#these characters will never know peace will they

[ideksams]

OMG- i got questions on this!? it's so obvious to me that i lack confidence in my ideas (because i'm new to this?) so i'm honored, because i really want to explore this au more! (i had started drawing some scenes but never finished...)

i want to answer these here!

1. Does Anya still have her powers?

Yes! This is an AU parallel to the current SxF universe! It's really similar.

2. Where did they find her?

Anya was found by Loid! In a similar fashion to what happened in the original story, he adopted her in Ostania to add compelling elements to his "character" and mission.

After a dangerous incident related to his true identity as an outlaw, he began to have second thoughts. However, Anya's resilience to stay with Papa (and the relatabilty to living without his parents) resonated with him. He worries that the organization will someday kidnap Anya again because of his interaction with her, so he wants to personally keep her safe by involving her in the mission.

3. How and why would they adopt?

The reasoning is mostly on Loid's part to play the facade of a married man, and also a reason to repeatedly spy on the Eden Academy of this universe to gain information, as the academy is frequented by many of Ostania's aristocrats and upper class.

In this AU, Anya has to hide the fact that she is a "commoner" and must learn to act "elegant" (literally) while also keeping her grades up.

I completely forgot to mention that Loid, Yor, and Anya live in a huge palace of the people Yor is associated with. I'm not entirely sure how this works, but I do know that Loid does not own the place. He's pretending to be someone else in order to live there.

Loid met Yor previously, and they made an agreement after some events. Yor offered to take care of Anya for Loid whenever he is busy with his "royal duties", especially because Loid knows her fighting and defense abilities are superior. In this AU, there's a lot more fighting. Yor is more than a maid, she's a serious force of defense, fighting intruders and criminals behind the scenes, detecting poisoned food by a traitorous maid, and noticing when something seems off (this AU is my excuse to see a lot of intense action and fantasy adventures 😂 ahhaha).

—

anyways, i want to say this is really a twiyor au as well, where i kinda blow them up into being the heroes of the whole story. they work towards finally establishing peace between ostania and westalis together, and eventually the truth should be revealed...

loid already knows that yor is secretly royalty, but not her assassin work. yor doesn't know loid's actually from westalis, and also from the royal bloodline at that. and was even some kind of outlaw...

i like to think that loid internally resists falling in love with her because he knows they can't be together (an enemy country), but part of his battle in ostania (more than what he was tasked to do) becomes a separate fight for him to be able to stay with yor and anya, and he doesn't even notice. also, maybe romeo and juliet vibes? 🤔

THERE. that's the context! my twiyor royal au idea 😭

[420technoblazeit]

i always wondered what it would be like to not understand mel medarda as a character and you know what i guess i'll never know. i said that she probably had a lot of respect for viktor and felt betrayed when he became the herald and BAM. voicelines confirming exactly that. i said that her being a child of affair and her own philosophy of peace might lead noxians and other medardas to question her right to her family name and BAM official bio confirming it. im never gonna shut up abt this im sorry

[barbwritesstuff]

I want to talk very briefly about Iliya because I've received a couple of messages and I just wanted to clear some things up.

My intension with this character was to subvert expectations. He's big, muscular, blond, has a scar on his face, and a broad Russian accent because I wanted him to smell like a Bond villain.

But that's not really who he is.

The thing about Iliya is he's aware what people think of him. He's overtly Russian, looks big and scary, and experiences stigma and xenophobia because of these things. However, he's also very smart, and uses that perception/stereotype to his advantage, allowing people to underestimate him and think of him as nothing more than a simple minded goon.

In truth, he's very smart, playful, bookish, and has a romantic streak a mile wide. He cast himself as the romantic hero in War and Peace.

I included this above interaction with him when you first meet him to let readers know he's A) a skilled liar B) playful C) smarter than he looks D) a book nerd and E) he's romantic.

This interaction between Tracy and Iliya was meant to re-emphasise his ability to lie (even without outright lying), his willingness to lean into other's negative perception of him, and his playfulness.

He was never part of the KGB. He left Russia before the KGB was even a thing. He's just being a sassy shit to Tracy because he can.

Him being a good liar was meant to foreshadow his betrayal. Him allowing people to underestimate him, or assume xenophobic things about him, (playing into stereotypes when it suits him to do so) is how he gets away with a lot of what he does.

My intension was not to conform to the trope of 'evil Russian is evil because Russian', and I'm sorry if this is how it came across.

I really hope all that makes sense.

[spacey-xannabelle]

Traitorous Vessel. Sealed away along with the accursed Light.

----

Ooo boy how do I begin to explain this hdfgjdg-

Basically! Hollow knight and Outer Wilds DLC crossover of sorts!! Me being very normal about HK and Outer wilds, I noticed some similarities between THK and Pris. So I thought it'd be fun to turn Pris into a vessel akin to THK itself!

Major spoilers for Outer Wilds and Hollow Knight under the cut! It's probably not that coherent but I just wanted to spew my thoughts

(Noting for those unfamiliar with Outer Wilds, I recommend playing the game before continuing bc the game is very knowledge based and knowing anything may change how you interact or perceive the game)

Both THK and Prisoner being sealed away in darkness for eternity... One as a sacrifice for its kingdom while the other as punishment for betraying their kind.

Their homes long gone or stuck in perpetual darkness (Hallownest being in a stasis and the whole timeloop business in Outer Wilds).

Both characters forced to "live" with the consequences of the decisions made by themselves or by the people around them. Never knowing if they'll ever find closure

And by the end, they do find closure. Thanks to a little friend.

Both are freed from their eternal prisons, both can finally die knowing they can finally be at peace.

The Dream No More ending of HK and the farewell vision Prisoner leaves you.... The cycle is finally broken. The shades can finally rest now that Radiance is gone, and Prisoner's vision features them going into a sunrise like *bursts into tears...* That fucks me UPPPP........

Poor sealed fellas who deserve all the good in the world and who deserve to REST.....

[infiniteglitterfall]

crib sheet for those not in the know:

the subtext of these twitter comments is that any mention of Israel, of places in Israel, or of going to Israel, is "Zionist propaganda"

Therefore, calling a Jewish-Indian household "Jaipur-Aviv" is Bad because it mentions Tel Aviv, a city built entirely from unoccupied desert land purchased by Jews.

this comes from the idea that acting as if Israel exists is immoral (i.e. that tolerating Israel's existence is violent colonialism)

There's no other country on earth that anyone considers it immoral or violent to mention

There isn't a movement against acknowledging or having visited the United States, Canada, England, Russia, Iran, Afghanistan, etc.

Zio is a KKK dogwhistle popularized by David Duke forty years ago. Using it makes it more difficult for others to recognize and avoid white supremacists -- and often means that you're not recognizing and avoiding white supremacists.

I've watched every episode of Friends ten times at a minimum. I am not exaggerating. I feel pretty safe in stating point-blank that nobody at any point even utters the word "Israel" on that show.

Also, Rachel is not Jewish. I am kinda dying to know what the fuck that person thought the "Zionist connotations" in their relationship were.

WAIT A MINUTE STOP THE PRESSES. RACHEL IS JEWISH!??!!!

lmao this is killing me, I used to be so sure she was Jewish and then I googled it and people said she wasn't!

The nose job subplot read as an intentionally Jewish regional reference; Rachel refers to her grandma as her bubbe; the show's creators have said she's Jewish; she had been going to marry Barry Farber, who is "definitely Jewish;" her last name is Green, "a common 'Americanized' Jewish name;" she apparently wears a star of David I've never spotted in episode 3; and also, her name is Rachel.

Okay well, thanks to the borderline Nazis up there for teaching me that Rachel actually IS Jewish! I knew I needed to rewatch the series!

Bonus: they don't say Israel, but they DO say Israeli once.

The Big Bang Theory apparently had an episode called The Jerusalem Duality, in which "Sheldon applies himself to winning the Nobel Peace Prize for solving the Middle East crisis by creating a second wailing wall (also called the 'Western Wall') in the Mexican desert. Dr. Gablehauser and Dennis Kim stop by. Sheldon explains his concept to them; convinced that, like the baseball movie 'build it and they will come', adding that he plans to lure the Jewish people by 'making it nice...we'll put out a spread'."

The only real references Big Bang Theory makes to Israel are, again, in the "acknowledging it exists and being willing to go there" genre:

The Nanny had a lot of topical political jokes. In one episode, Fran Drescher says, "Yasser Arafat? ...He could use a facial, or better yet a chemical peel. We're already giving him the Gaza Strip, would it kill him to take a shave?"

Weirdly, this was 8 years before Israel did unilaterally pull out of the Gaza Strip and destroy all its settlements there.

Regardless, this is more a joke about her character being overly focused on appearances and fashion. Especially given that she simultaneously gets corrected on the fact that Arafat wore a burnous, not a turban.

There's also a 1995 episode in which Maxwell wants to get his teenage daughter "away from boys" by sending her to a convent over the winter holidays. Fran strongly disagrees about the convent, but does think a trip would be good for Maggie, like her own teenage trip to a kibbutz had been. The whole family ends up going to a kibbutz, which I can only imagine the people in that thread would consider to be pure "hasbara."

Seinfeld, though, is by far the best reference they make here. Because this is a quote from the 1992 episode "The Limo":

This is the only "Zionist" reference I can find in Seinfeld. So it's the most likely thing these folks are objecting to as "Zionism" in Seinfeld episodes.

ZOG, or Zionist Occupied Government, is another huge white supremacist term that has made its way into the extreme part of the pro-palestine movement. The founder of Students for Justice in Palestine has also publicly stated that "Congress is an Israeli occupied territory."

Wow. I learned a lot more than I expected to there.

according to the replies on this tweet literally every tv show has Zionist Propaganda™️ so i guess the hamasniks are just going to have to twiddle their thumbs for entertainment

edit: some of the nonsense from the replies

do not call yourself progressive or inclusive or revolutionary or anticolonial or whatever other fucking “I’m A Good Person” label de jour you’ve chosen if you say shit like this. you cannot talk like a Nazi and then insist you’re just an antizionist.

[angelyuji]

LADS yandere headcanons

sorry that some of them weren’t long, i didn’t want to make the post too long :( but hey!!! caleb day!!!! guess who got to welcome caleb home after 200 pulls!!!! (imcryingrealtearsrn) tbf i have almost all of his 5 stars and a couple 4 stars now :) all of my saving up helped thankfully

i didn’t write any nsfw but i have some ideas for the characters…. so lemme know if u want it :)

tw // yandere, kidnapping, violence (physical, emotional, mental abuse), manipulation, fauxcest, implied noncon and more, just general freaky nasty stuff

zayne:

zayneer;speojfso;ias doctorrrr doctorrr i think i sprained my ankleee gimme a full body checkup pleaseee ;)))))

he’s very cold to you, but like its just cuz he loves you so much he doesn’t want to scare you away with his actual feelings (thinkkk tsundere)

soooo overprotective over your health and safety

he wants you to quit being a hunter and stay at home, safe from danger

he’ll eventually convince you too, he’s so manipulative, using your heart condition against you

he wants to take care of you until he dies, a giverrrr in more ways than one *wink wink*

he wouldn’t kidnap you, but will convince you to move in with him (probably by saying smth about how it’ll be easier to keep track of your heart and care for you)

you trust zayne a lot easier than xav, raf, and sy becuz he’s your doctor and also your childhood friend (similar to your relationship with caleb) and he’ll use that to his advantage

now lets talk about doctor zayne’s behavior hehehe

in reality, yes everything about your relationship is against doctor-patient rules and all that but like who gives af yk

doctor zayne is the type to prefer doing your weekly check-ups at home in private

and by weekly check-ups i mean not just a regular physical, but a full body check-up

he’s sooo anxious about your health that even if violates your boundaries, he’ll strap you to the bed and snap some gloves on to feel every part of you

(for your health of course, def not cause he wanted to feel your warm skin without you struggling)

rafayel:

THIS MOTHERFUCKERRRR BRO

hes the clingiest person ever, he quite literally never gives you a moment of peace

constantly calling you, never leaving you alone.

he’s very bright and cheery whenever he sees you

but he’s very cold and mean to people he doesn’t care about, he’s very manipulative in that sense

raf is def, in my eyes, kinda the spoiled brat type

he hates when you say no to him so he pretends like you didn’t

if he asks you out and you tell him you can’t cause you’re busy, he’ll make up some excuse to get you to him

whether it’s calling your work and saying he has an emergency or calling you and guilt tripping you, he’s going to get his way no matter what

rafayel would most definitely kidnap you if he feels like you’re not giving him enough attention

like too many dates canceled, too many friends keeping you busy

he’s OVERRR ITT. you’re his inspiration, his muse, his very reason to live so he wants to keep you as close to him as possible

if that means keeping you chained up in his bedroom… then yeah he’s keeping you chained up babes

he’s very hot and cold with you as well

if he’s happy with you, he’s showering you with affection and love. being a silly goofy goober as they say

but if he’s mad at you, he’s cold to you and cruel

raf can be really fucking mean to you but the moment you retaliate, he’s shocked and like “why would you say that :((((“

raf is similar to xavier that he’s clingy, but raf is more confrontational with you. he will accuse you of cheating and force you onto your knees to show him how sorry you are. (he’ll also go and make sure that whoever it was that was taking your time and attention, never gets to talk to you again)

very much a pathological liarr

as much as he is annoying (i say affectionately), he’s constantly looking for your praise

wants you to compliment him and be comforting him at all times

and he’ll force it out of you if he has to.

xavier:

i feel like xavier is the most yandere of all of them like even in canon (this was written before i caleb’s trailer lmao. he’s 2nd most yandere now lolol)

he’s constantly stalking you. finding out who your friends are, what your daily schedule is, what shampoos and soaps you use

you’ll constantly feel like you’ve seen him at the store, but when you go and look, he’s not there (he’s done that before in game lmao he’s so cute)

xavier to me is also a typical yandere but more self-sacrificing. (i saw a tweet about xav and caleb where someone said they’re both yandere lovers but xavier is selfless and caleb is selfish and that perfectly encapsulates what im thinking)

very sneaky sneaky guy

he would kidnap you but that’s a last resort

he mostly just wants your attention and praise so only if he feels that you’re in danger, he would kidnap you

he’s very sadistic when it comes to people that try to take your attention away from him (will torture/kill a guy if they try anything with you)

he’s a jealous and petty i fear

if he feels like you’re talking to some rando too much, he’s immediately at your side, arm around your waist and glaring at them

my little star my cutie pie it’s hard to not fall for his innocent words/behavior becuz he speaks with such an airy voice and cute face

does unhinged shit with a cute smile and you’re usually blissfully unaware (or at least pretending to be), believing xavier def didn’t kill that guy you always say hello too on the way to work

it only gets worse from there once he realizes you’re letting his crazy slide

sylus:

sylus is very gentle and teasing in game and i feel like that also transfers to his yandere version.

contrary to his looks, sylus is not a violent yandere. because of the nature of his work, he doesn't want for you to be involved or see that violent side of him ever.

he's most def a sugar daddy type, very possessive. he wants to know where you are and who you're with at all times.

but he’s not like scary macho man about it, he’s informed you of how dangerous the N109 zone is so you know that his possessiveness is out of fear for your safety

he has most def put a tracker on all your clothes and electronics

if you are and want to continue being a hunter, sylus will support you

the only reason sylus would try to stop you is if you get mortally wounded, then he’s like “yeah no, kitten. you’re staying here with me where it is safe :)”

i feel like sylus would only kidnap you if the situation is that dire for him

like he’s fighting for his life for your attention and you’re giving nothing. he’s gonna be like “omg kitten, why are you not getting the hit :(“

alsooo he’s such a tease like theres nothing he loves more than constantly teasing you about everything

when he leaves for gang leader stuff, he gives you free reign on his black card as well as the house

he does not gaf if the whole house is pink when he comes back as long as you’re home

loves loves loves dressing you tho like he loves buying you clothes and dressing you up like his personal doll

my cute little sugar daddy

caleb:

i’ll be following the canon story for caleb’s headcanons

you guys grew up together, keeping each other safe and being each other’s best friend

and caleb had been in love with you since the moment you guys met

he def toed the line a lot when you guys were kids: making you promise to marry him and telling you that he’ll never leave you and that he would hurt himself if you left him

which at the time, didn’t worry grandma. I mean, you were all he had and vice versa so its not surprising that you’re both so attached

but as you guys grew up, his obsession with you worsens

he sabotages your relationships, keeps a tracker on you at all times, and have crossed a lot of your boundaries

but then caleb “died” and you lost your best friend.

caleb, i feel, is a very core yandere. like if you search up yandere in the dictionary, his picture shows up

he is obsessed with you to the point that it’s unhealthy for the both of you

some of his lines remind of jumin han’s bad ending 2 (from mystic messenger)

like this mf wants to collar you and keep you in a cage so you could never leave his sight. he wants you to be safe and there with him at all times

he would def kidnap you to do exactly this

he most def stalked you btw after he came back from the “dead”

he watched and stewed in jealousy as you interacted with the other LI’s. (yes i know that all the love interests stories are happening in different universes simultaneously but just for this… for the angst)

he hated when you went on dates when you were young, so seeing you again after so long just made his obsession and his hatred worse

he would try to threaten and kill anyone that stood in his way to have you

(also the ARM???? OKAY WINTER SOLDIER!!!) (im hoping the arm is a permanent feature but i wont get my hopes up)

when you guys were younger, caleb def snuck into your room to steal your clothes or anything that had your smell and he most DEFINITELY still does that

i honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he had a full-on shrine for you that kept him going until he could see you again

anyway the lines are kinda blurred on the familial relation, cause in the game, he talks about how although you guys were technically siblings, neither one of you considered each other as siblings

but i’ll leave it here with this, you guys lived together in your formative years so you most definitely experienced and learned (wink wink) a lot with caleb before anyyyyy of the other love interests

[bellaxgiornata]

You Are My Sunshine [1]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word count: 5.3k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Summary: Recently released from a stint in Stockton Prison with a few of the Sons, Jax is still struggling with Tara returning to Chicago over a year after he killed Agent Kohn for her. When he returned to Charming, Jax noticed a coffee shop had sprung up across the street from Teller-Morrow Automotive and the clubhouse, oddly finding himself watching the strangely cheerful owner through the windows. One night he feels drawn to step inside, but he's left even more confused when the owner feels like the embodiment of sunshine itself. Jax quickly realizes that the more he visits her shop, the more at peace he finds himself.

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

a/n: Not everything will be true to canon in this little series, and this first part starts out in Jax's POV. I just couldn't resist the idea of Jax with someone so bright and bubbly bringing some happiness his way. As a note since I'm newer in the SoA fanfic scene, I always do my best to refrain from adding physical descriptions to Readers, but they are still some form of a character personality-wise. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Placing the cigarette between his lips, Jax flipped open his lighter and held the flame up to the tip of it. He was itching for something right now–a smoke, a drink, a fuck, a fight. He couldn’t quite tell the difference anymore. Everything felt the same–a neverending blur. The days had all begun to bleed together ever since he and the guys had been released from Stockton the other month. 

And everything felt the goddamn same as it did before he'd gone in.

Taking a drag on the cigarette, he pocketed the lighter and leant back against the brick of the clubhouse behind him. Laughter and blaring music was pouring out of the building, the noise always far too loud to be contained by the structure. The Sons were partying again tonight, celebrating a successful closure of a deal from earlier in the day. But for some reason Jax hadn’t felt like partying. The air in the clubhouse felt suffocating, which was why he’d stepped outside into the balmy summer night for a cigarette instead.

As a trail of smoke curled its way upwards from between his lips, Jax stared vacantly across the otherwise empty lot, his eyes landing on the line of motorcycles across from him. His mind inevitably wandered back to Tara while he smoked, something it often did ever since she’d reappeared in his life over a year ago just to disappear all over again. Running away. That's what she had always done best.

He hated that he couldn’t get her out of his head even after all this time. But what he hated even more was that part of him still felt like it was holding onto the ridiculous hope that she’d come back to him. That she might wake up one day and return to Charming and somehow just accept him for who he was, who he'd always been. But that was a fucking bullshit hope and he knew it.

Jax’s jaw clenched in irritation, his fingers tightening around his cigarette as he drew it back up to his lips for another sharp inhale. It was impossible not to think that Tara had used him just to get rid of Kohn knowing that he’d be sympathetic to her situation. Knowing damn well that Jax would never have just walked away when she came to him for help. And it pissed him off that she’d played him like that–that he had let her play him like that. Especially when he’d been so fucking vulnerable after Abel had been born with all of his health complications weighing on his mind. 

He had needed her in return, but Tara hadn’t cared about what Jax was going through. She hadn’t cared about the fact that until that moment, Jax had never killed like he'd killed that night  for her. Every time before had always been for the club–for self-defense, retaliation. But that night? That night it had been out of love. It had been because he'd been protecting someone he cared about. And Tara had thrown him away a second time right afterwards, not even bothering to think about how any of it had affected Jax.

Movement across the street caught Jax’s attention, breaking through his spiraling, agitated thoughts. His head turned as he stood in the dimly lit parking lot, pulling the cigarette away from his lips and blowing out a plume of smoke as his eyes landed on you across the street through the large glass windows of your coffee shop. 

Honest Coffee. You’d opened it at some point when he and a few of the Sons had been doing a few months in Stockton, but ever since he’d gotten out, he’d found his gaze drawn across the street to that building more times than he’d ever willingly care to admit. And he wasn’t entirely sure why, either. Jax was not the kind of guy you’d find sitting inside of a coffee shop sipping on some fancy ass, overly sweetened and overpriced bullshit cup of coffee. That wasn’t his thing. So of course he’d never actually ventured inside the shop that had opened up across the street from the clubhouse and Teller-Morrow Automotive.

But for some goddamn reason he couldn’t help but look.

The entire place stood out amongst the old, worn brick buildings beside it. You’d painted the exterior brick white and hung up some bold, black sign with the shop’s name on it above the entrance. There were even a few little tables and chairs on the sidewalk out front along with writing on one of the large glass windows that read ‘Support your local caffeine dealer.’ Which, for some goddamn reason, amused Jax to no end considering your shop was located across the street from actual arms dealers. 

And there were plants. Goddamn, the amount of plants. A few large potted ones sat outside by the front doors, and there were a handful hanging over all of the large open windows. And, from what Jax had been able to see when he’d ridden past the place multiple times, you had plants on the tables inside, too. So many fucking plants it was like you were making coffee in a damn jungle. He didn’t understand why you had so many or how the hell they always looked like they were thriving. He’d often heard Gemma even compliment the goddamn plants the few times she’d stopped over to get herself coffee.

But it wasn’t entirely the plants or what you’d done to the building to make it appear so warm and inviting in downtown Charming that had him constantly staring across the street. It was you, if he was being honest with himself. You were always working there. He’d already come to assume that you were more than just a barista and that you actually owned the coffee shop with how frequently you were there. And you were attractive, that wasn’t even remotely a question. But you were nothing like the women at the clubhouse, or Redwoody, or Diosa. Where most of the women he’d encountered in his life were all rough and hard edges, you always seemed so soft and sweet. Like a warmth just radiated off of you everytime you smiled. 

And you were always fucking smiling over there. Whenever Jax watched you through the windows, whether he was outside having a smoke with the guys or by himself, you were guaranteed to be standing somewhere in that shop talking to someone with a smile on your face. Despite the fact that he didn't understand how one damn person could smile so damn much in a day, he’d sometimes found himself wondering what it would be like to see that smile up close, to have it directed at himself. There was just something about it, even from this distance across the street, that made it look different from any other smile he felt like he’d been given in his life. Like it was real and not covering a hidden agenda. 

Jax took a final drag on his cigarette before tossing it to the ground beside his feet, crushing it out beneath his shoe. His eyes were still on you through those large glass windows as he did. It looked like you were closing up the shop for the day. You were alone inside, the entire place empty as you swept the floor with a broom. But it almost looked like you were dancing as you cleaned, your hips swaying as your lips moved. The corner of Jax’s lips twisted upwards faintly at the sight. Who the hell were you? You were cleaning in an empty shop in downtown Charming, all alone just after sunset, across the street from the disliked and notorious motorcycle club, and you were dancing as you swept?

Who the fuck looked so happy to be cleaning?

Without even thinking, Jax pushed off the wall of the clubhouse and let his feet carry him away from the party raging behind him. An incredulous look was etched across his usually hard features as he began to cross the empty street and make his way towards your coffee shop. Eventually he came to a stop just outside of the front door, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans as he watched the back of you for a minute through the windows. Unquestionably you were inside dancing and sweeping as you listened to–what Jax assumed as he stood just outside–stupid coffee shop music. An amused huff came out of him as he shook his head at the sight.

Not even bothering to check if your shop was closed on the hours listed on the door, Jax slipped a hand out of his pocket and pulled it open. No bell chimed to alert you of his presence, meaning you continued your cleaning and soft singing to yourself with your back facing him, completely unaware you had a customer. A smug smirk tugged at his lips as he sauntered further inside the shop, making his way over to the counter near the register before resting an arm against the white countertop. He leaned his weight against it, crossing his ankles as his head cocked to the side, his blue eyes fixed on you. 

Christ, you looked adorable. Not a thought he often had about women. Usually he went for the ones at the clubhouse barely dressed in much of anything who were always very eager to spend the night with him. Even a few of the girls at Diosa and the pornstars at Redwoody that had sometimes caught his eye would never have been called anything close to ‘adorable’ by Jax. But you just looked so goddamn sweet and you hadn’t even noticed him standing behind you staring.

Clearing his throat, Jax figured he should probably alert you to his presence. He didn’t want to scare you, which he had a feeling might happen if you turned around and spotted someone that looked like him just quietly watching you.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so damn happy sweeping a floor before,” Jax called out.

The way you startled at his voice, spinning around abruptly with a soft, surprised gasp while throwing a hand over your heart, had a pleased grin growing on Jax’s face. You looked so surprised with your wide eyes and parted lips. He almost wanted to laugh, but instead he bit his bottom lip and held the sound back. 

“Relax, darlin’. I’m not here to rob your coffee shop,” he teased.

Almost immediately your expression shifted, the look of surprise disappearing and being replaced with a friendly smile that lit up your entire face. The sight of it did something to Jax, taking him by surprise. Because it was nighttime, you were alone in your shop, and here Jax had stood unannounced behind you, and yet your reaction was to just smile at him like he was some old friend you’d been expecting to see?

A soft laugh fell from your lips as Jax watched you turn around towards him, leaning some of your weight against the broom handle in your hands while your eyes took in the sight of him. He noticed the way you'd briefly scanned his kutte, but that kind smile remained stretched across your pretty mouth when your gaze once more met his.

“I wasn't thinking you were going to, you just startled me,” you answered. “You're extremely quiet on your feet, you know.”

Jax chuckled at the comment, his grin growing a little more amused. If only you knew the half of it.

“I may have been told that a time or two,” he replied, his eyes still taking you in without a hint of subtlety.

“Well,” you began, a playful lilt to your tone, completely unbothered by his gaze, “you know what they say about strange men showing up unannounced after closing, don’t you?”

Completely thrown by the unexpected teasing question coming from someone who looked as sweet as you, Jax couldn’t fight back the small chuckle that managed to fall out of him. “No, darlin’, I don’t. What do they say?” he asked.

Your perceptive eyes, which were still lit from the warmth of your smile, watched the way Jax continued to lean so casually against the countertop. You didn't appear even remotely fazed by his presence here and he found that so incredibly odd. 

“That they want a coffee,” you answered matter-of-factly.

Jax raised a brow curiously at your response, your smile somehow widening even further on your lips. You were not what he'd expected–and he'd already expected you to be something sweet and nice. But it was almost like you were more than even just that. It felt like the goddamn sun was shining on him when you smiled at him, and he didn't know what to make of it. No one in Charming that was an outsider to the club was this kind and friendly to its members. Most of the town had a healthy fear and a good amount of disdain at this point for the Sons.

But not you, apparently.

“Thought you were closing?” Jax asked, shaking the thoughts from his mind as he eyed you curiously. 

You laughed lightly yet again, turning and resting the broom against the shop’s counter now. “Didn't stop you from sneaking in, friend.” You glanced over your shoulder at him, completely genuine in your question as you asked, “So, would you like a coffee?”

An amused noise of disbelief rumbled out of Jax. You spoke to him as if he was any other goddamn customer coming into your shop. He'd never been treated so normal before. 

“Guess if you're offering, sweetheart, then yes,” he finally answered. Jax moved over, lowering himself into one of the chairs at the small counter as he watched you make your way around it. “Though I can't say I'd normally be caught dead ordering anything from a coffee shop.”

Coming to a stop in front of him just on the other side of the counter, your head tilted curiously to the side as you studied him closely. Jax stiffened under the weight of your gaze. It almost felt like you were seeing right through him with the way your eyes ran over his face so carefully. As if you were really taking him in. He wondered what you saw when you looked at him, but then that damn sweet smile was plastered across your lips again before you were speaking.

“Then I'm honored to be the first. And,” you continued, the sound of your voice somehow temporarily soothing that constant burning rage inside of Jax, “I'll even make it on the house. Free of charge this time.”

Jax blinked back at you, stunned into silence for a moment. But then he shook his head, waving a hand at you. “Not gonna let you do that, darlin’. I can pay for a coffee.”

“Didn't say you couldn't, I'm just trying to spread some kindness. Looks you've had a rough day,” you replied, a softness in your voice that wasn't there a moment ago. But then the bright, playfulness was back as you pointed a finger at him. “You look like a regular coffee kind of guy. No creamer, bit of sugar. Am I right?” 

“I…yeah,” Jax answered, a little taken aback at how quickly you'd read him and how easily you spoke to him. “Yeah, I am.”

“There's sweetener on that counter behind you,” you said, gesturing at something behind Jax before you turned around.

He glanced briefly over his shoulder at what you’d pointed out before he focused back on you. Watching in silence, his eyes remained on the back of you as you started on his cup of coffee, but his brows soon furrowed as he watched you work. He'd never seen someone make coffee the way you were doing now. What in the hell were you doing?

“Don't you just...have a machine, sweetheart?” Jax asked slowly.

A soft laugh came from you as you worked, your back to him as you answered. “Pour over is better than drip. I promise.” Glancing over your shoulder, you smiled at him once more. “Just trust me.”

Still baffled and confused as to what in the hell you were doing, he couldn't help but to keep watching you in silence, completely confused as to how in the hell you were making him what should be just a simple cup of coffee. He really never had stepped foot into a coffee shop before–a big chain one or a locally owned place. He didn’t even know why he’d crossed the street and come over here in the first place, especially with the party going on at the clubhouse where he was supposed to be. 

Lost in his thoughts, Jax’s eyes inevitably dropped down to your ass, taking in the shape of it in your jeans. His head tilted appreciatively to the side as his attention focused on that instead of trying to understand the strange pull he'd felt to step inside your shop once and for all tonight. His tongue slipped out, running along the length of his bottom lip as he took in the unobstructed view before him. You filled your jeans out damn good.

“So you got a name, friend?” you asked, your voice breaking through his thoughts. “Or am I just supposed to keep calling you ‘friend’?”

Jax found himself mentally chastising himself at your interruption, his eyes moving back to yours as you turned around, leaning your back against the counter behind you. There was a sincere expression on your face, like you actually cared to know who he was, and that had him feeling guilty for the way he'd just been looking at you. You weren't like the girls he surrounded himself with, you were actually good. He shouldn't be eyeing you like that. There was no way in hell you'd ever be interested in a man like him, and you definitely didn't look like the one-and-done kind of girl.

“It's Jax,” he answered. “Jax Teller. You got a name, darlin’?”

A small smile curled the corners of his lips upwards when you gave him your name so easily. He had a feeling this was one of the rare times he wouldn't just immediately forget a woman's name after she'd given it to him. 

“You always this cheerful, darlin’?” he asked next, unable to resist the question that had been gradually growing in his mind the longer he sat here. “Or is this some professional, friendly barista persona that you throw on when you're here at work?”

Jax watched as you turned around to the back counter against the tiled wall again, picking up the strange glass container you'd just made the coffee in before pouring it into a to-go cup for him. You were quiet as you worked before turning around and crossing the space over to where Jax was sitting. Reaching a hand out, Jax accepted the coffee from yours, but when his rough fingers brushed against your soft ones, he felt the corners of his lips twitch.

“Owner,” you said softly, your hands resting on the countertop. “Not a barista. And it's not a persona I throw on for work, this is just me.”

Jax’s brows drew together at that as he got off his chair and made his way over to the counter by the entrance to add in some sweetener to the coffee. How the hell was anyone just that friendly and cheerful naturally? Without it being a front? But as he stirred his coffee, wandering back over to the counter and taking his seat again, he noticed that you looked sincere.

“How the hell are you this friendly to everyone?” he asked, sitting back down in the chair at the counter, his coffee momentarily forgotten.

“Because I like being nice,” you simply replied.

Jax made a face at that answer. Who the fuck liked being nice all of the time? That had to be bullshit. There had to be people you didn't like, people that you weren't quite so kind towards. People like him who definitely didn't deserve an ounce of kindness.

“Bullshit,” Jax argued, eyes narrowing at you in suspicion. “There's gotta be rude customers you aren't such a ray of sunshine towards, right? Bad people you don't want in here?”

He watched as your fingers lightly drummed against the countertop, your smile smaller but not gone from your lips. Almost like it was just a permanent fixture on your face.

“I believe everyone deserves some kindness,” you answered genuinely after a moment, holding Jax’s gaze. “Because you never know the weight of what someone is carrying on their shoulders. And sometimes, all someone needs is a kind word or a smile in their day.”

Jax just sat there in silence for a moment, staring at you like you'd just said the most absolutely ridiculous thing. And honestly, he felt like you had. You looked so naive and innocent standing there behind your counter full of those goddamn plants you appeared to love so much.

“You realize who I am, right?” 

The question had slipped out of Jax without much forethought, but he was curious now. Were you somehow that oblivious as to who your shop was across the street from? Was that why you were being so friendly to him?

“Yeah,” you answered with a nod, your eyes focusing behind Jax at the clubhouse through the window for a second before returning to him. “I've seen a lot of you with those…vests? Over there across the street.”

Jax couldn’t stop the chuckle that rumbled out of him. Vests. That was cute. Jesus, you really weren't part of his world at all, were you? You probably had no damn idea about the pistol in his “vest.”

“Kuttes, darlin’. They're called kuttes,” he told you as he drew his cup towards his mouth while he spoke. “They're a bit different and more important than just some vest.”

Jax took a sip of the hot coffee, entirely planning to continue his explanation about how wrong you were about the kuttes, but he was taken off guard by the drink. He hadn't expected it to taste as good as it did. He'd drank coffee before–a shitload of it most days because Jax was no stranger to sleepless nights even before Abel came into the picture–but this didn't taste like the acidic, burnt trash that he'd grown used to masking with sugar.

The sound of your delighted laugh drew his gaze back up to your face. A bright, amused smile was shining back at him. The sight momentarily had Jax forgetting about everything–the coffee, the kuttes, his anger at Tara, the clubhouse party he should be getting back to. All he could do was stare at you, taking in the sight of your smile and the way it felt like it had somehow warmed him more than that hot coffee ever could.

“Is it good?” you asked, gesturing your head towards the cup in his hand. “The coffee?”

Blinking a couple of times, Jax looked back down at the paper cup warming his hand, attempting to return to his senses. “Yeah,” he answered. Roughly clearing his throat, he snapped out of whatever it was that your smile had just done to him. “How the hell do you get your coffee to taste so damn good?”

A pleased smile spread its way across your face when Jax looked back at you. He liked the way a glimmer of something–pride, maybe–reflected back at him in your eyes.

“All about the roast and the extraction, Jax,” you replied. “Fresh, good quality beans that have just been ground make a world of difference. But I'm glad you like it. I've always said a great cup of coffee can help make a bad day better.”

Jax chuckled again, shaking off that weird sensation from a moment ago and drawing the cup up to his lips for another drink of the hot liquid. Goddamn, is this why people paid more instead of just making it their damn selves? Did it actually taste that much better from a coffee shop? 

“Maybe for some people,” Jax mused as he lowered the cup, his eyes fixed on you behind the counter. “But I don't think a cup of coffee is gonna do a damn thing to fix my problems, darlin’.”

Unfazed by his attitude, you simply shrugged a shoulder in response. “You never know, maybe you just haven't had the right cup of coffee yet.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Jax's mouth. You were adorable. Naive, but adorable.

“I don't think coffee is the solution to anything other than how damn tired I am,” he disagreed.

Loud shouting from across the street caught both of your attention from the shop, the noise interrupting the conversation. Jax noticed the way your eyes darted to the window almost instantly before he sighed and looked over his shoulder behind him. A handful of the guys were outside drunk and having a smoke in the clubhouse lot, a few of the hangarounds clinging to them in their short shorts and crop tops. The sight of them out there was sobering. He knew he should get back to the clubhouse, especially now with how he was beginning to feel a little guilty that he'd interrupted you trying to close your shop.

Turning around in his chair, Jax entirely expected to see some sort of judgmental look on your face at the Sons and the croweaters across the street. It was how everyone outside of the club looked at them. But there was only a hint of genuine curiosity before your gaze shifted back to him in front of you. His brows furrowed faintly together at that, but he quickly pushed the growing questions away. It didn't matter. 

“I should get back over there,” Jax told you. “Make sure those shitheads don't cause too much trouble. And I should let you finish closing up.”

He rose from the chair at the counter, his lips straightening along his face as he got to his feet with his coffee in hand. For some reason, he found he didn't really want to go back over to the clubhouse, though. Whatever frustration he'd been feeling before he had walked over here tonight had somehow just vanished within the short time he'd spent sitting here talking to you. Something no amount of drinking, fucking, or riding his bike had even managed.

“You're right, it's well past close for me now,” you admitted, glancing at the clock on the wall behind yourself.

Another pang of guilt flooded Jax at your words. It was completely his fault that you were here so late now because he had stupidly walked in here for…he didn't even know what. Except that smile returned to your face again almost immediately, as if you weren't even upset that he had interrupted your night. 

“I'm curious about something, sweetheart,” Jax found himself saying, his eyes narrowing at you as he spoke. “Would you have kicked me out at some point tonight, or are you too nice for that, too?”

Another small, casual shrug came in response to the question. “Eventually, yes,” you answered. “I do need to eventually go home and sleep before coming back here tomorrow morning.” You paused, that look on your face like you were seeing straight through him briefly returning before you continued. “But you looked like you needed…something. Figured a coffee wouldn't hurt, at least.”

Jax stood there staring at you, just taking in what you had said and that warm, friendly smile. It didn't make sense–you didn't make sense. And he wasn't sure how he felt about the way you seemed to actually see him. It was unsettling.

“You're an odd one, sunshine,” he murmured. 

Almost instantly, a delighted laugh met Jax’s ears as he took another sip of his coffee. As he swallowed the drink down, his own lips couldn't keep from drawing themselves upwards at the sound. 

“Sunshine?” you asked, both of your brows raising back at him.

Bottom lip rolling between his teeth, Jax bit back the grin threatening to spread across his face as he nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sunshine,” he repeated. “Suits you. You're so goddamn friendly and nice.”

“Well that's a new one for me,” you told him.

There was something different about the smile on your face now, but Jax couldn't quite place what it was. He'd never had a woman smile at him like that before. Not even Tara.

The thought of Tara was like a kick to the chest, a jolt of pain shooting through Jax. His expression abruptly fell, aware that all the usual thoughts he'd had about her after she had left him a second time were going to come back and hit him hard the second he walked out of your shop. 

“Right. I should let you close,” he replied tersely. 

Giving you a nod in goodbye, Jax's mouth felt dry as he turned around towards the exit. A confusing mix of thoughts were swirling in his mind now.

“Goodnight, Jax,” you called out behind him.

The sweet, soft tone gave him pause as he rested one hand on the door handle. His blonde brows drew together, jaw clenching tight as that familiar rage and darkness inside of him felt like it was clawing its way up his chest, threatening to spill out of him in the form of some rude comment that would knock that friendly smile off your face. He didn't deserve you treating him like this. He was a terrible person. He knew he could prove it to you with just a few simple words, but before he could open his mouth, you spoke again.

“Feel free to stop in again sometime,” you told him. “You're welcome here anytime just like anyone else, Sons’ President or not.” A soft noise almost like a little laugh came next before you added on, “Preferably when I'm open, though.”

His body went rigid at that pleasant, melodic little laugh of yours. Slowly, Jax turned to look over his shoulder at you still standing behind the counter. You were indeed over there smiling, but the urge to be an asshole just to show you what kind of man he really was–that he shouldn't be treated like everyone else–disappeared almost immediately at the sight of it. How the hell did you keep doing that? Keep disarming him so easily with just a goddamn smile?

“I'll keep that in mind,” he muttered.

Without giving you a chance to say more, confused as to the weird effect you seemed to have on him, he pushed the door open and stepped back out into the summer evening. The noise from the clubhouse across the street carried its way to Jax’s ears as he began to make his way back over to where the Sons were smoking in the parking lot. He took another drink of his coffee as he went, his thoughts briefly straying to you and that entire strange encounter he'd just had.

There was just something about you that was so damn unfamiliar to Jax. You were all light and warmth, like the embodiment of sunshine itself. Nothing like anyone he'd ever met before in his life and it intrigued him as much as it bothered him. For weeks he had been watching you through your shop window wondering what it would be like to have you smile at him like he'd often seen you smile at all of your other customers, and now he knew. It felt like the summer sun finally rising to start the day after a long, dark night. And Jax found himself oddly craving more of your warmth, suddenly not giving a shit if he got burned in the process.

[bitchface24-7]

Absolutely angsty idea, reader is a mortician and after JayVik disappear with the Hexcore they work on their funeral shroud and grapple with the feelings of being left behind. 😌

WAITING FOR YOU… - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: they’re dead. Your boys are dead. You’ve always held sympathy and empathy for the dead, caring for them, cleaning them up, ensuring they look just as their families remember them; it’s your job. But you boys are dead. And there’s no bodies to care for. So you make a shroud for them with items of there’s to burn in the furnace, it’s the best you’ll get. Your boys are dead, and you’re alone.

warnings: major character death, feelings of loss, mourning, depression, remembrance, angst, implied suicide, pre-established relationship

genre: m/m/f or m/m/m

p.s. now why would you do this? This was a great request and such an interesting plot idea, but goddamn it’s sad :(

The lyrics are from “Time in a Bottle” by Jim Croce. It was between this or “Fourth of July” by Sufjan Stevens

If I could save time in a bottle

The first thing that I'd like to do

Is to save every day

'Til eternity passes away

Just to spend them with you

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your boys are dead, you know it deep down. You swear you felt your heart stop when theirs did. You weren’t there for their death, you don’t even know what caused it, but they’re gone.

And they’re not coming back.

As a mortician, you care for the dead. You give them the honour and respect they deserve. You clean them, care for them, make them look like themselves so the families and friends can grieve in peace. It’s your job.

You never thought you’d have to do your job on your two loves.

They were so young, just barely in their thirties. Full of bright ideas and world changing plans. But things got out of hand, people got hurt. People died. Your boys died.

So now you’re here, in your mortician lab crying silently as you sit by your desk. There are no bodies. Nothing to remember them by, as if they never even existed.

You were all supposed to grow old together, live your lives, and love each other unconditionally.

But they’re gone now, they left together. And you’re all alone.

You know it wasn’t planned, but your heart still aches. It’ll ache until the day you die. You can’t imagine a world without them in it, but now you have to.

You’ll make a shroud for them. Just one. They died together, you’ll bury them together. You just need some items of theirs to use.

So you have to go to their lab.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

If I could make days last forever

If words could make wishes come true

I'd save every day like a treasure and then

Again, I would spend them with you

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Their lab is a wreck. Broken windows, papers on the ground, their desks are splintered, the blackboard is ruined.

You see their wheelie chairs, and you break down sobbing. You remember how they’d sit there and bicker. Work on equations and prototypes. How your conversations would flow late into the night as you all sat by one another and appreciated the company. You’ll never get that again, your boys are dead.

And you’re all alone.

You pick some things to put in their shroud. Some pens, notebooks, a few hexgems, you even take a spare cane and hammer.

They’re your boys, and they deserve a proper burial. Even if you can’t give them one.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

But there never seems to be enough time

To do the things you want to do

Once you find them

I've looked around enough to know

That you're the one I want to go

Through time with

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You go back to your lab, ensuring none of the other residents of the academy or the enforcers see you. You won’t let them stop you from honouring them, both of them. You can already see how Viktor will be forgotten, ignored, and villainized. You won’t let that happen, you’ll never forget him.

You’ll never forget his passion for helping others, helping the world. His sarcasm, his humour, how sweet he was.

No, you’ll never forget him.

You’ll never forget Jayce either.

But the rest of Piltover won’t forget Jayce. They’ll purposely leave out Viktor, and you won’t allow Viktor’s greatest fear come true.

You won’t allow him to be forgotten.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

If I had a box just for wishes

And dreams that had never come true

The box would be empty

Except for the memory

Of how they were answered by you

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You finish the shroud, a basic linen fabric. You put all their items inside as carefully as you can. This is their stuff, it’s them. It’s a replacement, but it’s good enough. You won’t harm your boys, they’ve already been through enough.

You hum a melancholic melody as you write their names on a slip of paper. Your scrawl encapsulating the love you have for them, and your loneliness. You won’t ever see their smiles again, hear their laughter, watch them grow old.

You just pray as the years catch up to you you never forget them. You’re one of the only people who’ll remember the real them.

You place your shroud onto the incinerator and gently place the slip of paper on top. You start the fire and conveyor belt, and watch as your two boys leave you for one final time.

You can’t help but whine when you see them enter the blaze, the paper incinerating almost instantly as the shroud slowly burns. Eventually all that’s left is the cane and the hammer, and it takes a while for them to melt down.

As if they’re fighting, as if they’re trying to stay with you. But they can’t, your sweet boys are dead, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You know they’d want you to live a long life without them, but you can’t imagine how. How will your life go on without them in it?

Hopefully you can still see them in your dreams.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

But there never seems to be enough time

To do the things you want to do

Once you find them

I've looked around enough to know

That you're the one I want to go

Through time with

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

What you don’t know is they can still see you. They see you cry, they see you scream in agony, they see you make their shroud, they see you break and become numb.

They desperately want to reach out to you, they want to comfort you, have you back in their arms as they fight away your worries and fears. They want to kiss your lips and hug you close.

But they can’t.

They don’t know how to get to you.

So they’ll sit and watch as you crumble apart, your sadness enveloping you in ways they’ve never seen before.

And they’ll pray.

They’ll pray to gods they don’t believe in anymore to save you, help you, love you. Maybe they can visit you in your dreams, maybe they can comfort you in the dead of night.

They just hope you don’t follow in their footsteps. Their hearts wouldn’t be able to take it.

(You do.)

(And their hearts shatter.)

I wrote this like the flash. Honestly the prompt really inspired me and it absolutely shattered my heart. Wtf y’all, get your tissues ready cause this is a doozy.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Trigger Warnings: Contains Spoilers: Angst with a side of crack, CEO drama, Overprotective besties, Ex-MI6 Haibara chaos, Silent menace Megumi, Trillionair MC problems, Pregnant and done with everyone, Emotional whiplash, Unhinged humor, Found family dynamics, Themes of betrayal and emotional manipulation, Media harassment, Brief mentions of past trauma (non-explicit), Characters acting unhinged but hilarious, Emotional conflict with undertones of reconciliation, Snarky banter and crackfic energy, Dysfunctional Relationships, Megumi Fushiguro Being a Menace, Haibara Acting Like a Serial Killer, Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento Regret Everything, Slow Burn Karma, Reader gets the last laugh.

A/N: This chapter has it all: private revenge, public drama, bodyguards with questionable morals, and reporters who are downright nosy. Expect some absolutely unhinged banter to balance out the angst, all while following one very pregnant CEO who isn’t here for anyone’s nonsense. Don’t let the opening scenes fool you—things are about to get wilder. I’ll keep the spoilers to a minimum, but you might want to have a stress ball handy. And remember, comments are my lifeblood! If you laugh, cry, or find yourself questioning your existence while reading, please drop a note.

Chapter 10 (alt ending 2.1) - Silent Reckonings (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 11 (alt ending 2.2) - Snakes & Mirrors

Neither man spoke, but the shared look said everything: they would not lose you for the twins .

Silence blanketed the room, broken only by the steady hum of the machines monitoring your vitals.

More time passed, but neither left your side. Once the IV and the machines were removed and you seemed to be comfortable, exhaustion finally pulled them under. Gojo’s head dropped onto the edge of the bed, his hair splayed messily across the blanket, one hand protectively resting on your stomach. Nanami leaned back against the headrest, his head tilted back, arms limp at his sides—a rare moment of surrender from a man who never allowed himself to falter.

Your body shifted slightly, a faint twitch that had both men snapping awake, their exhaustion forgotten in an instant.

They didn’t move; their eyes locked on your sleeping form, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest like it was the only thing keeping them sane.

After a while, they both laid on opposite sides of you and fell asleep again, and the room settled into an uneasy peace, punctuated only by their soft, whispered apologies.

---

When you woke, it was pitch black. The air was thick with the scent of cologne—familiar. Regret clung to the room like a second skin. Your body ached in places you didn’t know could hurt, but the ache in your chest was worse: a hollow, gaping void that pulsed with every breath you took.

You were home.

Fuck.

The sheets beneath you felt alien, the fabric too soft, too clean—like they’d been stripped of the weight of memories. But they couldn’t erase everything. Your mind dragged you back to the last time you’d been here.

You’d been curled up on this very bed, smaller than you thought possible, their whispers wrapping around each other like silk cords, choking the air out of your lungs. You remembered Gojo’s voice—low, careless: “Why not? She’s asleep.”

The sheets had burned against your skin that night, and the sobs you muffled into your soul felt like they would never end. Your body curled away from their warmth; your back to the cold men, the barrier between you and the betrayal beside you. They hadn’t even noticed. Or maybe they had. Maybe they just didn’t care.

The memory struck like a hammer. You thought of the nights before it all crumbled. Nights when Gojo would crash through the door, arms full of takeout and stories he couldn’t wait to share. When Nanami would follow with tea, slower, quieter, his eyes soft as they found yours. They would pull you close, the three of you tangled together in laughter and plans, in a love that had once felt unshakable.

But love wasn’t unshakable. Love could break. And they’d proven that.

One night, before the distance became unbearable, you had reached for Gojo. Your fingers grazed his back—a quiet, desperate plea for connection. For something, anything, to remind you that you still existed in their world.

Even in sleep, he shifted away.

Subtle.

Cruel. 

Like your touch had been an inconvenience he couldn’t bear to endure.

And Nanami.

Nanami, who had always been your constant. The one who had held you together when you couldn’t hold yourself. He lay silently beside Gojo that night, his breathing steady, his presence frigid. You knew he wasn’t asleep. You knew he felt you breaking apart. And yet he turned his face—toward Gojo.

Gojo’s arm had landed on Nanami’s abdomen, and Nanami had done nothing but pull him closer with an arm under his head, firm and certain. A sight that once would have brought you comfort now left you cold, abandoned like an afterthought .

Like a shameful secret, they couldn’t wait to leave behind.

Like you were a ghost, and they were moving on without you.

Like you never even existed.

You had tugged on your earring hard; the sting grounded you in a way their love no longer could. The pain was proof that you were real, even as they erased you from their lives one touch at a time.

Did you love them so much that they had you questioning your reality, your existence without even saying a word to you? Was there a word for this type of gaslighting?

And now, here you were again.

You turned your head toward the figures beside you. Nanami’s hand rested just below your chest, his brow furrowed even in sleep, as though guilt had chased him into his dreams. Gojo’s arm draped lazily over your waist, his mouth slightly open near your belly, soft snores escaping into the silence.

Vulnerable. Peaceful.

So far removed from the wreckage they’d left behind.

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to summon the warmth of their love. The love that once was. But the ache in your chest deepened, a familiar companion now, its weight as suffocating as it was constant.

But you felt nothing. No rage, no sorrow, no flicker of warmth. Just a vast emptiness.

Just the cold, hollow void where their affection had once lived. 

You wondered if you would ever feel whole again.

You had to get out from under their limbs, their bodies, their lies.

The blankets clung to your skin as if they wanted to hold you hostage, a smothering reminder of everything that had gone wrong. According to your husbands—it seemed that five of them, along with the blaring heater—weren’t enough to keep the cold at bay. Or maybe the cold wasn’t in the air but in your chest, festering like a wound that wouldn’t heal.

You peeled the blankets away, your hands trembling, and carefully lifted their arms off you. You placed Nanami’s arm over Gojo’s chest, where it seemed to belong now, and slipped away from the warmth that once felt like everything you had dreamed of.

Your feet hit the cold floor, the icy shock cutting through the haze in your mind. You moved toward the door, each step heavier than the last. Your breaths were shallow, almost gasps, as flashes of their hands snaking around your body in Norway invaded your mind. The way their desperation had bled into their actions. The way their fear had turned them into something monstrous.

Did your leaving make them go to such extremes?

Was this love?

Or were you just a possession they had lost — something they thought they owned and could reclaim whenever they pleased?

Your heart sank lower with each thought.

If they had truly loved you, wouldn’t they have noticed you slipping away?

Wouldn’t they have stopped before you became nothing but a ghost in their home?

Instead, they left you to rot in the shadows of their penthouse, forgotten in a corner like an unacknowledged rodent, an insect?

Going through the motions—taking care of their eggs?

Not even coming back most nights? Especially weekends.

You thought of the weekends they spent together, posting their outings on social media like they were the picture of domestic bliss. Like finishing the week was a victory, they celebrated with each other, never once thinking of the woman left behind.

You thought of the cold dinners and the dinners you’d often forget to eat because there was no one to care or notice if you ate, the empty bed, the sound of your own voice echoing in the silence because no one was there to hear it.

Then they didn’t even bother to notice you were gone for six weeks.

How could they? One needed to come home most nights to notice that a permanent fixture in their penthouse was missing.

And when they finally did notice, they couldn’t just shrug it off like they had shrugged you off that night when you begged them to tell you if they loved you.

No, they went straight for the one thing that brought you joy, the one thing that kept you distracted from the bleakness of your existence. They targeted the dream you had built from the ground up—the dream that had fueled you when you had nothing else to hold onto.

They went after your company. The one you had built alone.

Especially without them!

They went after the innocent people who worked there, targeting them with brutality that left you reeling. You had to intervene with Haibara and Higuruma, even in your pregnant state, when you should have been shielded from all this violence.

So what if they didn’t know you were pregnant?

Did that justify their descent into becoming terrorists just to get to you?

It had the opposite effect; instead of feeling safe, you were now terrified of them, terrified of the fathers of your babies.

But you weren’t weak. You would never let them see that fear.

Then Gojo even grabbed Nanami’s pecks mid-fight like they hadn’t learned anything. They even obliterated your reputation, making you extremely commonly known—leaving you unable to walk down the street without being noticed and humiliated. You were now constantly terrified that someone might grab you, that a mob might form to make an example out of you. All you ever wanted was to keep your life private, to enjoy the simple pleasures without becoming a target for their disdain.

Without becoming a typical CEO, up their own ass.

You didn’t look back.

You couldn’t.

Turning around meant shattering—a kaleidoscope of lost selves, and you were already a ghost.

A shell of the woman who once dared to drop her armour to let them in.

You wouldn’t make that mistake again.

If they wanted to own you, they could have the hollow echo of your name, but they’d never reclaim the woman who loved them unconditionally— the one who’d spent sleepless nights massaging their aching bodies after they returned home, broken from battles you couldn’t fight for them— not twice, not in the same breath.

That version of you was gone. You had squeezed out her last breath like a forgotten dream, her spirit crushed beneath the weight of expectation to obediently stay, to accept what they never gave. No amount of regret could resurrect her.

Toji was right— never trust the sweet-talking serpents, the ones who wrap their lies in honeyed words .

And Megumi? He saw through the facade; he knew the truth behind the smiles.

God, how you missed Megumi, the only one who understood the cost of love, the price of freedom .

Maybe this was your karma for betraying the only people who truly cared for you—the ones who stood by you while your own family beat you senseless each night, called you a whore for the simple crime of being born a girl, laughed at you when you told them you’d been assaulted as a child since six years old.

In the shadows of your past, you wondered if this pain was the price you had to pay, a twisted reflection of the loyalty you once turned away.

The thought of your best friend and his father almost brought tears to your eyes, but you willed them away; this was not the place; these were not the people you would allow yourself to be vulnerable around.

If they ever had been, those husbands of yours had died, and you were their widow now, staring down the men who’d abducted you, the ghosts of your past clashing with the harsh reality of your present.

In this modern maze of betrayal, you stood alone, a survivor in a world of whispers, ready to reclaim your shattered pieces and make them regret dragging you back.

They had always seen the gentle you. The soft you. The kind you.

The woman who laughed too easily, forgave too quickly, always saw beneath their surface and helped even if they could never really do the same for her.

The one who smiled through the pain, the one who let their words cut deep without retaliation.

Now, they would know how you became a billionaire at twenty-one, with no family, no money, just scraped knuckles and your wit. They would see the side of you that Toji raised— not by his blood . The one who taught you and Megumi that survival meant striking first and harder.

When the door clicked shut behind you, the silence of the house deepened, wrapping around you like a shroud, a reminder of the strength you had yet to reclaim.

And they didn’t stir.

Pathetic.

There was no point in running; you knew that. They would chase you to the ends of the earth. But it wasn’t fear that weighed you down—it was exhaustion. You were too heavy and tired for the chase, too hollow for the fight.

Your steps carried you to the guest room. A space untouched by their betrayal.

Your hand found the doorknob, but something caught your eye.

The ring.

That wretched ring.

It had somehow found its way back onto your finger, its weight burning like acid on your skin. The sight of it made your stomach churn.

Without thinking, you yanked it off, the motion so violent your knuckles throbbed. It glinted mockingly in the dim light before you hurled it at the hallway mirror.

CRACK!

The sound shattered the silence, a perfect echo of your splintering patience. You heard movement behind you—the groggy shuffle of feet and scared voices.

“Babe?” Gojo’s voice was hoarse, panicked.

“Wait,” Nanami’s voice followed, desperate.

You didn’t look back. You didn’t care to.

Your hand twisted the doorknob, and you stepped into the guest room. The door shut firmly behind you, the lock clicking into place with a finality that made your heart race.

“Baby, please—” Gojo’s voice cracked, his bravado gone. “Just let us talk.”

“Let us explain,” Nanami added, calm but edged with desperation.

You leaned against the door, staring at the barren room in front of you. Their voices blurred into the background, muffled apologies bleeding into the walls.

You didn’t answer. Didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. You were done wasting your energy on them.

This wasn’t forgiveness. This wasn’t understanding.

This was survival.

And you would thrive.

Climbing into bed and turning the nightlight on for the awful nightmares you had these days—you closed your eyes, letting the darkness swallow their voices.

---

Sometime later you stirred in bed, the weight of your belly making it difficult to find a comfortable position. The twins seemed to sense your restlessness; their tiny kicks were a bittersweet reminder of their presence. With a sigh, you realized the inevitable—another trip to the bathroom.

Slowly, you pushed yourself up, feeling the strain in your back and the pressure on your bladder. The room was dark, save for the soft glow of the nightlight. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the journey ahead.

Each step felt like a monumental effort, your swollen feet protesting with every movement. Was that oil on them?- Nevermind . The distance seemed longer than usual, but you focused on the goal ahead.

Finally, you reached the attached bathroom —thank god, because if you had to see those two right now, you’d kill a man . Inside, the light cast a soft glow as you gripped the doorframe for support. Relief swept over you as you sat down, the tension in your body easing for just a moment. The tears threatened to spill over from all the stress and hormones, but you blinked them back, determined to stay resilient. You had cried enough.

When you approached the sink to wash your hands, a glimpse of a couple of bandaids caught your eye, their placement suggesting something sinister. Fear washed over you.

What had they done? Had they tried to harm the babies? You knew they would never agree to them.

But then the twins kicked, their four little feet retreating, pulling you back from the edge of your spiralling thoughts. Your husbands wouldn’t go that far; they had too much to lose—if they harmed the babies—they would never be able to reconcile with you.

It wasn’t just your emotional assumptions—it was the fact that they would lose their leverage over you, the pretence of “ protecting you ,” that would keep you with them.

What a delusional joke.

They were using kindergarten tactics on the wrong person. Seriously? You were a CEO. Predicting bargaining chips, negotiating, and orchestrating hostile takeovers were all part of your daily grind. This was a child's play. If they thought they could outsmart you with these amateur moves, they clearly underestimated your experience or just underestimated you.

In the bathroom mirror, you caught a glimpse of your complexion—surprisingly better than you expected. That only happened when you’d been given some kind of glucose. But the needle mark on the inside of your elbow raised suspicions.

Why did they care about taking your blood? What were they testing for, and what did they really want to know?

You were too exhausted to unravel it all right now. In time, the answers would reveal themselves. You just had to keep your guard up around them.

After washing your hands, you made your way back to bed, each step a little lighter now that the immediate discomfort had passed. You settled back under the covers, and the darkness felt less oppressive. The twins shifted slightly, their movements a strange comfort. They made you feel less alone. You let your head sink into the pillow, exhaustion dragging you under.

---

Outside the door, Gojo sat slumped on the floor, his head in his hands. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing shallow. Every muffled sound you made from the other side of the door was like a knife twisting in his chest.

“She’s struggling,” he muttered, his voice raw.

“And we can’t do anything,” Nanami muttered, his voice hollow. He stood in the corner, shoulders slumped, head tilted against the wall, looking at the ceiling like he was trying to physically hold himself together. You were taking away the one thing he had always given freely—his ability to care and help.

They weren’t used to being powerless. They weren’t used to being the ones left out in the cold. Watching you struggle—knowing they had no right to fix it—was a punishment they hadn’t prepared for.

And for the first time, they realized this wasn’t a nightmare they could wake up from.

It was their reality.

And they had no one to blame but themselves.

“Let me call Shoko. She asked us to keep her updated,” Gojo said after a beat, reaching for his phone.

//

On the outskirts of Tokyo, Shoko startled awake, her face pressed against your ultrasound report. Her phone buzzed loudly on the desk.

"What?” She croaked, her voice raspy with exhaustion.

“She peed,” Gojo announced solemnly.

“Congrats.”

The line disconnected, and Shoko got up and slumped into a nearby hospice bed, muttering, “Morons,” before drifting back to sleep.

//

“Support railings?”

“Support railings.”

“I’ll order them. We’ll install them ourselves before she wakes up. And no calling any random person—we can’t let anyone know what devil spawns she’s carrying.”

“By we , you mean me ,” Nanami deadpanned, though he didn’t object.

“Of course, my big, strong husband. You know my hands are too soft for manual labour.” Gojo grinned. “Besides, I’ll be contributing by paying for it and staring at your glorious behind as you bend over to install them.”

“And you call yourself her husband.”

“Yes, in every sense of the word,” Gojo shot back, unbothered. “Also, I think your ‘efficient’ technique might help get it done faster without waking her. You know, or she might run away again.” 

---

The sunlight filtered through the blinds, pulling you out of restless sleep. You blinked, groggy, disoriented, and then you remembered again: you were in Japan.

On the wall clock, it was nine a.m.—far too late for work. But your aching body didn’t care.

You scrambled for your phone, only to realize—of course—it wasn’t there. Norway? Or confiscated by your husbands? You cursed under your breath, swung your legs off the bed, and forced yourself to move.

Dragging yourself to the bathroom, you froze at the sight before you. Mommy-and-me kind of products littered the counter. Safety railings lined every edge. The entire bathroom looked like a baby-proofing seminar.

They fucking teleported.

You sighed and went on. After your shower and skincare routine, you cracked the guest room door, peeking out like a criminal checking for the cops. 

Silence .

Faint noises drifted from the kitchen, but nothing in the hall.

The coast was clear.

You darted out, moving swiftly down the hall like a thief in your own home.

Midway, Nanami appeared like a wild Pokémon, holding a glass of something suspicious—probably a ginger shot. But you didn’t stop to inspect. Your feet moved faster than your thoughts, and you bolted past him like a child fleeing a lecture, his startled “Wait—” trailing behind you as you slammed your old bedroom door in his face.

Immature? Maybe. Satisfying? Absolutely.

The room smelled faintly of the cologne and regret. You ignored it, tearing through drawers and closets, searching for your phones.

Nothing.

But then Nanami’s phone caught your eye on the nightstand.

Foolish man hadn’t even changed his password. He couldn’t even cheat properly.

Unlocking it, you quickly dialled your numbers.

Both calls rang out to the robotic voice of Norway’s telecom service: “ The number you have dialled is currently switched off. ”

Your grip tightened on the phone. Of course, the morons hadn’t thought to bring them.

But you were nothing if not resourceful. You dialled a number Toji had drilled into your head years ago.

“Who’s this?”

“I’m back in Japan. Come pick me up for office. Bring a new phone.”

A laugh rumbled through the line. “Didn’t last very long, did you?”

“I’ll sit on your chest like a paperweight and crush the laughter out of you,” you snapped.

“Okay, okay, crazy. Megumi’s in Japan. I’ll bring him.”

There must have been a god listening to you last night. Your heart clenched at the mention of his name, but anything was better than dealing with the two intellectually challenged champions at home.

“And the media’s camped out front, just FYI.”

“Fine. Be here in twenty-five minutes.” You hung up, deleted the call log, and locked Nanami’s phone.

You sat at your vanity, forcing yourself to go through the motions. Foundation, mascara, lipstick—each stroke of the brush felt like a battle. Your hands trembled as you buttoned your shirt, deliberately avoiding the mirror’s gaze. The loose fabric offered some camouflage for what lay beneath, but getting into pants felt like a daunting task. Thankfully, you had some in relaxed fit that would make it easier.

After a quick spritz of cologne, you slipped into the heaviest, most oversized faux fur coat you could find. It still did little to conceal your enormous belly, but you took a deep breath and stepped out of the guest room, ready to face whatever awaited you.

The house was still. Too quiet.

You didn’t check for your husbands. You didn’t care where they were.

Just as your hand twisted the doorknob, Gojo’s grating voice came. “Where are you going?”

You froze, heart sinking. Before you could pretend you hadn’t heard him, Nanami’s calm but firm voice followed. “At least have breakfast. We’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

You didn’t even turn around. You yanked the door open, their startled exclamations muffled as you strode toward the elevator.

The sound of frantic shuffling behind you was almost comical—almost. Gojo tripped over his own feet, cursing under his breath as he tried to jam his socked foot into a sneaker. Nanami, in his haste, had grabbed your old slippers. The sight of his toes spilling over the edges like sad, unbaked croissants might’ve been funny once. Not now.

You didn’t care. Not as the elevator doors opened and you spammed the close button like Toji spammed slot machines. The last thing you saw before the doors slid shut was Gojo sprinting toward you, his face painted with pure panic.

“Wait, baby!”

Nanami immediately abandoned dignity, pivoting to the stairs. He bolted down them like his life depended on it, Gojo hot on his heels. Taking another elevator would not have been faster than their own legs.

The elevator hummed as it descended, a moment of quiet broken only by your heavy breathing.

Idiots. Gojo forgot he could teleport.

When the elevator reached the ground floor, you stepped out into the lobby, your fur coat swishing behind you.

//

The cursed energy hit Gojo and Nanami before they even reached the seventh floor. They skidded to a stop, their gazes snapping to Megumi below.

“Oh, come on,” Gojo groaned, slamming his palm against the glass staircase wall.

“Move,” Nanami barked, vaulting over the railing.

//

The car gleamed obnoxiously in the sunlight, a glaring testament to Haibara’s newfound wealth and complete disregard for subtlety.

Megumi straightened the moment he saw you. His broad frame now mirrored Toji’s, but his expression softened as you approached. He stood beside Haibara’s McLaren 765LT , his tall figure tense and unreadable, broad shoulders casting shadows against the sleek car. His eyes, sharper and colder than they had been in childhood, softened slightly when they met yours.

You walked towards him, your pace steady.

His gaze flicked downward, sensing the cursed energy radiating faintly from your belly. His brow furrowed. “Your…? But you… Did they force—”

“No,” you cut him off, smiling. “Nothing of the sort.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, his voice softer now. He hesitated before pulling you into a brief, firm hug, careful around your belly. It was awkward, but it was Megumi.

Before you could respond to him awkwardly, Haibara appeared behind you, grinning like a maniac as he wrapped both of you in an overzealous embrace. “Yay! You’re pregnant! The deadbeats get to continue their bloodline. Fantastic! We missed you. He’s sorry, you’re sorry. blah blah blah, but please get in the car before the Cracked Conjurers catch up and turn this into another trending disaster within the same week.” He stepped back, mockingly serious.

You didn’t need convincing.

//

By the time they reached the lobby, you were already next to the McLaren. Megumi’s stance had shifted; his body angled slightly in front of yours, protective. His glare cut toward the approaching Maniacal Magicians .

“Wait!” Gojo’s voice cracked as he closed the distance. His long legs carried him to you in seconds, his hand darting out to grab your arm, firm but desperate. He spun you around, his wide eyes searching yours for something—anything. Nanami caught up right next to him.

“Baby, please,” he rasped. “You can’t run away again. Don’t do this.”

Megumi’s eye twitched. His voice was low, venomous. “Let. her. go.”

Haibara’s grin widened, faux cheer dripping from his tone, but he was just getting murder-happy. “Oh, good, the jujutsu bimbos are here. Too bad she doesn’t want to talk to you.” He stepped closer, adding lightly, “But thanks for showing up, I guess.”

Gojo ignored them entirely, his eyes locked on you.

You sighed, still refusing to look at either of them. “Haibara, where are we going?”

“Office, like you asked.”

You caught Megumi taking a step toward Gojo, his fists clenched. Your hand shot out, pressing against his chest. He froze but didn’t back down.

“Enough,” you said firmly, your voice stern.

Nanami by now had caught up on where you were going, his hand landing heavily on Gojo’s arm holding you hostage. “Let her go,” he said with weighted words.

Haibara snorted. “Ah, the blonde babysitter speaks. Do you wipe his tears too?”

Nanami’s jaw gritted, but he didn’t respond. Gojo hesitated; his cerulean eyes burned with desperation, hand lingering on your arm like you’d asked for his firstborn, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Nanami sharing the same but slightly more hopeful look.

“Let. Me. Go,” you said, glaring at where his arm was still holding you, refusing to make any eye contact, each word dripping with acid.

Finally, Gojo’s hand fell away, but their expressions made it clear they weren’t letting go in any other sense.

You turned and climbed into the McLaren’s backseat without another glance. Haibara slid behind the wheel, but Megumi hesitated, his gaze lingering on Gojo.

“Megs!” you called loudly, your voice snapping him out of whatever storm was brewing in his mind.

He climbed into the car, slamming the door harder than necessary. Haibara hit the accelerator, the engine roaring to life as the car shot forward.

Through the rearview mirror, you caught one last glimpse of Gojo and Nanami. They stood there like abandoned luggage, their expressions raw and hollow.

Gojo’s lips moved as he stared after you, though you couldn’t hear him. It didn’t matter. You weren’t listening anymore.

//

The roar of the McLaren’s engine faded into the distance, leaving behind an oppressive silence that seemed to echo louder than any sound.

Gojo stood frozen, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps.

Nanami’s composure was cracking at the edges, the tight lines of his jaw and clenched fists betraying his calm.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“She didn’t even look at us,” Gojo said finally, his voice a whisper.

“She shouldn’t have to,” Nanami replied.

Gojo turned to him, his frustration bubbling over. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means we’ve given her no reason to.” The weight of Nanami’s stare bore down on Gojo. “We’ve done nothing but hurt her, Satoru. What did you expect? That she’d forgive us because we showed up and begged?”

Gojo’s face fell further, replaced by something brittle. “I just…” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands like it would pull the words free. “I don’t know what to do, Kento.”

Nanami didn’t respond immediately. He looked down at his hands, at the faint tremor in his fingers, and wondered if this was what it felt like to truly lose.

Not a battle. Not a mission. But everything that mattered.

“You can’t fix this with grand gestures or empty words,” Nanami spoke finally. His voice was low, laced with the kind of grief that came from knowing he was speaking the truth. “We betrayed her, Satoru. You can’t undo that overnight.”

Gojo’s laugh was bitter, humourless. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see it every time she looks at me like she’s scared of me?” He turned away, his hands clenched at his sides. “She hates us.”

“No,” Nanami corrected, his tone sharp. “She doesn’t hate us. That would require her to feel something for us. Right now, I think she feels nothing at all.”

The words hit like a blow, and Gojo staggered under their weight. His shoulders slumped, his head dropping forward as if the world had grown too heavy to bear.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then Gojo muttered, “She called Megumi ‘Megs.’”

Nanami glanced at him, frowning. “What?”

“She called him ‘Megs,’” Gojo repeated, his voice breaking. “She hasn’t called me anything since she came back. But she called him Megs. Even after he told her to die back then.”

Nanami didn’t respond. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make it worse.

Gojo laughed again, softer this time, almost to himself. “I don’t even blame her. He turned out to be right that day.”

The admission hung in the air, burning and suffocating.

“She doesn’t need us anymore,” Gojo whispered.

Nanami closed his eyes again. “Maybe she never did.”

The two men walked back to the penthouse—to at least make you lunch—side by side but worlds apart, thinking of the empty street where the car had disappeared. The silence was a chasm neither knew how to cross.

//

In the car, Haibara glanced at you in the rearview mirror. “So, are we calling this a kidnapping or a rescue?”

“Depends,” you replied. “Did you bring the phone?”

Haibara tossed a box onto your lap, smirking. “Brand new. Untraceable. I even downloaded a few games on it for you. You’re welcome.”

Megumi, still fuming, leaned towards Haibara. “Why didn’t you just block them out? I could’ve set up wards.”

“Because I didn’t think they’d act like stray dogs in a thunderstorm,” he shot back.

“They’ve always been like that,” Megumi muttered. “I should’ve punched that white-haired freak of nature.”

“Wouldn’t have made a difference,” Haibara added. “You’d have to punch him twice. Once for his head, once for his ego.”

You let out a faint snort.

“Are you okay?” Haibara asked, his tone softening.

“I’m fine,” you lied.

Neither of them believed you, but they didn’t push.

“HQ’s fifteen minutes out,” Haibara said instead, changing the subject.

You nodded, gripping the phone tightly as you set it up and changed all your old passwords. Work was the only thing that mattered now.

---

After a tense but apologetic exchange with Megumi, the car pulled into your HQ’s heavily secured back entrance. The roar of the crowd outside was impossible to ignore—flashing cameras, yelling reporters, and chaotic energy that hammered against the armoured vehicle like a storm.

Haibara let out an annoyed sigh, scanning the scene. “They’re here too. Persistent little rats.”

He reached into the glove compartment, tossing you and Megumi black baseball caps that obscured half your faces. Haibara donned his own, tugging it low enough to hide the crazy glint in his eyes.

Megumi leaned forward from the back seat. “We should’ve just gone with the helicopter.”

“Next time,” Haibara muttered, cutting the engine.

The second the car doors opened, Megumi’s elite security team—men in dark suits, built like tanks and trained to perfection—descended. Armed to the teeth and moving with military protocols, they formed a protective shield around the three of you.

The reporters swarmed anyway, desperate for a soundbite.

“Do you think your company can recover from the PR nightmare your husbands caused?”

“How does it feel to be married to two terrorists who stormed your own company?”

“Ma’am, are you still running the company, or are you just a figurehead now?”

“Have you left your husbands for the men with you?”

“Ma’am, are you pregnant?!”

The questions were relentless, barbed and ridiculous.

You didn’t flinch. Years of dealing with vultures like these had made your mask of serene confidence unbreakable.

Haibara stepped forward, his posture relaxed but predatory. His smile was polite—on the surface. Beneath it lay the threat of a man who could snap necks like twigs. “That’s a lot of questions for people who clearly haven’t touched grass in years.”

Beside you, Megumi moved like a shadow, his presence a silent menace. His broad frame created an impenetrable barrier between you and the cameras, a hand resting lightly on your back to steer you forward, not letting the vultures trip you.

One reporter, bolder than the rest, shoved a mic toward him. “And who are you to her?”

Megumi turned his head slowly, his icy gaze enough to make the reporter take a step back. His voice was calm but laced with warning. “Someone who doesn’t owe you an explanation. Now move before I turn your camera into a souvenir.”

The reporter stumbled back, unnerved, but another one yelled, “Are you replacing her husbands? You seem better qualified!”

Haibara let out a humourless laugh, glancing at you with mock glee. “Do I get to punch one? Just one. I’ll even aim for the softest one here.”

“No,” you replied dryly, though your lips twitched in amusement.

The questions kept coming.

“Ma’am, are you using these men as a PR stunt?”

“Are your husbands here today, or are they still hiding after embarrassing you publicly?”

“Are the babies of the men with you?”

That one made you pause, your gaze snapping to the reporter who’d dared to ask.

Before you could respond, Haibara’s hand shot out, shoving the mic away with just enough force to send a message. His grin turned feral. “Keep talking, and I’ll make sure your next headline is about your missing teeth.”

Megumi leaned down, whispering something to one of his men. Within seconds, the security team swept through the crowd like a well-oiled machine. Cameras, phones, and recorders were confiscated ruthlessly.

One reporter, smugly scribbling notes on a notepad, thought he was safe—until Haibara snatched it from his hands. Maintaining unbroken eye contact, he calmly folded it into a paper aeroplane and launched it into a nearby fountain.

“Oops,” he said flatly, his grin widening.

“Let’s go,” Megumi murmured, his hand firm against your back.

The chaos peaked when one particularly brave—or stupid—reporter blocked your path, shouting, “Were you in on the terrorist attack, ma’am? Our sources say it was an insurance scam to profit off the damages!”

You stopped, tilting your head slightly, your expression one of mild curiosity.

“An insurance scam?” you repeated, your voice cool.

The reporter smirked, thinking they’d rattled you.

Your smile turned sharp. “Let me clarify something. My company is insured against such incidents—because I’m a realist. However, we haven’t filed any claims for damages. I paid for everything—repairs, property damages, even severance packages—out of my personal account. Feel free to verify that with your so-called ‘sources.’”

The reporter faltered, but you weren’t done.

“You’re so eager to harass me, but I see none of you going after the men responsible. They’re living their lives unbothered, while I’m treated like the villain because I’m a woman running a trillion-dollar company.”

Your gaze shifted to the reporter who had posed the question, curiosity mingling with a hint of challenge as your eyes narrowed. You stepped closer, causing the reporter to instinctively back away. “I recognize you,” you said, a smirk playing on your lips. “You’re from that charming little news channel that spread those ridiculous rumours about me—what was it again? That I used to be a man? Because no woman could possibly be this innovative as a CEO?” You gestured to your stomach, where the curve of your pregnancy peeked out from beneath your coat. “Clearly, that’s not the case.”

The crowd buzzed, whispers breaking out.

“And yes, I’m carrying their twins,” you continued smoothly. “But don’t make the mistake of seeing my children as extensions of their fathers. I will make sure they are nothing like them.”

You smiled at the reporters, unfriendly.

“So, next time you want to spread baseless rumours, try using more than half a brain cell. Someone might sue you. And it won’t be me—because I have people for that.”

You turned on your heel, striding toward the entrance with Megumi and Haibara flanking you like demons in suits. The reporters were stunned into silence, their cameras and recorders confiscated, notes destroyed, and pride in tatters.

Megumi said nothing, his eyes calculating as they swept over the crowd one last time. Whatever he was thinking, he kept to himself.

---

After addressing your employees in the sprawling courtyard, you apologized again for your husbands’ disastrous acts. The team’s murmurs had shifted from confusion at your sudden appearance to understanding—your candour and willingness to take responsibility were part of why they worked for you. You weren’t one of those CEOs who didn’t take accountability and/or fix things.

“Thank you for your patience,” you’d said, your voice calm but resolute. “This company has survived, and we’ll come out of this stronger. Now, back to work—this DLC won’t finish itself.”

A smattering of laughter followed as you dismissed them.

Once inside your office—a sleek space overlooking the city skyline—you immediately collapsed into your ergonomic chair. Haibara scanned the room, his MI6 instincts kicking in as he checked for anything out of place. Megumi moved to the large sofa by the window, setting up his laptop and pulling out his noise-cancelling headphones. Ready to start his workday for his own security solutions company.

“Breakfast?” Haibara asked, already halfway to the door.

“Something fast and edible for three-in-ones,” you replied, pointing to your stomach. “And chocolate mousse. I don’t care if it’s not breakfast-appropriate—I need it.”

Haibara smirked. “At ten in the morning?”

“Let me celebrate being the first man to ever get pregnant in peace,” you said sarcastically, shooing him away.

He snorted but left without another word.

Megumi had settled into his corner, his focus already glued to his screen. You appreciated the quiet hum of his laptop—it was grounding, steady. Unlike your husbands, he didn’t fill the silence with needless chatter or make excuses to hover. He let himself be there, letting his actions speak for themselves, and you appreciated it more than you could say.

Reaching for the intercom, you pressed the button. “Get me, Dove.”

Your assistant’s voice crackled through. “The one with the unhinged game ideas?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. “Right away.”

You didn’t miss the confused edge in his voice.

Fifteen minutes later, Dove stepped in. Her oversized hoodie was emblazoned with the company’s latest title, and her caffeine-fueled energy radiated off her in waves. She fidgeted, looking like she’d been summoned to her execution.

“Take a seat,” you said, gesturing to the chair across from you. “Want something to eat?”

She shook her head quickly, her knee bouncing under the table.

You texted her department head: “ Make sure Dove eats today. If she’s caught snorting coffee beans again, you’ll find yourself with no one reporting to you and reassigned to a position where you’ll be working solo. ”

Turning your attention back to Dove, you folded your hands. “You’re the one who suggested turning my husbands into horror game villains, right?”

Dove froze, colour draining from her face. “Uh… yes. But it wasn’t a serious pitch—I mean, I didn’t think it was—”

“Good,” you interrupted. “Make it serious. I don’t care if it’s a DLC or a full standalone title. Make it as unhinged as possible. Tank their reputations if you have to.”

Dove blinked. “Seriously?”

“Excuse me?” Your tone grew authoritative, though the glint in your eye betrayed your amusement.

Her face lit up, a manic grin spreading across her lips. “I mean—yes! Absolutely. This is going to be so good. Thank you for letting me be my true self!”

“Don’t disappoint me,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “HR will be in touch about your promotion.”

But Dove was already halfway out the door, mumbling to herself about game mechanics and voice actors, her hoodie strings flapping wildly.

From the corner, Megumi smirked faintly, his eyes flicking up from his laptop. “You’re really giving her free rein on this?”

“She’s good. Let her cook,” you replied simply.

You shot a quick Slack message to the CHRO: “ Process Dove’s promotion immediately. Increase comp to match senior developers. She’ll be working on something high-risk, high-reward. ”

Soon after, Haibara returned with bags of food, setting them on your desk with a flourish. “Breakfast for three and two,” he announced.

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s safe, right?”

“Triple-checked,” he said, pulling out neatly labelled containers. He handed you one.

Megumi glanced up. “Got anything for me?”

“Of course. You’re still growing, after all,” Haibara teased, tossing him a box.

Megumi caught it with a deadpan expression, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t help it, Grandpa. It runs in the family. You know, like your prehistoric wisdom.”

Haibara feigned shock, placing a hand over his heart. “Prehistoric? I prefer vintage. Besides, I’m not that much older than you!”

“True,” Megumi pointed out. “But you are older than her, and I’m younger than her, which makes you practically a fossil. Tell me, what was it like inventing fire? Did it take a lot of R&D?”

“Fire?” Haibara snorted. “Back in my day, we didn’t even have matches. We had to walk uphill both ways, barefoot, to borrow fire from the neighbour’s cave. And don’t get me started on dial-up internet.”

“Dial-up?” Megumi shook his head, smirking faintly. “Sounds like medieval torture. ‘Your honour, I sentence you to AOL.’”

Haibara, already chewing, gestured wildly. “Well, at least our self-esteem didn’t hinge on likes and TikTok dances. You lot cry over one bad comment. Back then, we had entire poke wars on Facebook!”

“Poke wars?” You interjected, trying to suppress your laughter. “That sounds like a euphemism for something wildly inappropriate.”

Megumi tilted his head, faux-serious. “Sounds more like an HR summoning waiting to happen.”

You snorted mid-bite, turning your laugh into a mini-coughing fit. “Ugh, I think I just choked on the weight of your outdated humour.”

Haibara grinned, patting your back. “See? Even the food agrees I’m intellectually superior.”

Soon the conversation shifted as Haibara leaned forward, his grin turning mischievous. “So, about that horror game, I overheard the buffering girl muttering about. What if we make one of your husbands cry every time the player loses? Real tears. Full mocap. I’m talking cinematic trauma .”

Megumi chuckled softly, not looking up from his laptop. “Too subtle. Make them bosses you can only beat by insulting them. The more personal, the better.”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting a grin. “Cross-platform compatibility, unhinged marketing, and emotional catharsis? We’d break pre-sale records.”

“Or start a lawsuit,” Megumi added dryly.

“Then we’ll counter-sue for emotional damages,” you said smoothly, popping another bite of food into your mouth. “And knowing Dove, she’s probably already plotting how to make a multiplayer mess with five DLCs.”

“Remind me to never piss you off,” Haibara muttered, shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” you replied, chewing.

After that, the three of you ate in companionable silence, the kind only years of friendship could create. Haibara cracked jokes about the absurdity of corporate life, Megumi made dry remarks about Dove’s inevitable rise to cult status, and you—despite yourself—felt the weight on your chest lift slightly.

---

When you left your office to meet a senior VA, Kenjiro Tsuda, the gaming HQ was buzzing with its usual chaotic energy. Mechanical keyboards clacked furiously, RGB lights glowed like a cyberpunk rave, and somewhere in the distance, someone blasted a remix of “ Look at this graph Gone Wrong ” mashed with death metal.

As you walked by, conversations quieted, heads turning in your direction. Employees who were already working doubled down, typing like their lives depended on it. Others grabbed random papers, pretending to read them. One was even reading the in-house lunch menu with the intensity of a SWOT analysis.

“Morning, boss!” a junior developer called out, waving a little too enthusiastically.

“Morning, Jack,” you replied, nodding with a small smile but not slowing your stride. Haibara and Megumi flanked you, their imposing presence drawing whispers.

“Uh… who’s the muscle?” someone muttered, eyes wide.

“Security detail,” another replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

“They’re built like they maxed out strength stats at character creation,” a third chimed in.

“Is that the Exo suit guy? Someone please get me his number!” a product manager whispered, practically swooning.

Haibara caught wind of that. He flexed his bicep without removing his hand from his trousers, and pulled his sunglasses down just enough to shoot her a wink. He continued walking alongside you and Megumi, exuding effortless charm.

The product manager nearly fainted, clutching her keyboard like it was a life raft.

---

By noon, Dove had already assembled a team. The conference room was packed, with employees chatting animatedly as they waited for you to start. The meeting ran smoothly, and by the end, the team had transitioned into post-meeting chatter, unbothered by hierarchy.

That was when Francisca leaned across the table, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Boss, about turning your husbands into NPCs... cool if we give them negative stats?”

“Like charisma set to zero and a special ability called gaslighting,” someone added.

“Or make them lootable!” Haibara chimed in, grinning. “They could drop useless items like half-baked apologies and expired promises.”

Megumi smirked faintly, still clicking away on his laptop. “Program them to flee when faced with accountability. Though the AI coding might be too complex for that.”

You couldn't help but laugh. “If this game ever happens, you’re all getting royalties,” you said with a smile. "Sam, please open a mailing account so employees from all departments can send in their ideas and share the access with Dove’s team to sort them out,” you instructed your assistant, then turned to the team. "Now get back to work before I change my mind.”

The team groaned but obeyed, their chatter following them out.

---

The calm didn’t last.

Around two p.m., the courtyard was alive with laughter as the rare winter sun cast a golden glow over your employees. Conversations ebbed and flowed, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter. You sat with your CHRO and CFO, enjoying a rare moment of levity that softened the lines of tension on your face that had settled in recent months. The three of you were discussing the budget allocation for the 'villain energy' game, as Dove had deemed it in the absence of an official title yet.

“Why are there clowns at the entrance?” Your CHRO whispered, leaning in.

Your stomach sank.

“They’re not clowns,” your CFO muttered darkly. “Clowns have jobs.”

The courtyard fell silent as Nanami and Gojo entered, a contrast to the lighthearted energy moments before.

Your employees exchanged glances, unsure whether to laugh or run. One bold soul—a wildcard who always seemed to be on the verge of a write-up—stood up.

“Can we help you gentlemen find the exit?”

Laughter rippled through the crowd, short-lived as Nanami’s cold gaze swept over them. Conversations died mid-sentence. People stared at the walls, the ground—anywhere but at the two men who had turned their vibrant courtyard into a mausoleum of awkwardness.

You didn’t look at them. Rising from your chair with the help of your CHRO—damn these low sofas and your swollen ankles—and began walking toward the building. Your heels clicked sharply against the floor, each step deliberate.

“Baby, wait—” Gojo’s voice cracked.

You froze for a fraction of a second.

Is he fucking insane?

After everything?! The gall!

Of course, he would; he hadn’t held a job where he wasn’t the all-mighty in his life.

It was humiliating behaviour in the workplace, and Nanami didn’t even bother to correct him.

The sheer nerve of it sent heat creeping up your neck. To call you that here, in your office, after nearly destroying it?

You didn’t turn around. You wouldn’t dignify his words with a response. Your stride grew more aggressive as your CHRO and CFO fell into step beside you. The conference room door clicked shut behind you, sealing them out.

Megumi materialized like a shadow and with a twist of his neck motioned for the men to follow him to the farthest corner of the courtyard.

Once the men had followed him in, he crossed his arms, eyes colder than the winter air outside. “You’re trespassing.”

Nanami, the unpaid diplomat, held up the bag. “We’re just here to deliver food.”

“For who?” Megumi asked, his voice flat.

Gojo’s jaw tightened, his desperation bubbling over. “For our fucking wife ,” he snapped.

Haibara walked in behind Megumi, his presence casual but razor-sharp. He carried his own takeout bags, the logo from your favourite date-night-only restaurant glaringly visible. Nanami’s gaze lingered on it, his chest tightening.

“Why are they here?” Haibara asked Megumi, his tone light but loaded. “Didn’t you want to shoot them if they showed up again?”

Megumi shrugged. “I’m getting there.”

He exchanged a look with Haibara—silent, efficient, unspoken understanding passing between them—that the men had teleported inside somehow and they could not kill them anymore since they gained so much attention on social media, especially with you pregnant with their offspring. It would be too stressful for you.

Nanami felt it like a slap. The connection between them was something even he’d never had with Haibara.

“Hello, Haibara,” Gojo said, his charm forced.

Haibara barely glanced at him, unimpressed.

Nanami’s voice softened, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through. “You’re still going to act like we weren’t friends?”

Haibara tilted his head, his smile nonchalant. “Hmm. Don’t remember.” He handed a bag to Megumi and gestured toward the conference room door. “Let’s go.”

Gojo looked genuinely baffled. “How do you not remember me? I’m me!”

“That explains it,” Haibara replied without missing a beat.

Nanami would have surprise-snorted if the situation was different. Haibara was never the one who’d understood sarcasm, even if it hit him with a pan. But this Haibara was cunning.

Megumi smirked faintly. “Maybe you should get your name tattooed on that billboard you call a forehead.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady. “She hasn’t been eating properly. She needs homemade food.”

“She’s fine,” Haibara said, holding up his own takeout bag. “See? Covered. Now go cry somewhere else.”

“Please, Haibara,” Nanami said quietly, his tone raw. “We just want to help.”

Megumi’s glare turned lethal. “Help? Like you ‘helped’ her move to another country, isolated her, and left her dependent on you, only to abandon her when she needed you most?”

The words hung heavy in the air, cutting deeper than anything else could have.

Haibara sighed dramatically, breaking the tension. “Let’s not waste time. Give me the food, and we’ll decide if it’s worth sharing. If not, I’m feeding it to the pigeons.”

Gojo started to protest, but Haibara held up a hand. “And no, you’re not feeding the pigeons yourselves. They deserve better.”

He turned to leave, but Nanami’s voice stopped him.

“Yu.”

Haibara froze mid-step.

The name hung between them; a thread tied to a past Nanami wasn’t sure still existed.

For a moment, Haibara didn’t turn around. Then, slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “What?”

Nanami hesitated, his voice softer now. “You really don’t remember me?”

---

Within the hour, you sat in front of the camera, the live feed streaming to major news channels and platforms. The room was stark and professional; the company logo displayed discreetly behind you. Your hands rested on the table, folded loosely, your expression calm yet unyielding. You had opted to do this in only your shirt, no coat, for reasons the world was about to learn.

The light on the camera blinked red.

“Good evening,” you began, your voice steady but weighted with unspoken truths.

A/N: Thanks for making it to the end! Now, a quick poll because I need to know where your chaos alignment lies: Let me know your choice in the comments! Bonus points for creative write-ins😏

Next chapter will be out on friday :P

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz

Taglist Open.

[sp7-mr]

꧁𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒐 𝑴𝒂𝒍𝒇𝒐𝒚꧂

♡ He loves it when you play with his rings

♡ Hold you close when he's angry

♡ He gets offended very often

♡ He literally treats you like a queen

♡ Even though he would never admit it, he makes a lot of mental movies about the future with you

♡ He always holds your hand, he likes to feel your little fingers in his big ring-covered hand

♡ Kisses on the forehead >>>>

♡ Hums to help you fall asleep, knows that you like to fall asleep hearing his voice, without having to answer questions or keep your attention on a speech, simply hearing his voice

♡ He takes you to all the uncrowded places in Hogwarts, practically unknown to other students except him, to be together, talk in peace

♡ It doesn't matter if you've had an argument or anything, if you're walking and you're not holding hands, he'll hold out his hand and invite you to hold it, and it wouldn't be an offer or a choice you can refuse.

♡ He loves the rain, it helps him relax and sleep

♡ He doesn't let others command him, he's not the type to take orders. But if it's about you, he'll do whatever you ask of him, you ask and he does

♡ He stays awake until you fall asleep, no matter how long it takes, he waits for you to fall asleep first

Let me know if you want more with other characters too ᯓ★

[valar-did-me-wrong]

I keep seeing this sentiment among people that"the showrunners are giving into /going to give into Tolkien lore bros" and before too many fans actually start believing all this I jusy want to remind everyone somethings about..

The Hate Storm of 2022 🌪️

And how back then this show stood up with Ismael, Sophia, Cynthia, Morfydd, Sara, Lenny Meghan & Markella when the online hate was 1000000000000x worse than what you see rn.

If you weren't tuned into ROP back then, I assure you whatever vitriol you see about the show rn on twitter or ragetube is nothing compared to what was happening in 2022.

On sites like Instagram, not only bots & racists but even normal regular people used to directly bully you and pile on if you left even a single positive emoji in the show's comments.

Even many left leaning Tolkien blogs here were parroting lore points (originating on racist youtube channels) that were based solely on PJ movies, praising WB like it was a non-profit fighting against world hunger & warning to block ROP blogs on sight for watching a show made by Christian men

(PROF. TOLKIEN WAS A HINDU MONK WHO SOLELY WORE SAFFRON DHOTI I GUESS RIGHT?!?)

It was so much that back then the official trop Instagram account DELETED all their promotional photos, cast intros, teasers, trailers EVERYTHING to post a statment that condemned all the racist & horribly misogynistic vitriol thrown at the POC & female cast of the show.

They did all this when the hate campaigners were publically encouraging masses to review bomb ROP across internet to the point that IMDb had to suspend posting user ratings of the show without reviewing them first.

And the global public sentiment was basically hacked by loud incessant misinformation, lies and rage bait that made it trendy & even progressive to bash on the show.

Now despite all this the showrunners stood by their creative choices & actors back then just how they are doing it rn imo..

Remember when the Haters™ complained about Arondir being "too good of a warrior to be true"?? The show did not let that change their decision of showing Arondir as an exceptionally skilled warrior. Even in S2 when his storyline got disturbed by Nazanin leaving, they made sure to give him as many action sequences as possible, made him fight beside and more than High King Gil Galad of the Noldor & Elrond freaking Peredhel in the Siege.. even highlighted all this in BTS videos.

And when the the internet pushed that Galadriel should not be fighting on the frontline but rather float in forests?? They reminded the lore bros of Nerwen with her hairstyle exactly how Tolkien wrote and still made her fight orcs, rescue survivors, negotiate sucessful peace treaties, duel with Sauron & kick his ass in an ultimate finale showdown.

And orc family hate?? Despite all the loud nonsense around it they highlighted it with dedicated posts & Tolkien quotes instead of hiding it away.

And finally, despite consistent continuous complaints against the Harfoot storyline, they did not shrink it or write it out.. because in their vision of Tolkien the little guys & their stories are important so they stay, even going into S3.

I'm not saying there aren't any problems with their depiction of POC characters or writing or pacing. There DEFINITELY are, I mean look at who all died among Elrond's company... The problems especially with minor POC characters are there & VERY visible in S2. (which I hope they fix in future seasons)

But imo these things aren't because the show wants to please racist ragetubers or try to win over a group of Tolkien fanatics who will never become show fans anyway. You, me, my dog, the Haters™ and even Mcpayne know this.. it's common sense atp.

All to say this show was literally forged in the fires of Internet hate storms, I don't think the pathetic flicker of the remaining Haters matters to the showrunners anymore.

(Also the ratings people keep using to scare the fans are US ONLY ratings & data, there's a whole world out here beyond US & the show remained in the Prime top shows across many countries for weeks & weeks after the S2 finale.. and the constant stream of new viewers that are starting the show for the first time just on this website should be proof enough that the show is doing fine) Don't let the show haters' talking points get to you!

Season 3 is, for all intents & purposes, already green lit and ROP is going to complete the story it started out to tell.. don't worry needlessly :)

[domiiomii]

It is interesting to me how we don't actually see much of Viktor's life in Zaun besides his interaction with Singed but it is clearly something he carries deeply with him. One could think maybe Viktor hated Zaun, he seemed to isolate from other kids, or think he felt resentment that because of his birthplace he became ill, however none of that seems to be true because from the start he was always pushing to make the hextech available to the people of the undercity and when he gets his own power his first instinct is exactly that, to go back home and help those who have been ignored, who need it the most, who are just like him.

Perhaps it is not so much about growing up in Zaun but rather that Piltover made sure that he knew he didn't belong there. He knows he is an outsider, in every way, he says it when he meets Jayce and describes himself as a "A poor cripple from the undercity", which is very peculiar because we don't see anybody else in the series, despite the multiple characters from Zaun who are disabled, speak like that or seem to have those thoughts because disability is such a commonality there.

Viktor's "insecurities" if you want to call them that don't come out of thin air but out of the way he was clearly treated in piltover, him not wanting to speak publicly during Progress Day is sad sure, but it is not just because he saw his existence as "less than", but because he clearly was reminded of it constantly. It is not that he lacked the confidence, he clearly believes in himself, he knows his abilities, but he also KNOWS he won't be taken seriously, either because he is from the undercity or because he is disabled.

This very point is made clear through the scene with Mel when she argues for making hextech weapons, it is such a harsh reality check of Viktor's place in piltover. Viktor's voice doesn't matter at all to those in power, no matter how brilliant he is, no matter how much he has changed their lives. Mel doesn't even look at Viktor, she doesn't talk to him directly, Viktor is talked over by Mel and Jayce who are again literally standing over him while he sits down, the whole scene has the two of them having a conversation with Viktor in the room but ignoring him. Mel doesn't even try to argue her point with Viktor because to her Viktor's thoughts and opinions don't matter at all. In the end she tells Jayce and Jayce only "The decision is yours".

Another particular point is how she tells Jayce only "The peace is already broken Jayce, I'm only asking you to prepare to defend your people." YOUR PEOPLE meaning piltover and again all this being said right in front of Viktor an outsider, a man from the undercity, discussing how they will use the technology he helped developed against HIS OWN PEOPLE, people just like him. Very important detail here is that right after this interaction Viktor goes to the undercity and asks Singed for help after he realizes piltover will never help him, he goes back for help the only place he can get it because despite how much Piltover has benefited from Viktor's mind, he is never welcomed and his thoughts on what his work should be used for are not heard at all, everything of value is taken from him then he is left to die.

It is very funny how Piltover is regarded as this "beacon of progress" when you see how they treat their own population of the undercity where they don't even see them as equal citizens. This very point reflects in how Jayce is able to climb the social ladder while Viktor is always relegated and eventually even his name is scrapped from the technology he helped develop, he is a stranger in his own "city".

Talking about Jayce is also worth mentioning that, aside from Sky (also from the undercity), Jayce is the only person in piltover we see who cares about Viktor and the point is not lost on me that he comes from a lower much smaller house (not that his relationship with Jayce is perfect don't get me started on the "You were never broken Viktor" thing, that is a post of it's own). The relation of Viktor to the other elites of piltover we see is just bleak, Mel as established completely disregards him and even when he is at death's door I don't think she cared about him, she cared that Jayce cared about Viktor.

And then the worst of all, Heimerdinger who by all means should have been Vitkor's first ally as his professor is actually so quick to dispose of him and without a second thought and tell Viktor to destroy the technology that could very well be the only possibility to save him. The difference in how Himmerdinger acts with Ekko and Viktor is night and day, he denies Viktor any help to figure out how to save him while he "sacrifices" himself for Ekko's time machine. Now, how is a time machine not as dangerous as magic? I don't understand but this makes sense in the context that Viktor's life as a disabled person from the undercity seems to be established to be of less value.

For better or for worse piltover made sure that Viktor never forgot where he came from so him returning and helping the people who would never get help otherwise, people just like him, was the only path he could really follow.

On a personal note I find it so sad that the very clear class divide line in the plot was flatten in favor of “This is not about ideologies or territory, this is about saving humanity” when the very reason Viktor even became what he became and took the choices he did to what he thought was the best to save as many of the people like him as possible IS because of that class divide and it is because of the way piltover treated the undercity because of the pollution that made him sick and because of the the way piltover ignored the situation of the people they harmed.

[mymarifae]

i was talking about this on twt not too long ago but the hsr fandom has had phainon for not even a full week and already we have managed to dumb him down to a cutesy excitable friendly baby puppy.

now i don't disagree with the dogboy label. however! he is not merely a puppy. he is a deeply neurotic herding dog. give him a "job" to do and keep his mind busy and he's fine. perfectly friendly and playful to a point, maybe a little standoffish or particular about certain things, but like he's fine. just don't let him see the yawning abyss of boredom and discontent writhing inside himself or he'll start getting anxious and once he's anxious he's going to start making up things he NEEDS to do based off an imaginary set of Phainon Rules that no one likes or agrees with. these new "jobs" he has given himself will range from mildly inconvenient to actually genuinely destructive. and also he will periodically attempt to gnaw off one of his own legs out of stress

like. *scratching head loudly* are we looking at the same guy...? phainon is not a bouncy, excitable, happy-go-lucky character. he's amicable and likes to keep the peace, he's generally polite, he seems to genuinely enjoy meeting new people, he likes to play around and joke, but like. he's a deeply troubled, restless man deflecting concern and his own indecision and anxieties with a smile. and personally i felt like his mind was somewhere else in over half the interactions we had with him

because like, he's an inner brooder. whatever disaster befell his home haunts him, weighs him down with every step he tries to take. the chrysos heirs haven't actually won all his loyalty and devotion; that still belongs to his home. so he's got a war of priorities going on in his head at all times. he understands he has a duty and obligation to go save the world or whatever, but... he doesn't... want to? he never asked to be a hero, and he deeply resents the world for forcing him onto this path. he is so, so dissatisfied and so, so close to up and running and vanishing from everyone's radar. this is why nikador felt the need to give him a personalized trial, and this is why i think he's going to fail and the coreflame will go unclaimed (unless mydei stops moping around all the time)

and this is REALLY interesting because aglaea repeatedly describes him as a perfect hero. she's insanely smart and sees through everyone's bullshit. so. she KNOWS he's discontented and restless and anxious and unsure, and for some reason - some piece of information about the many prophecies floating about amphoreus rn - that is what makes him The Perfect Hero. from her perspective anyway. the world apparently needs a hero that doesn't know if he wants to bother saving it. why?

we could be having some fascinating discussions and theories about the implications here and what phainon's role in the prophecy will actually end up being but i. i see we would rather puppy-ify the guy. and not examine him any further than that. ok, that's fine i guess

[lindendragon]

i wont debate it with you anymore either cause your half right and half wrong in the worst way possible comparison of N and Ghetsis' plans is fucking despicable. N wants humans and pokemon separated so humans never lay their hands on them again. Ghetsis wants it so humans cannot rebel against him using pokemon. N thought every team plasmy pokemon would be released after the pokemon liberation. That it is a necessary but ultimately temporary evil to fight fire with fire, to have pokemon fight, if for anything, then their own liberation, rather than for the whims of humanity for eternity. Ghetsis finally snapped a betrayed N not just cause he lost, but cause N was too idealistic. Had Ns plan been fullfiled he would have seen cracks in the plan. He may be an adult but he very much has the understanding of politics and society of a 9 year old, which is not something you can blame him for cause again, he was specifically groomed to believe he can achieve world peace with a dragon like its a fairytale.

Not to mention the whole "n would still have pokemon" spiel. As if N didnt abandon his own Zorua because he genuinely believed it was better off without him.

Also, you do know some team plasma members genuinely believed in everything N did, despite growing up in regular human society unlike him. Theres characters who were things like pokemon nurses who constantly saw abused pokemon and decided that a world where humans cant get to them really is the lesser evil. Heck, over the course of the game you see many people who, while they didnt join team plasma, expressed doubts that their pokemon actually love them. Thats how indoctrination works

Wow, I can't believe some of the old message boards for Pokemon gen 5, especially for the characters. It's full of people saying stuff like: "All the characters are so awful. N is a preachy hypocritical little neckbeard just like everyone else in Team Plasma, the guy just watched Death note once and thinks he is so edgy", like, you're free to not like gen five or the characters, but these comments just seem like they come from people who haven't played the game in ages and are going off incredibly fuzzy memories, or did the whole story of being raised by wild animals and then being taken in and lied to, manipulated by a cult to be groomed into a puppet leader and the inherent pain and complications that come with it just completely go over their heads? As I've heard, N acts a lot like real people who were raised in cults and them got out of it eventually. Not to mention Bianca standing up to her overbearing father or her and Cheren's issues in general, or Hugh's entire reason he is so abrasive despite being a genuinely good person. I just really don't understand what could have been missed here or why anyone would think there's any reason to genuinely hate these characters?

[artist-kreating-stuff]

You’re as Beautiful as the Day I Lost You

“I… I know what you’re going to say, General,” Cody started out slowly. “How could I have done it? Kill you after everything we’ve been through… or at least, attempt to?”

His commanding officer… no, former commanding officer only stared at him, wide gaze unreadable. His face looked worn, his hair was more white than auburn, and even the humble desert structure behind him seemed wildly out of character. Yet Cody would never forget those bright blue eyes that put every sky Cody had ever seen to shame.

The stifling silence prompted Cody to continue. “W-well… I was given an order, General! F-from the Emperor… n-no, the Chancellor himself!” He had to remind himself that Palpatine was only the humble High Chancellor of the Republic at the time of the order. The simple fact reminded him just how drastically the galaxy had changed that day. “Good soldiers follow orders, that’s what we were always taught! Follow orders or risk being decommissioned! I was acting on instinct - we all were! I’m not even sure we were entirely aware of what we were doing at the time. If we knew what would become of the Republic, I promise you, we never would have done it!”

It was somewhat of the truth, though not the whole truth. The whole truth was that he wasn’t exactly sure what had happened. Before the order from the Chancellor came through, he had been excited about the potential prospect of the war finally ending. After the order came through, all he could think about was shooting down his General and every other Jedi he saw. Part of him at the time had screamed traitors, enemies to the Republic, shoot them down, kill them all.

The other part of him, which had been much quieter than the other part, had whispered why, how could you, they were your allies, your friends.

The only traitor here is you.

He shook himself to rid himself of the memory. It was the truth, yes, but it wasn’t a good enough explanation.

Though for what he and his brothers had done, he feared that there never would be a good enough explanation.

“I-I know I wronged you very badly…” He stuttered, having not thoroughly thought out this part of his speech. Part of him had doubted he’d even get through his poor attempt at an explanation for his actions before his former Jedi slid his lightsaber through his chest. “A-and I’m sorry that it took me so long to question the order. I thought that the Empire sought to bring the peace that the Republic failed to, we all did… most of us still do, I believe. Though the things I’ve seen have caused me to think to the contrary…”

With a start, he realized just how close Obi-Wan had gotten to him. Somewhere during his clumsy speech, the former Jedi had started moving towards him, his boots moving like whispers along the sand. His hands hung limply at his sides as he continued to stare at Cody; he wasn’t reaching for a weapon, yet, but Cody felt his panic spike all the same.

“What we did - what I did was wrong, I realize that now!” He claimed loudly, scuttling backwards two steps for every step Obi-Wan took forwards. His escape attempts were quickly shut down - one flex from Obi-Wan’s fingers and he was stuck in place, his limbs refusing to listen to his frantic commands to move. He may have been living on Tatooine, the hellhole of the galaxy, for years at this point, but he was still every bit the Jedi Cody had fought beside.

Had commanded his men to shoot down.

Obi-Wan still hadn’t said anything, his expression betraying nothing as he kept Cody in place with nothing more than his mind. Cody found his patience wearing thin. With everything that had happened, with everything that he was laying bare in front of him, he believed he was owed some emotion. “Stop being such a Jedi, sir!” He growled in his face. Obi-Wan was quickly closing the distance between them, causing Cody’s tone to switch from annoyed to full on frantic. “Go on - shout, scream, say something!”

With only a few inches between them, Obi-Wan did finally do something. He reached out and laid his hand on Cody’s cheek.

Cody’s eyes went wide at the contact. He still couldn’t move, but the same could not be said for Obi-Wan. His calloused fingers twitched over Cody’s skin, tracing the ridges of his scar and the new wrinkles that had popped during his service to the Empire. His bright blue eyes scanned Cody from head to toe, taking in his unruly streaked hair and the desert attire he had thrown together from various sources. His chest and torso, the latter a little thicker than the last time Cody had seen him, heaved with quick, short breaths.

The entire time, Cody couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe. He didn’t dare to, lest he break whatever spell was currently keeping Obi-Wan from killing him. He couldn’t tell if it was the Force or his own desperate will at this point.

It was only when Obi-Wan finished his inspection of Cody did he finally show emotion. He fixed his bright blue eyes on Cody’s wide brown ones and smiled warmly. He brought his face, weary and lined from the years spent in the desert, close enough for Cody to count the tears starting to drip down his cheeks. His cracked lips separated and he spoke in a mere whisper, “My dear Cody… you’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.”

A broken gasp filled the air between them, and it took a minute for Cody to realize that it had come from him. The Force hold that had been keeping him in place finally dissipated, but it didn’t matter. With those simple words, the dam he had been building since he had first met the great Obi-Wan Kenobi came tumbling down. Every lovesick emotion he had beaten down, every declaration of devotion he had swallowed, every small act of kindness he had convinced himself was one of duty instead of love, every overwhelming feeling of guilt he had felt since the day he’d ordered his execution… it filled him up so completely that he couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

The crushing wave of emotion reached his eyes, causing his own tears to well up and fall. Unable to deal with it all at once, he squeezed his eyes shut and allowed his head to lower until it rested against his chest. From beyond the darkness of his eyes, he heard Obi-Wan exhale a shaky breath of his own. Cody felt him move his fingers down his cheek until he was cupping his chin, gently pressing his face upwards. He thought that would be it, but he suddenly felt the soft pressure of two lips meeting his own, accompanied by the warm brush of facial hair.

Cody allowed himself to relax into the sensation, allowed it to tame the wave of emotion. When he felt Obi-Wan pull away, he finally opened his eyes, though made no move to wipe his tears. The warmth of Obi-Wan’s fingers disappeared from his chin, trailing down his chest to interlace with his own. The two of them simply stood there amongst the sand and the heat, smiling through their tears at each other.

Cody thought he would never be here. During the war, it had been unspeakable - he was a clone, one of many faces, whereas Obi-Wan was a Jedi. After the order came through, he had been positive Obi-Wan was dead, had seen him tumble off the cliff himself. When he finally started to question the order, he was devastated that he’d killed Obi-Wan without ever telling him his feelings. It wasn’t until he’d heard the passing mention of a desert hermit by the name of Ben Kenobi that he finally allowed himself to hope.

The Empire was still a problem, he was very well aware of that. Both of them were wanted men now, Cody even more so because the Empire was at least aware that he was alive. But now, with the sands of Tatooine around them and the twin Suns shining overhead, the threat of the Empire seemed so far away, and Cody couldn’t care less.

Because after so very long, he finally had his Jedi.

—————

After reading so many Codywan fanfics, I finally wrote one of my own! That one scene from How to Train Your Dragon 2 has always been one of my favorites from the series, and I wondered how it would look as a Codywan scenario.

Codywan fans, how did I do?

[taliecin]

Why yes, I do believe that Michael Fassbender could play captain James Flint, the character who is a minority driven by his wrath and feeling of injustice that bloomed from grief and loss, and who will never know peace, who repeatedly faced oppression and who chose to fight the oppressive system itself while people around him called him too violent and bloodthirsty, all while having a very weird homoerotic bond with his thematicaly oppsite close disabled friend, with whom they can't coexist but also can't live without each other, while ALSO sharing intimate relationships with upper-class humanist, until their connection ruins them both and yes, i also believe Toby Stephens could play Erik Lehnsherr, the character who is a minority driven by his wrath and feeling of injustice that bloomed from grief and loss, and who will never know peace, who repeatedly faced oppression and who chose to fight the oppressive system itself while people around him called him too violent and bloodthirsty, all while having a very weird homoerotic intimate bond with his thematicaly oppsite close disabled humanist friend from upper-class with whom they can't coexist but also can't live without each other, until their connection ruins them both. And who is also ginger