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battymommastuff · 8 months

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The Greatest Show

Batmom x Batman, Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: While digging through the attic, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd uncover a secret about their adoptive mother. A secret that reveals the true, and dark story of the most loved couple in Gotham City

Part 1 Masterlist

(P/N): Performer Name

!!DISCLAIMER!! - This likely won't be comic accurate (Obviously), but I did draw inspiration from the comics. If you are looking for something accurate, then this fanfic isn't for you.

The rumbling from the red and white tent could be felt from outside. The cheers of the crowd as Haly's circus put on what they felt would be their best show yet. Everything from the elephants standing on their back legs to the clowns hitting each other with bowling pins. You were peeking from the little opening that led backstage. Many of your fellow performers were either stretching in preparation for their performance, or were relaxing after theirs. You were currently waiting alongside your two closest friends, John and Mary Grayson. The acrobatic duo who recently combined their act with yours. The stakes were higher, but it left the crowd in complete awe. You were one of the fire eaters. You were a younger member of the circus, but had quickly become a fan favorite.

You were beautiful, and highly skilled at your art. Swallowing fire like water, and twirling torches around without burning you or anyone else. The skill you possessed was outstanding, and Haly never let you forget that. He took you in when you needed help the most, and he made you a star. You would forever be in debt to him.

"Are you ready, (Y/N)?" Mary asked, resting a hand on your shoulder. You jumped then turned towards her. She and John had just finished their stretches and decided to check on you. From the moment you arrived, they took you under their wing. Teaching you the do's and don'ts of the circus as well as giving you a place to sleep so you didn't have to bunk with the others in their crowded space. Though you quickly earned a little tent of your own after your spike in popularity.

"Yes, I'm alright..." You said, with a small smile, "But what about you? Should you be performing in your condition?" You asked while looking down at Mary's stomach. She was currently one month pregnant, and the entire circus doted over her. Everyone was so excited to have a new member of their family. Whoever this kid was going to be, you just knew you would love them unconditionally. Mary reassured you for the millionth time that she would be alright before she and John were ushered up a small ladder that led to the top of the tent. You, on the other hand, were standing by the curtain, waiting for Haly to announce you.

"And now...our next performance needs no introduction...you know them...you love them! The Flying Graysons! Featuring our star Fire eater (P/N)!"

As soon as you heard your name, you ran out. Instantly lighting your torch and twirling it around while taking a sip of alcohol. You spat the liquid at the flame causing it to poof into the air as soon as Mary did a flip in the air and caught John's arms.

Nothing could ever satisfy that rush in your heart. The thrill of the crowd's reaction to your tricks. The high it gave you was better than any drug. Here you were, twirling two flaming torches in your hand as you watched above you. John and Mary Grayson were flying through the air. No one knew who to watch first. The couple who seemed to defy gravity, or the woman who could eat fire. Even with them in the air and you on the ground, everyone could see the chemistry you had. It's why your combined act never failed. With a big smile, you leaned back while lowering one of the torches towards your mouth. The crowd watched in awe as the fire went into your mouth. You popped your head back up with the extinguished torch in your hand. Tossing it to one of the helpers, you lifted your now free arm in the air while twirling the other torch in your hand.

John, swooping down picked you up and you were now in the air. An act practiced hundred of times. His legs holding onto the trapeze as you both circled around the tent, the torch never falling from your hand.

Your act was truly amazing, and it seemed to catch the eye of a certain crowd member. Bruce Wayne. Growing up, he loved to visit the circus with his parents. After their death, he avoided anything to do with it. Now he was back, but under different circumstances. For a while he'd been investigating the circus. He recently found old notes left by his father. The Court of Owls. A secret society of the Gotham elite. Their goal is to rid the city of crime, by any means. He wasn't surprised to know that his father had come in contact with them, but was surprised to see the theory that Haly's circus was a front. The members were training to be potential Talon members. The Court's lethal assassins. The circus always seemed to favor Gotham. Their stop here would last weeks while other stops would last days. Most of their members were young, and always seemed to vanish from the show after a while. He was here to find out the truth, and put a stop to it. At least he hoped he could. It was difficult to fight a conspiracy that his father barely had proof on.

Despite his goal, he couldn't bring himself to move from his spot. You were gorgeous. He had a genuine smile on his face while watching your act. He's seen fire eaters before, but something about felt different. You didn't seem corrupt or up to no good. You looked as if you truly loved what you were doing. Maybe he could recruit you? Having inside knowledge would be beneficial.

Your act went on, and you left the circle with loud cheers. Your heart was racing so fast, it felt like you were going to have a heart attack. John and Mary arrived shortly after with large smiles of their own, "You did amazing!" You squealed while hugging them both. You were new to the acrobatic world, but had the best teachers in the world.

After the show ended and everyone turned in for the night, you were sitting outside of your tent. Your throat is slightly irritated from the alcohol, but nothing too bad. Luckily tomorrow was an off day for the circus. You could rest a little before practice. It was a peaceful night, and you were happy to relax in it. At least until a deep and intimidating voice nearly scared the skin off of you.

"(Y/N) (L/N)? We need to talk."

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TAGLIST

@maxinehufflepuffprincess @tayswhp @rainycloud858 @luna-zendra-star @starlets-things @simpfourmarvel @kawaistrawberry21 @js-favnanadoongi @kodzukenmaaa

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dekariosclan · 4 months

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With you, I forget my goddess

So, I have completed Bg3 twice now, but on both runs I’ve romanced Gale (truly shocking, I know) and therefore I had never seen Gale’s non-romance discussion with Tav about the Annals of Karsus.

I recently got to see it, and what surprised me the most is how extremely angry and bitter Gale is about Mystra’s treatment of him. Rightfully and understandably so, but it’s something we do not see or experience in the romance version.

This got me thinking about the difference in Gale’s reactions in the friendship vs romance scenes, why they are different, and also how this relates to the complaints I’ve read about Gale ‘still not being over Mystra even when romancing Tav’.

(Note that I’m mainly going to focus on the portions of each dialogue that relate to Mystra in particular, and I’m not referencing the ‘alternate’ boat scene w/Gale—where he tells you beforehand that he will return the crown to her—since he doesn’t mention Mystra at all there.)

Screencaps below are from @munmomuu’s wonderful video on YouTube. The screencaps take place after Gale has read the Karsus book. If you are romancing him, before you reach this point, the conversation ends because he tells you he wants to discuss it later “in private,” during the boat scene.

But in a friendship run, he will explain what he’s read to you and then begin to make his case for using the crown:

Gale: Some gods may delude themselves into believing they care about their worshippers, but when it comes down to it - we’re all expendable. Children to be appeased, not respected.

Gale: I worshipped Mystra loyally for years, and in that time she granted me the barest sliver of the power I was ready to wield.

Gale: Even with the fate of the world at stake, she had little more to offer me than the means of blowing myself up at a more convenient time. She’s done nothing to help us.

There then comes a dialogue branch where Tav can ask this:

And Gale replies, with understandable bitterness:

Gale: She sent me to die.

Look at how angry he is during this whole exchange, and how he focuses all that anger on the past, and what Mystra has done to him (or not done, as he points out she’s offered them no help at all.)

— — —

Now let’s compare this to his Mystra dialogue in the boat scene:

Gale: I’ve already defied Mystra. Had I followed her command, there’d be nothing left of me but a smoking crater.

Gale: The tadpoles, the orb - these threats to our existence - the gods could aid us if they wished, but instead they cower behind Ao. So let us act ourselves.

Gale: I used to believe Mystra’s forgiveness was worth dying for. But I was wrong. You showed me just how much I have to live for.

Notice how there’s no fiery anger at Mystra here, just Gale’s resigned belief that the Gods have failed them.

So what’s the key component that makes Gale react so differently in each scenario?

It is, of course, Tav.

More specifically, it’s Tav’s love for him, which has clearly helped his heart heal from the trauma that he’s experienced. Yes, Tav’s friendship is extremely important as well, and yes, Gale is still insecure even with Tav’s love (‘you would really prefer me as I am?’) but the extreme bitterness, the anger, all of that is gone. Here, Gale is no longer hung up on Mystra and the past; he’s looking to the future. Because now that he has Tav, what he desires most is to take his life and his fate back from the Gods and into his own hands—with Tav at his side.

The irony is that some people complain about Gale ‘not being over Mystra’ while he’s actively romancing Tav, but just look at the difference in the dialogue! Look at how focused he is on Mystra when he is not romancing Tav, and then how she becomes a mere afterthought once Tav has claimed his heart.

I really enjoyed seeing this level of detail. I think it perfectly illustrates Gale’s frame of mind in each scenario, as well as showing the positive impact Tav’s love has on Gale.

And last but not least—it confirms that Gale was not exaggerating when he says this:

Gale: With you, I forget my goddess. I love you.

— — —

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 #gale x tav #baldur's gate 3 #spoilers #galemancer #baldurs gate 3

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lemonhemlock · 3 months

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the reason why i don't think blood & cheese works without maelor is because it undermines the gravity of helaena's choice

in the books, as we all know, she has to choose which son to sacrifice. blood & cheese are going to kill one either way, so, whatever happens, if you want to get cynical about it, aegon will still be left with a male heir of his body. no, the horribleness of the choice lies not really in dynastic matters, but in basic humanity: which of your children are you willing to condemn to death? and helaena truly does try to make the best out of a bad situation, she picks not because she loves jaehaerys more, but because maelor is so tiny that she hopes he won't understand what's going to happen to him.

and she absolutely has to choose, because b&c threaten to rape her daughter if she doesn't. it's psychological torture. b&c just want to fuck her up in the head as much as possible and helaena tries her goddamnest to minimize the harm done to her family. to further compound on the tragedy, b&c kill the opposite child, so now she has to live out the rest of her days knowing that the son left alive is the son SHE herself marked for the axe. which is what understandably drives her to lose her mind

now, in the show, the "problem" blood & cheese have doesn't exist at all: that they can't supposedly tell the twins apart. but (as awful as it sounds, since it involves sexual assault) they could very easily check which child has male genitalia and be done with it. it's a "problem" that takes literal seconds to solve. they don't need helaena at all! it becomes irrelevant which child she points towards - b&c can always just check! she can't save jaehaerys in this situation no matter what she does, because b&c were never interested in jaehaera in the first place. in the books, she has the ability to save one child and this exact horrible "agency" bestowed on her torments her for the rest of her days. in the show, even had she pointed towards jaehaera, it would have been a narrative plot hole for the writers to have killed her without checking

likewise, in the books, she begs them to kill her instead, but, in the show, she offers them a necklace? you can't deny that the dramatic stakes are lowered substantially by making that change. which one of these options would have been more filled with pathos? personally, it just feels like this was phia's moment to shine and, while she did a good job with what she had, every narrative choice was somehow made to subdue this horrible event and left her only crumbs to work with. cinematically-speaking, this scene (as it was executed) does not even come close to the iconic moments that cemented GoT into the collective consciousness, which is very strange, as the subject matter is anything but mediocre

and that's not even getting into the rest of the plot holes that others have already pointed out, like:

- why are there no guards at helaena's door or anywhere else for that matter? not just on that hallway, but on many other hallways, she has to run quite a lot to get to alicent's chambers

- why is her room unlocked at the very least

- why is ALICENT's room unlocked, for that matter? she is having secret guilty sex with criston and she forgets to lock her door in a castle full of spies? anyone could have walked in

- not even getting into this whole thing just being one huge misunderstanding + minimizing daemon's and mysaria's roles :))

- NOT EVEN mentioning removing the trauma of alicent witnessing all of this, gagged and bound on her own bed, not being able to help or intervene in any way

i can understand the likelihood of these elements happening sometimes (maybe someone does forget to lock their door from time to time, maybe a guard does shirk their duties from time to time), but you can't write all of them at once without it turning all looney tunes. if you introduce too many aspects that defy logic in your story, it ceases to be believable and just becomes bad writing

___________________________________________

also, "they killed <the boy>"? not "my son" or "jaehaerys"? it sounds so removed, don't you think? helaena out there on her mother's floor dropping exposition for the audience 🥲

#house of the dragon #helaena targaryen #blood & cheese #maelor targaryen #jaehaerys targaryen #jaehaera targaryen #alicent hightower #hotd s2 #hotd spoilers #this is SO annoying as the episode was pretty solid throughout until this

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sparring-spirals · 5 months

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Still emotional about Fy'ra Rai and Opal, actually. Thought dump time bc i. dont have the energy to cut this down effectively.

Because at that point in the episode, Opal is doomed. Not in the fun little "oh things are getting worse ;)" kind of way we'd been experiencing leading up to the fight, or even IN the fight. At that point in the fight, Cyrus is dead. Dorian and Dariax have their minds twisted, bodies clambering away from the fight. Morrighan has felt, firsthand, just how far gone Opal is, holes in her mind, her friend broken. The heartbreaking sentence of. "You can always come back." understands that she is gone already. She's lost already. Opal has forgotten Ted. Opal has forgotten herself.

So at that point in the fight, we know Opal is doomed. Us as the audience, the cast, the characters. Aabria is running through each of the other crownkeepers and it is more of a goodbye than a round of combat. Defying the Spider Queen invites death, with zero hesitation- Cyrus's body as physical evidence of that. The terms were very clearly set: You leave Opal, you let her be lost. Or you die. (Leaving Opal anyway).

and Fy'ra Rai then. Grasps the crown, understands intimately that she can break it off and it will kill Opal. (I will free you, if you want me to. We would lose you but you would not be taken). And asks, what do you want me to do. What do you want.

and Opal says, I want you to leave. (I want you to live.) and Fy'ra Rai functionally says. No. Sorry. That's not one of the options.

If you wanted to go. I will do that (your blood on my hands). If you want me to stay, I will. But I'm not going to leave you.

There was the point where Fy'ra Rai broke into the communication and I felt my insides sink because. Look. Lets be real, Aabria had already demonstrated the stakes here. The gesture would not be rewarded for the gesture alone. The Spider Queen's terms were: You leave Opal. Or you die.

And Fy'ra Rai said: no.

I don't think I'm overstepping to assume that if Fy'ra Rai had failed the intimidation check, she would have died. This entire thing hits me so hard because I think Anjali knew that too. I think Fy'ra Rai knew that too. Yes, Fy'ra Rai convinced a Betrayer God to negotiate. She carved a third option out of a non-negotiable situation. She knew what would happen if she failed and did it anyway, with no fear, no regret, no waver in her resolve. She had lost enough sisters. She wasn't going to lose anymore, no matter the personal cost. That's part of why it succeeded, I'm sure, but.

Just. Fuck me. The amount of resolve. The amount of love. The amount of conviction. "I am. A protector." You know your friend- your sister- is doomed. So no more negotiating away from that. You step to her side and you grasp her hand and say- doom me with her.

And in some, sideways way, this saves you both, at least for a little while.

Because this story is a tragedy. This ending is a sad one. We know this already. But think about- Opal, under Lolth's bidding, alone in the dark. Think about Fy'ra Rai, alive, intimately aware that she had failed to protect yet another sister.

And think about what we got, instead: the two of them, in deep darkness, danger encroaching- holding hands. Someone they love at their side. A champion. And her champion.

This is still a sad story. But it's not the same one. Fy'ra Rai stared down a Betrayer God and made her change her mind. She stared down a Betrayer God, and her love and conviction changed the nature of the story. It shouldn't have been able to. But she did.

Fy'ra Rai chose to doom 2 people instead of one, and the sheer strength of her love and will managed to save them both, at least for a little while. Isn't it funny how that works? Isn't it devastating? Isn't it. fucking incredible?

#critical role #cr spoilers #c3e93 #opal #EVERYONE CLAP FOR AABRIA AND ANJALI AND AIMEE BC I GO MORE FERAL THE LONGER I THINK ABOUT IT #character meta #fy'ra rai #fy'ra rai meta #opal meta #spar speaks #i had to get this out bc i cant Stop Thinking About it.... god..... she really Did That...#its not just about refusing to leave its understanding the consequence and facing it so unflinchingly that the narrative flinches first #UAHHHGGHH.#anjali bhimani do you know how much i respect you for this move. aabria iyengar do you know how much i respect you for setting up the stake #so clearly that this success(?) Hit the way it did. Aimee carrero do you know how much i respect you for how truly and devastatingly #you played opal while keeping the core of her character so poignant.#what the fucmkc. anyway im fine .#anyway this is why a lot of my devastated wailing is going to be reserved for dariax. and dorian. and cyrus.#my meta #FORGOT. I HAD THAT TAG. gotta go back and retag

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mysterycitrus · 6 months

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I'm not sure if you've already answered something like this, but what are your reasons for disliking Tom Taylor?

I haven't read everything of his regarding the Titans and Dick but I don't really like what I've seen so far. I was excited at first with the current Titans run, etc. But that excitement has faded away.

What I don't like that is hard to put into words is his writing seems to reflect that he doesn't really understand the characters that he's writing, AND he seems to prefer Dick with Babs instead of Kory.

But what are your thoughts on Tom Taylor's writing?

in a nutshell — tom taylor is a fundamentally incurious person who writes comics to go viral on twitter. there’s no tangible substance in what he writes aside from moments of unearned toothless fluff, he isn’t interested in preserving legacy relationships or characterisation, and he lauds himself as a champion of representation while blocking those from marginalised communities who critique his works for being harmful or otherwise inaccurate.

his writing on nightwing reinvented dick grayson as a spineless, inoffensive character with almost no conviction. babs gordon has been removed from oracle entirely and exists as his girlfriend who lovingly banters with him but otherwise possesses no personal stance on any issue. his portrayal of bludhaven is devoid of its grit, style, or culture. dick’s ability to perform basic tasks as a hero — solving cases on his own, any degree of instinct or self preservation, acting like an adult — is notably absent. his chip about kory manifests in strongarming babs into being dicks one true love — something that defies existing canon and harms both of their existing relationships with other characters.

his writing on titans pisses me off even more, because now he has a wide cast of established characters that he can water down into stereotypes, flat characterisation lifted out of the cartoon, and bad politics. raven is basically a non-character who exists to be bb’s girlfriend. roy is totally absent. kory is underwritten. donna is flat and lifeless. the dynamics of the group are totally off. the decisions they make are bad, and because he’s established dick as a dunce i don’t understand why anyone would sincerely trust him to lead this group.

the issue is that there are no stakes. taylor’s liberalism allows for surface-level representation with no substance and no personality. why should i care that superman is bi if said superman decides to hug space-hitler instead of fighting him? why would i care that dick grayson is back in bludhaven if every character around him exists to support his new, inferior storytelling? taylor does not appear interested in improving his craft or actually collaborating with the people he claims to represent. there is no compassion, no sincere interest in nuanced storytelling. only window dressing with shiny cover art by dan mora

#is this too mean? idc fuck that guy #my proudest moment was meeting him at a con and telling him his hat was ugly ❤️#nightwing #dick grayson #teen titans #dc comics #the ask and the answer

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klaus-littlestwolf · 6 months

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Aemond T. Yandere A-Z

(For the multiple people who asked for a Yandere Alphabet for our favorite little War Criminal)

A stands for AFFECTION: how would they show affection?

•Aemond is a gift giver to the extreme

•From the moment you found out about your betrothal to your Uncle, you had been receiving gorgeous dresses, fantastic shoes and jewelry you could never have imagined wearing. All of the jewelry you were gifted containing large sapphires in the necklaces or earrings, staking the One Eyed Princes claim on you

B stands for BLOODY: how bloody are they willing to get for their object of obsession?

•He loves getting bloody on a normal occasion so getting bloody for you would be a joy for Aemond

•He would slaughter any and all men who dared even think they had a chance with his girl and he even killed a few women who thought it their place to ‘warn you’ about what he’s like and insist you needed to get out of the marriage proposal, even though you all knew that was impossible

C stands for CRUELTY: would they ever hurt their object of obsession?

•Aemond would avoid harming you as much as possible, he never liked to see pain on your face or bruises on your perfect porcelain skin but if you thought you were going to defy him then he needed to teach you a lesson

•Normally locking you in your rooms was enough after two days of isolation and eating all of your meals alone

•Only once did Aemond ever really hurt you and it was only after you had pushed him too far, something even you admitted he couldn’t ignore in public

D stands for DARLING: would they cross their object of obsession’s limits?

•Aemond is as patient as he can be with you but if you give him no other choice, then yes, he absolutely will

E stands for EXPOSED: how much do they expose their own feelings to their object of obsession?

•Aemond talks to you about almost everything

•One of your jobs as his wife is to listen to him and you quickly find out you’re the only person that he really tells about how he feels about everything from his mother to his brother to even his father

•He is also very open in how he feels about you, making it clear from the moment you are betrothed that you are his and he is completely obsessed with you loves you dearly

F stands for FIGHT: how would they react to their object of obsession fighting back?

•Aemond absolutely thinks it’s funny…for about 5 minutes

•You are his wife and him your husband, you will behave as a lady is expected to behave within the confines of her marriage so ‘fighting back’ isn’t really much of an option

G stands for GAME: do they think this is just a game?

•You are Aemond’s everything, this is no game

•Anyone who thinks it is will get a painful wake up call sooner than they think

H stands for HELL: what would be their object of obsession’s worst experience with them?

•Your worst experience would be the one time you made the mistake of refusing his demands in front of the small council

•Aemond didn’t want to harm you, he was trying quite hard to get you used to being his wife and doing your duties/behaving how he expected you to but you didn’t give him much of an option before you felt his hand strike your face so painfully you briefly thought he had broken your jaw

•He apologized for hitting you so hard later in the privacy of your rooms but informed you that you shouldn’t have said anything against him in front of anyone especially the small council and even you knew how badly you had messed up as soon as the words left your mouth

I stands for IDEAL: what are their plans for their object of obsession?

•Aemond’s plan is impregnating you

•That has been his plan since the moment he insisted his mother ensure you were going to be his wife

J stands for JEALOUSY: how they react when jealous? Do they get jealous?

•When Aemond is jealous someone is going to die, he is a violent man when he thinks another man is getting close to his wife and he will often publicly punish any man who he thinks is looking at his Princess wrong

•You learned very quickly to talk to other men as little as possible

•However you also learned that if you wanted a man dead you had a sure fire way to make it happen

K stands for KINDNESS: how they act around their object of obsession?

•When you and Aemond are alone he is much different than he is in public

•Aemond is usually a sweet, gentle person with you when he isn’t in a bad mood or you’re not being difficult

•Even when in public he is gentler with you than most men are with their wives, he’s just far more quiet and somber

L stands for LOVE LETTER: how would they approach their object of obsession?

•He made sure his mother knew he would only accept you as his wife, and that if Rhaenyra made the mistake of trying to marry you to anyone else he would steal you away before any wedding could take place and burn the Lords house to the ground, ally of the Hightowers or not

•Aemond was quite sweet to you, he always had been when you were children however he was a proper gentleman now and he ensured you were as happy as you could be…obsessively so

M stands for MASK: how different are their public persona from their true selves?

•He is quiet for the most part in public, and if he must say something it is usually a snarky comment or a backhanded insult

•With you he is very attentive and often needy for your attention which is actually what makes you fall for him in the end, loving his desperation for you

N stands for NAUGHTY: how would they punish their object of obsession?

•Aemond locks you in your chambers until you can’t stand being alone anymore and admit you were wrong for whatever, you never really need anything more than that

O stands for OPPRESSION: how many rights would they take from their object of obsession?

•Rights?

•What are rights?

•You are Aemond’s wife. You will do what is expected of a highborn lady wife or be punished. Even so, Aemond tries to make you as happy as he can and doesn’t order you about as much as he could

P stands for PATIENCE: how patient are they with their object of obsession?

•Aemond tries his best to be very patient and to his credit he does very well until you push too hard

•Compared to other men and even other Targaryen men, he is quite patient with you, wanting you to actually learn lessons and want to be a good wife for him in the end

Q stands for QUIT: if their object of obsession died or escaped, would they ever be able to move on?

Died: He would be a complete basket case without you and he would refuse to remarry for any reason what so ever

Escaped: He would go on a rampage until he got you back. No one would be safe until he found you and had you back in his arms

R stands for REGRET: would they ever regret harming their object of obsession? Would they ever let them go?

•Aemond will Never let you go

•He would only ever regret how hard he slapped you once in a small council meeting, he hated how afraid of him you were in that moment

S stands for STIGMA: what made their yandere tendencies bloom?

•You had always been the only one in the family who was kind to Aemond, being his best friend as kids

•He knew you would be his wife from the moment you first stuck up for him during the pig prank to your brothers and uncle, that was the day he fell completely in love with you

•He decided that night that he would do whatever he needed to do in order to make you his wife, even though he knew his mother would want to marry him to another house and that Rhaenyra would never want you to be with him

T stands for TEARS: how would they react to their object of obsession crying/breaking?

•Anger

•Your tears brings out a rage in Aemond that is not often seen and he will slaughter whoever has made you so upset

•If he were the one to upset you however, he wouldn’t really know how to fix that. He would typically hold you until you either calmed down or cried yourself out and then get you a gift as an apology since “apologizing” isn’t really something he knows how to do very well

U stands for UNIQUE: something different they would do compared to others yanderes.

•In the beginning of your relationship, before the wedding was set and you were staying as far from him as you could, Aemond came up with a plan to make you dependent on him and feel safe with him to ensure you wouldn’t try and run back home to Rhaenyra and Daemon (who was the only man you seemed to trust which enraged him to no end)

•Aemond had Criston Cole hire a man to sneak into the castle with the intent to kill you. He planed it out meticulously to ensure you were never in any real danger though you wouldn’t know that

•The man entered your chambers as you were getting ready to sleep and you shrieked, backing towards the window, pleading with him not to harm you and telling him that he could leave and you would forget he was ever there. Suddenly your door flew open and Aemond ran in, he was on the man before you could blink, beating his head in as he shouted about how he would never let anyone harm his wife

•It was that night that you really began giving Aemond the chance to win your love, realizing that you were truly safe with him. The entire plot was a secret that Aemond would take to his grave

V stands for VICE: what weakness their object of obsession could use against them?

•His jealousy, 100%

•If you want someone, anyone dead, all you need to do is make it seem like they’ve been looking at you for more than a second too long, it gives you a feeling of absolute power and you love it

W stands for WIT’S END: would they hurt their object of obsession?

•Aemond would never hurt you in any kind of serious way

•If he has to he will lock you in your chambers for the rest of your life, but he won’t do you serious harm

X stands for XOANON: would they worship their object of obsession?

•He definitely has a way of making you feel like a Goddess

•Especially when you’re pregnant as he worships the ground you walk on. He is constantly getting you whatever food you’re craving, fluffing your pillows, rubbing your sore feet, anything to make his precious Princess feel better while she is carrying his baby inside of her

•You are the most precious thing in the whole world to him and even when he is upset with you Aemond never lets you forget it

Y stands for YEARN: how long would they pine after their object of obsession before they snap?

•Aemond has always loved you, and always had a bit of a crush on you however he has been head over heels since he was 10

•He keeps it together and hidden until he is 16 and he demands you as his bride upon hearing that Rhaenyra was considering marriage proposals for you, the idea of you being married off to someone else sending him over the edge

Z stands for ZENITH: would they ever break their object of obsession?

•Aemond doesn’t want you broken, he wants you to be his compliant little Princess and that’s exactly what you are

•You had always known what was expected of you as a women and a wife in a marriage from the time that you were a little girl (though you never expected to be married to your Uncle) but Aemond ensured that you would be exactly what he always wanted in a wife and you are absolutely Perfect to him

Aemond T. Masterlist

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simmyfrobby · 2 months

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I wonder what it is about the sport of hockey specifically that inspires this many poems. I've not seen any other fanbase like this one.

200 of those hockey poems are admittedly on me. but with that said, i dont know if hockey is any more romantic than any other sport. ive for sure been weird about other rpf pairings before hockey (read: brocedes) & ive seen wonderful cycling, motogp & baseball edits. i think it might just be that there's something so very real and beautiful about live sports.

(cue the mark halliday poem. you know the one)

do you see?? do you get it??? football!! romance!!!! high stakes!!! athleticism!! the simple act of catching a ball somehow being the most important thing in the world!! the precision of it!! P O E T R Y

i think everybody should be a romantic when it comes to sports.

A. Bartlett Giamatti

Hanif Abdurraquib

and as for poetry:

"The qualities I appreciate most in my favorite soccer players happen to be the same ones I appreciate in my favorite poets: beauty, creativity, flair, imagination, skill—all words, incidentally, that I’d attach to Pelé and Romário."

Duy Doan

Anselm Berrigan

and okay. a few more sports poems while im at it:

Ray Fleming

Jill McDonough

Hanif Abdurraqib

Peter Balakian

Naomi Shihab Nye

Oliver Evans

also Catch by Samiya Bashir which always reminds me of this poem by Trygve Skaug (@lemondropbois edit)

also these lines from "The crowd at the ball game" by William Carlos Williams:

So in detail they, the crowd, / are beautiful // for this / to be warned against // saluted and defied— / It is alive, venomous // it smiles grimly / its words cut—

Kevin Young's Brown is full of baseball poems and therefore incredible

i wont end on my own words. Abdurraqib makes this point more eloquently than i ever could:

it's really not just hockey..

#apologies for the word vomit its just that #SPORTS!!!!!!!#anyway don't get me STARTED on boxing we literally. could be here all day.#there's also a cycling edit floating around Tumblr somewhere #The Charge of the Light Brigade #and its wonderful and im pretty sure ive reblogged it at some point #spiritually thats part of this post too

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kevinndhruv · 10 months

Text

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seungminsleftear · 26 days

Text

Six Years, Five months and Two days | FIVE X READER

pairing: five hargreaves x reader

Word Count: 5470

Genre: angst

General Notes: Lila x Five did happen here folks :/, sexual themes, crude language, this does not correlate with whatever happens during seasons 4 other than Lila and Five jumping into a different timeline together for seven years,, Reader is referred to as female and wife,

Trigger Warnings: Infidelity and Betrayal, Emotional and Psychological Trauma, Unresolved Grief and Loss, Intimacy and Relationship Issues, Family Conflict, Self-Worth and Identity Crisis, Anger and Violence, Emotional Isolation, Suicidal Thoughts or Self-Harm, Intimate Relationship Details

Author’s note: I have not watched season 4 and yet I know about Five x Lila… Kms

Spoiler: All you get is, There will be a part 2

Click here for part Two!

I MOVED ACCOUNTS THE REST OF THIS FIC WILL BE PUBLSIHED ON @seungminsbaldspot !!

They had been missing for a few hours now, and the anxiety was beginning to gnaw at your insides. You could only guess that Five and Lila had gotten caught up in a different timeline—something your husband was well-acquainted with doing. You tried not to think the worst. After all, Five was skilled, perhaps the most skilled among you, but the worry persisted like a shadow clinging to your every thought.

He had told you stories about when he was young, disobeying his father, and jumping through time. He saw the apocalypse, lived through it, unable to return to his original time. He would speak of the chaos and destruction, the sense of being unmoored in a fractured world. Then he told you about the moment the Handler found him, plucked him from that desolation, and invited him to join the Commission. And that's when he met you.

And oh, how he hated you.

You were, and still are, the complete opposite of that grumpy old man. You were always precise, a stickler for the rules, never one to color outside the lines. The Handler loved you for it—your discipline, your meticulous attention to detail, your unwavering commitment to the Commission's goals. You were reliable, the perfect agent, the kind who made her job easier.

He, on the other hand, was a wildcard. Reckless and unpredictable, he saw rules as suggestions rather than absolutes. He didn't care about the consequences, not when there were bigger things at stake—things only he could see in the chaos of time. He was a man who thrived in the midst of uncertainty, a constant challenge to your carefully ordered world.

But that was part of what drew you to him, wasn’t it? That contrast. The way he lived life like he was on borrowed time, like every moment was his to seize. You hated how he would disregard protocol, how he’d show up late to missions or disappear altogether, chasing his own ghosts through the folds of history. And yet, there was something about that fearlessness that fascinated you. Something about the way he could stare into the abyss of time and laugh, as if daring it to swallow him whole.

The Handler loved assigning the two of you missions together. You were the perfect team, each of you balancing out the other's weaknesses. She liked to say you were two sides of the same coin—your precision and his improvisation, your strategy and his audacity. Together, you were unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with.

It wasn't always smooth, of course. He had a way of getting under your skin, pushing your buttons in ways no one else could. He loved to rile you up, to watch that carefully maintained calm of yours crack, just a little. He’d tease you mercilessly, call you names, question your every move. But you never let it show, not in front of the Handler. You knew she was watching, always assessing, always deciding where her next move would take her. And despite your irritation, you couldn't deny that he had a knack for getting results.

And you hated that. Hated that he could bend the rules, defy protocol, and still come out on top. But the more time you spent together, the more you began to understand him, to see the method in his madness. He wasn’t just a reckless fool; he was smart, sharp, and had an uncanny ability to read a situation and turn it to his advantage. There was a reason the Handler kept pairing the two of you up, and it wasn’t just because she enjoyed watching the sparks fly.

You had never thought Five had cared so much about you—not until that one particular mission.

It had been a long day, the kind where the hours blurred together, each minute weighed down with tension and danger. You were both exhausted, having fought your way through the tangled threads of time, dealing with threats at every turn. Endless close calls, contact after contact, each encounter more chaotic and draining than the last. You were used to this kind of work, but that day felt different. Maybe it was the weight of the mission, or maybe it was something else—a premonition, a sense that something was off.

You and Five had been tracking a target across multiple timelines, chasing down a loose end that the Commission desperately needed tied up. The mission had seemed straightforward enough at first, but complications arose as they often did, turning what should have been a simple extraction into a drawn-out battle. After hours of fighting—ducking bullets, dodging blows, and navigating through the chaotic flow of time—you were growing weary. You prided yourself on your precision, your ability to remain sharp under pressure, but even you had your limits.

You weren’t thinking straight. The fatigue was getting to you, and in a moment of distraction, you let your guard down. It was only for a second, but that was all it took. A sharp pain tore through your side, and when you looked down, you saw the knife buried deep in your abdomen. The world seemed to slow around you, a haze of shock and disbelief clouding your vision.

You staggered, clutching the wound, trying to maintain your balance, but the pain was overwhelming. You heard Five shout your name, his voice cutting through the fog of agony. There had been a strange edge to it, a raw urgency that you hadn’t heard before. You had always thought of him as the consummate professional—gruff, detached, always in control. But now, there was something different in his tone—something almost frantic.

He was at your side in an instant, his figure blurring with the speed of his movements as he dispatched the remaining threats with a brutal efficiency that was startling even to you. His face was tight with concentration, but his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes that were usually so unreadable—were filled with something you couldn’t quite place. Fear, maybe? Or was it… concern?

“Stay with me,” he had commanded, dropping to his knees beside you. His hands moved quickly, one pressing against your wound to staunch the bleeding, the other rummaging through his coat pocket for something—bandages, maybe, or some kind of first aid. He was muttering under his breath, a stream of curses and commands, as if he could will you back to health with words alone.

You tried to speak, to tell him you were fine, but your voice came out in a weak, strangled gasp. The pain was spreading, a hot, searing sensation radiating from your abdomen and up through your chest. You could feel yourself slipping, the world around you growing dim and distant. But even through the haze, you could still hear his voice, sharp and insistent, pulling you back.

“Look at me,” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. You forced your eyes open, focusing on his face—his furrowed brow, his clenched jaw, the way his lips were pressed into a thin, determined line. “You’re not dying here, got it?”

There had been a fierceness in his voice that surprised you, a kind of raw intensity that you hadn’t heard before. You’d seen him angry, sure, and you’d seen him frustrated plenty of times, but this was different. This was personal. And it was then that you realized: he wasn’t just afraid of losing a colleague. He was afraid of losing you.

“Five,” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing. You wanted to say something comforting, to let him know you’d be okay, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was reach out, your fingers brushing against his, a silent acknowledgment of his efforts, of his fear, of his care.

He grabbed your hand, his grip firm and unyielding, his gaze locked onto yours. “I’m not losing you,” he said again, his voice softer now but no less intense. “I’ve lost too many people already. Not you. Never you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, the chaos around you fading into the background. It was just the two of you, caught in this strange, suspended moment, connected in a way that was deeper than words, deeper than time.

He worked quickly, efficiently, binding your wound with a piece of his own shirt, his movements precise and controlled despite the tension radiating from him. You could feel the energy building around you, the familiar sensation of time beginning to warp as he prepared to jump you both back to the Commission. His hands were steady, but there was a tremor in them that betrayed his calm façade.

“Hang on,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Just hang on a little longer.”

And then, with a blinding flash of light, the world around you shifted, the familiar pull of the time jump tugging at your very being. The pain in your side flared, a sharp spike of agony that ripped through your consciousness, but you held onto his hand, your grip tightening as you were pulled through the fabric of time.

When you opened your eyes again, you were in the Commission’s infirmary, the sterile white walls and the faint hum of machinery a stark contrast to the chaos you’d just left behind. Five was still there, his hand still holding yours, his face pale but relieved. He didn’t say anything, just sat there, his eyes never leaving your face, as if making sure you were really, truly okay.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” he muttered after a moment, his voice rough, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “You scared the hell out of me.” Despite the pain, you managed a small smile. “Didn’t know you cared so much,” you replied, your voice weak but teasing.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a softness in his gaze, a kind of tenderness you’d never seen before. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head,” he said gruffly, but you could hear the relief in his voice, the unspoken gratitude that you were still here, still alive.

And in that moment, you knew that things had changed. You’d always been a perfect team, but now, you were something more. You had seen a side of Five you’d never seen before, a vulnerability he’d never shown anyone. And you knew, without a doubt, that he cared about you—deeply, fiercely, in a way that went far beyond mere partnership.

As you lay there, your hand still entwined with his, you felt a strange sense of peace, a quiet understanding passing between you. Whatever happened next, whatever dangers awaited in the tangled web of time, you knew one thing for certain: you wouldn’t face them alone. Not as long as Five was by your side.

Since that day, he had been inseparable from you. At first, you found it strange—his constant presence, the way he seemed to hover just a little too close, always watching, always ready. Five had never been the type to show affection, to offer comfort. He was all sharp edges and quick wit, a perpetual storm in human form. But now, there was a softness to him, a quiet protectiveness that he tried, and mostly failed, to hide. And you no longer minded. In fact, you found it endearing. You came to cherish his closeness, his silent support.

You liked the constant teasing and the bickering that filled your days, a steady rhythm of banter and back-and-forth that felt more like home than any place you had ever been. It was comforting to have someone with whom you felt so... normal, someone who could keep up with you, match your pace, challenge you in ways that no one else could. The loneliness you’d once felt in the vast corridors of the Commission faded away with him by your side, replaced by something you never thought you’d have—companionship. Friendship. Love.

Many years later, during a quiet moment in the middle of another mission, Five finally confessed that he loved you. It wasn’t a grand declaration, nothing like the romantic stories you’d heard growing up. It was simple, almost matter-of-fact, the way he said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You had been stitching up a wound on his arm, your fingers deft and practiced, when he suddenly blurted it out.

“I love you,” he had said, his voice gruff but sincere, his eyes not meeting yours. For a moment, you thought you had misheard him. But then he looked at you, really looked at you, his expression more open and vulnerable than you’d ever seen. “I’ve loved you for a long time,” he added, softer this time, as if testing the words.

Your heart had skipped a beat, and you found yourself smiling, a real, genuine smile that you hadn’t felt in years. “I love you too,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. It was the truth, the simplest and most profound truth you had ever known.

Not long after, he asked you to marry him. It was as unceremonious as his confession of love, almost awkward in its delivery. You were in the middle of cleaning your weapons, preparing for yet another jump, when he looked over at you, his brow furrowed in that familiar way of his. “We should get married,” he said, as if he was suggesting you grab a cup of coffee.

You blinked, taken aback by his suddenness, but then you laughed—a soft, genuine laugh that felt good, felt right. “Yes,” you said, without hesitation. “Of course, yes.” There wasn’t a doubt in your mind. The life you’d built together, the bond you shared—it was more than enough.

The two of you quietly eloped, keeping your marriage a secret from the Commission. It wasn’t their business, after all. They didn’t need to know about the life you were building together, the small moments of happiness you stole between missions, the way you found comfort in each other’s presence amid the chaos of time. You had your little secrets, your private world carved out of the madness, and you intended to keep it that way.

And when Five decided he needed to go back to his family, “The Umbrella Academy,” you didn’t hesitate. You went right along with him, standing by his side as you always had. You knew how much he had sacrificed, how much he still carried with him—the weight of his past, the ghosts of his mistakes. But you also knew that he had found a new purpose, a reason to keep fighting, to keep moving forward. And wherever he went, you would follow.

And with that, you find yourself back into the present. You’re pacing around the room. Every minute feels like an hour, and every second that ticks by without a word from Five or Lila makes your heart pound harder in your chest. The silence is broken only by the occasional murmur of conversation or the soft shuffling of footsteps.

Then, suddenly, the air around you seems to shift. A low hum fills the room, and the familiar tingling sensation of a temporal disturbance ripples through you. Everyone turns toward the source, eyes wide with a mix of hope and apprehension.

A flash of blue light erupts in the center of the room, and for a moment, it’s blinding. You shield your eyes, your heart leaping into your throat. When the light fades, you blink, trying to clear your vision, and then you see them—Five and Lila—standing there, slightly disheveled but very much alive.

The two of them share small, strained smiles, a strange new tension between them that wasn't there before. Diego rushes at Lila, hugging her tightly, his strong arms pulling her close. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispers, his voice breaking, betraying the tough exterior he usually maintains. Lila laughs softly, but it sounds different—almost forced—as she returns the embrace, her eyes darting briefly to Five.

Five stands apart, his expression carefully neutral, he struggles to make eye contact with anyone — especially you. He scans the room as if searching for a distraction, his posture stiff, his hands clenched at his sides. "Good to see you're all still in one piece," he mutters, his tone flat. When his gaze accidentally meets Lila's, he quickly looks away, as if the sight of her is too much to bear.

You smile at Five, offering a small nod. You both aren’t much for public attention, and you hoped a subtle acknowledgment would be enough to connect, to let him know you’re there. But Five never meets your eyes. His gaze is distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Your smile fades, replaced by a furrowed brow. What’s your deal, Five?

You feel a knot of worry tighten in your stomach. Something is off with Five, more than usual. You’ve known him long enough to recognize when he’s hiding something, but this is different. It’s like he’s shut down entirely, locking everyone out—including you.

The others, caught up in their own reunions, don’t seem to notice the tension radiating from Five and Lila. Diego pulls back from Lila, holding her at arm’s length to look her over. “What happened to you two?” he asks, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the subtle changes in their appearances—the slightly haunted look in their eyes, the way they seem older somehow. “You’ve only been gone for like 4 hours”

Lila’s smile is tight, almost brittle. “Feels like a lifetime,” she says with a small, hollow laugh that doesn't reach her eyes. Her gaze drifts back to Five, and for a moment, there's something almost like longing—or maybe regret.

Five flinches at her words, just barely, but enough that you notice. He looks down, his jaw clenching. “Doesn’t matter,” he says quickly, cutting off any further questions. “We’re back now. That’s all that matters.” But his voice wavers slightly, betraying a crack in his composure.

You step forward, unable to keep the concern from your voice. “Five…what happened?” you ask softly, hoping to reach him, to break through whatever wall he’s put up.

He finally looks at you, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that makes your heart sink. “Drop it,” he snaps, a sharp edge to his tone that makes everyone else in the room go quiet. The silence that follows is heavy and uncomfortable, the unspoken tension between him and Lila now impossible to ignore.

Lila clears her throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Yeah, maybe we should all just… take a breather,” she suggests, trying to lighten the mood, but there’s a nervousness in her voice that makes it clear she’s not as relaxed as she’s pretending to be. She glances at Five again, and you see it now—how her eyes linger on him just a moment too long, and how his jaw tightens in response, his expression guarded.

Diego, picking up on the strange atmosphere but not fully understanding it, frowns. “Did something happen between you two?” he presses, his eyes narrowing as he looks between Five and Lila. His gaze drops to Lila’s wrist, and his eyes widen slightly. “You hate wearing bracelets,” he points out, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Lila instinctively pulls her wrist closer to her side, but not before Diego catches sight of the handmade leather bracelet. “No, I like them,,” she says but her voice lacks conviction. Diego shakes his head, his frown deepening. “Yeah, you do. You traded the one I gave you for a vacuum, remember?” His voice is heavy with accusation, his eyes now fixed on the bracelet. “Where’d you get that one?”

Diego’s eyes narrow even more, his gaze shifting to Five. "Did you make that?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous, cutting through the tension in the room like a knife. The question hangs heavy in the air, charged with accusation and disbelief.

Five’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing as he glances at Lila, then back at Diego. His jaw is set, his posture rigid. “I sure as hell didn’t make that bracelet for you,” he replies coldly, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade. There’s a finality in his tone, a hint of something unresolved but unapologetic.

Your breath catches in your chest, a painful tightness forming there. He made it… For her…? The thought is like a dagger, twisting in your gut. You blink, trying to process the revelation, the reality of it sinking in like a stone. A handmade bracelet—something so personal, so intimate.

You glance at Five, but he’s not looking at you. His gaze remains locked on Diego, unwavering, as if bracing for whatever comes next. A storm of emotions swirls inside you—betrayal, hurt, confusion. The room seems to close in around you, the walls pressing in, the air thick and suffocating.

Diego’s gaze shifts from Lila to Five, and you can see the pieces slowly clicking into place for him. His face hardens with a mix of realization and fury. “Did you screw my wife?” he demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl. The words explode into the room like a bomb, the air suddenly charged with tension.

Five’s eyes remain steady on Diego, his face an unreadable mask. He opens his mouth to speak, to say something—anything—but Diego’s not interested in hearing it. His fists are clenched at his sides, his entire body radiating a barely restrained fury.

“You did, didn’t you?” Diego’s voice rises, each word heavy with the weight of betrayal. "All this time, and you—you were cheating on me?” His accusation shifts to Lila, his eyes burning with hurt and anger.

Lila quickly steps between them, placing a hand on each of their chests as if trying to physically push them apart. “Guys, let’s not do this right now,” she urges, her voice firm but laced with a hint of desperation. “This isn’t the time or place.”

You stand frozen, disbelief washing over you. Your mind reels at the weight of Diego’s words. Cheating? The idea feels like a punch to the gut. You’ve spent countless years with Five, fought battles by his side, faced the end of the world more than once. And he gives it all up—for what? For his brother’s wife, over the course of seven years in another timeline?

Your breath catches, a sharp pain blooming in your chest. You try to swallow it down, but it’s too much, too fast. The reality of what you’re hearing—of what Five has done—feels like a betrayal deeper than anything you’ve faced together. The walls seem to close in around you, the weight of the revelation pressing down on your shoulders, threatening to crush you.

You look at Five, searching his face for some sign of denial, of regret—anything that might soften the blow of this new reality. But he’s still staring at Diego, his expression unyielding, almost defiant. His jaw is set, his eyes cold and distant. There’s no apology there, no remorse—just a cold, hard acceptance of what’s been done, of what can’t be undone. The sight of his indifference twists the knife deeper into your heart.

You feel your chest tighten, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Your hands are trembling, fingers curling into fists at your sides as you fight to keep yourself together. You want to scream, to cry, to lash out and demand answers. But you know it won’t change anything. The damage is done, and the betrayal runs too deep. You feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not now. Not in front of them. Not in front of him.

You shake your head, unable to look at Five any longer. The pain is too raw, too intense, and being in the same room with him feels unbearable. You can’t handle this—not now, not like this. The walls are closing in, the air thick and suffocating. Your heart is pounding in your chest, each beat a painful reminder of what’s been shattered between you.

Without another word, you turn on your heel and leave the room, your steps quick and unsteady. You feel the eyes of the others on you as you push past them, but you don’t care. You can’t stay here—not in this room, not with them. Not with him. The hallway stretches out before you like a lifeline, and you move toward it, your movements frantic and desperate, as if putting distance between you and Five might somehow ease the ache in your chest.

You stumble into the hallway, your vision blurred by unshed tears. You don’t know where you’re going—only that you need to get away. Away from the pain, away from the betrayal, away from the suffocating weight of it all. Your feet carry you down the corridor, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you fight to hold back the sobs threatening to break free.

You finally reach an empty room, but as you reach for the door, you realize with a jolt that it's the one you and Five share. The one where you slept beside him last night, completely unaware of the storm that was about to hit. The memories of your shared moments—whispered conversations, late-night confessions, stolen kisses—flood back, now tainted with a sense of betrayal and loss. You hesitate, your hand hovering over the doorknob, but then you push it open and slip inside, closing it behind you.

The moment the door clicks shut, you collapse against it, your legs giving out beneath you. You sink to the floor, your back pressed against the wood, and the tears finally come. Hot, angry tears spill down your cheeks, and a broken sob escapes your lips. The room is quiet, painfully so, and the sound of your cries seems to fill every corner, bouncing off the walls and echoing back to you.

You wrap your arms around yourself, as if trying to hold the pieces of yourself together, but it’s no use. The dam has broken, and the flood of emotion is too strong to contain. You bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. You cry for the loss of trust, for the betrayal, for the love you thought was unbreakable. You cry for everything you’ve lost and everything you can never get back.

The bed looms in the corner of your vision, a cruel reminder of the intimacy you once shared with Five. It’s still unmade from this morning, the sheets tangled from where you both slept. You remember the warmth of his body beside you, the way his hand would always find yours in the dark. The way he would hold you when you were scared, whispering promises of forever. Promises that now feel like lies.

You lift your head, your eyes red and swollen from crying. You look around the room, and all you can see are the remnants of a life that no longer feels like yours. The books on the nightstand that you read together, the photos on the wall of happier times—all of it feels like a cruel joke, mocking the trust you placed in him. The room, once a sanctuary, now feels like a prison, filled with ghosts of a past that will never return.

As the tears flow, you realize something with a cold, hard clarity that cuts through the haze of your grief—nothing will ever be the same again. Not between you and Five, not between any of you. The damage is done, and there’s no going back. You feel a hollowness settle in your chest, a void where your love for him once lived. You wonder if you’ll ever feel whole again, or if this betrayal has shattered you beyond repair.

It’s been a few days since the cheaters blinked back to your timeline. Each day has dragged on, an endless cycle of numbness and pain. The initial wave of tears has subsided, replaced by a slow-burning anger that simmers just below the surface. How could he? How could she? The questions run through your mind on a loop, feeding the fire that burns inside you.

You try to go about your daily routine, but everything feels off, wrong. The house feels different—colder, emptier. The others tiptoe around you, unsure of what to say, how to act. They’ve seen the hurt in your eyes, the way you flinch whenever Five enters the room. They’ve heard the way your voice trembles when you speak, how your words are laced with a bitterness you can’t seem to shake.

And then there’s Five. He moves around the house like a ghost, his presence a constant reminder of the betrayal. He tries to talk to you, but you can’t bear to look at him, let alone hear what he has to say. His words mean nothing now; they’re empty, hollow, like the promises he once made. You’ve built walls around yourself, high and impenetrable, to keep him out—to protect what little remains of your heart.

Your anger grows each day, festering like an open wound. It fuels you, giving you strength when the pain becomes too much to bear. It’s the only thing that keeps you going, that stops you from collapsing under the weight of it all. You cling to it, because without it, all you’re left with is the emptiness, the loss, the heartbreak.

We have been married for years, you think bitterly, and yet we never even once slept together, let alone him see me naked. How in the hell could he have fucked Lila over the span of seven years? The thought is a searing ache, cutting through the numbness that has settled over you. He always said we were too busy for such nonsense.

The double standard gnaws at you, a relentless, cruel irony. All those times he claimed there was no time for intimacy, no room for such personal moments because of their dangerous, high-stakes missions. And now you have to grapple with the fact that he found time for Lila—time to build a relationship, to share moments that were supposed to be sacred between the two of you. It feels like a betrayal of not just your love but the very essence of your marriage.

You remember the conversations where he would dismiss your need for closeness, brushing it aside with promises of better times to come. “We’re too busy,” he’d said, “We have a world to save.” Yet here was the proof that when it came to Lila, the rules were different. The lies, the excuses, all of it crashes down on you, leaving you gasping for breath.

The anger is raw, a jagged edge that you can’t seem to smooth over. It’s not just about what Five did; it’s about the betrayal of trust, the violation of promises made. The fact that he could share himself so completely with someone else, while withholding even the smallest gestures of intimacy from you, cuts deeper than any physical wound could.

You pace the empty room, the anger simmering, demanding an outlet. It’s a fire that consumes everything in its path, burning through your hope, your trust, your love. And it leaves behind a desolate landscape, a place where you’re forced to confront the stark reality of what’s been done.

How could he justify this? you wonder. How could he reconcile the intimacy he shared with Lila while claiming there was no time for us?

#tua4 #five tua #tua five #tua s4 #tua season 4 #the umbrella academy season 4 #umbrella acedmy #five hargreaves x reader #five x reader #number five #tua fanfic #hargreeves siblings #five hargreaves x you #five x lila

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mobiloitteindia · 1 year

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knightotoc · 9 months

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I always liked the riddle scene in the Hobbit, but I never knew what it really meant until I read the original just now. The main idea is lost in adaptations because you need to get into their heads. I knew it was a high-stakes version of a kids' game and a mythology/fairytale reference, but it still seemed pretty random and hard to believe, since these two are the last characters you'd put in a battle of wits.

But the scene is actually about how people's environments shape the way they think. Bilbo and Gollum are both so flustered that they can only think of what are, to them, very easy riddles. They keep feeling ashamed that they can't think of something harder, and confident that the other guy will get this immediately. But the other guy is stumped, because his mind works differently, because he lives in the opposite environment.

Solving the riddles isn't actually about being smart, but being empathetic in Bilbo's case and nostalgic in Gollum's. Bilbo is only able to comprehend Gollum's nasty way of thinking because they are in his lair, amongst the dark and fish. Bilbo is repulsed and even unable to guess Gollum's final riddle, only winning by luck (he stutters "I need more time" so badly it sounds like the correct answer, "time").

Gollum is only able to imagine Bilbo's pleasant answers by thinking back to his past, when he was a normal guy who lived with his grandmother near flowers, eggs, and cats. In this book, he isn't confirmed to be a former hobbit, but the parallel becomes more tragic with this retroactive backstory. Gollum indirectly tells Bilbo that time is the only thing that separates them, and Bilbo does not understand this. If Bilbo had the "more time" he requests, hundreds of years here in the dark, he would become like Gollum, wisdom at a terrible price.

The main theme of The Silmarillion is how immortality affects people. Elves are fated to live forever in the undying lands of Valinor. Humans instead have the "Gift of Ilúvatar," the great mystery of an unknown afterlife. Elves are counterintuitively jealous of this gift, since death allows humans to escape the music of Arda, the fate which defines all creation.

Bilbo and Gollum, who were so different in life that they could barely follow each other's thoughts, also end up with the opposite deaths. The elves take Bilbo to Valinor, while Gollum goes to the mysterious afterlife of the other unchosen mortals. (At least two elves, Lúthien and Arwen, chose this fate for themselves out of love for a guy. But generally this is the unchosen/fate defying route for souls to go.)

So during their first meeting, Gollum is the one who understands the destructive power of time. But in the long term, Bilbo will come to understand time as an endless font of wisdom and peace, since nothing can be destroyed in Valinor. We don't know how or even if the mortal afterlife experiences time; if Gollum's pessimistic definition would hold true, or if that, too, would eventually change.

#the hobbit #gollum #bilbo #lord of the rings #the silmarillion #tolkien

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tbaluver · 1 month

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Sex And The City CH. 1- The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings: sylus x stripper! fem reader, ( one of the love and deepspace men mentioned later in chapter ! the rest shall come in the future chapters <3 ) word count: 3.7k warnings: +18 MDNI, stripper au!, lap dance, explicit/ suggestive content, pussy ate, car sex, might be ooc a/n: it's been a while since i written a long fic like this i think i might go puke i hope you all enjoy this chapter might be a while if i make the second one heh (': also would like to mention the things i wrote about strippers aren't always going to be true irl! these are things i've heard of and was informed on! running away from my pc the moment i post this any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

In the city’s vibrant nightlife, you were the most desired stripper, a magnetic presence on stage and in private rooms alike. Your performances were nothing short of mesmerizing, leaving your clients spellbound and eagerly anticipating your next appearance. What was supposed to be a short-term gig—just a means to settle some debts—quickly turned into a flood of income, far surpassing your initial expectations. Despite the less-than-ideal clientele that often came with the job, the allure of the cash kept you entrenched in the game.

Yet, amidst the sea of faceless patrons, there were four men who stood out from the rest. They were different—each one a distinct enigma that defied the usual boundaries of your profession. In a world where setting boundaries is crucial, these men challenge everything you thought you knew about your own limits and ethics. Their presence makes you question whether the love stories you once dismissed as fairy tales could, perhaps, be within reach after all.

The city’s clubs are more than just venues—they are arenas of escapism, where desires are laid bare and fantasies come alive. Stepping into this vibrant realm means navigating a landscape where the line between performer and persona blurs, where confidence and social skills is as crucial as skill, and where the stakes can be as high as the heels you wear. For those who step into this world, it’s not just about the art of dance but the art of survival and success in ones life.

The club was a place where anything went as long as you stayed within certain boundaries. You’d done your share of things with clients before, but nothing too extreme. These four, however, were different. Each one lingered in your thoughts long after they’d left.

You slide down the silver pole until your ass hits the floor, allowing you to slowly spread open your legs. The atmosphere tonight is as it always is, every man in the building eagle-eyed on the way you dance for them, the way they pay for.

Honestly, becoming a stripper wasn't part of your future plans. It was always a joke you’d tell your friends about what you'd do if everything fell apart. And now, here you are. But life happens, you paid off almost all your debt, and it makes money so who are you to complain.

The club has a prestigious reputation, attracting everyone from high-profile celebrities to wealthy CEOs. Despite the fierce competition among the other dancers for tips and regulars, things have been going really well for you here. You’re making the most money and attracting the largest crowds. The other dancers opinions don’t faze you; they had a reason to argue, after all.

You’re smirking seductively, dragging your eyes over the crowd of men on the front row, your regular crowd. The men who empty their wallets enjoying every movement you make across the stage. You’d make so much money if you offered private dances but you only take requests for your boundaries. As soon as the lights fade to black, you collect your money from the stage, ignoring the wolf-whistles and lewd comments fired in every direction. The job isn’t perfect, it comes with downsides like every other job.

“Y/N” You heard someone call your name from the front, peeking out of the changing room to meet your eyes with the manager. “You got a request in the private suite.”

“Coming!” You called out, slipping a robe over your body, your hands held protectively over your stomach so that the garment didn’t slip off.

You crossed the bar to the private suite you’d branded as your own. You slipped through the parted curtains, letting it fully close behind you to give you and your guest privacy. The room was cozy, with soft velvet booth seating and gentle low lighting. As you enter in, your gaze settled and you made immediate eye contact with the guest, a man whose presence was unfamiliar.

He was settled into the center of the velvet booth, one arm lazily draped over the top of the seating while the other held a tumblr of whisky. The amber liquid swirled gently as he took a slow sip, his gaze steady and unflinching, expecting you. The man before you was striking—his white hair, framing a face dominated by piercing crimson eyes that held an unsettling intensity. His muscular build was evident even beneath his shirt, the fabric straining slightly against his powerful frame. There was no doubt this man was quite handsome. The room seemed to grow heavier with his presence, the air charged with an almost palpable tension.

As you stepped further into the dimly lit room, you fixed your gaze on the man who clearly wasn’t one of your usual clients. With a confident smile that masked any hint of nervousness, you sauntered over to him, your hips swaying with practiced ease.

“Evening, stranger,” You say, voice smooth and sultry. “I haven’t seen you around before. What brings you to my corner of the world tonight?”

He meets your gaze with a small smirk, his crimson eyes glinting in the dim light. “Sylus.” He says, assuming that’s his name. With a slow, deliberate sip of his whisky, he sets the glass on the table with a soft clink. He leans forward slightly, his gaze sharp and assessing.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, his voice low and velvety. “I’m intrigued to find out if you live up to the reputation. Show me what you’re capable of.”

You raised an eyebrow, a confident smirk playing on your lips. “Is that so?” You replied, your tone playful yet assertive. “I’ve always been one to deliver on promises. Why don’t you sit back and watch? I’m quite good at exceeding expectations.”

The music in the background thumped with a steady, rhythmic beat. You moved closer, your body swaying that matched the music's pace. The dim lighting of the room captures the highlight every curve and movement. With a teasing smile, you straddle his lap, your hips gently rocking in time with the music.

Your hands roam lightly over his broad shoulders, fingertips brushing against his neck as you leaned in, your breath was warm against him. Your movements remained slow and deliberate, each sway of your hips were designed to tease. You could feel the heat of his body through the thin material of your outfit.

As you continued, your hands traced a path down his toned chest, your touch lingering enough hoping to spark a thrill. As you do all this, you remain eye contact with him, while your bodies are pressed together and as your hips circle around his lap. Your hands guided his large calloused hands around the curves on your body. You were closely pressed against him that you could feel the warmth of his breath gently caressing your skin.

Your eyes drift to the shot glass resting on the table. With a playful smile, you slip it between your cleavage, giving him a suggestive look. His eyebrows quirk in surprise, but his sly smirk stays firmly in place. "May I?" He asks, his voice with amusement.

You nod watching him plant his face into your chest, grabbing the shot glass with his mouth before tilting his head back to down it all. His grip on your waist remains and his hair falls back to it's usual position.

With some adjusting you stood on your knees in a staddle over his lap, hips leaning forward. One finger beckoned him closer, the other hand danced along the waistband of your bottoms. "Put it here hon." You say in a sultry tone.

He slips a bill into your waistband with a slight chuckle, his hand lingering to give your a hip a gentle squeeze. You glance down casually, trying to catch a glimpse of how much he's tipping, doing your best to mask your surprise. You resist the urge to look again, even as you catch the sight of a generous numbered bill peeking from your waistband.

By the next song started, your robe had already been slipped away, along with most of your outfit, leaving you in nothing but the most delicate lingerie. You twerk, grind, and tease him of all the angles of your body that he wished he could see.

At the end of the song, you flashed him a practiced smile, speaking in the sweetest voice you could muster. "How about moving up to VIP?"

He intertwined his fingers with yours, catching you off guard. "Not tonight, sweetie," he murmured with a mysterious smile. "You really put on quite a show. I must say, I'm impressed." He says as he softly chuckles.

"I'll see you another time. Consider me satisfied." With a lingering smirk, he placed a gentle kiss on the back of your knuckles, his gaze remaining on yours.

He gently lifted you from his lap, his touch felt gentle and tender. Setting a generous stack of cash on the table, he glanced at you with a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Until next time,” he murmured softly before turning and leaving the private suite, the curtains falling quietly behind him.

──────

That’s how you first encountered him. He started coming around regularly, but always at unexpected times, making his visits hard to predict. Occasionally, you’d catch sight of him in the distant shadows of the crowd during your performances. Each time, he’d make a point to request your presence before slipping away again.

Sometimes, there was no dancing involved at all—just drinks and conversation. At first, this surprised you, but you soon found it to be a refreshing change from your usual routine.

One day, he casually mentioned that he was the leader of the Onychinus, as if it were a mundane fact that he tells anybody. Your eyes widened in shock at the revelation, and his amused chuckle hinted at his awareness of your reaction. "Scared?" he asked, studying your response intently. You paused for a moment, reflecting on the fearsome reputation he held in the N109 Zone. Despite this, here he was, speaking to you with an ease that made the situation feel oddly casual.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little intimidated,” you admitted, meeting his gaze with a mix of curiosity and resolve. “But honestly, you don’t seem like the kind of person who would do anything to hurt me.” There was a nervous edge to your smile, but your eyes remained steady, reflecting both your apprehension and the surprising trust you felt in his presence.

His presence, though initially intimidating, turned out to be surprisingly pleasant. The ease of your interactions made his company enjoyable, providing a welcome respite from the more demanding regulars.

Then one day he slips you a card, and at first, you thought little of it. You assumed it might be some sort of gimmick or a ploy to recruit you for something unsavory. But his explanation caught you off guard. He clarified that he simply wanted to take you out for a change of scenery, offering a chance to escape the usual routine and experience something different together. The gesture felt unexpected and intriguing, hinting at a possible deeper connection forming between you.

"You don’t have to meet or do anything with me outside of this place," he reassured, understanding the challenges and unwanted advances that often come with your line of work. "I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust and make you feel comfortable."

──────

It had been a long time since you’d met up with a client outside of work, and this one was unlike any you’d dealt with before. The leader of the Onychinus had sparked your imagination with both dread and curiosity. You’d imagined the worst scenarios, yet you couldn’t shake the curiosity about possibilities that weren’t as grim. After much thought, you found yourself here, enjoying a night that defied your expectations and turned out to be unexpectedly exhilarating.

His hand was cradling your neck so gently. His kiss was passionate, an intense hunger for more of your soft lips against his. It's slowly becoming addicting as you wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the exchange. You open your mouth to let his tongue slide in, the kisses getting sloppier and wetter. You were both pressed again so closely yet this time it felt a little more different from the past. The heat between your lips blooms in your stomach and it has you silently begging for more making you weak.

──────

"Y/N," You heard someone call your name from the front, peeking out of the changing room to meet your managers eyes, "You got a request from the private suite. It's a regular."

The excitement fluttered in your chest as you know it was Sylus making the request. After the surprisingly enjoyable time you'd spent with him outside the club, you felt a genuine thrill at the thought of seeing him again. You'd chosen a special outfit for this night, one bought by the money he's showered you in.

"On my way!" You called out, slipping a robe over the pretty red straps lining your body. You carefully tie the material together, ensuring the garment stays in place. With practiced steps, you crossed the bar to the private suite.

"There you are, sweetie," He says, his sly smirk now a familiar sight. "I've been waiting too long." With a playful glint in your eye, you approach him, slipping off your robe with a teasing grace. As you drop the robe, it reveals your red lingerie outfit underneath. Each cup framing your breast and letting your nipples peak through. You settled onto his lap and made yourself comfortable on your throne.

Sylus puts one hand on your waist and the other on the back of your neck, meeting you in a heated kiss. The kiss was hot and passionate and you two moved like you had done this a thousand times, perfectly in sync. Tongues battled for dominance but you let him win. Once he was sure you weren’t going to pull away, the hand on your neck traveled down your back to your waist.

Both of his hands gripped you and dragged you further up his body, moving your hips from his thigh to his grain. The action caused a small amount of friction between your heat and his cock but it was enough to make you whimper.

His hands slip further down your waist, grasping your hips harshly as he began to rock you back and forth against him. Although he wore his trousers, you can feel him grow harder by the second.

Your lips press kisses down his jawline and neck, leaving him panting. His breathing becomes more erratic with every kiss and the soft groan he would make when you would grind against his crotch. His hands run all over your body, feeling every inch and curve of you. His right hand runs up your side until his thumb rubs playfully just under your breast. With a swift motion, the lingerie top was gone in seconds. You move your lips away from his neck to sit straighter as a moan escapes your lips when his left hand squeezes your breast.

His right hand runs back down your body, caressing and squeezing your ass. He gently lifted you from his lap, guiding you to take his place in the seat. As you settle into the spot, his tall frame hovers over you. He lowers himself to your gaze, before diving in for a rough kiss, his lips bruising yours. He pulls out of the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, “I’m going to take care of you sweetie.”

He goes lower and lower, removing the thin string for your bottoms and throwing it somewhere around the room. His fingers trace your slick folds, gasping as he began to slowly pump. “Already so wet for me?”

You let out a whine when he removes his hand from your heat but your breath hitches when he places both your legs on his shoulders. His tongue dives into your entrance, licking up to your clit while his lips wrapped around you, sucking gently. "Such a pretty cunt baby." He gazes up for a bit to look at your reaction before going back down.

Your hands intertwine to his soft white locks, tugging harshly. He adds a finger to pump in and out of you at a rough pace as his tongue swirls and teases against your clit, bringing you over the edge.

“I’m so close Sy” You moaned out but he didn't stop. He adds another finger and he pumps into you faster, sucking harshly on your clit to find your release. His name spew out of your lips as you came all over his fingers and his mouth. Your nails dug into his scalp as he lapped up your juices with his tongue, not letting a single drop go to waste.

"When do you get off work?" He asks below you. "I can leave and enter anytime Sy."

"Meet me in my car in a few minutes."

──────

“You're so beautiful,” he groans, throwing his head back as he put his hands on your waist, helping you lower yourself onto his awaiting length. "'m gonna keep you all to myself" He says breathlessly, lifting you up again and lowering you on his cock. You could see his muscles flex and strain through his long sleeve shirt. He knew if he moved too soon, he would make you cum. Not yet. The feeling of his cock in your cunt felt too good for a release.

You bit your lips as you continued to glide slowly up and down his long length. He filled you too full and too much that you were lost in a trance. You didn't know you can make such sounds every time you sank all the way down until your ass hits his thighs. The head of his cock struck so deep and the sound coming from your lips were so raw and lewd.

"Fuck-hah you feel so good angel," he groan, one hand stroking your thigh as his back arched. His buttoned long sleeve shirt opened revealing his chest was pushed up against yours. His other hand holding on to your ass, guiding your movement when it got too clumsy. He would help lift you up when your thighs gave out.

"I got you my sweet girl" He coos noticing your thighs sloppy movement. Your body slumps forward onto his as his fingers stroked your spine, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

He lifts you up as he pushed his hips upward, thrusting into you. His name slips from your lips as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. The pleasure licked your inside every time he hits that one spot again and again making your breath hitch in your throat.

The squelching sounds filled the car along with your pants and moans. He held your hips in place as he could you feel you close to coming undone in his arms. He began to thrust inside you with determination. He was relentless, withdrawing himself all the way out before plunging balls deep back inside of you.

You sobbed telling him how good his feels as you hold on to his shoulders. "C'mon sweetie come on my cock." He spoke, jaw clenched as he brutally thrusted into you with his arm wrapped around your waist. You came with a loud shot and your body spasms feeling the white-hot release. The rippling wave of your orgasms washed over you.

He connects his forehead against yours while catching his breath. "I'm going to get you out of here." He whispers.

──────

His eyes are on you.

As you sway your hips in rhythm with the music, gracefully releasing your grip from the pole, you glide across the stage in the bustier you chose just for him. You know precisely how he reacts to this look, and you wield it like a finely honed weapon, using its effect to your advantage.

Maybe one of these nights, he will stop drinking from the whisky glass he's always holding and drink from your lips instead. Maybe one of these nights you'll be brave enough to approach him yourself. To straddle his lap and innocently grind your hips against him. But every time your performance ended, he would be gone from his seat.

But for now, you continue to dance.

The lights flicker around you and the music does not help with your spiraling thoughts. The more you stand on the stage, moving your hips, purposefully bending low enough to give him a show, the more you want him. You weren't the only one who wants him though. Every night he appears, you would hear whispers and exchanges about him among the other girls. However he only wanted you.

He is quite known.

Although the N109 zone is terrified of the Onychinus leader. He's the most influential, dominant figure in the N109 Zone. However, he hasn't been seen for a while until now appearing in your presence.

The girls keep trying their luck with him every night and it makes your skin crawl. The girls don't know the reputation he holds in the N109 Zone and you kept it a secret between you and him so he wouldn't risk anything. You know you shouldn't be jealous. You've thought about him often. You thought about why he hasn't requested for you but only to watch your shows on the main stage. You don't have his number and he only texts you from burner phones so you don't know what's happening between you.

Specifically this one memory of what happened last time with him. You still remembered how he called you his sweet girl when he fucked in you in his car. His gun placed on the passenger seat as you rode him.

You don't question it. You don't dare too. You were to much lost in the trance as you try to reach your high. While he rammed himself inside you, he had promised to protect you. To get you out of there. But it was all just empty promises.

He is nothing but the devil himself.

And you knew better than to dance with the devil.

──────

“The more enticing the bait, the more dangerous things can get. Most are clueless to it.” In a secluded corner of the strip club, tucked away in the farthest booth, two men engaged in a quiet, confidential conversation. Their voices, low and discreet, barely reached beyond their private alcove as they watched the show from a distance

“Now’s not the time to celebrate. The big fish we want hasn’t fallen for it yet. Did you bring the stuff I requested?” he asked, his voice smooth and calculated, adding to the air of mystery that surrounded him. His interest in you was palpable, each moment of your performance drawing him further into a captivation. His pale skin contrasted sharply with his dusky purple hair, which fell in a sleek middle part. His eyes, a striking mix of blue and pink, seemed to flicker with an otherworldly intensity as he watched you, captivated by your every move. As he held a tumbler of whisky in one hand, his gaze remained fixed on you, as if you were the only thing in the room that mattered.

“What do you think of her?” the man with dusky purple hair asked, his voice cutting through the conversation casually. He tilted his head slightly, his striking blue and pink eyes still fixed on you, as if you were the focal point of his attention.

The man across from him glanced in your direction before returning his gaze, clearly impatient. “Rafayel, I think we have more pressing matters to discuss right now,” he replied, his tone edged with frustration.

"I think we can conclude this meeting. I would like to go meet her."

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