrough I wont even go there and this is the statement i'll live by

okay, anyway!

you can find more of my works about bg3 ♡here♡

[deception-united]

Let's talk about writing fantasy.

Fantasy is one of my favourite genres, to read and to write. But the worldbuilding required and the existing tropes can make it difficult to craft a unique, compelling novel. There are a number of less-discussed nuances that might not always be at the forefront of writing discussions. Here are some tips to help you out:

Ground it in reality: Even though fantasy allows for boundless imagination, grounding your world in elements familiar to readers can make it more relatable and believable. Making it too otherworldly can make it difficult to understand or follow, and will likely make it much more difficult to interweave the explanation of your world and its society into the text seamlessly.

Consistency: Fantasy worlds can be complex, with their own rules, magic systems, and histories. Ensure consistency in your worldbuilding, avoiding contradictions or sudden changes without explanation. I find it helpful to keep a world bible or notes to track details and maintain coherence throughout the story.

Character-driven plots: While epic battles and magical quests are exciting, don't forget that compelling characters drive the heart of any story. Develop multi-dimensional characters with strengths, weaknesses, and personal arcs that resonate with readers (see my post on character development for more).

Avoid clichés and stereotypes: Fantasy often draws from familiar tropes and archetypes, but try not to rely on them too heavily. Subvert expectations and breathe new life into old conventions by adding unique twists or exploring lesser-known mythologies and cultures. Make it your own!

Magic has consequences: Magic adds wonder to fantasy worlds, but it should also have limitations and consequences. Consider the societal, environmental, and personal impacts of magic on your world and characters. A well-defined magic system can enhance the depth and realism of your story.

Worldbuilding through storytelling: Instead of dumping large chunks of exposition, reveal your fantasy world gradually through character interactions, dialogue, and plot progression. Show, don't tell, and let readers piece together the intricacies of your world as they journey through your story (check out my previous post on worldbuilding for more tips).

Embrace diversity: Fantasy worlds should reflect the diversity of our own world. Include characters from various backgrounds, cultures, and identities, and explore themes of inclusivity and acceptance within your narrative.

Conflict beyond good vs. evil: While the battle between good and evil is a classic fantasy trope, consider adding layers of moral ambiguity and complexity to your conflicts. Explore themes of power, redemption, and the consequences of choices made in the face of adversity.

Research is essential: Even in a world of imagination, research plays a crucial role in grounding your story in reality. Whether it's drawing inspiration from historical events, cultural practices, or scientific principles, thorough research can enrich your worldbuilding and add depth to your narrative. Even fantasy worlds and elements require some sort of basis to make them more believable.

Revise: Like any genre, writing fantasy requires extensive revision and polishing. Be prepared to revise your manuscript multiple times, seeking feedback from beta readers or critique partners to strengthen your story, characters, and worldbuilding.

Happy writing!

Previous | Next

[himasgod]

Morax x Reader

Where your soulmark will unite you to him forever and ever, but you cannot be with him.

Where Guizhong, in her infatuation with Morax, casts a spell on him to make him forget his soulmark that binds you, an adepti, to him, and he falls in love with Guizhong. Years later, when Guizhong dies, Morax takes importance to you and tries to get back to you, but you, hurt, reject him and forget him. Many centuries later, Xiao, Traveler and Paimon have a single mission during the Moonchase Festival: to reunite you and Zhongli after so long.

(chat, did I cook? Seriously, this might be my favorite thing I've ever written on Tumblr. Around 900 words, give it a chance, I promise it'll be worth it :P)

In Teyvat, Soulmate Marks were more than just marks on the skin; they were a shared destiny, a divine promise that no matter the adversities, two souls were destined to meet and complete each other. To mortals, it was a comfort. To gods, it was a reminder that even they were bound by the universal laws of love.

Guizhong, the Goddess of Dust, had always been a visionary. Her intelligence and charisma had cemented Guili Assembly as a haven of prosperity and harmony. But deep within her heart was a desperate longing: to win the heart of the Geo Archon, Morax. Ever since she met him, she had been convinced that her place was at his side, not just as an ally, but as his eternal companion.

When her soulmate mark appeared, Guizhong held her breath in hope.

But her mark showed no clue that connected her to Morax.

Rather than accept this fate, her ambition and fear of rejection led her to commit an act that would change the course of both their lives: with a spell of illusions, she altered her mark to match his.

“Love is selfish… and it must be. For the sake of the Guili Assembly, for the sake of our vision, he must be mine,” she told herself every time the weight of guilt threatened to crush her.

Meanwhile, Morax’s true destiny was entangled with another adepti: you. You were a noble soul, whose mark reflected a deep connection to the land itself. Though Morax had never paid much attention to his own mark, the relationship between the two of you had been one of mutual respect. You, dedicated to the creation of medicines and the healing of Yakshas tormented by their karmic debt, had shared meaningful moments with Morax. Yet there had never been a declaration of love between you.

Morax's heart always seemed to be occupied by Guizhong.

You, though wounded, had accepted your silent role. If Morax found happiness with Guizhong, then that was a sacrifice you were willing to make.

Guizhong's death was a devastating blow to the Guili Assembly and, apparently, to Morax. For years, the Geo Archon mourned her loss, immortalizing her memory in the ruins of Guili. But deception cannot remain hidden forever. As time passed, the spell that had altered Moraxs mark dissipated, revealing its true form.

When Morax discovered the truth, an unfathomable rage took hold of him. Not only had he been betrayed, but he had also allowed his true soulmate to suffer in silence while he protected Guizhong's lie. In a fit of grief and disappointment, he erased from his memory any vestige of love he had felt for the Goddess of Dust.

But the truth came at a price: how to face you after so many years of indifference?

You had found solace in your work. Alongside the Herblord, you had dedicated your life to creating remedies to ease the burden of the Yakshas and other Adepti. You had left behind any hope of a relationship with Morax. For him, there was no room in his heart for false gestures or empty words.

When Morax finally found you, he was greeted with a coldness he had never expected.

“What do you wish, Morax?” you asked, not looking up from the herbs you were grinding.

“I have come to apologize. To seek… redemption,” he replied, his voice laden with a sincerity he rarely showed.

“Redemption does not change the past. And your words will not erase the years of silence. Go find solace in Guizhong’s memories… or in your own decisions.—"

The conversation ended as quickly as it had begun, leaving Morax with a weight he hadn’t felt in millennia.

The Moonchase Festival filled Liyue with vibrant energy. The streets were adorned with floating lanterns, tables laden with traditional food, and the laughter of children echoed in the air. It was a celebration of togetherness, of remembering the past and looking toward the future. Among the attendees, the Traveler and Paimon moved with determination, knowing that the success of their plan depended on their discretion.

They had to bring you and Zhongli together after so many years again, and today was the perfect opportunity.

Xiao, who rarely participated in festivities, stood at the edge of the crowd, watchful. He had reluctantly agreed to help, aware of how much it meant to him to see Zhongli and you reconcile. Though his face remained impassive, the Yaksha couldn’t help but feel a certain hope. He had lost so much over the years; perhaps it was time to recover something.

The Traveler was in charge of taking Zhongli to the designated place: a secluded viewing point at the port, from where one could observe the spectacle of the lanterns ascending- so romantic.

Xiao, meanwhile, was accompanying you, who had accepted the invitation to the festival at the Herbalist's insistence, unaware that it was all part of an elaborate plan.

When the two reached the viewing platform, the atmosphere instantly became tense. You, recognizing Zhongli, stopped in your tracks and pressed your lips together. The ancient Geo Archon, for his part, showed a mix of surprise and something that seemed vulnerable, an emotion rare in someone like him.

"I… didn't know you'd be here," you murmured, your tone bordering on indifference.

"It was my initiative," the Traveler quickly intervened, trying to ease the tension. "I thought it would be good for both of you to enjoy the festival from a quiet place."

"Calm down?" you raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but I don't think it's wise."

Before you could leave, Zhongli spoke:

"Please stay."

The tone of his voice, deep and solemn, managed to stop you. There was something in it, a sincerity that you hadn’t expected.

For long minutes, you both remained silent, watching the lanterns light up the sky. Finally, Zhongli spoke up:

“A long time ago, I was blinded by my own decisions. I allowed my judgment to be clouded by loyalty and duty, and in that process, I hurt those who mattered most. You. And my mark is binding me to you, it burns every time I think of you, and it has all these years. I know it burns you too. Guizhong moved me with her manipulative fingers, but now that she passed away so many years ago that I can't even count them… the truth of her lies has come to light. And I feel stupid…”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you turned to look directly at him, your eyes reflecting years of repressed pain.

“And what do you expect me to say? To forgive you after everything?”

Your tone was cold, but there was a tremor in your voice that betrayed the internal storm you were struggling to control. “After how you ignored everything I did for you, while defending someone who wasn’t even your soulmate?”

Zhongli looked down, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"I don't expect your forgiveness. I only hope that you'll allow me to prove that I've changed. That you'll understand how sorry I am for my blindness."

You let out a bitter laugh.

"You changed? Perhaps. But I changed too, Morax. Or I mean, Zhongli, I guess. Centuries don't pass in vain, and the wounds you left behind didn't heal easily. I'm not the same person who used to wait for you with hope. I'm now someone who learned to live without you, with this mark, but without you."

The silence that followed was heavy, but not hopeless. Zhongli, with his infinite patience, nodded slowly.

"I know. I can't pretend to erase the past or what I did. But I want you to know that I will never stop trying to make up for my mistakes. If you ever decide to give me a chance, I'll be here, waiting."

You looked at him for a long moment. There was something different about him; he was no longer the arrogant god who made unilateral decisions. There was humility in his words, a humanity you hadn't seen before.

“I make no promises, Zhongli,” you finally replied, your voice softer.

“But perhaps one day… we can try.”

Zhongli looked up, and for the first time in centuries, a small spark of hope lit up his eyes.

That night, though you were not completely reconciled, something changed between you. As the Moonchase Festival continued in the distance, Zhongli and you remained at the gazebo, sharing a quieter conversation. There were no promises, only a tacit understanding that time, though cruel, could also offer second chances.

From afar, Xiao, Traveler and Paimon watched the scene, Xiao's heart lightened.

Though he knew the road would be long, at least there was a start now.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[headlinxr]

𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ─── 𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

SYNOPSIS  !   You're a new nun at the church, and Father Hee Seung can't help but want to sin every time he sees you. You're like the Virgin Mary to him, but instead of seeking to help him, you want to destroy him.

GENRE. non idol!, au, priest x nun, forbidden relationship.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The silence of the church was dense and profound, a stillness so palpable that it seemed to envelop everything, like a velvet cloak that absorbed even the last of the whispers. The walls, old and worn by centuries of prayers, breathed in time with forgotten supplications, as if the entire temple were alive, pulsing with the memory of the sacrifices that had forged it. Father Hee Seung, wrapped in the cassock that fell over his body with the same seriousness with which he had embraced his vocation, was at the back of the sacristy, trapped in a sea of files and papers that seemed to whisper stories of lives and deaths intertwined with eternity. The dust covering each page was a testament to the years that had faded away, leaving no trace but the ink that slowly slid across the paper, like the inexorable passage of time, which, like water, erodes even the hardest rocks. Each page that passed through his hands was a reminder of the heavy burden of his existence: A monotonous routine that, despite being his choice, was beginning to feel like an endless sentence. The task before him was nothing more than a mundane act, a repetition of empty gestures that reminded him of the insignificance of his being in the face of the divine grandeur to which he had dedicated himself. Each of those papers, frayed by time, seemed to him a metaphor for his own soul, cracked, wrinkled, and exhausted by years of sacrifices and renunciations.

Fatigue enveloped him in silence, a subtle yet relentless force that sometimes threatened to consume him. He was not unfamiliar with the shadows that lurked in his spirit, those that emerged in moments of solitude, when the brilliance of faith, so bright and warm on clear days, dimmed like a lighthouse extinguished by fog. In those moments, the struggle against doubts became titanic, like a river eroding stones over time, and the agonizing question assailed him: How could the life he had chosen to serve God sometimes turn into a prison of endless silences and unsustainable sacrifices? The eternal peace he had sought, did it truly deserve the high price of his torn soul? These questions swirled in his mind, and as he moved the pen over the papers, like an automatic act of faith, he couldn't help but let the ink, black as the uncertainty of his being, become the only possible comfort. It was as if his existence, reduced to those simple gestures of recording names and dates, was the only way to find an echo in the vast void of his own sacrifice. Hee Seung felt trapped at the crossroads between duty and despair, between devotion and the silent rebellion of his being.

Despite everything, faith was his only salvation. It was the anchor that kept him steady, even when his soul was crumbling into pieces. The light of faith, although sometimes flickering, never went out completely. Despite the fatigue, he knew he had to follow the path he had chosen, like Christ at Golgotha, who, with each step under the weight of his cross, showed salvation in sacrifice. Hee Seung understood that her destiny was to bear her own cross, no matter how heavy, and that in that suffering she found her redemption. Just as the shadows dissipate at dawn, his faith promised him that, after the darkness, there would always be a glow. But even in that sanctuary of peace, where the scent of incense floated in the air like a reminder of the closeness of the divine, the desire to escape rose like a specter. Sometimes, the desire to flee, to leave behind the endless hours of service, the repeated prayers, the empty and solitary days, would overwhelm him. Did he not deserve to rest, for a moment, from the weight of his weary soul? But his faith, firm and solid, was greater than any human impulse. Devotion, though worn, always drew him back, like the magnet that keeps the faithful attached to the altar.

It was then, like a whisper among the shadows, that a soft voice broke the deafening silence of the sacristy. The voice slipped through the folds of the air, like a celestial song resonating with the sweetness of angelic choirs. Hee Seung turned slowly, not immediately recognizing whether the voice came from his consciousness or from a tangible being. And there, at the threshold of the light filtering through the stained glass windows, your figure appeared, one of the new nuns who had joined the community. Your presence seemed to overflow everything he had known until then, as if the very celestial light had taken human form. Your eyes, deep and serene, reflected the diffused light that passed through the colored glass, as if Christ himself had decided to illuminate with his eternal gaze. Hee Seung, accustomed to the stillness and austerity of convent life, felt overwhelmed by the softness and delicacy of the young woman. The vision of you, almost ethereal, appeared to him as a being from another world, as if purity itself had taken flesh before him.

It was as if the Virgin Mary, with her immaculate grace, had descended from the heavens to walk among men, and Hee Seung, upon beholding you, recognized in you a vision that transcended the limits of reason. Each of your movements, delicate and serene, seemed imbued with a peace that transcended human understanding. You were not simply another nun; to Hee Seung, you were a manifestation of the divine, an incarnation of the pure light he had worshipped in the scriptures, but now presented before him with an almost unbearable proximity. Your white habit fell over your figure with the softness of a celestial cloud, and on your face, so serene, Hee Seung saw the promise of redemption, of a purity that seemed brought directly from the celestial realm, like a gift offered on earth.

Hee Seung's heart skipped a beat. His faith, which had been a rock and refuge, shattered for an instant at the sight of you. In that instant, the stillness of his being transformed into a whirlwind of emotions, something he could neither comprehend nor control. The temptation, disguised as light, had infiltrated his soul, challenging everything he had built. How could it be possible that, in such a sacred place, purity itself became an object of desire? The Virgin Mary had been for him an unattainable symbol, a beacon of eternal grace that guided the faithful towards salvation. But you, so close, so real, represented that same purity, and yet, the desire to approach you, to touch you, felt like a transgression. The priest, caught between his faith and his own impulses, realized that his struggle was not just against the temptation of the body, but against the fragility of his humanity.

—Father Hee Seung… Do you need help?— Your voice pulled him out of his reverie.

He blinked, forcing himself to lower his gaze, as if he could extinguish the fire that had ignited in his chest. The sweetness of your voice, serene and filled with a divine stillness, seemed to challenge his very faith, as if God were testing him. In that brief moment of suspended silence, Hee Seung understood that his devotion, although solid, might not be enough to withstand the test of his humanity. The temptation had come, not as a dark shadow, but as a blinding light, so pure and so dangerous that it threatened to consume him.

—No, sister, I'm fine— he replied hastily, caught between courtesy and an irrepressible desire to flee. He averted his gaze to the disordered papers, but the pounding of his heart was so intense that he feared you might perceive it.

When you bent down slightly to pick up a folder that had fallen to the floor, Hee Seung felt a pang of guilt pierce through him like a thorn from Christ's crown. That closeness felt like a profane act, a subtle betrayal of his sacred vows. Your beauty, so delicate and radiant, evoked in him the representations of the Virgin Mary; however, the holiness of that thought was overshadowed by an earthly longing that filled him with terror.

—Excuse me, I must... I must take my leave— he stammered, leaving the room with hurried steps, like a penitent fleeing from a temptation too great to resist.

In the following days, Hee Seung couldn't help but look for you with his eyes. Although he sought refuge in his duties, every time he saw you in the cloister, in the chapel, or tending to the garden, his heart would fill with a mix of awe and torment. It was as if the divine light he longed for in his prayers now reflected in that woman, but in a way that made him teeter between spiritual fervor and human desire.

—It's a sin to look at a sister in Christ like that— he reproached himself as he gripped the rosary in his hands with such force that the wooden knots dug into his skin. However, his attempts to distance himself were in vain. Like a wandering pilgrim in the desert, he found in you an oasis that irresistibly attracted him, even knowing that drinking from it could condemn him.

What ultimately unleashed his anguish was the growing closeness between you and Father Jay, another priest from the church. Jay, always charismatic and affable, engaged her in conversations full of laughter and camaraderie. From a distance, Hee Seung watched them, feeling how envy, a sin he thought he had overcome, seized his soul like a shadow stretching as evening fell.

—If the love of Christ is infinite, why does my heart insist on reserving a portion for her?— he pondered in his moments of reflection. He felt like Peter stumbling over the waters, unable to keep his gaze fixed on the Lord. Every time he set his eyes on you, it was another step towards the abyss of his own weakness.

One day, while he watched you pray in the dim light of the chapel, he compared you to the Virgin Mary again, but this time, the weight of guilt felt like a hammer striking his conscience. —The Virgin is an intercessor, not an object of desire— he reproached himself, but he couldn't quell the overwhelming force of his feelings. You had become the personification of a spiritual dilemma: The most demanding test of his faith and also a revelation of the abyss of his fragility.

Finally, determined to confront his emotions, he went to the confessional, not in search of an immediate absolution, but to face the internal battle he could no longer ignore. As the words flowed from his lips like a held-back tear, he understood that his struggle was not only against his heart but also against the very essence of his vocation. The faith that had been his rock was wavering, but it also invited him to immerse himself in the unfathomable mystery of love: A love that, like the cross, could be both redemption and burden.

—Father, I have sinned— he murmured with a tremor in his voice that betrayed his shame. —My heart has been occupied by thoughts that dishonor my vocation. I have felt impure desires towards... Towards a sister of our community—

The silence behind the lattice seemed to stretch longer than necessary, as if the priest on the other side were processing the words with a mix of surprise and curiosity. Finally, a deep and familiar voice broke the silence:

—Go on, brother. Tell me, which sister are you talking about?— asked Father Jay, with a tone that, although firm, had an almost imperceptible hint of sarcasm.

Hee Seung felt a shiver run down her spine upon recognizing Jay's voice. He had naively hoped that it would be another priest who would hear his confession, someone who didn't know the context of his torment. He swallowed hard and continued with difficulty:

—It's... It's Sister (y/n). Since she arrived at our church, I haven't been able to help but look at her with... With thoughts that embarrass me. I have tried to fight against them, but the more I struggle, the more this attraction consumes me. I feel like I am betraying my calling and dishonoring God—

An unexpected sound filtered through the lattice: A brief, contained, but unmistakable laugh. Hee Seung's eyes widened suddenly, his face flushing with disbelief and humiliation.

—Oh, brother!— Jay exclaimed, stifling laughter. —You too have fallen under the spell of the sweet sister. But let me tell you something, something that might surprise you—

Hee Seung felt a knot form in his stomach, but remained silent, unable to interrupt what was to come. Jay, with a tone that mixed cynicism and confidence, continued:

—Brother, I must admit that I have already shared very... Close with Sister (y/n). In this very church, under these same sacred roofs. Does it surprise you? Does it scandalize you? You shouldn't. After all, we are human, not angels—

Jay's words struck Hee Seung like lightning in the midst of a storm. It was as if the very structure of his faith was shaking before that revelation. Confessions should not be profaned with mockery or the cynicism of those who trivialize the sacred.

—How can you talk like that?— Hee Seung replied, unable to contain himself. —This is blasphemy! We have sworn to serve God, to renounce the temptations of the world. And you...? Have you betrayed that?—

Jay sighed, as if speaking to an innocent child.

—Brother, sin and virtue are two sides of the same coin. We strive for perfection, but our humanity always drags us into the mud. If we don't understand our weaknesses, how can we help others overcome theirs? The sister (y/n)… She is a woman, like any other, and I am a man. Neither more nor less—

Hee Seung abruptly got up from the confessional, unable to stay another second in that space tainted by irreverence. His footsteps echoed on the stone floor as he left the chapel, feeling torn between anger, sadness, and a profound spiritual disorientation. The figure of Father Jay had lost all authority in his eyes, and the image of you now appeared to him as an even more unfathomable enigma.

In the solitude of his cell, Hee Seung fell to his knees, seeking solace in a prayer that never came. The weight of the confession and Jay's words were a burden that sank him deeper and deeper. —God, enlighten me— he pleaded, but the echo of his prayer only returned a crushing silence. He had learned that not all the walls of the church were sacred and that even in consecrated hearts, corruption could nest.

Father Hee Seung bowed his forehead over an old missal, the yellowed pages of the book imbued with the fragrance of incense from years past. His trembling fingers toyed with the beads of the rosary, like a castaway clinging to the remnants of a shipwreck. The candle on the table cast shadows that danced erratically on the walls, drawing shapes that seemed at times like guardian angels, at other times like mocking demons. His prayer was an erratic whisper, words that dissolved like grains of sand between his dry lips.

A discreet knock on the door broke the stillness of the moment, a sound so faint it seemed more like a whisper of the wind than a real interruption. But before he could react, the door creaked open, and the sound of the hinges filled the space like an echo in an empty cathedral.

On the threshold, enveloped in the soft halo of light filtering in from the hallway, you appeared. Your habit, cinched with an almost virginal simplicity, reflected the candlelight, but your eyes shone with a brilliance that seemed to contradict their modest appearance. There was in your gaze a disconcerting mix of devotion and defiance, a fire that seemed to have been ignited by a purpose higher than mere obedience.

—Father Hee Seung— you said, your voice sweet but firm, like a bell calling to mass. —Excuse my intrusion at this hour, but I couldn't wait any longer—

The priest stood up immediately, his cassock brushing the floor with a nervous whisper.

—Sister (y/n)…— he murmured, his voice laden with a mix of surprise and alarm. —This is not right. You shouldn't be here—

You closed the door with a deliberate movement, your hands moving with the serenity of someone who knows there is no turning back. You advanced towards him, your steps light as the flight of a dove, but your presence weighed in the room like a chalice filled to the brim.

—Father, I cannot ignore what I have seen in your eyes these days— you said, your voice enveloping the words with a delicacy that disarmed any resistance. —You have looked at me as someone searching for something beyond what the world can offer—

Hee Seung felt the heat rise up her neck, a blush that burned like a glowing ember.

—Me... I don't know what you're talking about, sister— he stammered, his voice broken as if the very air refused to cooperate —If I looked, it was... just distraction, nothing more—

You smiled then, and that smile was like the light filtering through the stained glass of a chapel at dawn, soft yet penetrating.

—Distraction...— You repeated, almost as if the word caused him tenderness. —Father, my arrival here has not been by chance. I have been sent to fulfill a divine purpose. I have come to relieve the forsaken hearts of this church. And yours, father... His soul, tormented and burdened with chains, is one that I must free—

Your words were like an echo from Genesis, where the voice of God separates light from darkness. But in this case, the two seemed to intertwine, and Hee Seung felt her spiritual strength crumble like the Tower of Babel amidst the chaos.

—Sister, what you're saying is... It's blasphemy— he tried to retort, although his voice lacked the firmness needed to convince her, or to convince himself.

You took a step closer, closing the distance between you, until both your breaths merged in the air thick with incense and something more.

—Blasphemy would be ignoring the voice that led me here— you replied —The Virgin is not only a symbol of purity; she is also a refuge for the lost, for those who have forgotten the way. If her eyes seek me, is it not my duty to be an instrument of her redemption?—

Your hand, delicate as an olive branch, rose to brush against Hee Seung's face. The contact was light, barely a touch, but within it there was a magnetic force that made him close his eyes, like someone who fears looking directly at the sun for fear of burning.

—Father, allow me to be the flame that illuminates your darkness— you whispered. —If your faith has led you to this trial, let me be the answer that reconciles you with yourself—

The silence that followed was dense, laden with possibilities and contradictions. Then, as if an invisible thread were pulling him, Hee Seung leaned his face towards yours. The kiss that followed was an act of surrender and rebellion, a wordless prayer ascending to the heavens while defying earthly rules. It was like the clash of two opposing worlds, where the divine and the human met in a moment overflowing with meaning.

When they parted, the candle on the table extinguished with a faint whisper, as if even the flame recognized that its light was insufficient to illuminate what had just occurred.

You looked at him with a serenity that contrasted with the turmoil in the priest's heart.

—This is just the beginning, Father— you said —Our path will be difficult, but divine grace always finds a way to guide us—

Hee Seung fell to his knees as you walked away towards the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts. His mind was a whirlwind of guilt, desire, and a question he couldn't answer: Was this an act of redemption, or the first step towards his downfall?

In front of the crucifix hanging on the wall, he whispered a prayer: —My God, if there is still hope for my soul... Show me the way—

But the silence that followed was neither condemnation nor absolution, just an abyss in which the struggle between flesh and spirit continued, incessantly, like a battle that would never be fully resolved.

[bamsywrites]

And Comes Dawn pt 10.2

Pairing: Sauron/Halbrand x Reader

Words: 2.6k

Summary: The wall breaks.

Tags: manipulation, mentions of blood, smut, cream pie, fingering, sauron needs a therapist he is unwell, wall sex, obsession, sauron pov,

Notes: you sluts convinced me. I'm very proud of this one, especially the first part. As always I love your feedback.

He splashed the water over his face, mind reeling back to hours earlier. He hoped his ruse with the blacksmith worked. Yes, he wanted a job and a fresh start. At least part of him did, the part that didn't seek to take over the world and force every race under the sun to their knees. But he also knew where you'd be. Of course he did. He could sense you anywhere. You'd never be able to hide from him. The sight of you with the boy made his blood boil, but it all served a purpose. To make you doubt. To make you think. To convince you, he felt nothing real for the elf. Nothing like he felt for you.

That wasn't a deception. He didn't feel the same for her that he felt for you. She was a powerful ally and the best pawn he could have at his disposal. She intrigued him, but in a different way than you did. She had such darkness in her, but she didn't acknowledge it. She was beautiful, of course. But you were different in ways that he dare not think too much of. The wall he has built in his mind was too strong to allow his mind to wander to what his feelings for you meant, where the deception ended, and his truth began.

The knock drew him from his thoughts, and he made quick work of dressing himself. He couldn't help but smirk. It was you, of course it was, and it meant that his plan had worked. In a moment, his face changed as he opened the door.

“When did you get back?”

The sound of your voice started a chorus inside his soul. The miniscule part of him that could feel love and affection and joy and hope came alive. Morgoth convinced him it was the weak part of him. Morgoth had worked endlessly to destroy that. Sauron could almost believe it was gone until he looked into your eyes, and it ravaged him, shaking his being and willpower and fighting against everything he knew and believed.

“Early this morning, before sunrise.” He spoke softly. Your silence was thick in the air. Perhaps he needed to do more.

“Sweet one, I am sorry for what happened before. I ..-”

“Do you love me?”

What?

No.

He didn't.

He couldn't.

He wasn't capable of it.

Inside his mind, the carefully constructed wall began to crack.

Do you love me?

The words rang in his ears, getting louder and louder until it was all he could think. His mind could not break free. There was no manipulating or deceiving his way out of this. His consciousness would no longer let him deny it.

He couldn't lie to you. Not truly. Not without regret. The lies he spoke to you were like needles coming from his throat and spilling from his tongue, gashing and cutting him before spilling past his lips. He could not lie to you.

Why?

He could not look you in the eyes and think of bringing you harm. He had tried. How many times on that raft had he thought of drowning you in the sea. Or stabbing you. He could imagine his body acting the movements. He could see it in his mind's eyes, but he could never do it. He could never harm you. He couldn't even make something else bring you harm.

Why?

You made him think of home. Of song and light and love. Of a time before time when everything was peaceful and quiet. Your touch brought him a warmth he had not felt in time unimaginable.

Why?

Why did he have to protect you? Why did he seek you out every moment of every day? Why did 3 days apart from you feel longer than the thousands of years he spent as sludge in a cave?

Why did you make him wonder? Wonder about the future, about his morality, about his redemption. About the mystery of if Maia and mortals could ever have children. Why did you make him think of a family?

Why was your mere presence so utterly groundbreaking to who he had become that it felt like an apocalypse had come over his very soul?

“Halbrand, do you love me?”

Your voice tore him from these thoughts, and looking at you, he knew. He knew.

And in that knowing he feared. He feared what he could do to you. He feared what others could do to you. He feared his old master long dead.

He feared because it was true.

He feared because he loved you, and he could no longer keep it hidden from himself.

“I do.”

He was not prepared for when you sprung on him, and he couldn't gather the willpower to hesitate. He had felt lust before, for others of his kind and for a select few elves, but what he felt for you transcended the physical. You tasted sweet, of course you did, and he couldn't help the groan that rumbled in his throat. His fingers dug into the plump flesh of your cheeks as if afraid you'd move away.

He had longed for this moment, it seemed for an eternity, but he knew that was not the case. He broke the kiss, holding your chin in his grasp as he kept your face away from him. He could not just take you. He had to know if you wanted him too. He craved it. And if you didn't want him, he would wait until you did.

“Sweet one,” his voice was deep and rough, looking down at you. You looked so pure and so innocent. “Tell me this is what you want.”

“I want this. I want you.”

You spoke with no hesitation. There was not even a moment. What he thought about in the quiet of the night with his cock grasped in his hand, the lewd sounds he'd only imagined you making, it was all about to become a reality.

“Fuck,” he groaned and made quick work of pulling you into his room. He pushed you against the door, knee between your legs and lips bruising yours. He could feel your arousal on the cloth of his pants, his tongue slipping inside of your mouth. You tasted so sweet. So pure. So good. He could never be sated.

Your skin felt soft in his hands. He squeezed and kneaded all of you. Your stomach. Your thighs. Your ass. Your breasts. The feel of your skin would be an invisible tattoo etched into his hands until the stars rained from the skies.

It was him who whined when you pulled away. He was desperate for more. His forehead rested against yours as he watched you. Your lips swollen and red, he could taste your spit on his tongue, and he needed more of you.

But only if you wanted him too. Only if you needed him to. The devastation of his love for you had been immense. He could not imagine the havoc your rejection would cause. One hand gently rested at the base of your neck to direct your eyes to him, his thumb softly caressing your skin.

“Tell me to stop, sweet one, and I will.”

You looked up at him, and his breath caught in his throat. How could anyone compare to you?

“I am yours.”

Oh, sweet one.

You did not know what you spoke. You did not know who you were saying this. He had selfishly claimed you, but in this moment, he felt almost broken because you did not deserve him.

“Do not say words when you do not know the weight of them, sweet one.”

“I am yours.” And suddenly you were leading his hand under your dress and to your soaked underwear. He had to grit his teeth to stop his eyes from rolling back. He doesn't dream, but he had dreamed of this. It was slick and wet and hot. And you smiled at him.

Fuck.

He did not care about his deception in this moment. He would fill you with his corruption, his darkness until it flowed from you like a fountain. Until it dripped in pools at your feet.

He moved his fingers against your clit, softly and slowly, “Has anyone touched you like this?” His voice was thick with desire.

You shook your head, but that was not good enough for him. He gently squeezed your throat, and he felt the blood that surged under his touch. One day, he would carve his name into your flesh, and he would lap at the blood that flowed from the wound.

“Use your words,” he mumbled softly.

“No, only you.”

Only him.

He slid his finger inside of you, relishing the sound it made. The wetness and slick on his fingers made him want to taste you, but he couldn't, not tonight. He knew he would spend forever in between your thighs, and he did not have the time for that.

“Fuck, do you hear that?” His finger moved faster, the wet sound of your arousal filling the room. “My sweet one,” he cooed, “fucking soaked at the thought of my cock, huh?”

He breathed heavily, his cock was achingly hard. He was addicted to the feel of your cunt and the sounds it made as he fucked it. The way you backed against his palm, the blissed out look in your eyes, he watched it all intently. He added a second finger and as your lips parted, he hungrily tasted your mouth once more. It was sloppy and wet, his teeth tugging at your lips. He couldn't get enough. Grunts and groans and growls ripped through him as he fucked you with his fingers harder and deeper. His lips trailed to your neck, licking your salty skin and sucking until your skin turned red.

You belonged to him.

You whimpered and gasped, and he needed more of it. He gently rubbed your peaked nipple and that was enough. You were a squirming mess as you came, soaking his hand.

“That's it, that's my girl,” he mumbled softly, his fingers never ceasing. “C'mon sweet girl. Fuck, look at you. Look at that pretty fucking face.”

He watched you intently as your body relaxed and your head hit the door. “That was incredible,” your voice was soft and spent.

He chuckled, his thumb coaxing you to look at him. “Pretty girl, look at me.” You did as he told you, his hands cupping your face. You were so pretty. So beautiful. Especially now, exhausted from how hard you came.

“That's my girl,” he squeezed your cheeks in his hand. “My pretty fucking girl. I need you to look at me, okay, and I need you to be honest. There is nothing more I want right now than your cunt squeezing around my cock but I need to know you want that too.”

“Yes, Halbrand, please.”

And that was all it took.

It was a blur as he moved clothes to the side but the moment his cock slid inside you, any moral dilemma or internal conflict disappeared. Only you mattered. Only how perfect your cunt wrapped around him was important. He held your face so he could watch how you reacted to him and he could tell from your lidded eyes and flush face you felt it all too.

"Fuck,” his breath hitched.“Fuck. Does my cock feel good, sweet one?”

You nodded, but again, that wasn't enough. He needed to hear your voice say it, “No, no, no. Use your words. Let me hear it.”

“Your cock feels good,” you breathed out.

Hearing you say that made his cock twitch inside of you. “Such foul words from such a pretty mouth.” His thumb traced your bottom lip. “I'm going to move now.”

You nodded before catching yourself, “please.”

One day, he'd have to make you beg for him.

He looked down to where your bodies connected and moved, watching his cock fuck your cunt for a moment before his attention turned to you. Your eyes rolled back and lips parted like a cock drunk slut already. His cock drunk slut. The slick sounds filling the room pulled his attention back to where you two met. The way you stretched around him was intoxicating to watch.

“You're taking my cock so well, sweet one.” He kept moving, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

Your hips moved to match his thrusts and the fingernails in his skin. You had broken so easily. Given into him so easily. He knew he could take you wherever, knew by the look on your face that you'd be his to fuck whenever he pleased.

“You're mine,” he whispered. “This my fucking cunt, isn't it?”

“My cunt is yours,” you whined.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

He thrusted deep and hard, watching your face. You were his. His alone. No one could have you. No one could dare. He'd burn the world to the ground and everyone with it. He'd drown the world in blood. No sin was too dark for him to commit, not if he ended back here. Deep inside you.

Your eyes fluttered closed, and he couldn't have that. He roughly squeezed your cheeks until your eyes opened.

“Eyes on me. Focus on the feeling. I want to see how good I make you feel. Look at those pretty eyes. Those. Pretty. Fucking. Eyes.” He gasped, his grip on your face tight. You whimpered and arched into him.

Something about how you looked at him in that moment, he realized you owned him. He was yours. No one else's. No elf. No Maiar. There was only you. You were his religion, and this was his worship. He was yours. You owned him. He was ruined for anyone else. Perhaps you were not made for him, but he for you.

“You feel that cock, huh? It's yours, only yours. This is your cock, sweet one. I am yours.”

He could tell you were close, and he was too. How he wished it was his true name falling from your lips. He fucked into you harder and harder.

“Tell me you love me,” he whispered, “tell me you love me, and I will come undone.”

He needed it. He needed the release. He was desperate.

“I love you.”

It was music to his ears. Moments later, when your cunt clenched around him and cries ripped through your body, he was soon to follow. His head buried in your neck as his warmth coated you. Your name passed through his lips. He would never be sated. He would always need this.

And later that night, long after you fell asleep, as he caressed your face, he knew he could never go back across the sea. He would stay here with you and prove his redemption to the valar. That he would start a family with you. That he would make you happy. The only thing that mattered more was keeping you safe.

Nothing mattered more than that.

[nymphbroadcast]

Can we get the octa trio with a fluttershy reader please? I just Love her!!!!

Octavinelle x MC! Like Fluttershy

⊹Synopsis ⊹ೃ 🌊⋆The Octavinelle boys with an MC! or Yuu like Fluttershy.

⊹Relationship ⊹ೃ 🌊⋆ Fall in love / free of interpretation.

⊹FEM! MC/Yuu/Reader ⊹ೃ⋆

⊹Clarifications: my Little Pony Fluttershy pony ver!

⊹Fluttershy's Analysis ⊹ೃ 🌊⋆

• Fluttershy is the living representation of kindness, her personality is introverted but not asocial, since she enjoys spending time with her friends, she is gentle with her acquaintances and friends, although she prefers the company of animals since due to the bullying she suffered from young, his consolation was the company of butterflies and other animals. At that moment she discovered her talent for handling animals and beasts of all kinds. Despite her shy and calm personality, Fluttershy is also a person with a strong character, not necessarily aggressive but firm in her ideals and, if necessary, protecting her friends... Fluttershy does not judge by appearances and always tries to find a second chance for those seeking redemption. Although she can also be insecure and doubtful and carry a lot of guilt on herself, she´s very talented in her 'work' with her animals, maybe like a Vet in the series. Unlike Twilight, Fluttershy is not from an aristocratic family, but she is not from a poor family either since it is mentioned that her father worked in a cloud factory and for his part he has a large house in the most natural areas of Ponyville. And the others seem to go to only her for advice regarding their pets, Fluttershy is a balance between peace and chaos.

Azul Ashengrotto

🐙 Cute butterfly... You get on Azul's nerves, you know? You must be doing it on purpose.

🐙 At first, Azul, without knowing you, begins to feel nervous, you are too kind, you do things for others and you don't even receive a payment, you must be dangerous, that is his conclusion.

🐙 Since no one has ever been genuinely nice to Azul, Azul has a hard time getting used to how selfless you seem to be.

🐙 You're so gentle, even while he's trying to manipulate you with the Dorm Ramshakle, Azul was genuinely expecting you to yell and insult him, you're full of surprises, aren't you? - Chapter 3

🐙 Although he must admit that he underestimated you... You're smart, strong and you have limits... That itself only makes him panic, you're like a dolphin, cute and seemingly friendly, but you can be genuinely scary sometimes. – Chapter 3

🐙 Luckily for him, you're the embodiment of kindness (Literally) and even after he tried to steal Ramshakle from you, manipulate you, and almost kill you in his Overblot, you're still kind and understanding to him, Azul almost genuinely feels like he's gonna crying. – Chapter 3

🐙 After all... Azul begins to feel more and more desirous of your kindness and genuine affection, looking for a way to see you and feel your genuine affection.

🐙 Azul genuinely wonders how you are so transparent, he has seen you talk more to animals than to people, you are shy and anxious, how do you do it? He needs the advice.

🐙 But, Azul begins to grow fonder of you every time he sees you, he is glad that despite everything, you were able to forgive him and continue to be so kind and gentle with him. Who knows, maybe it's a deeper affection than Azul believes, maybe even genuine love.

Jade Leech

🍄 Jade finds you adorable, you don't really like socializing or being the center of attention and yet, one way or another, you always end up doing it.

🍄 For Jade it is also funny how your kindness often works against you, since you don't want to hurt other people's feelings you usually resist your displeasure and end up helping (even if it is something you don't like, fear or feel disgusted by) and maybe Jade sometimes (almost always) takes advantage of this.

🍄 You are good with common animals and since you arrived at Twisted Wonderland you decided to study about the fauna there, so it is certain that you know a lot about the Tweels and Azul species, but don't use it against them, okay? They are just "innocent" guys.

🍄 That is something neutral for Jade, on the one hand you understand his behavior and his needs, on the other you can use it against him despite your kindness, although we all know how sadistic he can be, so he probably provokes you on purpose to see your reaction.

🍄 Something else to highlight is that Jade loves it when you lose control, you are so kind and shy almost all the time... Until someone breaks that way of yours, you scream and look harshly at whoever provoked you regardless of whether you are being the center of attention, which normally would make you panic. You can see this guy smilling with pleasure in the corner.

🍄 It's something unusual, but Jade tends to be more real with you, you don't judge him by his... Curious likes... For mushrooms, you even give him advice since you usually deal with animals that eat all kinds of plants and he thanks you... In its own way, but he does it.

🍄 Just like his twin Floyd, Jade finds you adorable, your natural but well-groomed appearance and adorable embarrassed expressions make this eel boy burst with you into a tight hug that could almost be mistaken as Floyd.

🍄 We would like to fool ourselves a little, but Jade is Jade, he takes advantage of your kindness a little to help him do his homework and your company. What can he say in his defense? That he likes your company... Which isn't a lie, actually.

🍄 For the same reason, Jade starts to develop that 'protective instinct' towards you, you are too kind and shy in his eyes that he should protect you, come on, the whole NRC is afraid of Tweels, so you have your cute eel boy as your personal bodyguard... Or something more, maybe...

🍄 Of course, maybe he mentally compare you to a pretty butterfly or a shrimp, just like Floyd does.

Floyd Leech

🏀 Are you two Discord and Fluttershy in this universe???

🏀 Well, in a way yes, you two are chaos (Floyd) and peace (you) in NRC.

🏀 We all know that Floyd has a similar way of being to Discord, rarely being serious and actually in great danger when he is...

🏀 You, on the other hand, prefer discreet and simple, here are two options: he calls you 'shrimpy' because you are easily scared by everything except real pests, or because you are shy.

🏀 Floyd loves to make fun of you, scaring you and chasing you, God help him be careful because you have patience and I don't think it's a good experience for him to receive 'the look'...

🏀 You seem adorable to him, squeezable and very tender, your big gentle eyes make his heart race and he can't help but fawn over you, pinch your cheeks or hug you for a long time.

🏀 Just like in the series, no one believes that you two are really friends, especially knowing Floyd's adventures, you are too good to even be his friend! Floyd is bothered, but as soon as you tell him that you like being with Because they are very different, he is immediately happy.

🏀 He likes to see you take care of the animals, it's funny how you keep Grimm like a spoiled baby knowing he's a beast! However, be careful if you interact too much with any brunette other than him... He may be jealous... In a strange way, obviously.

🏀 As an animal whisperer, you love that he's a merman! You insist a lot on seeing his mer form and he gladly shows it to you, you both spend a lot of time just playing in the water and having fun!

🏀 Eventually the two of you would become very fond of each other, Floyd is happy that you are his true friend, one who doesn't care if he is chaotic and different, you love him just the way he is and he loves you too...

Nymph's Note:

I'm loving these MLP requests since it's my favorite cartoon for a long time, I remind you again to read my rules in the post pinned to my profile for your requests!

I hope you enjoyed!

Remember to tune in, end of this broadcast!

Octavinelle Dorm x MC! Like Fluttershy Done!