#they all connected in one mind and it was as if the three of them said it

[babyimyurs]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

~

Hwang in-ho ( the frontman ) x reader.

A/N: this will be a multi series. haven’t proof read

Warnings: nothing. I’m sure if you watched squid game you’ll be fine with this.

opening: you have been working alongside gi-hun for years after he came out of the games, after hearing his story it connected a few dots from your older brothers disappearance. After arriving at the games you found out that both of yours and gi-hun’s tracker implants have gone missing, you came face to face with your biggest nightmare… playing the game.

-

After playing red light, green light you hoped that you didn’t have to wake up the next day, you had no clue that a simple children’s game could have that amount of blood and death in it. After agreeing that you would join gi-hun’s plan, he told you all about the rule that ‘when your eliminated, your gone for good’ you didn’t really believe him but now you definitely do.

a part of you also wondered how long your brother survived.. a day? two? three? you wish you could of just slapped him silly and got him a job in your coffee shop. But- here you was awakening by the sound of classical music playing out of a speaker and metal squeaking as all the players started to move around in their bed.

you woke feeling not tired at all, not even doing the usual ‘rubbing your eyes and yawning’. Probably due to your lack of sleep or the amount of trauma you got from the day previous.

“y/n.. hey.. y/n” you heard a voice, a familiar one.. a frantic gi-hun was standing next to your bed, tapping your arm. “gi-hun, you okay?” you said which gi-hun replied with a shrug as he looked around at the players. “your telling me that everytime we wake up we’re going to hear that music?” you huffed, looking up at the speakers. “trust me, that should be the least of your worry.. I still can’t figure out how they managed to get our tracking chips” gi-hun said, now looking at you with a face of absolute confusion.

“players please line up in two cues to get breakfast” a woman’s voice from a speaker said in her usual happy tone. “come on, maybe a bite to eat will make us think” gi-hun proposed hitting the metal post of your bed, waiting for you to get up and join a line.

upon waiting in the cue, you and gi-hun got a load of looks and whispers.. few that said “look there’s the mad man” , “do you think they are a couple?” , “a nearly died because of that punk shouting”. you both ignored them and soon enough you received a bread roll and a carton of milk.

“hey y/n.. take my milk, you know my stomach doesn’t take it well” gi hun said, handing over his carton as you both took a seat on some steps next to jungbae and dae ho. you got to know the guys after red light, green light, gi-hun introduced jungbae to you saying that they were friends outside the game and well dae ho.. introduced himself to group after hearing over the discussion on what the next game could be which will now happen after the big vote that went on. That’s right. The vote. most of the players after red light, green light started begging to let them go and it ended with a massive vote to either stay or go and of course majority said stay.

“excuse me..” a voice approached the group, your wasn’t very familiar with it but after looking up it was the guy that came over to gi-hun after the vote, young-ill his name was.

“you all wouldn’t mind if I joined this group? a lot of players are talking about the next game being a team game. most of the groups formed already are teams of five and there are only four of y-“ young-ill said before getting dramatically cut off by dae ho “yes! you look very strong and have good thinking! reminds me of a pal i had when i was in the marines!” he said, putting his arm around his shoulder and patting his head.

you laughed, finding the situation of how dae ho was younger than young-ill and still acting like the oldest funny. “of course, take a seat” gi-hun said, his tone not one hundred percent certain on this guy as he gave you a look of ‘keep a eye on him’.

“I say why not! what about you y/n can 001 join us?” Jungbae asked to which you just shrugged and looked over at the group “I don’t mind..” you said which got a kind smile off young-ill.

“Well welcome welcome double one!” dae ho said, looking over at young-ill as he took a bite out of his bread roll. “ah.. Thank you” young-ill replied, taking a look at everyone but lingering on you suspiciously long. “I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation before.. wanna take my milk too? I’m in the same situation as 456” young-hill said, looking over at you.. passing his carton of milk over to you.

You looked at him for a moment before shaking your head with a smile “thank you, but I think dae ho wants it more than me” you replied, pointing over to dae ho who was staring at the milk carton like he was an lion eyeing up its prey. Young- ill understood and nodded passing it over to dae ho instead.. his smile dropping almost like he was planning to give you the milk from the start.

“All players please make your way to the game hall.. the next game will be starting shortly” an announcement called out from the speaker which gave you a fright, spilling the milk that you was drinking on yourself. “fuck!” You groaned out of annoyance, taking your zip up jumper off and throwing it besides you as you and your team stood up.

you started to walk to the game hall before young-ill couldn’t help himself but approach you “you’ve got some- may I?” He said, pointing to your chin which had a white stripe of milk running down it. how embarrassing. Before you could answer young-ill had already brought his jumpers wrist and wipe it off for you.

“there you go..” he said, looking at you with a kind smile. “thank you, I didn’t realise- that could of been embarrassing” you said getting a little too flustered in the moment, you couldn’t lie to yourself he was attractive. “ah.. it was nothing, don’t thank me.. okay?” he said, looking up at your eyes before glancing down to your lips in a quick motion. you nodded, noticing the look and shaking the intimate motion off completely by hitting his shoulder and walking ahead “we’re going to be late! come on!”.

young-ill watched you walk off out of the door, now being left in the holding room with a bunch of guards. “whatever you do, keep that one safe..” he said, which in return got a bunch of nods and with that he walked out the door too.

// ahhh! okay this was my first ever fic on here and why not make it a inho x reader because that man is the death of me at the moment. hopefully part two won’t take long to come out since I do have coursework to do and all but also let me know if you guys have any squidgame one shot ideas you’d want to request me to write :)

[cece693]

May I pretty please request Hannigram with an SO that really likes biting things? Like they’ll just nibble on anything available, including themself or Hanni/Will

male reader if possible :)

Bite Me, Darling

pairing: hannibal lecter and will graham tags: self soothing mechanism, male reader bites things, Alana bashing, jack Crawford bashing, just everyone in general is against this relationship, innocent male reader, hannibal and will want to keep him this way

It was strange, how everything about him was normal on the surface but wildly unique beneath. The way he moved through life, unaware of the way people stared, was something that only a few people truly understood. Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, for all their intelligence and their capacity for manipulation, had each found something in him—something pure and raw—that spoke to them in ways they couldn’t articulate.

You were innocent in the most innocent way. You didn’t know how to read people’s intentions, how to navigate the murky waters of deceit and pain that others swam in. You were a creature of quiet habits: chewing on pens, biting the corner of your sleeves, even nibbling your fingers. It wasn’t that you was anxious, but rather that this was your way of processing the world. You didn’t speak much, but when you did, it was with a tenderness that could disarm even the most hardened individuals.

For some, this made you seem almost too innocent for the likes of Will and Hannibal. They were two men who dealt with darkness constantly, who played in shadows. Hannibal, the brilliant psychiatrist with an appetite for blood, had found himself intrigued long before anything happened between them. How did such a pure soul even come to be? How was it that someone as complex as Hannibal could be pulled into a world where biting things wasn’t just a habit—it was part of who you were?

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Hannibal was nothing if not a man who craved complexity, and you, with your simple yet peculiar habit of biting, had an allure that he could never fully comprehend. He wasn’t sure when the lines had blurred, when you had shifted from being someone he wanted to understand to someone he wanted to possess.

Will, on the other hand, was less of a mystery. He found your unspoken understanding of him soothing. Will was not a man who found comfort easily. He’d had too many years of running from his own mind, of balancing between the need for human connection and the heavy weight of his empathic gifts. But you were different. You never demanded anything from him. There was no need to over explain; no fear of rejection. You were there, and that was enough.

The three of them had fallen into a relationship that no one, especially not Alana Bloom or Jack Crawford, could understand. Jack, upset that you had a greater control over his 'asset' perceived you as a problem that needed to be extinguished immediately. While he couldn't force Will to break up with you, he began to use manipulative language more frequently, hinting that his absence was endangering the lives of people. But after a while, his words began to lose power.

"Will, you can’t just leave because he told you to," Jack would say, his voice thick with frustration. "We need you to solve this case. You're part of this team." But Will, unmoved, always told him he was tired and needed a break—as if killers would respect that and stop murdering until he felt better. Jack would then begin to retort how soft Will was becoming, as if that ever mattered when others perceived him as a madman.

Alana, on the other hand, was driven by something more personal. Jealousy. She had been drawn to both Hannibal and Will. Her feelings for them had never been simple or easy, but she had always harbored a belief that somehow, one day, they would choose her. Instead, they had chosen you. The idea of you, with your gentle biting habit, managing to capture the attention of both men—of all people—was enough to make her skin crawl with resentment. How could someone so abnormal and clearly dealing with childhood trauma have the audacity to step into their world and steal both her love interests?

She couldn’t help but feel that you didn’t deserve them. You weren't like her—you didn’t understand the complexities of their lives nor seemed to be able to handle the hurdles that came with it. And so, she set to work.

It started subtly. A conversation here, a comment there.

“Don’t you ever feel like you’re a little strange?” she would ask, voice light, as if it were a passing thought. “I mean, the biting…it's something you can't help, but don't you ever want to stop it? Be seen as normal for once in your life?"

At first, you had laughed it off, thinking nothing of it. But over time, the seeds of doubt were planted. You began to wonder. Was your habit of biting things wrong? Your lovers had never raised concerns, but it would be something they'll definitely keep private, perhaps a secret only shared between Hannibal and Will. You never thought that Alana's words were connived to break your relationship apart, your naivety something the woman had taken into account and used to her advantage.

So, you tried to stop.

You started small: you tucked your hands into your sleeves when your instincts told you to gnaw at the fabric, and you opted for straws instead of biting the rim of a glass cup. You made an effort—any effort—to keep your teeth away from Will and Hannibal’s skin, no matter how comforting that gentle pressure felt against them. At first, neither man noticed; after all, it was easy to dismiss as a passing mood or an unremarkable change in routine.

But after a couple of days, small signs alerted both of them to the shift. Will began to see you catch yourself mid-motion, your hand halfway to your mouth before you stopped and pressed it flat against your chest instead. Hannibal noticed the anxious flicker in your eyes whenever you realized you were about to bite down on your sleeve—or worse, on him—and yanked yourself away.

It was Will who first chose to address it. One evening, you were curled up in his living room, dogs scattered around you like living blankets. The space was quiet, the only sound the gentle snoring of a dog and the low hum of the overhead light. You were running your thumb over your bottom lip—an almost-bite—when Will finally spoke.

“Hey,” he said softly, “what’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, forcing a small smile. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

He studied you with those empathetic eyes of his. You knew he was reading more into your silence, but Will was nothing if not patient. “You’ve been distant,” he finally ventured, words slow and careful. “I don’t mind if you need space, but if something’s bothering you, I want to help.”

The sincerity in his voice tore at your heart. You wanted to confide in him, to say Alana made me feel wrong, and I don’t want to be wrong for you, but the fear of seeming weak or needy held you back. You simply shook your head and offered a reassuring pat to one of the dogs resting on your lap. “I’m fine,” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t push. “Just tired.”

Hannibal discovered your change in behavior under more intimate circumstances. The two of you were alone in his kitchen, the scent of simmering stock filling the air. He had taken your hand to guide you closer to the cutting board, demonstrating a particular technique for slicing vegetables. Normally, a casual closeness like this was an invitation for you to lean in, maybe press your teeth gently against the back of his hand or the curve of his arm—just enough to ground yourself in his presence. This time, you didn't lean in nor brought his hand to your lips.

Hannibal stilled, eyebrows lifting in polite surprise. “Darling,” he asked softly, “what’s wrong?”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks. You swallowed hard. “Just didn’t want to hurt you,” you offered lamely, though you both knew you had never caused him pain before. His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but he released your hand without comment. You wondered if your face betrayed the unease you felt, because Hannibal’s expression shifted into something gentler, concerned. But he chose not to press you then and there. Instead, he simply carried on, instructing you gently with the knife work and occasionally brushing a reassuring hand across your back.

Though both men tried to give you space, their combined worry spilled over as time went on. Neither was used to seeing you so guarded, especially around them. On a chilly afternoon, the three of you gathered in Hannibal’s study—a routine that had become something of a tradition. Will sipped his whiskey quietly while Hannibal and you browsed through his impressive collection of classical music. There was a soothing air of comfort, and for a brief moment, your doubts dimmed.

But of course, it was Will who noticed your jaw moving—saw the slight shift as your teeth worked the soft flesh inside your cheek. He placed his whiskey glass down on the table with a muted clink before pushing himself out of the chair.

“Stop,” he murmured, crossing the room with purpose. His voice was gentle but firm as he stepped close to you. Without hesitating, he brought his hand to your chin, his touch warm yet insistent. “Open your mouth.”

You stiffened, instinctively pulling away. You shook your head, trying to avert your gaze from Will’s intense blue eyes. You didn’t want to show him. You didn’t want him to see the damage you’d done to keep from biting them instead.

But then, Hannibal appeared at Will’s side, his presence commanding. He didn’t say a word, but the look he gave you—equal parts concern and disappointment—made your shoulders slump in silent surrender. Unable to deny the weight of their worry, you parted your lips, letting Will tilt your chin just enough so both he and Hannibal could peer inside.

A faint gasp escaped Will as he saw the small puncture in your cheek, the fresh bead of crimson welling against your lower molars. Hannibal’s lips flattened into a thin line, and a flicker of displeasure darkened his gaze. In the grand scheme of things, it was a small wound, but it spoke volumes to them—volumes about how you had been coping alone.

Hannibal’s voice was low, edged with concern. “You���ve been hurting yourself to avoid biting us.” It wasn’t a question; it was a quiet statement of fact.

Will let go of your chin carefully. “Why?” he asked, his brows knitting together.

You swallowed thickly, your hand hovering near your mouth in a subconscious attempt to hide the injury you’d just revealed. “Alana said it’s weird. The biting,” you whispered, your voice unsteady. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

A stretch of silence followed your confession, Hannibal and Will exchanged a look—a silent conversation filled with understanding and mild anger toward Alana’s interference. Will’s gaze softened as he turned back to you. “We told you before,” he reminded you gently, “you don’t have to hide this from us. You’re not hurting us—”

“—nor inconveniencing us,” Hannibal interrupted, stepping closer again. The resolute calm in his eyes steadied you. “In fact, we’ve grown quite accustomed to it, and dare I say, fond of it. Your habit is part of who you are.”

You glanced down, feeling the sting of tears threatening in your eyes. “I just…I didn’t want you to get sick of me, or to think I was some sort of burden.”

Will’s hand found yours, his fingers threading through with a gentle squeeze. “That’s not possible,” he murmured. “We miss it…miss you being comfortable around us.”

Hannibal placed a hand against your cheek, being mindful of your tender injury. “You never need to hurt yourself on our behalf,” he said, voice quiet but unyielding. “Any pain you feel—physical or otherwise—we’d much rather help you carry it, not watch you bury it inside.”

At those words, a sharp wave of relief pulsed through you, along with an ache of regret for having doubted them. You inhaled shakily, letting yourself lean just a fraction closer to Hannibal’s touch, feeling the stability it offered. Will eased his other hand around your waist, tugging you gently in his direction. Sandwiched between them, you could almost believe nothing else mattered.

“I’m sorry,” you managed, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. “I…I’ll try not to hide it anymore.”

Will’s lips quirked into a small, comforting smile. “No more chewing on your cheek,” he said, voice warm with affection. “You’ll let us help, right?”

With a hesitant nod, you felt Hannibal’s hand slide from your cheek to the back of your head, urging you closer until your forehead rested against his shoulder. He cast a glance at Will, who leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. Despite the swirl of emotions, you felt a gentle calm in their presence—a sense of being anchored.

[wosoloml]

red string theory || lotte wubben-moy x reader

summary: the first time you see lotte wubben moy, you didnt actually see her.

your life was always connected because you are meant to be.

warnings: none, just fluffy fluff with my lotte girl

from this request

a/n: i hope its okay what i wrote it about lotte because i thought this request is so lotte coded

wc: 1,739 words

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" my work colleague, who is also my best friend, Jules, looks at me with a focused expression.

A few years ago, I attended college in the USA, where I ran my own sports blog for the university newspaper. I especially enjoyed writing about the women’s football team because I witnessed the sport gaining more popularity there.

It felt so empowering to see how all the girls were following their dreams, and I always wanted to share their stories so everyone could see their passion.

I was packing all my work stuff into my bag when Jules called out my name.

"Y/N, can you please help me real quick?"

I sighed but stopped what I was doing and walked into the salesroom.

"Can you make a latte macchiato real quick? Table 7 has a big order, and I’m swamped. Sorry for interrupting you," she said.

I smiled softly at her before glancing at the girl who had ordered the latte. I barely registered her, only noticing how graceful her movements were.

It felt kind of ironic that my last customer of the day would be such a mysterious woman.

But life moved on, as it always does, and that moment faded into the countless fleeting, insignificant encounters you never expect to think about again. Until much later.

----

"Oh my girl, Jules, you made it!" I pulled her into a tight hug.

"Of course! It's your graduation today! I'm so proud of you, my little nerd."

After three years of hard work, endless studying, and way too much crying, I’m finally done. I’m now a certified sports journalist with a focus on women’s football. I couldn’t be happier.

"Now it’s time for you to introduce me to your girlfriend! I can’t wait to meet the mysterious Alessia in person."

Her smile grew even wider as I mentioned her girlfriend. "Come on, she’s right over there, chatting with an old friend from university she randomly ran into here."

----

I’ve checked my phone. 8:00. I arrived at the training ground of THE Arsenal Women’s Football Club.

When I sent my application to a few football clubs as a media coordinator, I never thought my childhood club would hire me. I spent the last few days looking for an outfit and stayed awake the whole night out of nervousness.

It’s already my second week, and I’m still not used to being around all these inspiring and energizing women. You weren’t exactly starstruck, but there was something about being around people you’d admired from afar that left you feeling slightly unsteady.

But it’s different with Lotte. From day one, she helped me with everything. Lotte, however, had a way of disarming you with her easy demeanor. When she introduced herself, it was as if you hadn’t spent the last three days binge-watching match highlights featuring her perfect tackles and precise passes.

Over the weeks, you got used to seeing her around the training ground. She always made an effort to say hi, even if it was just a quick wave or a casual “How’s it going?” Each interaction was brief, professional, and—you told yourself—entirely inconsequential. Except that, somehow, you found yourself looking forward to them.

She had this smile and the way she cared about everyone around her that sticks in my mind, and I can’t stop thinking about her even after work. It’s like we’ve known each other for years.

---

Today was Media Day, and even though I love the girls, I was relieved to have a moment for myself in the cafeteria. Suddenly, someone asked, 'May I join?' At first, I didn’t realize they were talking to me, but when my eyes met my favorite defender's, I knew Lotte was the one addressing me.

'Not at all,' I replied, gesturing to the empty seat.

I don’t want to admit it, but knowing I wasn’t paired up with Lotte for today’s interviews made me a bit sad. That’s why I’m even happier to spot her here during my little break.

She set down her tray, which held a steaming bowl of soup and a sandwich that looked far too healthy for my taste. 'So, how’s life in the media world? Still surviving?'

I chuckled at her words. 'It’s going well. After today, I have a lot of videos to edit, and I still write a blog for a college newspaper, with the deadline coming up, so I’m a bit stressed. The time difference with the USA makes it even harder. But who am I complaining to? I’m sure your schedule is even more packed.' I babbled, feeling a bit embarrassed that I hadn’t stopped talking. It was just a simple question—no need to turn it into a whole essay.

She listened closely the entire time, trying to keep up with me. "Really? You’re very ambitious about your job. I like that. You mentioned the USA. Are you writing for an American college?"

I felt seen, and it made me feel special. I adore her so much. I gathered my thoughts again to answer her.

"Yes! I went to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and have always had a passion for writing. They had a women’s football team that was still in its early stages. They inspired me so much that I decided to write about them in the weekly college newspaper. Sorry for beating around the bush, yes, I write for an American college." My cheeks turned red because, once again, I rambled on.

I noticed the sudden change in her behavior. "Wait, really?" She looked at me, kind of stunned and questioning. "I’ve been to UNC too, before signing professionally for Arsenal. Do you mean the North Carolina Tar Heels? I played for them while you were writing for them."

I widened my eyes in disbelief. "That caught me off guard—wow. We’ve been so close and never talked to each other."

“It’s like we were orbiting each other,” she said one day, her voice thoughtful. “Like we were always meant to meet, but the timing just wasn’t right.”

Her words stuck with me, replaying in my mind long after she’d said them.

---------

Over the next few weeks, sometimes Lotte would bring me a coffee. A few days later, I noticed something as she handed me the cup. "Since when do you get your coffee from that shop near Covent Garden? The one with the green awning?" She looked confused and stuttered, "Since forever. It's my favorite coffee shop. Do you know it?"

"Are you joking? I worked there a few years ago."

“I can’t believe this. It’s like we’ve been circling each other our whole lives.”

This connection with Lotte feels so magical, I can’t even process how life always seemed to bring us together.

“Maybe it’s fate,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

She smiled, a slow, knowing smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Maybe it is.”

-------

As the weeks turned into months, your relationship with Lotte continued to grow stronger. The bond you shared deepened, built on a foundation of shared history and the undeniable pull you felt toward each other.

One evening, as you sat on her couch with a cup of tea in hand, she reached over and intertwined her fingers with yours.

“You know,” she said softly, her voice quiet, “I’ve always believed in timing. That everything happens when it’s meant to.”

You looked at her, your heart full. “And what about us? What does this timing mean?”

She smiled, her eyes warm and steady. “It means we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

And for the first time, you believed her.

[respheal]

I've been marathoning the Hero of Legend's games and writing up a character study so I'm going to inflict a preview of that upon you.

First, games: I think the general agreement is that the Hero of Legend's games are A Link to the Past, Oracle of Seasons/Ages, and Link's Awakening (with LA before or after Oracle).

Linked Universe (and I) add A Link Between Worlds (which canonically has the same Link as in Triforce Heroes). In Nintendo canon, ALBW is likely a different Hero because the descendants of the sages you rescue are different, there are references to ALTTP happening a decent amount of time in the past, and there's one elderly character in ALBW who might actually BE the Hero of Legend. Ultimately though, it's not 100% clear or confirmed, so for the purposes of this write-up I'm going to add ALBW specifically because of the theme: Greed and Selflessness.

In Konjaku Monogatari, a book of Japanese folklore, there's a story of an old man begging for food from a monkey, a fox, and a rabbit. The monkey offers fruits and the fox offers a fish. The rabbit, however, couldn't feed the man grass like it ate, so the rabbit throws itself on a fire so the old man can eat its flesh. The old man, a moon god in disguise, rescues the rabbit from the flames and carries it to the moon as a reward for its selflessness.

Keep this in mind.

Link's story opens with him running into a stormy night with naught but a lantern to find his uncle dying in the castle culverts. Link is shortly after branded as a criminal for "kidnapping" Princess Zelda after he rescues her from the castle dungeons (and from Agahnim—Ganon in disguise).

Link gets set on a quest to first find three pendants to access the Master Sword and prove himself the Hero of Legend. Zelda and the descendants of the Sages are banished to the Dark World, where Link rescues them and eventually defeats Ganon himself.

The Dark World was formerly the Sacred Realm, where the goddesses left the Triforce. When Ganon broke in and wished upon it, his greed warped the Sacred Realm into the Dark World. Others followed seeking the Triforce, and all are transformed into creatures reflecting the greed in their hearts (notably, a lot of monkeys and foxes).

You hear this story throughout the game and it repeatedly hammers in the theme: greed corrupts. Greed is Bad.

Link is posed as an foil to Ganon, the selflessness to Ganon's greed. When Link enters the Dark World, he's transformed into a rabbit. His true form is a prey animal that can only run from predators, but most importantly his true form is considered a selfless creature in Japanese folklore. The connection is made more evident when it's the Moon Pearl that allows Link to maintain his Hylian form in the Dark World.

After defeating Ganon, Link has an opportunity to wish on the Triforce himself. You could argue that the truly selfless thing to do would be to not wish at all. That defeating Ganon should have been enough. Wanting—wishing—for anything could be construed as greed.

Link wishes anyway.

I don't think we know the exact wording of Link's wish, but it undoes the damage Ganon inflicted on Hyrule and the Sacred Realm. Link's uncle and the king are restored to life and people lost in the Dark World return to Hyrule. The selfless Hero's greed was rewarded.

Sometime after, the Triforce calls the Hero to the castle. When he arrives, he's sent to Holodrum (OoS) or Labrynna (OoA).

The order isn't critical. What matters about these games is the tone compared to A Link to the Past.

In ALTTP, Link is on a solitary adventure. He just lost his uncle. His face is on wanted posters. He's alone the entire journey save for a few visits and telepathic messages from Sahasrala and Zelda.

In Oracle, Link can't walk fifty paces without tripping on a new friend. He meets the Oracles themselves, Zelda's nursemaid Impa, the animal companions Ricky, Dimitri, and Moosh. He becomes a frenemy to Maple, the witch's granddaughter. Ralph and Link cross paths multiple times during Oracle of Ages. Link names a village couple's child.

I think in these games, Link learns to love adventuring. He learns how to dance from Din, the Subrosians, and the Gorons. There are a ton of mini-games. Even if lives are at stake, Link can have fun on this adventure.

In the end, however, Ganon is (partially) revived and Link has to defeat him once again. He saves the Oracles and Zelda and leaves on a ship for another adventure.

Lightning strikes his boat, and Link wakes up on the island of Koholint. He meets Marin, who found him on the beach and brought him to her father's home in Mabe Village.

Ever since Link appeared, monsters have grown more agitated on the island. An owl tells Link he needs to find the Instruments of the Sirens and wake the Wind Fish, or he'll be unable to leave.

The difference with this adventure is that there's not really a time limit that you know of. No one's been kidnapped, no one's being sacrificed to revive Ganon. Link is on a tropical vacation of an adventure. He even goes on a date with Marin (who is a much bigger gremlin than I expected).

The village and island are idyllic. Still, Marin wants to see the world. Her father doesn't believe there's anything past the sea, but meeting you gave her hope of a world outside.

But.

There are hints that something isn't right. Some of the creatures don't appear to be from the same world. There are owl statues with cryptic, nigh-incoherent messages. The first truly ominous one appears near the Ancient Ruins: "The Wind Fish slumbers long... The Hero's life gone..."

Within the Ruins themselves, there's a mural of the Wind Fish with a message:

"To the finder… The isle of Koholint is but an illusion. Human, monster, sea, sky. A scene on the lid of a sleeper's eye. Awake the dreamer, and Koholint will vanish much like a bubble on a needle. Castaway, you should know the truth!"

Link must wake the Wind Fish. When he does, Marin and everyone else on the island will disappear.

(In the 1994 manga by Ataru Cagiva, Link tries to build a raft to escape the island with Marin at this point. The currents pull them back in no matter how hard Link rows.)

"But, verily, it be the nature of dreams to end."

In the end, Link awakens the Wind Fish. The island fades. He wakes up adrift on his ship's wreckage. Link saves the Wind Fish by sacrificing himself—an act of "selflessness".

He's depicted as smiling in the end credits, but shh Nintendo is wrong. This is one of the most heart-wrenching endings to a game in the series. And after everything this Link has been through, I cannot imagine he's okay after this. His act of selflessness is his emotional undoing.

This Link is greedy.

I don't mean it negatively. This is a positive, protective greed. This is a greed that says, "these people are my people and I will throw myself in the flames to feed keep them." It's selflessness and greed rolled into one. In his first adventure, he went to the ends of the earth to get his uncle and Zelda back. In his second and third, he met dozens of friends and, once again, sacrificed his safety to bring the Oracles, Ralph, and Zelda home. His sacrifice is always in service of bringing his loved ones back.

In Link's Awakening, he loses Koholint. And there's absolutely nothing he can do to keep them.

Whether this same Link goes on to A Link Between Worlds is up to interpretation, but ALBW does add a bit more to this theme. Even if it's a different Link, there are strong parallels between ALBW and ALTTP.

ALBW's plot happens because Hyrule's parallel world, Lorule, lost its Triforce. Lorule's people fought over the Triforce in conflict after conflict until finally they wished for it to be destroyed. When the loss of the Triforce breaks the foundation of their world, Princess Hilda tries to steal Hyrule's.

Everyone in Hyrule has a Lorulean counterpart—their foil, similar in appearance but with a "flipped" nature. Not exactly opposite, but like looking at that character through a fun-house mirror. Hilda is cruel compared to kind Zelda, but both will do anything to save their people. The difference is where they draw the line of what's acceptable in pursuit of that goal.

Link's Lorulean counterpart is Ravio, the greedy, self-proclaimed coward in a rabbit outfit.

The primary adventure of ALBW is mostly a rehash of ALTTP in terms of dungeons, with the Dark World replaced by Lorule and the Seven Maidens replaced by a variety of new characters.

It's Ravio's presence that's the key element in this game. Ravio, in the guise of a traveling merchant, gives Link the bracelet enabling the game's core mechanic (merging into walls) in exchange for a place to stay. Ravio moves into Link's house, shoves all of Link's furniture against the walls, and sets up an item shop from which he RENTS OUT the magic items Link needs for the dungeons. Or Link can buy each one permanently for the low, low price of 800 rupees. If Link falls in battle, Ravio's bird carts Link back to his house and Ravio takes any rented items back.

When you buy all of his items, Ravio's stays in Link's house just lounging and enjoying life. "You know, it's been WAY too long since I've been in a singing mood. But I've got a new outlook on life, and it's all thanks to you, Mr. Hero!"

The truth comes out. Ravio was Hilda's servant in Lorule. When Hilda and Yuga hatched the plan to steal Hyrule's Triforce, Ravio fled into Hyrule to find a Hero to stop it, thinking himself too much of a coward to do anything (and not realizing that in this act of betraying Hilda, he showed more courage than most).

Ravio convinces Hilda to let Link and Zelda return to Hyrule with their Triforce. He pleads for Hilda to take the selfless course of action.

"Lorule may be doomed, but at least our kingdom won’t be condemned for stealing their Triforce."

When Link and Zelda make it home to their world's Sacred Realm, they immediately reach for Hyrule's Triforce and wish for the restoration of Lorule's. The greedy merchant's selflessness is rewarded.

Link and Ravio are two sides of the coin of greed and selflessness. Which character is on which side? It's the same coin, anyway.

Okay Link fans I need help. I have my Link/Zelda game that I’m specifically fixated on (that being Wind/Wind Waker), but I want to be able to write/understand other Links with the same amount of care that I give to him.

So if anyone who sees this post has a Link who is their favorite little guy (you’ve played his game(s) multiple times, you’ve made a bunch of headcanons about him, you think about him all the time, etc etc), I want to hear your perspective on that Link. I wanna know what you think his general personality is. I wanna know what you think he was like pre-journey(s). I wanna know how you think his journey(s) affected his development. I wanna know how you think the themes of his game(s) intertwine with his character. I wanna know how you view his significant relationships. And I wanna know anything else about him that you would like to share. Any information/ideas are appreciated, just absolutely go off ^_^

[girlwithadragonheart]

Vi Et Animo (With Heart and Soul)

1 ~ Wheel of Fortune, Reversed

Vander x Fem!Reader

Summary: The transition from living in Piltover to being cast to the Undercity is not a smooth one. Will anyone help you, or is it up to you to learn how to survive?

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Swearing, description of injury, mentions of blood, lots of fighting, thievery, description of starving, strong feelings of helplessness and desperation, hurt/comfort kinda

A/N: Guys I have been working on this for three days, and I plan to make this a series :3

Arcane Masterlist Part 2(wip)

Bad luck. Misfortune. Unforeseen setback. Disappointment. Mishap.

When the Wheel of Fortune is reversed, your luck and fortune may take a turn for the worst. You may experience unexpected change or negative forces could be at play, leaving you helpless. Change is inevitable. It’s up to you to decide what you do with it.

Changing your destiny starts with accepting responsibility for where you are now.

Scraped hands with bloody knees, your body ached and burned. Tears flooded your eyes as you fought to breathe. The bag that had been carelessly thrown over your shoulder sat in the dirt and ash of the half paved road. Your fists clenched against the rough road, and your chest tightened as you let out a guttural scream that sent rats skittering away and half-forgotten people drifting to the shadows.

The ground beneath you shook, rocks and pebbles rattling as your agony rang through the streets. A ragged sob broke past your lips.

What a cruel hand the cards had dealt you this time.

“All those in favor…?” 

In your mind’s eye you could still see as each councilor raised their hands. Rough fingers gripping your arms, protests falling upon deaf ears.

You tried to take a deep breath in, regaining some air into your lungs, but the very air was trying to choke you, trying to keep you from beloved oxygen. You knew the air in the Undercity was bad, you had no idea it was this dire.

Your body refused to draw breath, a coughing fit wracking through your frame. The white and gold dress you wore was covered in dirt, soot, and grime, the hem already fraying from your walk through these desolate streets. 

You pushed yourself up off the ground, stomach growling. You didn’t know how long you had been here. Time seemed to stand still, with the sky always being clouded and faintly green and gray. Your belly seemed to say it had been too long though, without food. 

“Well, what do we have here?” A scratchy voice called from the darkness. “Look at this, boys.” A scrawny boy with blonde hair walked into your vision, flanked by a larger one with brown hair and another with dark skin and coily black hair.

The brown haired boy grinned as he looked at you, crossing his arms. “A little lost princess come to play.”

“What’s in your bag, Princess? Anything valuable?” The blonde asked.

You scowled. “None of your fucking business.” You pulled your bag tighter against you on your shoulder. “Piss off, I’ve not had the day for this.”

“Such foul language from such pretty lips. I wonder if her teeth bite as well as her words,” the dark skinned boy smirked. 

“Come on, Princess, we just want a taste of the goods,” the blonde boy crooned, approaching you slowly. 

You took a step back, shifting your bag so that it was behind you. “There are no goods,” you said adamantly.

“Anything can be goods down here, sweetness.” The boy nodded subtly, looking just past you. 

A sharp tug on your bag had you stumbling back. You spun quickly, fist connecting with another boy’s jaw. He shouted in shock and you grunted from the pain of the impact of your knuckles on bone. 

“Get her!” The blonde boy ordered.

Another pair of hands landed on your shoulders, and you swung your arm, elbow knocking into the nose of one of your pursuers. You collapsed as one of them landed a swift kick against the back of your knee. You cried out as your already scraped knees dragged against the pavement. You flung your head back, connecting your skull to his most sensitive parts. A sharp squeal rang out as the boy collapsed. 

“You bitch!” He gritted through his teeth. 

Your momentary satisfaction was short-lived as your head was grabbed and your face slammed into someone’s knee. You screamed in pain as your nose cracked, and your vision blurred, eyes tearing up before everything went black.

“Miss?” A sweet soft voice called to you. “Miss, wake up.” A soft touch on your shoulder and a light shake pulled you from blessed darkness.

You sat up at your desk, looking into the soft green gaze of one of your students. You ran a hand through your hair, blinking the remaining sleep from your eyes, cheeks warming from embarrassment. “My apologies, Miss Jasmine. Can I help you?” 

Her thick lashes fell softly against her cheekbones as she looked down at the paper in her hands. Her curls bounced as she shook her head, “I’ll come back another time. Um…” 

She turned to leave, but you caught her wrist gently. “Let me see,” you gave her a soft smile.

She sighed hesitantly before handing you her paper. She had been working non stop on an essay for Professor Heimerdinger, wanting it to be perfect and she had asked if you would read over it and help her make any improvements needed. You knew she didn’t really need any help, her work was always excellent, and she was friends with both Jayce and Viktor who were also wonderful students. But you understood wanting the extra assuredness of another Professor’s approval.

Besides, it didn’t take anything extra for you to read over her work, and you were glad she trusted you to do so. Jasmine hadn’t had the best home growing up, or so you had heard in passing, so if she felt safe enough to approach you in this way, you were glad of it. 

Your fingers clutched the paper lightly as your eyes scanned over it. “This looks spectacular. The only thing I would consider is a transitional statement between these two paragraphs,” you point out the place to her. “But otherwise, this is amazing.”

She hummed, a furrow forming between her brows as she looked over it, “I think you’re right.” She pulled a red pen out of her pocket, scribbling some notes in between the paragraphs. “Thank you, Miss.”

“Of course, dear. Tell me, how are your studies going otherwise? Are you ready for the exam?” You asked. 

She sighed, “I think so. It feels like I have no time between studies and work; there's scarcely any time for me to sleep or eat.” She perched on the corner of your desk as she spoke. “And Viktor’s the same, throwing himself into his studies, we hardly have time to spend together.”

You tap your fingers against the desk in thought. “Perhaps it would benefit you both to study together? It’s often helpful to bounce thoughts and ideas off of a classmate or peer.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve just been so busy lately.”

“Make sure you’re taking the time to care for yourself as well, Jasmine. If you aren’t sleeping, you won’t retain any of your studies no matter how hard you work at them. Short term memory commits to long term through sleep, it is an essential part of any student’s life.”

“I know, I know,” she said, putting her hands up defensively. “Jade says the same thing.”

“I’m sure she does. How are they?” You ask, knowing Jasmine was the only one caring for her younger sibling.

“I think they’re doing okay. I can’t thank you enough for supporting them to live in the apartments with me,” she said gratefully.

“Of course. I know how difficult it is to support someone else while also chasing your dream. I am incredibly proud of you, you are a bright, intelligent, and compassionate young lady that has a wonderful future ahead of you.”

Her cheeks warmed at the praise, looking down at her lap. “Well, I’ve taken enough of your time. Enjoy grading,” she stood, waving as she left your classroom.

You smiled at her as she left, though a dull ache formed in the back of your head as you looked back down at the work in front of you. Your brows furrowed as your eyes focused on the scribbles across your students’ papers. The word ‘Traitor’ written in bold capital letters criss-crossed on the pages. 

Your vision blurred slightly, the throbbing in your head growing to be unbearable. The world went black as your head slammed into the desk in front of you.

You coughed and sputtered, a coppery taste in your mouth as you spat blood. Your vision swam, and you pressed a hand to your head, groaning. Your eyes squeezed shut as you waited for the urge to puke to abate. 

As soon as you could, you opened your eyes, looking around at the grimy streets of the Undercity. Fuck… You had almost hoped it was just a dream. But the sinking in your gut told you otherwise. You sat up, hissing as your scabbed knees pressed against the pavement, brushing pebbles off your front from your nap on the asphalt. 

You winced as you stood, gently brushing debris from your bloodied knees and sucking in a breath that had you coughing, lungs crying for clean air that you would likely never breathe again.

Your bag had been taken. The only thing left were your scattered tarot cards, littered in a puddle around you. You cursed, squatting down to collect them. The small bag you stored them in was also missing. 

You glanced around before pulling the band out of your hair and wrapping it securely around the cards, tucking them into your brassiere. Your stomach growled, drawing your attention to how empty it felt. Your body shook with weakness, and nausea clawed at you, begging you to eat something. 

But there was nothing here.

So you dragged yourself forward, step by unsteady step. The bastards stole your shoes as well. Your bare feet ached against the rough pavement, which was almost burning hot. What could produce this heat if the sun was hidden from this city? You didn’t know. You found you couldn’t care at the moment.

One of your shaking hands pressed against your gut as you walked, trying to find something, someone. You just wanted something to eat, to sink your teeth into. Gods, was this what turned men into beasts? Very well, a beast you would become if it meant you could find something to bloody eat in this place.

But oh, you were tired. So tired. And that rocky overhang in the distance looked like good shelter to sleep. You stumbled forward with tunnel vision, nearly collapsing by the time you reached it.

You didn’t know how long you slept. Minutes, hours, days? Time was irrelevant. All that you knew was insatiable hunger and an unquenchable thirst. You stayed under your little awning on your knees, palms cupped out in front of you, praying that passersby would spare something for you, anything. But nothing ever happened. No one came to your rescue. 

You had been hungry for so long you no longer remembered what it was like to be sated. Oh, what a luxury it had been to have a full meal and a night’s rest in the comfort of your home. Everything you had taken for granted had now been taken away, and all you had were your most basic instincts. Hunger, thirst, exhaustion, this endless cycle that continued day by day.

What even was a day anymore? The sun never shone, the stars were hidden behind the Gray, plunged to an eternal gloom in this horrible, awful place. Nights never ended, days never began. The only thing driving you was the clench of your stomach as you starved.

What had you done to deserve this?

(Changing your destiny starts with accepting responsibility for where you are now.)

Your alertness peaked as you heard a soft scuffling in the distance. A tiny squeak reached your ears, and you turned, careful to be dead silent as you moved.

There, not six feet away, was a rat. Your mouth watered before you could even think to be disgusted. With slow movements, you made your way toward the animal, keeping your breath shallow and quiet as you crept forward. Once you were a couple feet closer, you pounced, gripping the small creature, quickly snapping its neck as it squealed and fought your grip. 

It fell limp in your hands shortly before a force collided with you, knocking down down into the pavement. The rat fell from your fingers as a scrawny force darted for it. Moving quicker than you had in days, you rammed your shoulder into the redheaded man, seeing his cracked glasses slip down his nose from the impact. 

He landed in a squat, hands braced on the ground. You picked the rat up, throwing a glare in his direction, daring him to try and steal your food once again. He shrank away, slithering back to the recesses of the Undercity. 

You stood and your stomach growled loudly. The animal in your hands had already started to lose its warmth and go stiff between your fingers. Cooking it would take too long for your malnourished body, your mind told you. 

Only once the smell reached you did you shrivel in disgust. Is this what you had become? Once a proud Professor of Divination, turned to a beggar on the streets of the Undercity, resolved to eat rats as a meal once a goddamn week. 

Your nose scrunched as you brought it to your lips, once more reminded of how you longed for a meal. 

“I wouldn’t eat that, if I were you.” Your hands froze, gaze darting around. You watched as a man stepped out of the shadows. A very large man with a bag slung over his shoulder and heavy boots. He had brown salt and pepper hair with a beard to match, a round nose, and kind eyes. As you stared, his gaze fell over you, looking you up and down. You swore there was a moment of surprise in his gaze before he spoke again, voice gravelly with a hint of an accent you’d never heard. “Rats in this place carry more diseases than nutrients.”

You frowned. “Do you have a better idea, or do you just enjoy watching me suffer?” You spat.

“Come with me,” he jerked his head for you to follow.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” You questioned.

He leveled you with a flat stare. “Because you’ve got nothing to lose.”

You looked between the dead rat in your hands and the man in clean clothes—albeit it worn—and a kind gaze. Your brows furrowed. What did you have to lose? Was your life even counted among that anymore?

You looked down at your bare feet, scratched and dirty. Your torn clothes and bruised body frailer than you’d ever seen it. With a sigh, you threw the rat into the shadows, hearing scuttling feet. You vaguely hoped the redheaded man gets ahold of it for something to eat. 

You walked shakily over to the big man, and he walks with you in stride, shortening his steps so you don’t fall behind as he leads you… somewhere. 

“What’s your name?” You asked him quietly.

“Vander,” he said easily. “What about you?” He asked. You tell him. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“It doesn’t matter where I’m from anymore,” you brushed him off. “Where are you taking me?” You questioned.

“To my bar. The Last Drop.” The mention of a bar had your stomach growling again. “When’s the last time you had a bite to eat?” Vander asked.

“I don’t know.”

He hummed, the rumble of his chest somehow putting you at ease. 

You had to squint as you approached a building with warm light spilling out of the windows, illuminating the street. Vander reached his free hand into his pocket, producing a keyring and unlocking the door, motioning for you to go in ahead of him. 

As soon as you stepped inside, you were embraced by the warmth of the place, soft music playing in the background as you looked around. It was nice. Especially compared to everything you had seen so far. What you had endured. 

“It’s… cozy,” you said quietly as Vander stepped behind the bar, setting the bag down on the floor.

“Welcome to The Last Drop. My own little slice of Heaven.” He motioned for you to sit, so you did, as he placed a glass in front of you and filled it with water from a bottle. “Don’t chug it or you’ll make yourself sick,” he scolded.

You bring it toward your dry, cracked lips, drinking it gratefully. It eases some of the ache in your throat, the tightness in your chest and the sheer desperation you’d been feeling for the last several days.

With a speed and grace you’d never expected, Vander slaps together a sandwich, sliding it over to you. “You’ll have to eat light for a few days,” he warned as you took a bite.

Your eyes filled with tears as you chewed and swallowed. It was better than anything you’d ever had in your life, or at least it felt that way. You sniffled as you ate, tears dripping down your cheeks. If Vander noticed, he didn’t call you on it.

You wanted to savor this moment, but your body demanded otherwise as you wolfed down your food and finished your water. You wiped the tears from your face, looking up at the man with wide eyes. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly, barely above a whisper.

He nodded. “The bedroom and bathroom are upstairs, if you’ll let me have a look at those scrapes and bruises,” he told you.

“You’ve already done so much, I couldn’t—”

“You see those?” He cut you off, looking up to the right. When you follow his gaze, you see a massive pair of cast iron gauntlets hanging up. “I know how to handle a scratch or two. It’s no trouble.”

You looked from the gauntlets back to him, thinking for a moment. “Alright.”

He led you upstairs, a hand on the small of your back to steady you as you wobbled. You came to a room with a massive bed and a small closet. Through a curtain beyond it was a bathroom.

“Have a bath, then we can see to your wounds,” Vander told you, grabbing a shirt from his closet and holding it out to you. “You can borrow this until we get that dress clean.” You carefully took it from him. “Just shout if you need anything, alright?”

You nodded, barely able to form any words as he left the room. You carefully laid the shirt on the bed, stripping out of your ruined dress and moving to the bathroom. You set your cards on the small shelf beside the tub. Turning the faucet, you let the bath fill as warm as you could get the water until steam filled the room.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and regretted looking. Your skin was filthy, covered in dirt and grime. You had a black eye and various cuts and bruises across your arms, legs, and face. Your hair was greasy and laid almost flat.

Your lip curled in disgust as you stepped into the tub, hissing as the water hit your various scrapes. There was a bar of soap and a well-loved bottle of shampoo that you were grateful for. You recognized the scents from Vander, though they were missing the undertone of smoke and leather.

You tried to be as gentle as you could when you scrubbed your skin, wincing every time you rubbed a bruise the wrong way and feeling your scrapes sting from contact. But no matter how soft you wanted to touch, you scrubbed your skin almost raw, trying to eliminate all the dirt from your body.

It didn’t matter how much it hurt, you felt disgusting.

You scrubbed your fingers through your hair and over your scalp, trying to remove all the oil, grease, and dirt that had built up over the last several days. You scrubbed thoroughly until your fingers brushed a knot on your head. You touched the spot gingerly, flinching from how tender it was. You cursed under your breath as you finished washing up gently. 

The water was black and brown by the time you stepped out, grabbing a hanging towel to dry off. You scrunched your hair over the edge of the tub before using the towel to dry it more thoroughly. It would still be wet for hours, most likely, but at least now you were less likely to drip water everywhere.

You gently patted yourself dry, wrapping the towel around you and moving back to the bedroom. You felt better about picking up Vander’s shirt now, not worried about soiling it with your touch. The cotton was soft, no doubt from years of wear.

Slowly, you slipped it over your head, doing another pat-dry over your wounds with the towel before hanging it back up in the bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror, your skin finally visible without the layers of dirt covering it. Your hair shone with the water that had soaked it. Vander’s shirt fell to your knees, the neckline wide enough for your collarbones to show. You had never looked so bony in your life. You glanced at the bundle of cards on the shelf, staring at them for a moment before flicking off the light and moving back downstairs.

Vander had taken a seat at one of the tables in the bar downstairs, a First Aid kit open in front of him. He spotted you and smiled, even as you moved with tension in every fiber of your being.

“Being clean suits you,” he jested, easing some of the tension from your shoulders. His gaze wandered down to your feet and back up, jerking his head to the side in silent request for you to join him. “Let’s have a look at those scrapes.”

With silent steps, you moved to where he was seated, pushing yourself up to sit on the table, making sure the shirt covered you properly. Vander’s hand was warm as he gently held your ankle, fingers wrapping all the way around it as he inspected the scrapes on your feet.

“Bastards stole my boots,” you chuckled nervously, looking around at the walls of the bar.

“Vi has a pair you can borrow,” Vander said. “This’ll sting a bit,” he warned before gently dapping your scraped with antiseptic. 

You hissed. It did sting, but his touch was gentle, his thumb stroking over your ankle soothingly as though he had done this a million times. “Who’s Vi?” You asked, distracting yourself as he worked on your wounds.

“My daughter,” he said without missing a beat, moving to your other foot. “I have two girls,” he told you. “Powder, and her older sister Violet—she prefers Vi. They share a room downstairs.”

After disinfecting your knees, he slapped bandaids over them. You fiddled with your hands in your lap. “Listen, I… I really appreciate this, but I can’t repay you.”

“Can you work?” He asked, looking up beneath his brows.

You loosed a breath. “Yeah, I can.”

He shrugged. “Then that’s all you need to do.”

You sighed, exasperated. “Why?” You questioned.

“Why what?” He pressed, taking one of your hands to clean properly.

Your cheeks warm and you look away. “Why are you helping me?”

Again, he shrugged. “You’re not from the Undercity, but now you are, which means you’re part of my people. My people help each other.” He said it so simply, but it was so wildly baffling to you after what you had endured.

He put away the First Aid supplies, leaving you for a moment to think about his words. When he returns, you slide down from your seat on the table. 

“You take the bed tonight. I’ll crash with the kids,” he told you easily.

You learned to stop arguing. If he didn’t want to, he wouldn’t. That’s what you had learned about Vander so far.

“Thank you, Vander,” you bowed your head to him. He bade you good night before heading down the stairs behind the bar, leaving you to make your own way to bed.

A/N: Let me know if you enjoyed via comments/reblogs!

Let me know if you'd like to be on the tag list for this series!

Tag List: @growls-like-thunder

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[thaly-does]

jayvik Hogwarts au headcanons:

Viktor is muggleborn, or so he thinks due to the fact he grew up in a muggle orphanage. Jayce is a half-blood on his father's line, but he spent his childhood in a magical village. Jayce starts taking Muggle Studies for Viktor, but quits early as Viktor shows no desire to keep a connection to the muggle world.

They both get sorted to Ravenclaw. Viktor and Jayce share a dorm cause in Ravenclaw students sleep in pairs!!! They usually use one bed though, cause the other one is for books and other study equipment. They stop sleeping together around the 5th year because it starts to feel... Different. More intimate. They start sleeping together again during the 7th year soon as they start dating.

Everyone is certain they've been dating since the 2nd year.

Viktor has an incurable magical sickness that progresses slightly over time. Jayce spends all his free time with Viktor every time Viktor is in the hospital wing - and that's often, mostly filling him in on studying or reading out loud.

They play wizard chess like... a lot. Jayce gifted a really nice set to Viktor on their first Christmas in Hogwarts. Half the floor in their dorm room is covered in shattered pieces they were too busy to clean up. Viktor is constantly stepping on them, but he doesn't mind.

Jayce stays in the castle with Viktor during all the holidays first couple of years, later they both go to Jayce's home to spend the break there. Viktor also spends last two or three whole summer breaks at Jayce's.

From each visit to Hogsmeade Jayce brings Viktor something he thinks Viktor would like. Viktor isn't allowed to visit (apart from not having permission from the orphanage he keeps getting detention).

Jayce studies Ancient runes (it's one of his favourite subjects). Viktor studies it too from 3rd to 5th year, but doesn't go further. He keeps taking Numerology and Astronomy though.

Last two years they take Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology and Alchemy together. Jayce takes DADA yet Vik doesn't.

Both Viktor and Jayce study Alchemy and they're the only students in their course to do so. It's really... private studying there.

Viktor starts visiting the Restricted section really early on, like 3rd year. It's permitted cause he's so smart. (Will it backfire who knows)

Jayce plays quidditch as a chaser. Later he's made captain. Viktor pretends to hate quidditch (and he does hate flying), but he comes to every training session and every match to root for Jayce. He says it's because he "likes reading outdoors".

Jayce has the reputation of The perfect student. Viktor is the student who asks the "wrong" questions, tries too advanced spells too early and does dangerous experiments. Jayce tries to cover for him but no one ever believes him (even if they truly did it together).

Jayce is made prefect and then the Head boy, although he abuses this power a lot to let Viktor do whatever he wants no matter the rules. Also to take baths together during their last Hogwarts year.

Viktor likes to brew potions in their dorm rooms. One day he tells Jayce that room just stinks of him (it's really because currently Viktor is brewing amortentia). That's how they start dating.

Jayce invents the cure for Viktor's illness two years after graduation.

[hivemuthur]

The Ugly Thing

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! smut, love confessions, D/S dynamics (if you squint or if you know what I'm talking about), pinning, dom!viktor (but also not, if you squint, something something), Viktor-centric, AU college/university + modern era (again, you have to do some squinting for it to be relevant)

word count: 4,9K

summary: Yet another self-indulgent one-shot of Viktor and Reader. It's just an exploration. I want to believe this is erotica, but you tell me. Subspace/Domspace if you squint. Just squint, alright?

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Viktor was, at the very least, difficult. That was what he had called himself, and he relished the label, as it allowed him to be all things at once—sweet, shy, bold, cruel, smart, oblivious, observant. He walked through life making observations and turning his conclusions into actions, placing people exactly where he needed them, ensuring they couldn’t place him somewhere he didn’t want to be.

His relationships were fleeting moments of leniency—sometimes even kindness—offered only when he felt inclined. Occasionally, the kindness transpired twice, or three times, but never more, as the risk of forming a one- or double-sided attachment was undesirable. Viktor’s desires lay elsewhere, and in his pursuits, he indulged the weakness of the flesh while keeping his ultimate goal—recognition of his brilliant mind—crystal clear.

Always polite, so that nothing could hurt him. His armour of politeness and astute behaviour shielded him from the lingering hands that sought to cradle him through the night, from the tender offerings of morning coffee, and from the quiet intimacy of shared silences. Viktor didn’t crave these things. He made sure his politeness was cold, detached, and practised—a skill perfected to keep others at bay. There was no warmth in it, no invitation to linger.

From time to time, he indulged in fleeting encounters, moments where he allowed himself to surrender to the pull of human connection—physical, but never emotional. Emotional, but not lasting. It was a necessary recharge, a way to quiet the body’s demands, but he was always one step ahead. He ensured his partners understood that whatever fragile universe they built together in the night would dissolve with the first light of morning, leaving no trace beyond the cooling embers of his skin.

All that was left was being polite—a polite smile in the hallway, a pencil lent during a lecture, an elevator held for his perishable lover rushing to class. Their names never forgotten, but their warmth never wanted again.

Until you. Until you invaded his orbit and refused to be erased. Until you befriended Jayce, making it easy to keep meeting him, keep looking at him, keep exchanging amusements and something more than politeness—exchanging kindness. Until it turned out you were smart and driven and managed to scare him once or twice by pinning him with your joke.

Until he had slept with you, giving you his mediocre self—not the calculated, observant one, but the needy, touch-starved, pathetic one that moaned your name and groped you with begging hands. All during a completely unorchestrated evening in your dorm room, still half-clothed, just lustful and impatient. Just really fucking hungry in your mutual understanding, though you understood absolutely nothing. Oblivious to the ugly thing in him. Oblivious to the concept of boundaries. Oblivious to the need to protect yourself from prying eyes that might see the truth of what they were.

And the way you stared at him afterwards, gave your body a long stretch, and your limbs flopped back onto the mattress. And the way you said, “It’s ok if you want to go,” an understanding smile cracking across your face—yet you understood absolutely, utterly nothing. A way out he craved, but he wanted to carve it out for himself with his politeness, not with this—this knowing, wise look in your eyes that came from nowhere, because you knew nothing. He almost wanted to stay, just to spite you, but found himself only nodding, scrambling to his feet to fetch his brace and cane, and bidding you goodnight with a polite nod.

And the way you remained friendly. Not friendly—the way you two remained friends. The long nights spent in study groups, pulling straws to determine who was doomed to coffee duty, your head slumped in sleep on Jayce’s shoulder, his head resting on Mel’s. Your bare, cold feet stretched out, toes brushing against Viktor’s thigh, sending ice through his veins—and the way he didn’t mind. The way he contemplated cradling your feet in his palm, warming them against his better judgement.

The way your touch lingered on his arm when you grabbed him in the corridor to show him something funny on your phone. And the way the thing on your phone actually was funny—a picture of Jayce passed out in the library under a mountain of plastic cups balanced on his shoulders. The way his own laugh startled him, made his chest shake and his face lean in close to yours.

The way you would fall asleep in the common room, watching old horror films, your throat vulnerably exposed on his lap. And he just wanted to grab it, squeeze it tight, choke the confession out of you—that you lingered because you wanted more, because this friendship was unthinkable.

The way you got upset when he was mean, and the way he went out of his way to apologise with a childish, shit-eating grin. His arms reaching out for you, your palm pressing his face away in that same friendly gesture.

When he flushed his system with alcohol, all he could think about was fucking you senseless. And when your gaze lingered on him, burning all the way down into his ugly thing, you would ask what was on his mind, and he would say, “Physics.” And you would laugh his lie out.

The way, once, he gave you a lingering kiss on your doorstep and stopped himself. But seeing the question poised on the tip of your tongue, he sunk back in, turning the kiss into a sloppy, drunken mess, so you would be the one to push him away. A gentle pat on the shoulder, sending him off with the unspoken instruction to come back sober. And how he never came back for that.

All of this made him so fucking angry. His carefully mended self, constructed from sweetness, shyness, boldness, cruelty, wisdom, and oblivion, was crumbling under your pensive eyes—and the way you floated atop the pissed-off ocean of his mind.

And oh, he loathed himself on that evening, loathed the way his feet carried him to your room because he was feeling vaguely sad and distracted. He loathed his feet for doing so, loathed his finger for pressing the elevator button, loathed his knuckles for placing a quiet knock on your door. It was all so gross, so out of character, and he loathed it all.

And there you were, opening the door, your face full of dinner, hair messy, cheeks puffed out as you curled them into a closed-mouth grin and gave him a wave to come inside. A quiet “hi,” followed by a chuckle as you tried to swallow before chewing—and a cough when the gulp was too massive for your throat.

“Are you busy?” Viktor found himself blurting out, scanning the room. Your flatmate was gone for the weekend—her bed made, her shoes and coat missing. Observed, concluded. His eyes flicked over to the other bed: messy but cozy, notes scattered across it, a steaming cup on the bedside table, and a laptop propped in the leg area playing background noise. Studying, of course.

“I am always busy,” you grinned at him, your teeth bare and beautiful like the rest of you, as you dropped your dishes into the sink and put the kettle on. “Watching Dexter and studying. Do you want tea?”

“Maybe,” Viktor mused, biting his lip. He negotiated silently with himself, wondering what it was he hoped to find in this room that might sweeten his sour mood—and why his mood was sour in the first place. His hand wobbled on his cane, the traitorous thing, and he leaned against the doorframe to deflect, refusing to decide whether to step fully in or out.

“Okay, what’s gotten into you today?” you huffed, picking a mug you deemed suitable for him. Good Vibes Only, with a middle finger printed on the bottom of it, seemed fitting.

“Meaning?” Viktor cocked an innocent eyebrow, feeling the burn of your inquisitive gaze. Oh, to yank that lovely head by the neck and shove it between his legs, to ease the torment in his mind.

“This is the third time you’ve bothered me today. It’s the weekend. You usually work on the weekends. You’re being vague but resistant to probing. Did something happen?” The countdown of his sins, and it was only the count of one day. Nothing had happened, and that was the issue.

“I suppose I’m feeling… down?” He shrugged, the movement worn down, defeated. His brain ached, and he felt lonely. It had started to feel indecent to pursue others—and for that, you deserved a whack as well.

“Do you need a hug?” A mocking snort reached his ears. A long pause as the scales tipped between a ‘no’ and a ‘yes.’

“Yes.”

Another long pause, as you blinked and scanned him for any signs of a sham, your expression still uncertain. You had to make sure again. “Do you need a hug now?”

“No, in fifteen fucking minutes.” His undignified huff earned him a pair of raised eyebrows from you, and a remark already rolling off your tongue—but he cut it short. “Yes, now. Come here.” His head hung low, and only his hand made a beckoning gesture.

You smiled, disarmed by the black cat of Viktor, finally trying to scramble into your lap after months of teasing and playing around—head bumping and blinking at each other from afar. You walked up to him, your hands hesitant, as if this open display of need was unthinkable.

Before you could settle, Viktor snaked himself around you, his cane propped by the door, his frame bent and draped over you, leaning his body weight forward. It was the grabbiest, the neediest hug he had ever given—or that anyone had let him have. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, smashing his nose against your skin, and inhaled you deeply, through both mouth and nose.

His palms, open and wide, raked as much of your body in one go as they could. They slipped under your clothes, seeking the taut skin stretched across your back and shoulders. He wanted to go lower but could only squeeze.

You weren’t hugging him; he was hugging you. Caging you in his grip, controlling when the hug would end—and as far as he was concerned, not ever. You stilled under his touch, your hands resting obediently on his chest as he rubbed his face on yours, purring like a cat.

“Viktor?” Your voice was barely a whisper, bouncing off his mouth, an inch away from yours. “Would you like me to kiss you?” He sang his swan song in that moment, almost asking permission, granting you the illusion of control, the illusion of choice—when in truth, it was him silently begging for the kiss to happen.

“Would you like to kiss me?” Of course. A deflection. Nothing he wasn’t prepared for.

“I asked you first.” A cruel blow, almost childish. He pulled his face back a few inches to watch you wrestle with the indignity of the situation. The whine you tried to suppress at the loss of contact didn’t go unnoticed, and the snake in Viktor’s belly coiled its head up, smug and poised.

But then you did the thing he didn’t expect—twisting the serpent’s head off and tossing it aside with quiet defiance. You moved closer, nudging his chin with your cheek, your wide eyes pleading for his plea. His resolve shattered instantly.

He held you in place, his lips hovering just above yours. His whisper was longing, desperate. “Can I kiss you?”

A silent ‘yes.’ He only knew it was a ‘yes’ because he felt the movement of your lips on his—but he didn’t let you finish. He sank into your mouth with a disturbing, possessive urgency, pressing his tongue inside, licking your beautiful teeth, biting your beautiful skin.

He kept you locked in, pressing you down under the weight of his kiss. His mouth drooled into yours obscenely as he breathed heavily through his nose. It was the ugliest kiss he had ever given anyone—the ugliest anyone had ever taken from him. And yet, it was taken with such grace, such gratitude, that he wanted to give you everything else.

With inhuman strength, he pulled you both apart and placed his thumb on your lower lip, still glistening with his saliva. He traced it lazily, transfixed by the shimmering reflections on your skin. His heart swelled as he observed the redness blooming around the spots he had bitten. He wanted you bruised by his love—for everyone to see.

“What are you doing tonight?” Another plea, another promise, fell between you. Viktor cursed himself for being so open, so exposed. Because even though you knew nothing, you would understand this question.

“Watching Dexter and studying,” you said in an absent voice, your eyes following his, following the path of his thumb. The silence stretched between you, taut, until you felt the need to fill it. “Do you want to watch Dexter and study with me?”

“No.” The word escaped him in a croak, sung low and jagged, as if he had only just realised this wasn’t what he wanted at all. “Are you wet?” was all he wanted to know.

“What?” The word escaped you, surprised, almost appalled. Viktor braced himself for you to pull away, so he tightened his grip—but you didn’t. You just stared at him with those beautiful eyes on your beautiful face, your pupils dilating at the vulgar perversion of his question.

“I think you heard me. Are you wet right now?” He leaned in to whisper the filth into your ear, feeling his snake grow out a new head at the full-body shudder that went through you.

“What if I said no?” you asked shyly, your eyelashes brushing against his cheek.

“I would demand proof,” he murmured, holding the sides of your face as he poured his poison straight into your ear, his voice so quiet and rude that your eyes fluttered closed.

“What if I said yes?” You found some bravery in yourself, tracing your fingers along Viktor’s neck, just under the line of his hair. You smiled at the feeling of goosebumps rising under your fingertips. He couldn’t have this, of course.

“I would demand proof regardless,” he responded, his lips grazing the shell of your ear before licking it, slow and deliberate. He craned his head back to look at you. You appeared frightened and excited all at once, and if Viktor had no restraint, he would have run his fingers through your hair to soothe you. Instead, he placed a flat palm on your stomach, fingers pointing down, waiting for your permission.

He received a timid nod, but it wasn’t enough.

“Use your words.”

“You can check.” You closed your eyes and exhaled, as though allowing yourself to be judged for your crime. And as the crime was that of lust, Viktor, somewhere deep down, knew he didn’t really need proof, and that your punishment would be light. Because he didn’t truly want to punish you. He wanted to love you in an ugly way.

He slid his hand down, down beyond the waistband of your pants, down your lower belly straight to your womb, palming your cunt through the underwear and gasped, “Oh lásko, look at you.” His chest fluttered at the first touch, with joy and accomplishment, but also because he was right, when he slid the fabric to the side and ran his finger through your slit. Warmth dripped onto his fingertips, and he felt himself grow hard beneath the restraint of his own clothes.

“Do you really like me this much?” he cooed, so pleased that just one ugly kiss had managed to drench your knickers and make you feel so ashamed you nearly flinched away.

“Viktor—” You looked at the floor, your brows furrowed, your face burning from being so exposed, so naked. And you looked so, so beautiful.

“I am not mocking you,” he murmured, placing a reassuring hand on your cheek and caressing it gently. It was almost a praise, though he dared not say it yet. “What makes you want a cripple so much? Is it your heart that longs for me, your mind that thinks you can change me, or just your body?” he mused, revealing too much merely by asking.

You looked almost offended by how blunt he was about knowing what you wanted, just not knowing why. His fingers now parting you, playing at your entrance, teased you but you wouldn’t flinch. You just searched his face hesitantly and as Viktor grew tired of waiting, he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them, mercilessly bumping your wall, forcing you to flinch. He really wanted to see your eyes roll back into your skull, and he really wanted to hear his name distorted by a breathy moan.

“Which… would be the worst?” Your breath fanned his face as you steadied yourself on his shoulders. Truly, you weren’t ready for any of the options to be soured.

Viktor thought for a moment, his fingers slowly retreating, almost absent-mindedly. When his answer was found, he pushed back in, smiling innocently, his face moving close to yours. “The first. The second,” he mused, another slow, unbearably so, thrust. “I could fuck out of you. The third, well…” A gentle kiss on your lips, almost loving. “I see no fault in the third.”

“Of course, you don’t,” you scoffed, your grip on his shoulders tightening with each minute. “And what bring you back to me over, and ah,” a gasp escaped your mouth when Viktor brushed his thumb over your clit. You closed your eyes and evened your breath. “Back to me. Heart, mind or… body?” you asked, your brow furrowed in concentration against Viktor’s efforts to throw you off course.

“Which would be the worst?” He quirked his lips against yours and chuckled at another concentrated huff. He could feel your unrelenting grip on his shoulders, was convinced that it would leave a mark, and it made his cock twitch in his pants. To be marked by this gentle creature, a dream.

“Any of them, without the others,” you quipped, your eyes shut. Viktor’s movements stilled at that. You had managed to surprise him. Again. Of course, you would want to devour him as much as he wanted to devour you. Eat you whole, spit out the bones and build a shrine out of them. Ugly.

He retreated his hand and chuckled at the muffled whine that followed. He licked his fingers clean once your eyelids fluttered open, making sure you were watching. Rude. But he was going to kiss you with this mouth.

His hands snaked back up your spine, your body pliant against his, providing him with warmth. His teeth and lips got back to work on the swell of yours, and you fell right into it, mouth open, when his tongue pushed itself down your throat as Viktor began his meal. “I will die if I don’t fuck you,” he rasped. So fucking dramatic over nothing, over just a kiss and some unfinished fingering, and a clipped conversation about what he wanted.

He could abandon it here. He could walk out; he could sit on your bed and just study and watch Dexter. He could drink his tea, already cold, he could make you blush all evening, bid you goodbye and go back to his grimy room to jerk off and fuck off. But he couldn’t stop.

“Please, I’ll be so good to you,” he prayed to you, your hands so warm on his waist as he kissed you till he was out of breath. “You don’t know what you are doing to me.” Pathetic, moronic wail escaped him. And he knew you only grew wetter and wetter, your lips getting hotter on him. Panting, you pulled him by the belt and walked the two of you over to the bed, leaving Viktor with no other support than yourself.

He had never rid himself of his clothes so fast. Everything he had on, tossed and crumpled by the bed, next to your own little pile. All the layers of the second, the third skin abandoned, his brace, his pants, his boxers, embarrassingly soaked with sweat and precum, when he crawled on top of you just to keep kissing you and biting your neck, leaving nasty marks everywhere. He panted, his own breath betraying him as your skin came in contact and Viktor whined simply at his cock rubbing against your thigh and he wanted more.

“If you want to stop, tell me.” Another raspy, absolutely dishonest, but a proper plea, asking for the complete opposite. Please, never ask me to stop. “Do you understand?” You nodded, again—not good enough. Your eyes so wide, he could barely see the colour. When you were splayed flat below him, he could see your heart twitching, your chest contracting. A minuscule movement, but he could see it.

“Words, I need to hear your words, lásko,” he growled, stunned by his own impatience.

“I understand.” A kindness in your voice enveloped him. He slid you down the mattress by the ankles, his cock rested against your slit. With clumsy hands he put on a condom, stole a pillow from under your head to support his bum leg and adjusted his crooked crouch. You had the audacity to chuckle at the commonality of his movements and he bit your calf in response.

Absolutely unhinged, you hooked your foot behind his neck, and he immediately loved the weight that pulled him down, steadied him, as he teased your entrance. You held a breath; he had forsaken the privilege of air long time ago.

The first thrust was just blissful. He could feel the crease on his forehead relaxing, his mouth opening, his jaw hanging heavily, just joy and warmth, him awash in it. He felt so full, so complete, yet it was you who was full of him as your bodies slotted together easily, differently to the last time, which left him feeling awkward and ashamed and unfinished.

You rested your hands on his hips, gripping the sharp angle of his bones, your fingernails leaving crescent marks that he would run his fingers over in the morning. “You are doing so well,” he whispered in awe, and it was honest, and you loved it, he felt it in his cock getting squeezed in a silent gratitude.

He felt his ugliness leaving him with each pump of his hips, each sloppy sound of your bodies bumping against each other, his cock twitching inside you, and he needed one more thing to make this even less ugly.

He brushed his thumb over your clit, stretching it, teasing you and taking in all your huffs and puffs, your contorting stomach muscles, your tightening walls. A longing look and an echoing question followed. “Do you love me?”

“Viktor, don’t be cruel,” you answered so fast, he almost retreated. How could you think so? A childlike curiosity creeped onto his face.

“I am not. I really ought to know. Just say yes or no,” Please, just say yes. He felt you twitch at the question, and it made him think he was right. But he could have also been completely deranged. Brain burnt by lust and all the ugly things.

“Viktor—” you pleaded at the loss of his thumb on you.

“I can feel you. Yes or no?” A hard thrust, right up your guts. You yelped, and he could see the tears forming in the corners of your eyes, and the sight was something to behold, keep in the palace of his mind forever.

“Then, why are you asking?” You were ready for filth. For his erotic weirdness, for his awkwardness, for all the want he would suppress every time you interacted. You felt it all in his fleeting touch, in the warmth of his thigh when your naked toes rested against it idly, unintentionally, though very intentionally. But this was how you coax a cat. And this was not how cats responded.

“You will see,” he promised, more to himself. “Do you love me, now, in this moment, when I’m fucking you? Yes or no?” Another twitch of your cunt at ‘love’. He left himself unguarded, shielded only by the mould of your womb.

“Yes.” A tiny, shy ‘yes’. But it fell right into Viktor’s heart and there it grew into a big promise, and he would keep it and take care of it and cherish it.

His body bent in half, his mouth seeking yours. A sloppy kiss, painful, with teeth at your tender lip. Another, earnest, slow and careful. Another, quick and fleeting, before he found your ear. Between them, “I love you,” whispered back like a secret, like a prize for your struggle.

Your breaths grew frantic, you wanted to keep him close. You tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging him in, so you could lick the sweat from his neck, bite it and claim it. Your leg slipped onto his hip, and you curled it around him, his bone digging into your thigh.

“Do you see? How it feels?” he rasped into your ear, gripping you tight. “To be loved while being fucked? Tell me how it feels.” Viktor moaned with each of his thrusts, holding back getting harder and harder. His cock getting more swollen. Your walls getting tighter.

“Amazing,” you whispered, pulling his mouth back to yours. “I love you.”

Viktor’s eyes rolled back into his skull. He slumped onto you, his hands snaking behind your waist, and he could feel your sweat merging with his as your chests pressed together. “I love you,” he cooed weakly. “You can come now, lásko.”

He felt your thighs clutch on his hips, a long spasm twisting your spine underneath him. You came with an orgasm wrenching breath out of your lungs, leg bending, blinding. The ‘I love you’ falling from your lips over and over again, and Viktor could finally let go and spill all his ugliness out. He came with a loud moan seconds after, his brain fucked out, his heart swollen, as he came loved for what he was.

He held you tight through it, chests heaving, when he felt a quiver and wetness on his cheek. “Are you hurt?” he whispered.

You sobbed onto his chest, hands caged in his arms as you tried to release them and wipe the tears away. “No, no,” you shook your head. “What is this… feeling?” It had no name. For Viktor, it was a dumbing bliss. He could cry too if he wasn’t so warm.

“How do you feel?” He wanted to know what it was like on the other side. No one ever told him, no one ever shared this with him.

“Hollow. Ah… fuck. Empty,” you struggled to find the words, trying them out on your tongue, but they felt wrong. “I feel like you took something… bad from me. And now I don’t know what to do with the space left—” you gasped between sobs as Viktor rolled you to the side and pulled your hair to expose your neck.

You buried your face in the curve of his shoulder. Tears fell on their own, and Viktor wanted to drink them and cry them out himself. When the sobs transformed into clipped breaths, and clipped breaths transformed into one long exhale, you asked carefully, “Viktor, you don’t really love me, do you?”

“Well, do you really love me?” His chest was swollen, his head heavy. He was triumphant. He was so invincible he had it in him to love you.

Silence, for a while. Viktor nudged you gently with his chin and whispered a soft command, “Go to the bathroom, I’ll be here.”

You looked at him, the practicality of it spreading a strange warmth in your belly. Wordlessly, you got up and disappeared, still naked as day, and Viktor watched your feet shuffle in the creak of the bathroom door. He got up, put on his underwear, and drank his cold tea in one go.

When you got out, a relief glimpsed through your face, as if you were expecting him to be gone. He waited for you with a cup of tea and a clean sweatshirt, beckoning you to slide into it. Once you both had a singular piece of clothing on, he pulled you back into bed and cuddled sweetly into you. “How do you feel now?” he asked, running his fingers through your hair.

“I feel… like I really need you to love me right now,” you let it slide out. Even though your sweatshirt shielded you from the chill of the room, your soul was still completely bare and shivering. And Viktor loved this nudity, the weirdness of it, the feeling of belonging it gave him.

He found that is was his hands that were lingering now, that the tender thought of the morning coffee was no longer distorted by fear, the quiet and the silence became comfortable in a good way. He felt so wanted, so beautiful in your eyes. He felt all the right things and none of the wrong things. His ugly snake was skinned and turned into a beautiful object. In this beautiful space only beautiful words seemed fitting. “I really do love you right now.”

[inkbirdie]

no longer you analysis/interpretations

After seeing Jorge's overview of No Longer You and what he intended the lyrics to refer to, I thought I'd share my interpretations of what Tiresias sees! (Long post, so I out them under the cut). Be sure to watch his video, it was very eye-opening for me.

First of all, I saw everything Tiresias said as something that could be in the past pr future (I see past and future running free). I also didn't see it as chronological since Tiresias is not explicitly showing Odysseus the progression of his story since he is not helping him get home. However, I really like that it is chronological, this whole song is very well written, it's definitely in my top three favorite songs of the entire musical.

'I see a song of past romance'

The reason why I never thought Tiresias' predictions were chronological was because I thought this referred to Would You Fall In Love With Me Again! I still think this applies, but it is also a song of future romance.

Before NLY:

⁃ Odysseus refers to his love for Penelope many times (Just A Man is the best example)

After NLY:

⁃ Calypso expresses her feelings for Odysseus, though she likely still has feelings for him in the moment (Not Sorry For Loving You)

⁃ Jorge's intention (more literal): the siren in Suffering is actually singing about Odysseus' romance with Penelope. This line is difficult because Epic is obviously a musical, and the only time we know a character is canonically singing is in Suffering.

'I see the sacrifice of man'

This line could refer to many things! It could be the things that Odysseus or someone else (who is not a god) sacrifices. It could also be the instances where human lives are literally sacrificed. Here are some of the sacrifices made in Epic:

Before NLY:

⁃ Odysseus sacrifices the life of the infant to protect his family (Just A Man)

⁃ Odysseus sacrifices his connection with Athena to do what he believes is right, but also because of his pride (My Goodbye)

After NLY:

⁃ Jorge's intention: Odysseus sacrifices six men to Scylla (Scylla)

⁃ Eurylochus sacrifices the chance for him and the crew to go home (and sacrifices a cow. rip cow) (Mutiny)

⁃ Odysseus sacrifices the life of his crew for a chance to go home (Thunder Bringer)

⁃ Odysseus sacrifices his morals and belief in goodness to get home (Monster, 600 Strike)

⁃ Odysseus sacrifices his way home to defeat Poseidon (Six Hundred Strike)

'I see portrayals of betrayal'

There are a ton of betrayals in Epic, both done by and to Odysseus!

Before NLY

⁃ Odysseus betrays his morals/goodness by killing the infant (Just A Man)

⁃ Athena betrays Odysseus by abandoning him (My Goodbye)

⁃ Eurylochus mistrusts Odysseus (Luck Runs Out)

⁃ Eurylochus betrays Odysseus by opening the wind bag (Keep Your Friends Close)

After NLY:

⁃ Odysseus betrays his morals and Polites by becoming the monster and decidedly not having open arms (Monster, Different Beast)

⁃ Odysseus betrays his crew by sacrificing them (Scylla)

⁃ Jorge's intention: Eurylochus and the gang betray Odysseus by mutinying

⁃ Odysseus double betrays his crew by sacrificing them (Thunder Bringer)

⁃ Up to interpretation: either Odysseus' mind or loved ones (Polites, Eurylachus, his mom) betray him by allowing him to nearly commit suicide (Love in Paradise)

'A brother's final stand'

There are a few possibilities for this. I think the best interpretations involve Eurylochus, because he is by Odysseus' side the longest and is literally his brother-in-law in the Odyssey.

Before NLY:

⁃ Polites' death against Polyphemus (Survive)

⁃ 551 men (6 died during Survive, Elpenor dies offscreen during the Circe saga to make 558 during The Underworld) die at Poseidon's hand (Ruthlessness)

After NLY:

⁃ 6 more men die when Odysseus sacrifices them to Scylla (Scylla)

⁃ Jorge's interpretation (and mine): Eurylochus and the remaining crew try to take Odysseus down with them when he chooses for them to die (Thunder Bringer)

'I see you on the brink of death'

I always thought this went with the following line and didn't think about what it could mean on its own! Here are some times Odysseus almost dies:

Before NLY:

⁃ Up until he opens the wind bag and escapes Poseidon (Ruthlessness)

After NLY:

⁃ Before he chooses if he or his crew will die (though I don't think he ever would've chosen himself to die) (Thunder Bringer)

⁃ Jorge's intention: When he stands on the edge of a cliff and nearly follows the ghosts of his loved ones to his death (Love in Paradise)

⁃ My interpretation: When Odysseus is underwater (after taking his final breath) (Get In The Water)

'I see you draw your final breath'

This really only has one interpretation: when Odysseus 'dies' and fully becomes the monster to get home (Six Hundred Strike). Tiresias sees 'you' or the Odysseus in front of him, draw his final breath. Tiresias cannot help Odysseus get home because he doesn't get to make it home, the monster does. Tiresias refers to the other Odysseus only as 'a man,' reflecting the idea that some of the greatest monsters are human (which we see more of in the Ithaca Saga). Tiresias' other predictions really only apply to what we see in the Ithaca Saga, so I won't be analyzing those for now. The only saga I didn't find any connections to was the Circe Saga. The closest I can think of is Eurylochus still not telling Odysseus about the wind bag in Puppeteer. I feel that saga is generally disconnected from some of the themes in Epic, particularly because the only person who dies is Elpenor (of his own drunken accord and offscreen) and Circe is the last obstacle he spares (aside from Charybdis) but this is not a mistake (Odysseus makes good decisions throughout the saga, which is also important for introducing Hermes and getting the gang to the underworld. Circe as a character isn't very important thematically imo and her songs aren't referenced in any other song except Love in Paradise). Let me know if you see any connections to Circe and her songs! Also if you had any more interpretations different from mine.

[amyrosedaily]

Day 29: Caught you!

PLEASE! Donate to save Muhammad Shehab's family! Main Post | GoFundMe

[lucreziaces]

thinking about the disconnect between cesare and lucrezia in “the prince” after cesare’s failed at murdering alfonso and lucrezia has to clean up his mess, and she asks “is that all i am now, brother, borgia?” with such disgust and he just doesn’t even hear her because he’s too focused on her mixing the poison and realizing that by being with her he won’t be corrupting her because she’s already a “professional” like him, like the assassin he was ready to send in to finish the job to keep her hands free of blood. meanwhile lucrezia is ALREADY making up her mind that she wants a love outside of HIS love for her because the way he loves her is selfishly and all consuming and overly possessive and makes her feel sick because some part of her still feels like god is in the room with them when he’s near, but now i think she understands that not to be true. and he was right to ask “god or the devil?” ACTUALLY maybe the disconnect begins before this….when he’s just run alfonso through with his sword and lucrezia comes rushing down the stairs to find the aftermath and cesare thinks he’s going to convince her it was an “accident” or perhaps it begins when lucrezia tells him “i am tired of my husband, of life, the only thing that never tires me is you”. yep this is when it begins i think!! right there. because of this he underestimates how much guilt lucrezia will feel if something happens to alfonso by cesare’s hand. how much she will come to resent being born a borgia, being loved by HIM.

[pallases]

IM FREEEEEE

[existentialcrisis-24-7]

Godddddd it’s such a pain to be hyperfixating on your own ocs. It’s a fucking nightmare. I just want these guys to do their thing and tell people their stories but nOOooOoOooo I have to write it first! But that’s not the medium I want to tell it through so I have to learn how to make comics! Or animate! Liek anfucking idirot

[villain-in-love]

Wait a second, I just realized something.

That's how I see it.

[quillheel]

❁ ( towards any of your zelda muses − hylia and the three godesses, mainly, but also botw & totk link / zelda / ganondorf if you feel compelled...!! )

Send me a ❁ for the type of flower my muse would give to yours // Accepting!

Hylia's answer comes, sharp and slow like a blade pulled uncutting against thought, a cool not-metal against the inner heat of mind. ━ the same as sky, not in the way of wind but in the way of open space, of nothing at all, of atmosphere pressing in from out against your throat. Almost frozen, almost frigid, but without the effort in coldness, in willful ignoring, of brushing one off : cold as in cold is the absence of heat. No, Iroha receives an answer. Stale pollen and bright, blinding knowledge. ━━━ she was not made to create the way the Goddesses were, and yet, the flowers bloom at their feet regardless : perhaps they should consider themselves special.

━ bachelor button, hydrangea, bittersweet, lavender heather, white poppy, blue violet, mixed yellow & red zinnia, white hyacinth, rose leaf, & buried beneath the rest; spider flower. ( 'You are not of my domain, I am indifferent to you. However, I respect your devotion. I sympathize, perhaps, with your situation. One day, perhaps, there will something other for you. One day, perhaps, you will make one.' )

the Goddesses' response is a ancient one. months hung above the stratosphere, dangling, dangling, waiting to be lowered. Months upon months upon months, the flower of the seasons dripping into the horizon in a haze of days and nights and days again: They were intricate, and slow, and often unknowable at all. how patient, you are, for Them. How kind, to wait, for Them. They reward Iroha with answer in time, in the humid shivering haze of early morning, a wave of such love of all Iroha does, of the endless sorrow They beheld upon their duty, arriving like quartz lining their throat ━ blooms growing from 'pon their fingertips, 'cross their knuckles. a gift, a gift, how merry to be known & seen, how terrifying by They to listen & answer in turn ━ how horrible, horrible to think you had been forgotten...

━ bachelor button, maidenhair fern, red carnation, dead leaf, purple hyacinth, dark crimson rose, pine, acorn, fern, fir, white heather, iris, lily of the valley, tea rose, palm leaf. ( 'We love you, We are sorry, your faith is not unseen by Us, for This to be your undertaking, borne as chains & key. Such is Our terrible, terrible doing. Such is Our apology. We hope, perhaps, one day the selves can exist without the other or in one without smothering, smothering light. We hope, perhaps, one day you are allowed to live; a role unshackled, unlocking Thy own binds. Chains & key. Chains & key. Freedom unmade for you, and yet, still hoping to grasp it.' )

Link & Zelda come as though offering memorial, bundles of blooms and sprigs tucked in their arms as they hurry past stream and grove ( "watch your feet, 'stream made the ground soft" "ah, thank you, I believe I'll be alright-!" ) to find the place where the Blupees haunched on hind legs and watched them with startling, ruby eyes. The one Link had gone before, a familiar forest in the heavy overhang of branches & leaves. a bowl is filled with fruit steadily throughout the day beneath a great cherry tree, pink petals like silk beneath the sun. a final act of care comes as sunset threatens to burn the sky alive when, on a brief journey back to a stable for a briefer meal, they're caught in a fleeting conversation of flora & the hearts beneath their stalks ( "Oh, you're going all the way up to Satori mountain? Hey, if you're going through all the effort, I've heard people bring flowers up there sometimes, you know, offerings and the like. Some people bring flowers, symbolizing what the 'Lord of the Mountain' protector means to them. Maybe it'd be worth your time?" ) ( "That sound's like a nice idea, I think!" "I think so, yes, but what would I even bring...?" ) ━━━ they in bundles, at last, arrive. Hurried up, past the stream, to find the tree again. Zelda hesitates, an offering of silent princess clasped between delicate fingers ━ "Would it be considered disrespectful to place it at the dish...? Maybe I shouldn't..." ━ before Link, calloused hands delicate, maneuver their hands to set it down along the rest, petals bright; bright in the clear sky.

━ bittersweet, bluebell, pink camellia, iris, cattleya orchid, magnolia, evening primrose, flax, rose leaf, forsythia, fern, lavender rose, bells of ireland, azalea, sweet pea, mixed zinnea. ( 'I think you're kind, and charming, and though I rarely see you, I hope you are well. I hope to change that fleetingness, if you'll let me? I think you might like Zelda, you might have more in common than you think.' / 'I've heard of you, but never seen you, all good things. I hope one day to meet, you seem good. Perhaps lonely. I might like you, if you gave me the chance, but I'd understand if you don't like me. I hope your future is a kind one, whatever kind of future it is. I don't know you well enough, even in stories, to tell.' )

Somewhere, there is a valley tucked neatly behind the ridges of hills, in the lowered groove 'twixt them where the land sinks ginger under the long grass and the wild flower of the knolls; as though gently swept down, as though the soft lowering of a stomach, ribs high against the soft tension of smooth skin in earth, as though the rounded edges of hands where the knuckles stood war-like as the gentle palm sinks; ball of the hand softer than the upper of the palm, the upper of the palm softer than the fingers, the fingers softer than the nails, the nails softer than the bones inside them all.

Somewhere, there is a valley of tender, shivering silver. plush moss lining the ground like bolster turned cloudy like rain, muted but beautiful in variation, white paint blending with greys in the fiber that wasn't fiber, the tissue that was. A place no one knew. a place one did. flowers split, forbearing as though shifting only between the folds, and reeds rose in the bed. A place that never died, flowers like chanting; the same message, 'hundred times over, 'thousand more. ━ Somewhere, you know this place. Somewhere, no one else knows at all. Somewhere, it tells you something. Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere...

━ lotus, cherry blossom, chrysanthemum. ( 'how much would it take to stop grieving yourself, and choose to live? how long?' )

[sylhea-raemi]

I just realized 2/3 of the great magicians have a vonnection to nero, one is his friend and teammate and the other is his professor... does thor saving nero's ass count as having a connectiom to him lmao

[knaveofmogadore]

Kfkdks