#while still leading towards similar eventualities

[duskargentum]

Finished Pentiment. It was good! I have more thoughts on it that I will sleep on, but I think my least favorite part about this game is that it feels like the type of game that would have changed drastically depending on your actions (eg. who you choose to execute in Act 1, who you accuse at the end of Act 2, whether or not Andreas survives to Act 3, etc.) but ultimately there's very little wiggle room about the outcome of events, from the research I've done. For a moment there, I thought my execution of Fenrec is what led to Act 2 being so depressing and tense and that, if I had executed someone else, it would have been different... But no. It seems it pans out more or less the same every time. Which is sad, and feels like another "the illusion of free choice" piece that is a dime a dozen in the "choices DEFINITELY matter btw" landscape. There are clearly alternative "endings" depending on your choices, but I, for a brief, beautiful moment, believed in a better game where the scenario in Act 2 was different as a result of my choice at the end of Act 1. Maybe that would have been a better game, maybe it wouldn't've. I don't know. But what I can say is that this flaw doesn't take away from the fact that I think the game was good.

[caeunot]

Can you do a friends to lovers fic for johnnie with them being super touchy as friends

i love this !! thank you for also being my first ever ask<3

johnnie guilbert x reader

you and johnnie have been friends for a few months now, you two became close quite fast since you both have similar interests and world views. you didn't have a youtube channel of your own but you loved making lil cameos in johnnies vids or even jakes since you love eating almost as much as he does.

you were hanging out with jake and johnnie with a few other of their friends like jc and scuff, you guys had been out the whole day and you were exhausted. as you made it to the couch you slumped next to johnnie and complained about how tired you were, "im sure it's fine if you lie down for a bit" he said, you nodded and lay down on johnnies lap using it as a pillow. at first he looked a bit confused but he soon relaxed and started gently playing with your hair while still talking to the others.

your friends definitely noticed how touchy you two were, but to be honest your love language was touch and it was painfully obvious, so no one over thought when you were extra affectionate towards johnnie. when the two of you were together you would often fix his hair or if a peice of his clothing was folded you would fix, sometimes the two of you would even cuddle depending on the circumstances.

you didn't intend to actually fall asleep but you did, and when you eventually did wake up you felt a soft blanket on top of you, you then looked around and realized that everyone was gone. well everyone except johnnie. he was still on the couch with one hand on your waist the other on his phone.

"hey sleepyhead you finally awake?" you sat up and rubbed your eyes, "why did u let me fall asleep that's so embarrassing.. how long has it been" you say anxiously as you can see it's become dark outside. "only 4 hours" he says with a smug face, making you roll your eyes.

you dramatically fell forward into his shoulder, "four fucking hours" you mutter through his shirt. he puts his phone down and let his hands run through the hair by your shoulders before slowly pushing you up to face him. "everyone was already tired and left soon after you fell asleep and I didn't mind at all okay? I promise it's fine" he says with a reassuring smile.

you appreciate his words but demand that you do something for him in return, as your looking into his eyes you then decided what it is, "can I remove your makeup for you? as like a thank you!" he makes a confused face (which reminded you of a puppy). "you don't have to do anything, makeup wipes take basically a minute to use there's really no need"

but your mind had already been made, plus since you were staying over for the night you had brought all your skincare and decided to give him a mini facial.

you sat down on the side of their bathtub and johnnie sat down next to you, you took out a wipe and started removing the makeup. you then held his cheek in your other hand so that his face can be more stable. when your done you let him splash his face with water and you take out your foaming cleanser. to do this you sat even closer to him, basically feeling his breath as you took your hands and gently massaged the cleanser into his face.

"i don't think you could be a professional with those nails, like your so close to poking my eyes out" he says after you finished, he noticed your facial expressions change, "but that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it" he says almost defensively.

as you finish off with moisturizer you can see he's on the verge of falling asleep, you knew you were done but a part of you didn't want this to end. "hey johnnie there's ooone more thing to do okay?" he nods and let's you lead him towards his room. "you can just sit down on your bed" you say confidently, as if there was an actual need for any of this. johnnie is that exhausted to the point where he is just mindlessly following your instructions, which made what you were going to do a whole lot easier.

when he sat down you also started yawning yourself, as if you didn't just come out of a nap but anyways. you took his hairbrush from his side tables and sat down next to him. without saying a word you started to brush his hair while gently moving it around. "are you having fun" he says, scrunching his face up slightly.

once you finished and put the brush down you decided to be a little more forward and leaned back against the end of the bed while gently moving johnnie so that he's laying on your chest. he didn't say a word until you started brushing your fingers through his hair, this time you moved it in a way where your long nails were massaging him and he accidentally let out a small whimper.

he immediately got embarrassed and sat up. "shit sorry I know you didn't mean it that way I'm just exhausted and it felt really good'". you noticed that from those words the tension between the two of you seem to change. "hey it's okay, just come sit back down". he bites his lip in slight hesitation but he then goes and sits back down in his original spot.

you massaged his head gently for a bit longer before slowly moving yourself lower to where you faced him on the pillow. "the spare room is so far away, can I just sleep here tonight?" without responding, johnnie slips his arm around your waist and tucks himself gently against your chest. "yes please".

❣

[authorhjk1]

Hi! Hope you can make something spectacular of Joy in this pls. The kind to easily suck her nonstop iykwim. 🥵

Blue

(Joy X Male Reader)

"You taste delicious."

You mumble into Joy's pussy, before taking a deep breath.

"I-Oh!"

Joy's words are cut off, when you resume eating her out.

After Seulgi gave in to the temptation, you were sure the rest of them would as well. And you weren't surprised at all, when it was Joy who took your hand and let you out of the girls' dressing room.

In this very moment, Irene is doing her job as a host for one of the music shows, while you are devouring her bandmate's sweet pussy.

Just like Seulgi, Joy doesn't have a clue that Irene is in on this as well. She thinks you are cheating on her leader.

You are still surprised that both women are completely fine with fucking a taken man. Even if it's one of their best friend's boyfriend. Although, you do remember that Joy and Irene had an argument this morning. You don't know what it was about. But this might be the reason, why Joy is doing is. Or at least one of the reasons.

"Oh, fuck. Your tongue."

Joy whines as she feels your tongue pressing on her clit.

"H-How isn't unnie constantly sitting on your face?"

Her lewd question makes you smile into her pussy as you keep eating her out.

While Irene does like to be fucked in front of the others, receiving oral is something she deems too intimate for the girls to see. It doesn't make sense to you, since she would happily suck you off in the living room, while they watch TV.

"Fuck! I'm gonna-!"

Joy's body trembles, her legs close around your head.

"Oh god!"

Her loud cry makes you wonder, if Irene can her hear. The two of you aren't that far away from the stage.

Joy cums on your face as you lap up her juices. She tastes similar to Seulgi, but sweeter.

As you reappear from underneath her dress, you see Joy's face after a while. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes darker than usual.

"I wanna suck your dick."

She bites her lip, once she says those words. She can't help but get turned on even more at the thought of stealing Irene's boyfriend.

You push Joy to her knees in return, while you stand up. Your pants follow her to the floor a moment later.

"I can finally appreciate it, without her being in the way."

Joy's eyes glisten with, well... joy.

She quickly wraps her lips around your cock and starts sucking. She knows the two of you don't have much time left. The other girls will be looking for her soon and Irene is almost done too.

"Damn, baby."

Your moan makes Joy put in even more effort. The fact that you called her that, instead of Irene, almost makes her ruin the floor she is kneeling on.

"That's a good girl."

You sigh, holding her hair back, while you watch Joy in action.

Eventually, you do want more though. After a couple of moments, you slowly push her head off your cock.

"I want to fuck you."

Joy smiles up at you. She lets your dick fall out of her mouth, before gathering her saliva and spitting on it.

"How do you want me?"

She coats your cock in her saliva with her hands as she asks.

"Just try to be quiet."

You reply, knowing that she probably won't be able to.

After helping Joy off her knees, you lead her towards the couch and make her sit on it. The dressing room is right to Red Velvet's, where the other girls are, so you do hope she is not gonna be too loud. Instead of just fucking her on her back, you hook your arms underneath Joy's legs and fold her in half. Her knees are now pressed against her chest and her pussy reveals itself as the hem of her blue dress rides up.

"I'm gonna breed you now."

"Oh fuck, yes."

Joy gasps as she hears your words. You align yourself with her pussy and then you push inside of her.

"Dump all of that cum in me, baby. I want everything that's meant for her."

You have to laugh internally. Irene was right. Joy has a breeding kink. You don't know how she knows, but you appreciate her telling you.

"I'm gonna give you all of it. Your pussy will drip with my cum, while you talk to her."

Joy's eyes roll back as you start fucking her into the couch. The position she is in makes her look smaller than she actually is. And easier to handle. You use Joy's pussy like a fleshlight as you have your way with her. The only thing she can do is moan and whine. She can't move.

"Pound my pussy, yes!"

You want to quiet her, by leaning over and kissing her, but you know you wouldn't be able to keep up this pace at the same time.

"Oh god!"

Joy moans and moans as you fuck her. Harder and harder. Deeper and deeper. It's the perfect angle for your cock to penetrate her fully.

Joy's slick pussy is harder to resist than you thought. Soon, her juices make it too easy to slide inside of her. Her walls squeeze you too tight. Her eyes beg too much. Her moans are too loud. Her thighs feel too good in your hands.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Fill me up! Dump your load into your girlfriend's friend!"

You would laugh at her for not knowing what's actually going on, if she wouldn't be making you cum right now.

"Fuck Joy."

You hiss into her face as you shoot your load into her. Rope after rope of your cum paint her insides. You fill her to the brim with your seed.

"Yes, baby."

Joy sighs, the warmth of your cum overwhelming her.

[bhaalsbabe]

This bed has seen everything

Pairing: afab!Durge Reader x Enver Gortash

Label: nsfw

Word count: ~2k

Summary/warnings: MDNI, afab!durge, durge is a magic user, unprotected sex, piv, creampie, some biting on both sides (and both sides like it), choking (receiving), the glove stays on, Gortash is a simp for durge but what's new, Gorty is more dominant here

Author's note: long expected part two of This desk has seen everything. Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts &lt;3

You need to focus or you'll get yourself killed. The Emperor's stern voice rumbled inside your head, the force of his mind pushing your urge back, enough for you to see clearer again. You were standing next to an open manhole. Looking around to figure out where you were, you noticed an undead beggar you ran into after entering the Lower City a day before. You sighed, rubbing your temples as you made your way back to the room you had acquired in Elfsong Tavern. As soon as you entered the main square, however, you were stopped by one of the steel watchers.

"Citizen, lord Gortash is looking for you. Please return to Wyrm's Rock Fortress immediately," its robotic voice said.

"And what if I don't return?" You asked, not in the mood to deal with both Gortash and this annoying piece of metal.

"Then you'll be escorted there against your will."

You frowned, thinking about your options quickly. You hated having to follow anyone's orders. At the same time, you weren't in a position where you could take out the entire city's guards, and while you could turn invisible to slip out of this steel watcher's grasp, you would have to show yourself eventually and be captured then.

"Fine, I'm going there right now. Happy?" Your voice was dripping with malice that totally went over the steel watcher's head. It continued standing there menacingly, watching you as you made your way out of the city again. You walked as slow as possible, wondering what awaited you.

Gortash wanted you. That much was evident. The surprising part was that you wanted him too. This man, who was ready to doom so many people for his god and hunger for power, who hurt Karlach so much and sold her to Zariel... You should hate him and be planning his assassination, putting a stop to all of this. Yet instead, you were thinking of how familiar his touch felt on your body, how it made your heart sing in a similar way as killing did. Even without the memories that would explain the reasons for it, you craved him, his brilliant mind and his reverent touch.

As you entered the fortress, you were greeted by the mechanical voice of the steel watcher, telling you that "lord Gortash is awaiting you in his chambers". Two guards, these made of actual flesh, then lead you to what you assumed were the doors to his chambers. You waited until they left before entering, your heart speeding up in anticipation.

The room was big and expensive looking. It screamed 'important person resides here'. Currently dimly lit through various hanging lanterns, you could still make out the prevalent colours, red and black, with occasional sprinkle of green. All the way back was a king sized bed with canopy, with its owner sitting on its edge.

"You gave me quite a scare back there. I thought you'd start a bloody rampage in the open." He chuckled but you noticed he sounded almost relieved as his eyes set on you. You felt a pull towards him, your feet leading you to the bed on their own.

"I warned you I'm not as in-control as you might think." You replied, stopping in front of him. The dark lighting of the room made him look more imposing and you had to admit, it suited him. Black was his colour. His smile widened as he caught you staring at him.

"Can't help yourself? I don't blame you~" You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead choosing to ask the question that's been burning in you.

"What exactly were we?" You winced at how unsure and vulnerable you sounded. Gone was your usual confidence. When it came to your past, you were lost and helpless and it scared you. Part of you berated yourself for showing a weakness to an enemy of such status as Gortash.

But he didn't take advantage of it. His eyes softened and his flirtatious smile changed into a melancholic one. You had a strong feeling not many people had seen this particular expression on him. He stood up, taking both of your hands into his while gazing into your eyes.

"Allies," one of his hands left yours to wrap around your waist and pull you against his lean body. You let him do it, intuitively putting your free hand around him too.

"Friends," he leaned close to you, his next word whispered to your ear as if it were the most precious secret.

"Lovers." You heard him take a deep breath, almost like he was taking in your scent, his hold on you tightening for a brief second before he pulled away, reluctantly letting you go and stepping back.

Hearing him actually say it made a bit of your doubt and guilt go away. Of course your body recognised your lover, even if your mind struggled. You weren't betraying your friends by wanting to be close to Gortash. How could they possibly blame you for wanting someone you used to love?... You could easily do more mental gymnastics to defend your following actions if necessary.

Your breathing quickened as you pushed him back, making him fall into the bed, before climbing over him. "Good. Now I don't feel so bad for wanting to fuck you."

His eyes widened as he took you in, looking up at you as if you were a god, a self-satisfied smile stretching over his face.

"Old habits die hard~" He said before using his strength to flip you over. "You should know your place, however," his voice was deeper, his clawed hand wrapping around your neck, making it harder to breathe. You glared at him in defiance, displeased that he'd dare to do this.

"Oh, are you imagining slicing me open now? Frying me with you spells?" His eyes and voice were laced with amusement. He put more pressure on your neck, the sharp claws digging into the soft skin of your neck. He leaned close to your face. "Good."

The moment your lips connected, he released his hold on your neck enough for you to be able to breathe better again. His other hand made it's way under your shirt, mapping your body to his memory again. He sighed contentedly, almost getting lost in the simple kiss-

And then you bit his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood and to make him recoil in shock. He pulled away, touching his bleeding lip gingerly before looking back at you. His eyes seemed to get impossibly dark as he watched you lick your lips, stained by his blood. His pants got more tight as you gave him a mad grin, one that used to be on your face so often before your disappearance.

"I didn't think you still had it in you," he chuckled, looking way too happy for someone who could've lost his lip.

"You seem to be enjoying the pain. Aren't you supposed to be a tyrannical sadist?" You teased him, dropping your gaze at his quite visible bulge before looking back at him.

"Oh I can be, trust me, dear. You're just too special." He got near your face again, scanning over your features with his eyes. You could see the imperfections on his skin in return - the soft wrinkles around his eyes, the laugh lines, the scar on his chin - and as you shared this moment, you truly felt special.

You started kissing each other once again, more passionately and ferociously, both of you needing to feel, touch, taste each other. Gortash pressed his clothed erection against your core and you moaned into the kiss, your legs wrapping around his body to pull him closer, to stimulate the spot that was crying for attention. All of a sudden, none of you had the power to continue your playful banter. You needed him, and he needed you.

He started undressing you, his nimble fingers making quick work of your clothes and he didn't even have to stop kissing you for a moment. His hands kept exploring your body, squeezing in all the right places. He knew your body well.

His mouth left yours to kiss your jawline and continue lower, to your neck, your clavicle, and even lower, to give some welcome attention to your nipple. As he sucked on that piece of flesh, one of his hands started its journey over your inner thigh all the way to your cunt. He only dragged his finger through your folds, spreading your slick, and your hips buckled.

"Fuck... Enver, just fuck me already," you panted, your chest heaving heavily, your nails digging into his shoulders. He left your nipple with a 'pop', his dark eyes drinking in the sight of you before him, all desperate and needy, although he wasn't doing much better and you uttering his name didn't help.

"As you wish, my dear," he mumbled, removing his pants and underwear hastily. He didn't bother with prepping you, knowing you enjoyed the sting of his cock splitting you open and so he inserted his dick in you in one fell swoop. You tensed up, unused to this kind of pain, trying to hold back any sounds of discomfort. Gortash noticed it, kissing you softly on the lips, before whispering into your ear:

"You're doing great, my love, just relax." His fingers started playing with your clit, mixing the pain with pleasure and soon you were urging him to move again. He didn't need to be told twice, his hips pistoning into yours immediately after getting your permission.

He was thick, making the muscles in your vagina strain as they tried to accommodate his girth. It helped that you were embarrassingly wet, the squelch audible every time his dick moved in and out of you. Gortash buried his head in your neck, letting out whimpers that made you feel less humiliated about the noises you made.

"Ah, I've missed this. I've missed you. Thought I'd never see you again..." he mumbled into your neck, his breath hot against it. He cradled you close, as if you could slip between his fingers at any moment, his hips picking up speed. He wanted to enjoy this more, he truly did, but he was desperate to state his claim on you again, make you his once more. He made sure to rub circles into your clit in an effort to bring you to climax along with him. You were so responsive to his touch, like the first time you gave yourself to him, and he wanted to make sure you'll come back for more.

His clawed hand that held you close kept leaving bleeding scratches behind that you didn't mind at all, not when everything in this moment made you feel so alive. You thought killing felt great but this was actually better than that. He then bit your neck, groaning at the same time, his hips stilling, and you felt a warm sensation in you as he filled you with cum. With the continuous stimulation in and around your cunt, along with the small bits of pain he brought you, you followed him over the edge soon after, a silent prayer of his name on your lips.

You were both breathing heavily, still wrapped in each other as you tried to recover a bit of lucidity. Gortash finally pulled out, making his sperm spill out of you onto the expensive bedsheets but he couldn't care less. He laid next to you, pulling you against his chest, and he kissed your head sweetly. It felt unreal, that a supposed tyrant like him had the capacity to be so gentle, to an enemy no less, and yet here you were.

Well, let's just say you're heavily considering your alliance now.

[lovegalor333]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

woman crush wednesday pt 2 (previous part)

summary: you and paige finally go on the long awaited date

content warnings: none!

It had been three weeks since your first phone call with Paige and since then, it has become a nightly occurrence. Talking and giggling into the early hours until sleep eventually takes over. You have fallen asleep on FaceTime a few times too, waking in the morning to Paige silently getting ready for her day.

You both had busy schedules but they had finally aligned and Paige was coming into the city to see you for the first time. Even though you felt like you knew Paige decently well after hours of calls, you were still nervous. Meeting someone for the first time spiked your fight or flight. What if you wasn’t how Paige had imagined you? What if seeing you in real life made her feel differently?

You settled your nerves with a small glass of wine as you got yourself ready. It was a crisp autumnal evening in New York City and you both had decided on getting a coffee from your favourite place and walking around Central Park would be perfect for your first date.

You and Paige were similar in the sense, you were both really simple girls. You enjoyed being home and didn’t care for the lavish things in life. You were looking forward to just spending time with Paige, talking to her and being able to look in her eyes as she stood in front of you, rather than through a screen.

Paige was getting to your apartment at 5PM and it was almost that time so you applied a final layer of lip balm, a few spritz of your favourite perfume and readied yourself to leave.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, Paige was here.

Your stomach fluttered as you rode the elevator down, you took in a few deep breaths and checked your reflection in the mirror. You had kept your outfit simple and makeup to a minimum. Paige was used to seeing you on stage or red carpets, you wanted her to see the real you today.

The elevator opened and there she was, in all her glory. She looked even better in person if that was possible, she looked like a goddess through the FaceTime camera but the way her eyes shone and skin glistened while she was just metres away from you had you lost for words. Her hair was down and straight, tucked behind her ears and she was wearing khaki pants with matching trainers and a pink and brown shirt. Why were you already imagining yourself wearing it? It would hang on your body oversized and it would probably smell like her.

“Hello Y/N.” Paige breaks your daydream, a smile spreading on her face as you walk towards her.

“Hi Paige.” You say shyly and she opens her arms for a hug and you step into it so naturally any nerves you had vanish within seconds.

“You look gorgeous.” She complements as you pull apart and you feel your cheeks heat up even though she’s said that every time you’ve been on video call even when your half asleep with messy hair and in your pyjamas.

“Thank you. You look great. I’m not used to seeing you wear a shirt.” You joke as most of the time, Paige calls you post practice and she’s almost always in her sports bra.

“I can take this off but let’s get that coffee first.” She says cheekily and her hand falls to the small of your back as she leads you out of the apartment building.

You and Paige argue over who’s paying for your drinks as the barista watches you both grapple to reach the card reader.

“It was my suggestion. Let me pay.” You state.

“I’m taking you on a date. Let me pay.” Paige quips back.

“But you traveled into the city. Let me.”

“Y/N put the damn card away. I’m paying.” Her voice is assertive and dominant and her arm stretches over you to tap her card.

“Thank you.” You say as you collect the drink, “You’re welcome but never do that again. As long as you’re with me, everythings on me.”

“Paige-“

“No arguememts, gorgeous.”

Yes ma’am.

The walk to Central Park is quick and filled with lighthearted chatter, between you and Paige. She reaches out to touch you multiple times. Her hand grazing your cheek to move a piece of hair, a protective arm around your waist as you cross the road and each time you felt your skin tingle and then a sense of longing once the moment was over.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You say as you find a secluded bench to sit on together. You sit so close, your legs are touching and Paige places a hand on your thigh, “I am too. Sorry it told so long for me to figure out.”

“It’s OK, I know you’re busy. I am too. But what do they say? Distance makes the heart grow fonder and all that.” The last bit comes out of your mouth without you realising.

“Your heart is fond of me?” Paige asks, the corners of her mouth curving up slightly and you feel a blush creeping onto your face.

“I didn’t- I don’t-“ You stutter out, unsure of how it would make Paige feel.

“No. Don’t backtrack. My heart is fond of you too. I wouldn’t spend every night speaking to you or I wouldn’t have drove three hours here if it wasn’t.”

“Really?” You ask, averting your gaze because it felt weird hearing that from someone. You weren’t a relationship girl, in fact you’d only ever been in one relationship and it was so far from perfect, you didn’t think people like Paige existed.

“Yes really, gorgeous.” Paige confirms, lifting your chin so you’re looking at her again.

“I thought maybe I was being too full on. I know people don’t like that.” You say, now looking into her eyes. Her blue, blue eyes.

“I’m not people. I’m Paige and you could never be too full on with me.”

“In that case…my heart is definitely fond of you.” You admit, now mirroring Paiges soft smile.

The air is charged as you sit looking into each others eyes, Paiges hand still firmly rested on your thigh. She glances down and your lips and you glance down at hers. Her tongue pokes out to run across them and your breathing hitches at the way they look, so plump and wet, slightly apart and you begin to lean in as she does the same.

Paiges hand leaves your thigh and finds your neck as your lips meet in a needy but gentle kiss. She pushes into it, her tongue slipping into your mouth and you moan at the sensation. You’ve thought about this moment, dreamed about it so many times but nothing could have prepared you for how it felt. Her fingers tangling into the back of your hair, her soft skin under your fingertips, her scent the only thing you can smell.

You’re both left red cheeked and slightly breathless and you can’t help but giggle at each other and as you do, the heavens open and rain begins to pour. You gasp at the feeling of water already seeping through your clothes and wetting your skin.

“Typical.” Paige laughs and she grabs your hand pulling you up from the bench and you both start running.

“Where are we going?” You ask trying your best to match Paiges strides.

The rain was heavy, already dripping down your face, blurring your vision and you kept a tight grip on Paiges hand hoping that she would lead the way.

“To find shelter…so I can kiss you again.” Paige breathes out and she looks to you, her hair so wet, it looks a few shades darker.

“We’re already drenched.” You say, her shirt is stuck to her skin, outlining her muscular physique and you can feel rain leaking into your shoes with every step you take.

Paige stops running but you can’t stop fast enough so you bump into her and she grabs your waist, balancing you, “You’re right. We are drenched so we might as well stay right here.” She says and she crashes her lips to yours again. It’s hungrier this time, her hand is firm on your waist as the rain batters down on you both, you grip onto her shirt, pulling her closer, wanting more, needing more.

You don’t care that you’re in the middle of Central Park, in the pouring rain. You care that you’re with Paige, finally and it’s better than you ever expected.

�� ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: hi i actually hate this 😖 i didn’t write for a few days while i was moving house and i feel like i’ve forgotten how to…

[another-random-paradise]

Can I rq for hc about twst.. Where the fem!reader(gn!reader if like) has an abusive father and caused her a truma? And the boys ( the first years + lilia & leona & azul & trein) are shocked when they find out?

Something about angst/comfort with some fluff .... I hope you're comfortable writing that.

A new start

thank you for the request. I'll be honest, i was debating wether to write this or not, as abuse is a complex subject, and i was worried about misunderstanding or accidentally offending those who have gone/are going through this. But remembered that, I too, turned to fanfics for comfort during some of my worst days, and if i can be, or at least create, that comfort for someone else, then I'm satisfied with what I've achieved in live. But I do have a 4 character limit that i have to enforce for the sake of my own mental health, so i didn't do the first years, I'm very sorry.

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

Reader opens up to them about their abusive father

Characters: Lillia, Leona, Azul, Proffessor Trein

Format: Headcanons

Warnings: Talk of past abuse

written platonically, but Leona and Azul can be read romatically

!Please note that this is not meant to glorify or romanticize abuse, but meant as a form of comfort for those that need it!

Lillia

-Lillia has always been one to sneak up on and scare people, he just found their reactions so funny!

-But he can easily tell that you react a lot more intensely than others. He eventually stops sneaking up on you, because your reactions aren't fun, they just seem.. sad to him.

-Instead of surprise, you feel fear, and he doesn't like it. He can tell, just from that, that something is wrong, and while he wants to know what, he won't pressure you. As a father, he learned quickly that, that only leads to dishonesty

-As the two of you become closer, you start to be more comfortable and open with him

-And during a particularly calm conversation, a rather rare thing with someone like Lillia, you finally open up to him

-You two are sitting on a bench near his dorm, with no one around, when your conversation suddenly shifts to the past.

-As you tell him what your father did, Lillia feels anger, no, rage.

-But not at you, never at you. No, he is enraged that your father could treat his own child like that. He raised his enemy's son, after a war that lastet years, the child of the same man that killed the woman he loved, and still managed to be the best father he could be. And that trash bag of a person- if you could even call him that - couldn't even take care of his own?! 

-When you see the look in his eyes, you almost get scared, but something just tells you, that anger isn't directed at you. And before you can question him, he pulls you into a hug. You would dare to call it the most gentle hug you have ever experienced.

-"You are safe now. You always will be for as long as I'll live."  His words are as genuine as can be, as his grip tightens ever so slightly. But it doesn't feel like a cage, more like a weighted blanket engulfing your body, the weight slowly lulling you to sleep.

-If you weren't crying before, chances are you are now. And he lets you, comfortingly rubbing your back your back as you sob into his shoulder, finally letting it all out.

-The days after that, you notice that Lillias attitude towards you has changed over so slightly, he is acting a lot more caringly, he is acting.. almost fatherly. And you don't even realize that, that is his goal.

-He makes sure you always eat enough, and will cook your lunch and dinner himself if he has to, and that alone is motivation enough to eat properly, checks up on you, helps you with homework and similar, and always lends you a shoulder to cry on.

-Lillia has already made up his mind. He raised a human and a fae prince, what harm could taking in one more human do?

-You may have not have had a proper father up until now, but rather late than never, no?

Leona

-He noticed how skittish you seemed to be when you first met. The fear in your eyes obvious, no matter whether you try to hide it or not, as he snapped at you for stepping on his tail. It was the main reason he let you of so easily.

-He saw it again during his overblot, right before he transformed, as well as shortly after his recovery, when he approached you to sort things out. He expected fear, an overblot is nothing short of scary after all, but something about your fear just seemed different to him, but he decided not to bother you about it.

-Eventually you two get closer, he considers you one of his closest friends ...which isn't that great of an achievement since he doesn't have that many- but at least actually becoming one of his friends at all can be counted as one!

-One day, while simply hanging out, he decides to bring it up. He says it casually enough that you know you don't have to answer, without him having to outright say it. 

-You decide you trust him enough and tell him about your father and what he did

-He's shocked. He doesn't know what exactly he expected, but it, for some reason, it wasn't this. He thought maybe bully's, a bad ex, or something like that... but your own father? He didn't know he could hate someone so much without ever meeting them

-He's now wide awake, but stays quiet. He has never been good with words, let alone comforting someone, so he just lends you an open ear. 

-The quietness might put you off at first, but his tail subconsciously wraps around your arm, as he processes it, I'm afraid this is as much proper comfort you'll get, but if you decide to hug or cuddle him, he'll let you

-While he may not be the best with words, he does know how to take action while still being lazy.

-He practically has his own fan club at his beck and call, also known as the savanaclaw dorm, and he puts them to use.

-He tells them to make sure no one gives you trouble, and that you remain harm free, or else they'll have trouble with him. And it works! Suddenly all your bullies leave you alone!.. you don't even realize the amount of savanaclaw members staring the bully down.

-It's Leona's way of comforting and taking care of you, because if your father won't, then he damn sure will.

Azul

-Azul can be very observant when he wants to be, so it wasn't hard to tell, that the fear you felt when the twins got violent in front of you.. your fear was different, than that of the usual person

-He has to be honest, when he first saw it, he thought maybe he could utilize it to make you sign a contract.. but after his overblot his entire perspective seemed to change, you just seemed to understand his childhood trauma a little to well, how the constant abuse could hurt and even change oneself

-He'd be lying if he said that, that wasn't part of the reason you two got as close as you did, you two just seemed to understand to understand each other on a deeper level

-One day, while simply sitting in the VIP lounge while he worked, you two once again ended up talking about the past, and this time, you decided to be the one to open up to him about your childhood

-Azul stops in his tracks as you do, horrified at the thought of that happening  happening to you. He was just quiet for a moment, and unlike usual, this wasn't a comfortable silence

-"Well.. you're here now, he won't reach you here. I'll make sure of this, I'll make a contract to prove it." His voice was quiet, as he was debating what to do, he wanted to properly comfort you, but he didn't know how. He was still very young when his mom got divorced and, well, the twins never exactly needed comforting. So instead, he does what he does best, write a contract.

-For once, it's a contract that benefits you more that him. It mentions that you'll get protection from bully's and your father, should he somehow end up in twisted wonderland, and that Mostro lounge can be like a save haven that you can go to even after it's closing times. In return, he asks that you come to him should anything happen to you, from your father actually finding you, to simply getting triggert by something that reminds you of the past, whatever that may be.

-He just hopes that, even though he isn't the best when it comes to comfort, he can be the save haven for you that your dad failed to be.

Professor Trein

-Trein likes you for the simple reason that you're one of the very rare students that doesn't either cause trouble or fall asleep in his class

-During the topic of ancestry and how it affected history, ever so often the topic would change to the students family's, some students interested in yours, since your from another world. He couldn't help but notice how you never brought up your father.

-Eventually Trein became your favourite teacher! Sure, his lectures can be boring, but history is one of the few subjects you can participate in, and as long as you behave, he's actually pretty nice!

-Trein, already a father of multiple daughters, couldn't help but feel fatherly towards you, he made sure you knew you could confide in him

-One day, the lesson is about the past of some important historical figure, as things happened to be, this historical figure was abused too. Trein almost immediately noticed how quiet you got, and how hesitant you were to do the assignments. So, Trein asked you to stay after class

-He told you he noticed the change, and you decide to entrust him your story

-Trein, as a father himself, is horrified. How could anyone do that to their own flesh and blood? He lets you speak, nodding occasionally to let you know he's listening.

-"I am so sorry that happened to you. you deserve better". If you need or want it, he'll hug you and let you sob into his shoulder

-Trein, similarly to Lillia, will start to act more fatherly after that. He won't be less strict with you exam wise, but if he feels a subject could be triggering to you, he'll let you know before class, so that you can mentally prepare yourself, or miss class with his permission if needed.

-Since you aren't from twisted wonderland, you don't have a legal guardian here, do you? How do you feel about adoption? He's already raised multiple daughters, he's sure he can do it again. That way you also have somewhere to go during holidays! 

-He can't change what has already happened, but he'll make sure your last few teenage years are spent happily in a proper home

Abuse is a sensitive subject, and while i tried my best to be as respectful as possible, I know it is very possible for me to have done something wrong. So, if anything here is disrespectful, triggering, or just generally insensitive, I beg you to tell me, so that i can fix it as fast as possible.

I admit to not being the most educated on this subject, but if you are still in this situation or believe someone else is, I believe there are different hot lines for different country's that can tell you what you can do to get help. If you can, find a public computer or use a friends phone to find and call said hotline.

I truly hope that your okay anon and anyone else that is reading this, and that this fic could bring you some comfort.

[serpentface]

The (now extinct) utosai, the last of the great lacetors.

Lacetors are a clade of warmblooded reptiles that fill niches as large grazers. The only genera surviving in the contemporary are relatively small (averaging about the size of cattle), but many older species grew bigger than elephants. Utosai were the last remaining members of this branch, dwindling towards extinction as their once vast grasslands experienced rapid desertification over a period of a mere few millenia, becoming the massive, mostly uninhabitable desert region colloquially known as the Deadlands.

They would historically live in herds consisting of one male, several (sometimes dozens of) females, and their associated young, which would migrate vast distances to follow seasonal rains. Males would fight each other to gain control of their mates or tempt away singular females, with young males roaming in bachelor herds. As reliable grasslands grew sparser, these herds grew much smaller, with the last remaining utosai being found largely as small bands of females and lone, wandering males that would opportunistically mate when they were lucky enough to find each other.

Utosai had very thick scaly skin that folds in plates, in part a vestigial defense mechanism against large predators that had LONG vanished. Like many other lacetor, they had partly bony facial pads that grew large and colorful in males as display features. Their tremendous curving horns served predominantly as additional display features, while the smaller, jutting horns partly figured into intraspecies combat, with males standing side by side and front to back and swinging these horns at each other in ritualized combat behavior.

These horns were clearly of value to the people who once inhabited the same ranges as utosai, as their ivory figured heavily into their craftwork and holy objects and can be found near-ubiquitously in the burials of high ranking people in the east interior Deadlands. These surviving utosai ivory artifacts are of tremendous value, with the mere prospect of obtaining them tempting many graverobbers and other such wealth-seekers into the remains of ancient human settlements (a mostly futile and often deadly task, most accessible tombs have already been plundered and those still left in peace are hidden deeply beneath the sands).

Utosai lasted far longer than many of their counterparts, surviving on (and trapped within) dwindling patches of coastal grassland fed by ocean rains, too isolated within stretches of desert for any chance of migration to grasslands further from the equator. These last fragmentary populations were discovered by traders and treasure seekers sponsored by the early 2nd Burri empire, with many hatchling utosai being taken back overseas hundreds of miles north. It is unknown when the last wild utosai died, but all but the tiniest fragments of their coastal grasslands are gone and the great beasts are nowhere to be found.

The captive animals were bred in Bur and eventually produced a relatively large (and heavily inbred) population, probably maxing out at around 1000 individuals. They were never truly domesticated but could be made tame and well accommodated to handling, which eventually developed into their use as mounts, forming an elite cavalry unit used in warfare. A war utosai was outfitted with a shielded tower upon its back from which archers could fire from height, and would be driven by a rider on its neck. Their use was functionally similar to irl war elephants, being utilized for intimidation, to scatter enemy formations, and to lead (or break) charges. These were the largest animals that most people would have ever seen, and were often reckoned as nigh-invulnerable. The utosai was heavily used in Bur's wars of conquest, and became an esteemed animal emblematic of the second Burri empire's might.

Very few consistently effective counters to the war utosai were discovered during the duration of their use. One very famous, very successful counter was used by the pre-Wardi Ephenni tribe in its war of independence against the second Burri empire (which was already beginning to collapse). The province of Ephennos was of key import to the empire as a breadbasket, being highly fertile lands and providing much of the grain that sustained the empire. A cavalry of ten utosai (a VERY excessive number against a less well-trained, less well-armed group of soldiers) was brought overseas to assist in crushing dissent and were devastating in battle, with only two of the ten being killed in three years of protracted warfare.

In an act of cleverness, desperation, or both, a trio of khait were covered in pitch and set ablaze, and spurred into hurtling towards the bulls in the utosai cavalry. The utosai panicked and fled, trampling many Burri soldiers in the process and utterly destroying their formations, with three of the eight utosai falling onto their sides (weighed down by their towers) and killed by Ephenni soldiers. This allowed for victory in battle, and this victory ultimately turned the tide in favor of the kingdom of Ephennos and its eventual independence. A motif of three khait wreathed in flames is still widely used in this region and as emblematic of Ephenni heritage (who, while broadly assimilated into Wardi nationality, still retain a sense of individual identity, and pride in their city-state being a center of power and birthplace of kings within Imperial Wardin).

The use of utosai in warfare dwindled after the discovery of this fairly effective counter. They were no longer reckoned as nearly invulnerable, and the great cost of transporting and feeding these animals became increasingly inviable. Captive breeding began to dwindle along with their use in warfare. The last utosai were lost, killed, or slowly died off in the Burri wilderness during and after the empire's tumultuous collapse. Some folklore describes hidden populations surviving in some wilder areas- there are several places in Bur where people claim to sometimes see the silhouettes of these great beasts against the horizon, and the rural parts of Ephennos are rumored to have a few of them (perhaps descendants of the surviving war utosai, perhaps their ghosts). Otherwise, they are lost to the world.

[pedgito]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒 ╳ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Three: Showers, Stolen Glimpses & Fireplaces (Week Two)

Chapter Summary: Another week bring new experiences and challenges and an opportunity to open up with each other, learning new things about Joel and a few moments of brief yearning that lead to a blow up of lust-filled proportions.

Chapter Warnings: (11k) no outbreak, joel goes fishin', more dinners together, joel being worried/caring, minor descriptions of a burn injury to reader, lots of touching, joel doubting himself, joel loves to whittle, joel opening up, strip card games and bad choices, drinking, mutual masturbation, the inappropriate use of a dining room table, protected piv, fingering, grinding, ect

There’s an eerie absence to the spot beside you when you awake, feeling the cold sheets and knowing that Joel has probably been up for a while. You feel heavier, the weight of the comforter dragging you down but you realize at some point Joel must have grabbed another blanket and draped it over you, rubbing your fingers against the fuzziness of the material. The door was closed, lights were off—maybe he had snuck to the couch in the middle of the night.

Eventually, you wander out of the bedroom, expecting a similar sight of Joel making his morning coffee or lounging around on the couch in silence, a peek into his normal routine outside of this place. You try to ignore how much your body craves the more aspect of it all. More of Joel, more of this.

But, Joel is nowhere to be found.

You wander toward the kitchen with a mission—breakfast first.

There’s a small note stuck to the coffee pot that was already filled and still hot, plucking the paper between your fingers you read the messy writing to yourself.

Went fishin’. Back in an hour.

      — Joel

You can hear him saying it, snorting softly at the twangy voice in your head.

But, fishing? In the winter?

He had to be insane. 

You can’t complain though, helping yourself to a warm cup of coffee and a quick breakfast, eating in the silence and enjoying the now clear sky as you take a seat at the table, a few sips into your coffee that was quickly growing cold and you feel so lost in the lack of thought, spotting a small woodland critter off in the distance burrowing a hole into a tree, completely oblivious to the large—very large deer that has creeped up on you, as curious of your presence as it should be and it’s already too late that you’re spilling your coffee over your chest at the sight, feeling fully awake now.

“Jesus, dude,” You talk to the animal on the other side of the glass, “seriously?”

It only cocks its head, waiting for a moment until you stand to gather things to clean up your mess and then it is gone within seconds, scampering off into the massive expanse of trees.

You force a breath through your nose and stare down at your coffee stained shirt, a pungent sweetness that felt sticky against your skin now. You resign to the idea that breakfast is over, placing your dishes in the sink and grabbing a towel to clean up the mess you made before traveling toward the shower.

You try to be efficient, void of any lingering thoughts and eager to wash the stickiness away from your body and swiftly finish, there’s a brief second where you poke your head between the gap in the door as you look for any warning signs of Joel and eventually decide that you have enough time to grab clothes from your room—which is a quick venture, knowing wet and cold don’t mix well.

Changing in Joel’s—well, effectively, also your bedroom is much more welcomed. You drop your towel without a care, laying out your clothes carefully over the half-made bed.

But, the comfort of being alone in your vulnerability is short-lived when Joel innocently mistakes the idea that you were still asleep, pushing the door open without warning and allowing himself a full glimpse of your naked body. Plush skin and the soft slope of your breasts as you turn, startled at the sudden intrusion. In any other situation you would have immediately switched to anger, given the intruder a piece of your mind.

You can only laugh, the shell-shocked expression on Joel’s face quickly morphing to a mix of fear and…something else. You don’t want to mistake it for what it isn’t, but his eyes wander for a brief moment before his brain restarts and he quickly apologizes.

“Fuckin’—I’m sorry…sorry,” He turns on his heels and shuts the door, but not before adding another, “Sorry.” You can hear him descending down the hall, pulling on the remainder of your clothes, the image of his eyes boring into the sight of you stuck in the forefront of your mind.

After a moment, giving Joel the time to collect himself, you approach him from where he’s lingering in the kitchen, working away at something you can’t see, his body acting as a shield. 

You approach carefully and peer around his shoulder, noting the pile of fish stowed away in a cooler and immediately make a noise of disgust that pulls Joel’s attention your way.

Not addressing the elephant in the room, you say, “Why the hell are you fishing in the winter?”

Joel clears his throat and closes the lid, still valiantly avoiding the opportunity to turn toward you fully, like there was a level of vulnerability there.

“Trout are a winter fish,” Joel explains, “easier to catch around this time.”

“Oh.” You’re slightly disinterested, disgusted by the idea of raw and dead fish sitting a few feet away from you.

“I fish a lot,” Joel offers as a way to break the awkward silence, “back home.”

You smile half-heartedly, hoping that he might actually attempt to look at you when he speaks, silently wondering if he was going to attempt to avoid any type of eye contact with you the rest of the vacation—so, you quickly defuse the tension.

“Joel…” You test the waters, moving beside him to stretch yourself into the stool, leaning into his view to catch his gaze, “you saw me naked.”

Joel glances your way briefly—alright, better.

“That I did.” Joel offers.

“You apologized, I’m not mad.”

Joel stays quiet, the usual scowl creeping back on his face.

“If we’re being realistic, it was going to happen at some point.” 

Joel doesn’t respond much, outside of an utterance of words you can’t hear and don’t bother to understand, shifting the subject back to the disgusting thing a few feet away from you both.

“So, I’m guessing you didn’t catch those for fun?” You ask curiously.

“Figured I could cook ‘em,” Joel offers, his shoulders relaxing slightly, “—guess I never asked, but you like fish?”

“When it’s cooked, yeah.” You joke lightly. “Do you always cook this much?”

Joel nods, finally chancing a look in your direction, noting the unlikely cheerfulness in your eyes—he knows he shouldn’t feel worried about overstepping a boundary like that despite what he thought, the things that have riddled his mind since the night before, and possibly even before that.

“I might need to convince you to give me a few lessons before we leave here,” You chide lightly, elbowing him, “I mean, if you’re open to that.”

“How about tonight?” Joel asks.

You smile wider, relieved that the incident this morning hadn’t completely broken Joel.

“Deal.”

—

Joel does the favor of descaling and taking a part the fish on his own, not sure you could stomach it if he asked you to help, so he saddles you up with a cutting board and a mix of different vegetables and allows you to head the task on your own, minus a few notes he offers about how to cut safely, quickly—your mind wandering when he slips the knife out of your grip and practically forces himself into your space to show the proper way, fingers curled inwards away from the knife to avoid nicking your fingers. It would’ve been great to catch his demonstration if your eyes hadn’t been locked on the side of his face the entire time and watching the way his jaw tensed when he started cutting.

During the actual process of cooking, Joel takes a more hands on approach. It was a vast difference from earlier, his eagerness to rid himself of your presence after the mishap—he’s hovering for safety, but also out of his own selfishness of wanting to be close to you, this being a perfect excuse.

You're tilting the pan at a dangerous angle that forces Joel to come from behind, leaving his spot where he had been lingering against the opposite counter to see what you could handle.

“You’ll burn yourself if you keep it like that,” Joel explains, arm slipping behind you to adjust the pan, finding the sweet spot, “right—now you spoon the butter over the top and it’ll cook it while the pan sears the other side.”

You glance up at him curiously, to which he quickly settles to the idea that he needs to be your second pair of hands as he guides you through the process, “And this is called?”

“Basting,” Joel explains, “eyes on the pan, darlin’.”

You nod, returning your attention to the pan. But, you can still feel Joel’s eyes as you turn away, and you know. After a few minutes, you feel the boldness to call him out on it, “Joel, eyes on the pan.” You turn again quickly, catching him in the act. Even under the thickness of facial hair you can see the faint blush on his cheeks and the faintness of a smile he tries to hide, “remember?”

Joe shifts you aside gently as he prys the pan from your grip, shunning you to watch now.

“Go sit,” He nods toward the stool on the exterior of the island, “I’ll finish up.”

And he does, working away quietly at the food before he’s sliding a plate your way, offering a fork up by the handle. You smile and take it with a soft look of appreciation.

“So, think you’ll take up cookin’ classes when you get back to Austin?” Joel jokes, digging into his own food as he comes to sit beside you.

“Probably not,” you decide, chewing thoughtfully around a bite, “I can appreciate it, but it doesn’t really…intrigue me, I guess.”

Joel surprises you with a quick reply, “What does?”

You’ve never really thought about it, wondering if that was why you felt so lost in your life. You didn’t feel like there was a driving purpose behind your actions, not that there needed to be, but it felt like you were spinning in circles with no direction to lead off in. You decide on a few things, mostly meaningless but it gives Joel an answer.

“Uh, books. Art…spending vacation with strangers,” A smile creeps on your face when Joel flicks his eyes up at you briefly, the lingering you that never escapes your lips even as it sits on the edge of your mind, “I like trying new things.”

Joel can’t ignore the double entendre it serves, but bites the inside of his cheek to force his thinking straight.

Two fuller stomachs later and the shared duty of cleaning up, because yes, Joel insisted this time, you were both nearly catatonic on the couch—you laid out on the couch with a blanket tucked up to your neck and Joel on the adjoining couch that was only inches from yours, feet resting against the table that was placed in the center.

You think Joel has fallen asleep, eyes lingering on his face as he scrunches his nose up and blows air through his lips, peeking an eye open to catch you in the process.

There’s no shame this time, hiding your quiet laugh behind the blanket.

“How do you feel about movies?” Joel asks curiously, rising from his seat lazily.

“They’re…fine?” You look at him with full confusion, following his figure as he moves around the living area, “Why?”

“Mean—how do you feel about watchin’ a movie?”

“Joel, we kinda need a television for that.”

And as if he was a fucking magician, he pads slowly toward the large area over the fireplace, careful to avoid any incident, shoves the curtain away that you had assumed was hiding another window—guess not.

“What the fuck?” You ask in utter shock, rising slightly from your position on the couch. 

“You’re not very observant, you know?” Joel jokes playfully, in his own way.

“Only when I want to be.” You shrug, offering a mischievous smile that implies something that Joel isn’t touching—not a fuckin’ chance.

He quickly switches bases.

“I think I saw some old movies in the storage room when I got here,” Joel offers, “Stay put.”

As if you had the energy to move.

You slump back down, head resting in the arm outstretched beneath you.

Joel returns a few minutes later with some disappointment, “So—pretty sure these are all a bunch of foreign films,” flipping a couple of the covers back and forth, failing to discern anything of tangible recognition, “but, it’ll have to work.”

“What? You don’t know—” You snatch one of the cases away when he’s close enough, glancing over the cover, “French?”

“Do you?” Joel asks, genuine curiosity in his voice as he fiddles with the television until he can get the movie going, snatching the remote as he ignores his original spot now, shoving your feet aside gently. 

You shrug, “Nope.”

It made sense, given the awkward angle and Joel’s sensitive, aching joints—a painful sign of his dwindling opportunity to live fully, always trailing behind the masses now, not as young and spry as he used to be. 

You shift to your back, tucking a pillow under your head and jumping on the opportunity to outstretch your legs over Joel’s lap, his hands enveloping the expanse of your ankles covered by a pair of silly Christmas socks, the stitching of a reindeer and red puffball sewn into the material—Joel flicks the ball lightly and huffs a quiet laugh.

The voices on screen quickly mesh with the silence, both of you watching quietly, intently as you follow the subtitles on-screen, making back and forth comments about the story, nothing of significance as sleep wanes and bleeds behind your eyelids, eventually taking hold somewhere toward the end of the movie.

Joel calls out your name softly, wondering if you’re playing an innocent joke on him at first, but quickly realizes how exhausted you seemed, oblivious to the world as you slept deeply, head turned toward the couch and away from the flashing screen, expression slightly obscured by the arm slung over your face. 

He half considers staying like this, admiring the sight of you so relaxed, knowing the lingering darkness that you both identified with washed away for a brief moment—comfortable in the presence of a stranger. The idea that you trusted Joel enough with your safety that you could fall asleep beside him, on him, without any worries. But, his bones are already starting to ache and he knows you’ll find a way to make him feel the ultimate wrath if he brought you to bed and opted for the couch for himself. 

He moves carefully, hand sliding up your calf as he places them down gently. He tucks a solid arm under your knees and then your back, feeling the protest in his old knees as he bares your weight and carries you to the bedroom, thankful that you’re sound asleep and unmoving. There’s a moment when his heart stops as you shift when your body meets the mattress, but you never stir awake, shifting comfortably in the bed as Joel places the covers over you, repeating the process of placing a secondary blanket over the first and tucking it around you, something he’s always done for Sarah—not that this is similar, but it’s the natural instinct of taking care of in Joel, the need to protect and provide, it’s always been there, no matter how dormant. 

He’s still careful to keep his distance, a makeshift barrier separating you both, but he sleeps peacefully—just like the night before. 

—

Almost too peacefully, he’ll eventually realize.

You blame the instinct of your body searching for heat, Joel burning life a furnace beside you and in the haze of your sleep, you’ve snuggled up to his chest with your arms held close to yours—though his arm is draped over your side somewhere between the layer of blankets. You blink slowly, feeling the weight of his body pressed against you.

There’s a moment where your heart rate spikes, panicking for a brief moment before you find his face, buried into his pillow beside your head, snoring softly into the fabric. 

He’s unaware, blissfully, sleeping like he hasn’t in years and his walls are down, selfishly craving your own body heat to mix with his own—and normally you hated the idea, feeling suffocated by the temperature and sweat, but in this weather and under the low light of the morning, it’s desirable. 

Selfishly, you take a moment to admire Joel when your eyes finally adjust, staring up at him innocently as you scan his face, noticing the small cuts that have faded into scars and you freeze when he adjusts in his sleep, turning on his back now and relinquishing you from his hold, though his fingers still linger against your forearm and you can’t be bothered to move them. You spot the deeper scar near his temple, something that once was probably a nasty gash.

His beard is patchy in spots as his facial hair has grown out again, the unevenness of his salt and pepper beard slowly fading into his hair. You assume it used to be a perfect, stark black or a dark brown—curlier than it was now, but some of the pattern still remained where it wasn’t flattened out by sleep. He also seems to keep his neck trimmed up, stubble stopping somewhere around his Adam's apple.

You’ve never spent so much time looking—admiring, someone to this extent. 

Maybe you were hoping to capture this version of him to store away in your memories knowing that you would never see him again, that maybe if you memorized him now he would be a part of you forever, even if only in quick flashes of your thoughts. 

“Finally awake?” Joel asks suddenly, voice thick with sleep but his eyes remain closed. You jump slightly and it forces a chuckle from Joel.

“I fell asleep during the movie,” You gather when you finally pull yourself from the trance of admiring Joel, “didn’t I?”

Joel nods silently, raising a hand to run through his messy hair, scratching at his scalp idly.

“Did you carry me to bed?” 

The answer seemed obvious, but the confirmation is something to ease your mind.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Joel apologizes, “you were sleepin’ pretty deep and I didn’t wanna wake you.”

Things grow quiet, you shifting on your side to lay comfortably against the pillow and Joel, still struggling to fully wake, keeps his eyes closed but turns on his side to face you. 

“Any plans today?” You ask curiously, softer in tone than before. 

“Think I might catch up on some sleep of my own, actually.” Joel admits, peeking his eyes open briefly to catch a glimpse of you as he feels you shift slightly, readying yourself to face the day as you slipped out of bed.

It feels weirdly domestic, having not shared a bed with anyone in the past thirteen or so years—and he wishes it felt unsettling, but it brings a comfort that Joel thinks he could find himself becoming addicted to.

“Can you figure out the fireplace?” Joel asks suddenly as you slowly depart for the door, catching your attention as your hand grasps handle.

Your eyebrows knit together in a look of ridiculousness, “Duh, Joel.”

It sounds confident, but admittedly, you were clueless.

—

The highlight of your day wasn’t managing to actually start the fire—you try to memorize what Joel had done, carefully arranging the logs in a delicate stack and adding a fair amount of kindling. 

You could blame Joel for struggling so hard at first, but it was all you—Joel was just very distracting and you had eyes, so it only seemed fair to enjoy the view. 

Tight jeans over taut, tensed thighs as he leans into the small space and adjusts the logs, strong muscled arms that could overpower you in a second—it also shouldn’t be mistake than Joel always makes an effort to basically flaunt his ass off when he leans inside to clean up the leftover ash. 

Regardless, you find the highlight of your day comes later—not the long hours of staring off into the distance without a thought in your mind, other long sprints of reading books or wandering into the kitchen for a snack, but rather as you catch Joel tucked away in the small nook in the dining area, trashcan sat between his legs as he works away at something in his hands, small and delicate. 

You watch him over the couch, arm tucked under your chin as you squint to focus and realize that whatever he’s focused on is wood, in the shape of something you can’t make out.

“Go on and ask,” Joel senses your eyes, “you look like you’re gonna hurt yourself thinkin’ so hard.” He hadn’t even looked your way—but then his eyes were flicking up to catch your guilty gaze.

“What are you doing?” You take the bait and ask.

“Ever heard of whittlin’?” Joel asks, shaving off a couple pieces into the trash, “Makin’ fancy stuff out of wood?”

Normally, Joel wouldn’t outright admit this was his hobby, only allowing the people who were lucky enough to take a peek inside of his home and gather their own assumptions—but with you here, barriers down and attraction high, Joel wants to let you in. 

Little steps, he thinks.

Still, he battles with the idea of letting you get too close.

“S’that what you like doing in your free time?”

Joel shrugs, lips pursed together indifferently.

“Come on,” You tease, “I think it’s cool.”

Joel rotates the piece in his hand, rubbing off the extra shavings and admires it for a moment before taking a short breath and standing, walking your way.

You perk up immediately, awaiting his heavy footsteps as he approaches, offering the trinket up carefully—you rub your fingers over the softened, worn down edges and admire what Joel had been working so diligently on most of the day.

It’s a butterfly—nothing incredibly detailed, more cartoonish with bubble wings but the sentiment is there all the same.

“I like it,” You offer up, “something tells me you’re not a butterfly type guy, though.”

Joel snorts out a gentle laugh and retrieves the wooden butterfly from your hands, not mistaking the way his fingertips glide against your own, a featherlight touch that drives your mind to near insanity.

“It’s uh—“ Joel hesitates briefly, but remembers the small secret he shared with you during a moment of vulnerability, “for my daughter.”

“She likes butterflies?” You surmise, noticing the way Joel cradles it in his hands, rubs the wood gingerly with his thumb like he’s remembering something, your eyes looking up to find the sadness in his expression, subtle but there. 

He quickly wills it away, nodding, “Yeah—got ‘em all over her room.”

You ignore the glaringly obvious matter at hand. Joel was here, his daughter was not, and it clearly had some extent of an affect on him. He’s allowed himself to suffer in silence and you’re starting realize that—luckily, you had an idea.

Not a brilliant one. But, it was something.

“Hey,” You call out, pulling at his sleeve as he starts to retreat back to his seat, nearly unphased by your touch now, he looks down at your hold on his wrist, then at you, “let me cook dinner for you.”

It’s an insane concept—and you read the reaction all over Joel’s face.

“Oh, stop,” You push him gently, “seriously—I can handle basic stuff, just let me try?”

You add an irresistible pout that Joel can’t deny.

He caves with a soft, “Sure.”

—

Spaghetti seemed like a safe option.

You were wrong.

The noodles were a breeze, thankfully. But, gaining ambition in an attempt to make your own sauce from scratch and take on the challenge of adding meatballs was a recipe for chaos. 

First, you manage to slice your finger when you ignore Joel’s previous instruction about tucking your fingertips in—

“Fuck.” You hiss, dropping that knife as it clatters against the cutting board, Joel immediately pushing away from his spot a few feet away to check that you hadn’t somehow managed to stab through your hand entirely.

Thankfully, it’s nothing major. Joel tracks down the bandaids and is careful as he dabs the trickle of blood away with a napkin before helping you wrap the bandage around your pointer finger, ordering you to start on forming up the meatballs as he cleans up the mess and finishes dicing up the vegetables for the sauce.

But, again, the peace is short lived. 

Though, you can’t fully blame yourself on this one.

Placing the formed up meatballs in the pan with a soft sizzle, Joel passes behind you with a soft warning and a hand on your waist to avoiding bumping into you entirely, but instead the feeling of his touch is a surprise and you jolt forward, lower abdomen hitting the scolding hot pan, sending you into a panic as you half yell, half sob at the immediate impact and back away furiously, sending Joel backwards into the counter behind you, your back smacking against his chest.

“Goddamnit!” You shout in frustration, lifting up your shirt slightly with your uninjured hand, spotting the quickly growing red patch of skin. 

Joel quickly switches off the burner to pull his focus on you, reducing the chaos to allow you to calm down as he approaches, grabbing a paper towel that he wets with cold water before hesitantly pressing his fingertips against the edge of your shirt, looking for the permission he needs.

You nod and move your hand, allowing him to raise your shirt higher, “It’s nothin’ major, just gonna sting for about an hour or so probably. Keep this on there and it’ll help with the burning.”

You do as you’re told, letting him guide your hand to replace his own and catching the seriousness in his eyes.

“Go, sit.” He orders, nodding in the direction of the dining table, “I’ll finish up.”

You sit with the frown of a scolded child, holding your injured stomach and watching Joel cook, feeling even more defeated as he keeps checking on you, that doting look that could melt your heart if you weren’t so annoyed at your inability to handle something so simple.

Eventually, Joel wraps up cooking but doesn’t immediately plate anything, walking towards you leisurely as he motions with his fingers for you to stand and removes the damp paper towel, tossing it aside as he touches the back of his fingers against the burn—you can’t help but since slightly, but the sting is much more dull. 

“Still hurt pretty bad?” Joel asks, hand unmoving against your skin, both of your eyes locked on the contact, sinking and rising with the shallow breath you take.

“I’ll survive.”

You look up at Joel sheepishly, spotting him chewing away at the inside of his cheek in thought before he’s backing away from you suddenly, searching through cabinets for something, silent as he looks. 

When he finally finds what he’s looking for he cradles it in his hands with a tight grip, approaching and forcing your shirt a few inches higher, just above your navel.

“Honey?” You look at him, puzzled.

Joel nods, dolloping a small amount on his fingertips and using his free hand to hold you steady by your waist, your hands occupied with the hem of your shirt, fingertips pressing against the burn as he spreads the thick, syrupy liquid. 

“Let me go searchin’ for that first aid kit,” Joel tells you, “think I saw it under the bathroom sink.”

“Joel,” You plead, “it’s fine—it’s just a burn.���

But, he hears none of it. 

He’s gone and back within seconds, laying the box out like he was performing an impromptu surgery, grabbing a small patch of gauze and tape to keep the area from being disturbed.

He makes sure the bandage is secure before he moves your shirt back down before again, pointing at the seat with a look that provides no room for argument. 

Defeated, you sit.

—

“So, honey?” You ask curiously, “What's the trick with that?”

“Uh—has healin’ properties,” Joel says slowly, brow scrunched together in thought, “the uh—“

“You don’t know.” You quickly interject, a mischievous smile on your face.

“No,” Joel admits, “just somethin’ my mom used when I was young, always helped. I don’t know the science behind it.”

Joel is quiet over dinner, the lighthearted mood shifting to something you can’t really put your finger on, but you feel a need to clear the air of any doubt, knowing that Joel probably felt some sort of responsibility in your subsequent injury.

“Joel, it’s not your fault,” You laugh softly, “I’m clumsy, you touched me and I jumped, it’s fine.”

“Seems you do a lot of that ‘round me,” Joel says, dejected, “I’m sorry.”

Fuck it—Joel needed the reassurance and you were going to give it to him.

You quickly stab a fork into the meatball he’s going for, pulling his attention up abruptly.

“Let me clear this up,” You tell him, waiting for his eyes to meet yours, “I’m jumpy because you make me nervous, alright?”

Joel doesn’t respond, sensing that you had more to say, but also because he didn’t know what to say. 

“And not bad nervous, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Joel looks down at the fork impaling his food and makes a quick comment, “You wanna give that up or are you tryin’ to keep it hostage?” You smirk slightly and shake the meatball off your fork.

Then, Joel surprises you.

“So…good nervous then?” And you nod, Joel still feigns confusion, “What’s that about?”

“Oh, so we’re done pouting now?” It’s a double-edge sword, but you could Joel in the depths of the flirtation you were surrounding him with and he was waxing his way in your direction carefully—you had to ease him into it. “Come on, Joel—I’m sure you’ve got enough experience to know…”

Maybe it was your inability to admit you were attracted to Joel in the off chance those feelings weren’t returned, but you want Joel to figure things out for himself.

“Huh,” Joel huffs out a breath, smiling creeping on his face, “guess all that starin’ wasn’t just cause you thought I looked funny?”

Absolutely not—never in a million fucking years.

“Good eye,” You congratulate him playfully, “but, I don’t think I’m the only guilty one, ya’ know?”

Which, fine—it was only the two of you here and things were bound to happen, eyes were meant to wander, but the energy was palpable, the newfound intrigue and ability to touch without fear.

Joel had tended to your wound like he went and stabbed you himself, trying to make amends for his own actions—really, you were just nervous.

Good nervousness that ended up with a burn across your stomach, but still—it was something.

Joel does seem slightly guilty for his actions, but there is little to be said, nothing to be excused. You didn’t mind and Joel was quickly coming to that conclusion himself. 

“Own it, Joel,” You tease, “if I had a problem with it you would’ve known by now.”

Joel looks away with guilt, fork scraping against an empty plate as he sets the silverware down.

You bite your bottom lip to muffle whatever remark is bound to slip out, looking at a dejected Joel with eyes that bleed with sadness, his own mind having an internal battle with itself.

He doesn’t realize you’re cleaning up without him until a few minutes later, lost in thought with nothing but the battling forces in his head telling him—No. Don’t entertain this. Nothing good can come of it. 

But, then he turns and you’re smiling at him. It’s inviting, warm, and Joel wants to stifle it with his own mouth—a thought that startles him from his stupor and gets him moving, offering to help now that he’s caught up.

And despite every bad reason his own mind is giving him for interacting with you, allowing the soft touches and passing glances, he leans into it.

Joel allows himself a moment of selfishness, all rational thinking slipping through the cracks.

There’s a brief moment of wrestling over the dishes as Joel eventually wins out, prying the pan from your wet grip and flicking soap on you in the process which, frankly, is childish even for Joel. Dipping your hand into the hot water quickly, running your open palm against his face and into his hair, matting down his loose curls with the water and earning a look you’ve yet to witness.

It wasn’t disappointment or anger, nothing that leaned toward any idea that Joel might be upset—instead, he almost expects you to do more. Like he’s challenging it. Playful. That’s what it was. Not a smile that made you feel the comfort of Joel, but an intrigue that struck your gut with the subtle smirk on his face.

“Do it again,” Joel warns, catching your hand hovering above the sink of water, pan held tight in his grip and in any other situation you would expect it to be used as a weapon, “I dare you.”

Instead, he drops it. Water splashing about carelessly as you dip both hands in this time, cupping them until you had a fair amount of water to splash at Joel, but is ultimately futile with Joel’s quick thinking, hands now completely free. 

He’s got your wrists in a solid hold before you can think, water backfiring as it drenches your shirt, but even then—the look on Joel’s face? Priceless. 

Your chest rises and falls furiously, struggling feebly against his hold.

There he is. 

This is the Joel you’ve wanted to see. That you’ve always expected was there, but deeply hidden away.

And in any other situation, this would end in a kiss. Sealing the deal. Breaking the tension. But, it doesn’t happen.

Instead, Joel holds you there—the most contact he’s offered since you met a week and a half ago, hoping that you’ll pull away. That the intensity of his stare might scare you off.

The laugh that bubbles from your chest surprises him, soft but full of life.

“What?” You tease, “Can’t handle getting a little wet?”

“Think I should be askin’ you the same thing?”

And, for some reason, you don’t think he’s talking about the water.

Luckily, you find it in you to finally wiggle from his grip before you’re being shooed away by him, ultimately. You stow away some of the random items on the counter in the overhead cabinets, an idea brewing in your head.

“Hey,” You call out as a forewarning, catching Joel angle his head toward you slightly, “how about another movie night?”

“Darlin’, I don’t think there’s much of a selection back there,” Joel offers, insides turning to goo at the warmth in his voice, “much as I’d enjoy that.”

Fine. Scratch that.

You abandon the kitchen with a devious idea in your head, determined to find something.

“Where you goin’?” Joel calls out after you, brow furrowed in confusion as he looks after you, still appearing ridiculously haphazard from his hair mussed and shirt half damp from your attack.

“Don’t worry about it.” You reassure him, disappearing down the hall with a sweet smile that spelled nothing but trouble for Joel.

-

There were few choices, deciding that the owners of this place clearly didn’t enjoy anything other than foreign films and an odd amount of non-fiction books stored away in the back room of the cabin, but you eventually manage to find a pack of cards, deciding that even if futile, you could make something out of it.

Now, you have no idea how to play poker. Not even the faintest of a clue. 

You could’ve established some idea of it in college, but the idea never appealed to you. 

Joel is already on the couch when you return, sleeves pushed up his forearms still from where he would’ve had them submerged into water otherwise. He must’ve fixed his hair at some point, finding that while it was still mostly a mess, it wasn’t as lopsided and noticeable.

You climb over the side of the couch and plop down onto the cushion beside him, holding up the pack of cards in your grip like it was a prize, mischief behind your eyes.

“Cards?” Joel sounds a little lackluster, “You wanna play poker?”

“Uh, no—not exactly,” You explain, pulling at his hand until he splayed his palm out face up, slapping the box into it, “how about Go Fish? ‘Least that’s more my speed.”

“I can teach you ‘f you want,” Joel offers, but is quickly shot down by a shake of your head, “—Okay…”

“I’ll go pour us some drinks,” You explain, “and you can move the table around so we both have enough room to sit on each side.”

“What are you plannin’?” Joel eyes you suspiciously, noticing the grin that hasn’t faded from your face, only growing wider when he asks.

“Just trust me, okay?”

It was an absurd thing to ask of someone you barely knew, but for whatever reason, Joel agrees.

Joel follows through with your orders as you fetch a couple beers for you both to enjoy, another few stowed away to the side as he settles for the side with the couch, making himself comfortable against the cushion as you kneel, adjusting the fluffy rug against your bare knees—meanwhile, Joel’s eyes are tracking every moment, curiously suspicious.

“Alright, out with it,” Joel finally finds the courage to force the confession out of you, “what’s goin’ on in the head of yours?”

You allow him to linger in the state of unknowing for a moment before sliding his beer across the table in trade of the cards, dealing them out appropriately and placing the leftover in the middle.

“So—I never played much poker in college, all I can really understand is Go Fish, but,” Joel feels like he might explode if you don’t reach the point and he’s sure that’s what you’re aiming for, so he keeps his cool, “I figure Strip Poker is a thing, so why not try it with this?”

“I don’t think—” 

Joel, again, is self-sabotaging, against his own better judgement.

“Joel, it’s fine.” You assure him, “We’re both consenting adults and it’s harmless.”

 Harmless. Yeah.

Joel fears that might be a statement that goes down in history as the biggest lie he’s ever heard.

“Unless, you know, you’re scared.”

He knew it was coming and saw that teasing look on your face as you sipped gingerly at the lip of the bottle, a small chug of beer that refreshed your senses. It was working, Joel was considering it.

Joel bites his tongue, taking a long swig of his own beer before biting first.

“Give me your jacks.” He orders, spreading his cards out in his grip.

Strike one.

“Mmm,” You hesitate, eyes flicking up deviously, “go fish, Joel.”

“Bullshit.” Joel fires back, much to your surprise. It pulls a laugh from your chest.

“Hey, I’m playing fair.” You respond calmly, “Those are the rules.”

It’s a hit to Joel’s ego, losing first. He works diligent fingers around his watch, flicking the clasp open before laying it gently on the table.

“Alright,” You take a breath, scanning over your cards, “Uh..got any 7s?”

Joel eyes you for a brief moment, wondering if you were cheating. He knows it’s impossible, that it’s just dumb luck. But, still, he can’t help but be a little bitter about it.

He hands over the one card he has, your confidence growing at his dissatisfaction.

And what Joel assumed would be an easy win on his behalf, quickly takes a turn.

Jacks? Nope, go fishin’, Joel.

He removes his socks, begrudgingly.

But, of course—Joel had the spades you asked for.

Fine. Queens, then?

He can see the smirk on your face before you answer and he doesn’t even bother to hear you say the words, retching his shirt over his head and tossing it over the back of the couch.

Suddenly, you feel you’ve made a minor mistake—your triumph quickly fading as you’re forced to stare at Joel’s bare chest, making matters worse as he leans back against the couch, barefoot propped against the ledge of the table as he sips from his beer, staring angrily at his cards, dwindling with every turn.

Though, Joel had an obvious advantage here.

You were wearing fewer layers. A couple of losses and you’d be left very, very vulnerable and nearly naked in front of him.

Not that it was the worst idea, but this was all meant to be a playful tease to open up Joel to the idea of allowing himself to be more comfortable with you. To ease his mind and show him there was nothing to worry about. You take a big chug of your beer and ask for his 6s.

Joel has an immediate expression of elated victoriousness.

“Go fishin’.” Joel tells you.

Fair is fair. You pull your shirt over your head like ripping off a bandage, baring your breasts held tightly in the bra you wore and while it wasn’t the first time Joel’s seen this much skin on you, it feels different under these terms.

If Joel was bothered, he didn’t show it.

“Shit,” You laugh at that thick piece of gauze still taped to your stomach, “I forgot all about that.”

“You can probably take it off now,” Joel suggests, “if it ain’t stingin’ anymore.”

You feel there may be an ulterior motive here, squinting at him suspiciously.

You place your cards face down on the table and point a firm finger into the set.

“No peeking.” You order. “I’m serious.”

…Joel can’t help himself.

He finds himself sneaking a glance the moment your back is turned away, resigning it to memory as he busies himself with the act of drinking his beer as you turn back to check on him. 

And Joel doesn’t lay in immediately, throws you off with his first guess that ends with him shedding his pants, down to nothing but his underwear—he doesn’t think you’ll take it further, but there were often times when he couldn’t read you at all.

You try to hide your expression behind your cards, the carnal longing of a stranger—all man and nothing else, the strange pulse of heat between your thighs startling you to a near cardiac arrest—and no, the pair doesn't look much different from what you caught glimpse of the other night, but the context is entirely different.

You had fucked yourself. Hard.

If there was anything you and Joel knew about each other in this short time was that you were both terribly stubborn and this wasn’t going to end well. But, you were already too deep.

You sigh slightly, biting at your bottom lip in concentration.

“Okay, got any 3s?” You ask curiously, feeling the impending denial before it comes.

Joel shakes his head, taking another sip from his beer

That smug motherfucker.

Fine. Two could play at that game.

You press your cards into the table and stand, shimming your shorts down your hips in a way that is completely unnecessary, but very warranted. Thumbs slipping into the waistband of your shorts and slowly sliding over the curve of your ass as you turn, using any surface nearby for leverage as you slip them the rest of the way off, giving Joel another full view of your ass as you lean down to pick them up, throwing them in his direction this time as they hit him square in the chest.

But, the kicker is that Joel seems unbothered now. Calmly waiting for his moment of attack.

He asks for your Kings with a smirk and you know.

“No, fuck that—” You retort, “You fucking looked, didn’t you?”

Joel looks taken aback, “‘Course not.”

He was a good liar, but not that great.

You’re halfway over the table now, palms pressed flat as you invade his space and Joel, like a magnet, leans towards you, pressing his cards into the table with a pressure that isn’t required, but is very noticeable.

A few inches forward and Joel could close the space, snatch you over the table and pull you into his lap—and you’re imagining it, the glint in your eyes as Joel searches for your doubt, seeing it vividly. You knew he was lying, but you were laying in wait.

Who jumps first?

“Joel,” You speak softly, “did you look?”

And if Joel had any sense, he’d run now.

Instead, he doubles down in the heat of the moment and that’s what snaps the cord.

Joel grins, an enticing sight that even you weren’t immune to.

“No, I—”

You knock over an empty beer bottle in the process, stepping over the table and falling into Joel’s lap, following his movements as he grabs at your thighs instinctively, leaving you straddling him on the couch, nothing to mistake the growing bulge in Joel’s groin as you find yourself fully seated against him, the idea of going from hardly any point of contact to having the most intimate part of your bodies pressed against each other, bar a flimsy piece of clothing.

“You looked.” You tell him decisively. 

Joel forces out a shaky breath as you press closer, towering over him at this angle in a way that forces him to look up at you. He nods, simple, concise.

“I said no peeking.”

Joel licks his lips, a decisive move that has your eyes tracking the motion.

“Couldn’t help myself, darlin’.”

You nod slowly, like you might understand. But, Joel knows it’s all for show.

“Well, we should do somethin’ about that.” You suggest, a few ideas on the horizon.

Luckily, Joel doesn’t give you the time to list them off, a large hand rising to placate your need for touch as he cradles the back of your head, pressing his lips against yours in a delicate touch that feels like it has been years in the making.

It’s a little dramatic, but you can’t stress how good it feels to finally be touched after so long. Given you both have suffered through a dry spell that has stretched far too thin, the desperation is expected. You don’t even have it in you to feel embarrassed about how much you needed Joel’s touch right now.

He satisfies your desire with a rougher push of his lips, igniting something inside of you that finally grabs your attention and allows you to reciprocate fully, guiding his free hand down to mold against the shape of your back, fingers hovering so temptingly above your ass, his fingertips press into the skin, forcing one testing glide of your clothed cunt over his cock, adding to the levity of the situation, the realization that this was actually happening.

You sigh, drinking in the overload of lust-filled touches and noises, the heedful intentions behind every one of Joel’s touches, squeezing you in places that have you squeaking out in surprise, opening up the opportunity for him to slip his tongue past your lips and explore…and explore, he does. 

You’ve never been kissed so surely, expertise beyond your own that manages to pull noises from you that you weren’t sure existed, dull fingertips pressing into the back of your skull and keeping you there, stilling you until you’re pliant to him, allowing him to angle your head as he pleases, apple the pressure he’s seeking, and you feel breathless.

It doesn’t help that your hands feel empty, unsure where they should go—but you know. You press your hands against his chest, feeling the stubble of a well-kept man built from solid muscle and soft skin, all while being consumed by his own desire, soft groans mingling with the curiousness of your hands, the muscles of his abdomen clenching as you inch closer to the thick hem of his briefs and Joel very swiftly gets with the program and switches gears, the hand squeezing at the edge of your back, so dangerously close to your ass by now, slips and slides into the front of your underwear with a quickness that has you gasping out how easily your body welcomes his touch, slick sticking to his fingers as he slides them testingly through your folds.

Not a word shared, but your thoughts are running wild. Both of you fear that if you do speak, the moment will be lost. You moan softly, his cock growing harder at the idea that he’s barely touched you and you’re already wet enough that he can slip a finger inside of you with little resistance, virtually non-existent.

Foreheads touching firmly, eyes closed, you delve into the delicate dance of whatever this was, too fearful to put a label on it either, fingers running along the underside of Joel’s cock and grabbing him firmly, his own groan slipping past his lips for the first time that night, always so assured of himself and priding himself of not showing how he feels.

But, not here, not with you.

You find that he likes things fast, quick, a little on the rougher side, squeezing him until he’s practically hissing in pleasure—though, the same can’t be said for yourself, who enjoys the slow rub of his middle finger as it grazes your clit, keeping up the pressure until he can feel you shaking under his grip.

And you can feel the word slip out before you process it in your mind, knowing the mistake you’ve made after the thought.

“Joel.” It’s a simple thing, full of meaning.

Joel, more. Joel, please. Joel, thank you.

But, instead, it breaks the peace and brings you both back to the surface and has Joel pushing himself away from you rather insistently, quickly situating his underwear into their proper place, shirt falling somewhere over his lap as he heaves a heavy breath, avoiding you entirely.

Was it really that horrible of an idea? You move away, more than just a little dejected.

Really, what should you have expected?

“Joel,” It sounds different now, eerie, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Joel is more than thrown when he hears the apology fall from your lips, almost offended. He knows this is on him, playing into the game, knowing he could’ve shut things down long ago—but here he was, dragging you along like there was a possibility of something. Anything.

“I think I’ll take the couch tonight,” Joel offers after a long, drawn out silence, “alright?”

No, not alright. 

“Did I—did I do something wrong?” You ask hesitantly, “Because if I did, I’m sor–”

Again, apologizing. It strikes a cord in Joel that he doesn’t like, the quick switch to anger and dissociation when things got too personal for him, with anyone. People took the blame for him when he knew he was the problem. 

It was his fault. Him. Repeating it in his head like a mantra.

Your arm crosses your body hesitantly, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

“Um…okay,” You decide eventually, rising to gather your clothes that were discarded haphazardly, pulling them back on in the silence, beers and cards forgotten on the table, “just…don’t think you have to sleep on the couch or anything.”

Joel doesn’t answer, lost in his own thoughts.

And you weren’t mad, not even upset. Maybe…disappointed? You weren’t expecting anything from Joel, but given his track record, pulling away from you during a moment of vulnerability made sense. 

You could give him space, let him sleep it off, then work things out in the morning.

Things would be fine—they had to be.

-

Neither of you get the sleep you need.

Joel knew that sleeping on the couch wouldn’t help, because his mind was still racing, despite his desire to sleep. He’s thought, over-thought, racked his brain for every possible reason to deny you aside from his own selfish problems. Like he had the gall to have morals after the things he’s done, trying to treat this as a lesson for himself.

You toss and turn most of the night, strangely missing his warmth beside you—hoping you’ll eventually succumb to your exhaustion and wake up on the other side, a new morning to think things through, apologize for your actions and try to move on.

It was stupid to think Joel could have any attraction toward you, you think. That despite the looks, the touching, that he could never see you, let alone have you, in that way. 

A few hours pass, well into the darkness of night, and you eventually find yourself wandering to the kitchen—mouth dry and needing something to quench that thirst.

Though, part of you is curious. You just want to check on him, wondering if hadn’t up and disappeared in the middle of the night.

You try to be quiet, careful footsteps as you traverse the flooring until you hit the kitchen, prying open a cabinet quietly to find a glass and you hear a subtle shifting behind you.

So, he wasn’t asleep. He’s probably been up just as long as you.

“Sorry,” You find yourself apologizing again, “I was thirsty.”

Joel doesn’t respond, rather turns on his side and faces the fireplaces, the flame low and crackling in the silence. He didn’t hear you approach, only notices you when you’re rounding the couch and taking a seat on the other couch several feet away, relaxing in the warmth but also yearning to be near Joel, to make sure he was okay.

Your bare feet touch the plush rug, eyes drawn down as you take a sip of your water, welcoming the warmth into your body.

The bed had been entirely too cold without Joel.

“You can sleep in the bed, Joel.” You assure him, not chancing a glance his way in fear that he wouldn’t look back, you couldn’t handle the vehement rejection, not right now. “Things don’t have to be weird.”

Joel doesn’t answer, still trapped in his own mind.

Stop it. Stop lookin’ at her like that. She’s half your age, full life ahead of her—who are you to taint something so perfect? 

Joel fears the attachment, despite there being no pretenses or obligations—and not that you would become attached, but he. 

He’s a victim to his vices and he knows the second he allows himself a taste of the sweet sin that you carry—he’s done for.

You chew at your bottom lip thoughtfully, finger trailing at the glass now half-empty before you decide that this isn’t worth it—the shame or the embarrassment. Back to bed it was.

And Joel is stuck here, staring at that damn fireplace like he can will it out, growing much stronger in intensity the longer he stares.

It’s gotta be a sign—a warning, even.

That desire, that need that settled in his gut wouldn’t go away and just being in your presence he feels it grow again.

Just this once. Just for this trip.

He could leave you behind, pluck you from his mind and pretend he didn’t divulge into this fantasy when he goes home.

But here, now—he wants you.

And the fireplace cracks loudly, snapping like a twig as Joel rises to his feet suddenly, impending footsteps approaching you from behind.

You spin on your heels, ass and empty cup hitting the surface of the dining table as Joel nearly pounces on you, lifting you off your feet just enough that you land against the surface.

“What? Joel—“

“Stop sayin’ my name like that.” He forces out, face pressed against your own at every point of contact possible, noses slotting together carefully, eyelids barely touching as you blink, his mouth pressed against your lips but just barely, his right hand cradling your face as he tilts your head to the side, inhaling your scent like a drug.

“You used my shower again.” Joel deduces, hair barely damp after air-drying but he can smell his body wash, a distinct difference from your own.

The desperation in his voice would drive you insane if it weren’t for his sudden change in behavior, feeling like mental whiplash as his lips press against the junction in your shoulder where your neck begins.

“Joel, what’s going on?” You feel forced to ask, “A few hours ago you couldn’t even stand touching me.”

“I don’t understand it,” Joel admits, “why I need this so bad.”

Why he needs you.

“Keep tellin’ myself I don’t need this,” He admits gruffly, pointedly squeezing at your thighs as he pulls you in close, knees resting against his hips as he waits for you to feel him, the hard line of his cock pressed against your shorts and if it weren’t for the couple layers of clothing you might’ve given in right then, no preamble or argument, “but you don’t quit.”

And he doesn’t think he can quit you. 

You pull away slowly, hand fisting into his gently until you physically force him to look at you, a softness in his eyes that was gradually being edged out by his own desires. 

He looks wrecked. Pleading. Desperate.

“Take what you want, Joel.” 

There’s no other way to say it, offering yourself over with no argument.

“That’s a big offer, darlin’.” Joel points out, not ignoring the way your hips seek him out further, the slow drag of your cunt against his cock, head nudging at your entrance through your shorts. “Don’t just go around sayin’ things you don’t mean when you don’t know what you’re agreeing to.”

“Look at it this way,” You rub your thumb against Joel’s temple, feeling him lean into your touch, “we’ll never see each other after this—and frankly, I fucking need this.”

Joel doesn’t expect an open confession, but it eases his own fears, knowing he needed this too. A moment away from reality, with you. Just sex, nothing more.

“No limits, no feelings,” You offer, “We meet each other halfway, alright?”

Joel could manage that. He could.

Joel sneaks a finger past your shorts and underwear until he can feel your cunt bare, just as slick and needy as earlier. You gasp, hand shooting to use his wrist as leverage.

He sure didn’t like to waste time. 

“Kiss me.” You plead and Joel nods insistently, taking your breath away in one fell swoop as he licks into your mouth, feeling you come alive as you grip his hair at the root, tighter, moaning loudly into the messy exchange of lips and tongue.

Somewhere between then and now, Joel removes your shorts, fingers dancing under the waistband of your panties at your hips and dragging his cock against the fabric until they’re soaked, a feeble piece of clothing that stood no chance against your arousal and if it weren’t for the barrier and Joel’s own worries, he would’ve pushed into you like nothing and watch you fall apart in the process.

Instead, you both watch for a moment as the head of his cock catches against the fabric and nearly slips inside of you—and despite your own wants, this was far too risky. You could gawk for longer, appreciate how nice of a cock Joel had and boost his ego into the fucking stratosphere or—

“I—I have condoms,” You force out, voice only wavering slightly, “I can go grab one.”

Joel feels like it could’ve stifled the moment, the nervousness in your tone, your worrisome eyes. And his quizzical expression sends you into a fit of laughter that quickly dissipates any thoughts he’s having.

“To be clear, I always carry some with me,” You admit, “I don’t appreciate the excuse of—oh well, I don’t have one—plus, you can never be to safe, right?”

Joel grins at your nervous ramble and softly swats your thigh, sending you off—watching your giddiness transfer into the way you quickly run away, leaving Joel a moment to breathe and focus.

And as soon as he fears he’s been in his head too long, you’re back, pressing the foil package into his hand and returning to your seat on the edge of the table, fingers digging into his shirt to raise it slightly as he rips at the package with his teeth, swiftly rolling the condom down his shaft but not before you memorize every inch of what is soon to be buried inside of you, his own thumb trailing the long vein the trails the underside of it, the pink head begging to have your lips around it—which…is a thought.

A good one, but not appropriate right now.

Joel is far too fidgety to withstand an hour of you worshiping his dick in every way physically possible. 

You settle for this, cock sheathed under the condom as he finally pulls at your underwear, soft cotton sticking to the dampness of your folds and Joel snickers lightly, tucking them somewhere behind you as he taps your thighs open, urging you to spread.

And normally, he would start slowly—lick his way through your pussy to figure out what makes you tick, what makes you feel like you just might ascend into another realm—but you…are also far too impatient.

“Just do it,” You assure him, beyond the point of giving a shit, “not now—later.”

Later.

Joel bites his tongue to stifle the way he groans at the idea, using his right hand to guide himself to your entrance, a tenacious drag through your slick before he’s pushing inside slowly, allowing you to adjust to the full girth of him.

It was a lot, truthfully. But, the desire to have him is nothing compare to what a few moments of stinging may feel like, the pain quickly dulling out the further he presses in, his own eyes focused on his pursuit while a free hand travels to your face, tucked under your chin like he wants you in position and waiting, thumb rubbing tenderly at the small area under your lip until he’s fully seated, your groans mingling together in relief.

His hooded eyes peek from his lowered gaze and he smiles at the sight of your sated expression, bearing your weight on your open palms spread out behind you, shirt askew and the peaks of your nipples poking through the fabric—it is a sight that Joel would never will himself to forget.

“You with me?” He asks, sounding much more held together than you, a minor amount of stress to his voice as he keeps himself still, allowing you to warm his cock with your wet heat, his free hand kneading at the side of your thigh gently, keeping you snug against him.

As if you had any reason to run.

It was too late for that now. You weren’t letting go. 

You nod, a soft laugh falling from your lips as Joel takes that as an understanding, switching his mind grip under your chin to fully grasp your face, thumb on one side and the other four fingers on the other, holding you tight is his grip as he pulls almost fully out, the very tip of his head grazing the edge of slipping out before pistoning his hips forward sharply, sending the table skidding backwards loudly until it hits an adjoining wall, the start of a rhythm bang! bang! bang! as Joel feeds your starving body with the pleasure you’ve been begging for.

He doesn’t hold back and you love that.

There’s no judgment here. Just two people desperately running from their own loneliness. Fulfilling some of that by seeking out intimacy with commitment, and you can feel it with the way Joel looks at you now, unabashed and raw. Mouth hung open slightly with every growing intensity to his thrust, thighs sticky with sweat as they cling to his hips, your hand slipping out from under you but instead of allowing yourself to free-fall, you cling to him instead, using him as your anchor. 

“Just had to play that—stupid fuckin’ game,” He pauses breifly in his speech, slightly out of breath, “didn’t you?”

His grip on your face tightens minutely, but you feel it.

You want more. More pressure, more power. 

You want—need him to assert it.

You feel your eyes rolling back at the angle he’s hitting, the hand on your thigh angling your legs up at a nearly impossible angle, folded in the small space within Joel’s arms, and there’s an outpouring of adoration you feel toward him despite his passive touching, giving you exactly what you asked for.

“No more apologizing,” Joel reprimands, pulling your face mere centimeters from his own, bottom lip brushing against the tip of your nose, “not unless you mean it.”

“I do—IdoIdoIdo,” You mutter, whining softly when he strikes something deep inside of you, cunt squeezing down on him out of pure instinct, pulling him impossibly deeper, “fuck, it’s—it’s right there.”

And you feel like it may actually happen—coming from the actions of something other than your own hands or tiny electric toys that have become your best friends over the years and Joel can see you slipping, a softness to his voice as he draws your attention.

“Got you,” He murmurs, “—‘m right here.”

Joel answers your silent prayers as his hand drops your thigh to find your clit, middle finger working diligently to bring you teetering over the edge, “Keep on squeezin’ me like that, sweetheart. Pussy feels fuckin’ amazing—“

It isn’t the vulgarness of his words that startle you, rather how forceful your orgasm hits you with no warning, an intensity you haven’t been privy to experience like this, used to feeling empty as your cunt clenched around nothing but your fingers, instead it’s Joel—more specifically Joel’s cock that is hammering away inside of you still, mind-numbingly.

Joel is enough of a gentleman to help ease you over the high until you’re nearly delirious before he’s pulling out, condom snapping as he rips it away, grasping his dick in his hands with a rushed, “Whe—where? Where can I?”

Oh. This was different.

The asking, at least. You’ve never been asked.

You clasp your own hand over his, guiding him a little further under the burn near your navel, “Here, right here.” You pant, watching his eyes squeeze shut despite how hard he tries to keep focus as he cums in thick spurts over your cunt, careful to keep the mess contained beyond how quickly he was losing himself, reminding him so vividly of his age and how, as much as liked to fuck like he was still in his twenties, that wasn’t the case.

You sigh, an exasperated squeak as you finally fall against the table, another deafening bang that has you both giggling like idiots for a brief moment.

Joel pats your thigh gently, a displeased groan as he tucks himself back into his sleep pants and traverses through the kitchen, finding something to clean you up with.

He returns with a wet, warm towel and wipes up the mess despite your lack of acknowledgement, which has Joel chuckling under his breath, a delicate hand grasping yours as the other slides behind your back to lift you forward before discarding the rest of his mess, tossing the condom in a nearby trash can, finally pulling you back into focus when his throat clears, his hands offering up your discarded clothes.

Your nose scrunches up funnily—and Joel can’t help but find it adorable, “Think these are kinda ruined, least not without a wash first.”

Joel agrees, half-heartedly as he nods and matches your expression with a nose scrunch of his own. Your feet find a nearby chair, perching them there so they’re not dangling, practicing a little bit of distance between you and Joel, given the fact that you had no problem jumping his bones against at any given moment. 

“Look—we don’t need to have a deep talk about this,” You assure him, “two weeks from now we won’t exist to each other, but…right now, I just want to enjoy…whatever this is.”

The pauses are palpable, oozing with a silent tension neither of you acknowledge.

It shouldn’t string—the idea of leaving here and going back to your normal lives. But, it does. 

“Wasn’t gonna try it.” Joel agrees, quickly deflecting.

You nod in agreement, standing on unsteady feet, wobbling as you gain your footing and—Woah, that is different. 

Your muscles feel like they’re not your own, coming quickly to the realization that you’ve never been so thouroughly fucked like that before, laughing at your own naivety. 

Joel responded with a soft chiding grin, “What's funny?”

“I think you fucked my equilibrium out of me.”

It was…definitely something.

“Don’t boost my ego like that, darlin.” Joel warns, “You’ll come to regret it.”

Excuse you—the hell does that mean?

You’re too tired to ask, unfortunately. And Joel seems to share the exhaustion as he yawns, still holding you steady.

You had a feeling there was no need for a barrier tonight and that much is clear as Joel doesn’t hesitate to tuck you under his chin, no fussing or arguing, allowing you the full degree of a proper cuddle from him.

It feels fleeting, it is—knowing he would eventually slip from your grip, but you were bound to savor every moment while you could.

[alien-til-i-stage]

There’s something interesting in the way of how each of the cast are very similar, yet they have castly different ways to cope with what is happening to them. Each of them has their own way to deal with their trauma and because of this and how they cope, it leads them to vastly different endings and life styles.

More down below

- Starting with Mizi, I believe she coped by living in denial. This might sound strange, considering Mizi lived with owners who loved her. Her owners sheltered her because they cared, leading her to eventually join Anakt Garden out of desire to sing. It’s implied that Mizi did not know what would happen in Alien Stage, which is interesting.

We know everyone else knew. Till, Ivan, and Sua all knew and were prepared to fight for their lives. It’s even said that the kids in Anakt Garden were raised to believe dying in Alien Stage was an honor and that they shouldn’t fear death. Its strange that Mizi didn’t know about this, so I believe that Mizi, either consciously or subconsciously made herself forget about it.

She is still a human, a pet for aliens. Vivinos and Qmeng have confirmed that while Mizi is still the one with the closest relationship to her owners, it will never be anything like a daughter relationship, that she is still a pet to them. I doubt that she was never shown any abuse to any cruelities of their society. She must’ve seen it at some point. Especially when she meets Sua, Sua is right behind her as the two of them are with their owners. All it would take would Mizi turning around to see the abuse Sua is suffering, but she doesn’t.

While I do believe that Mizi wouldn’t have been able to tell whats wrong with Sua at her age, I think this was purposefully done to show that Mizi doesn’t look back around Sua. She’s focused on the beauty in front of her, she doesn’t pay attention to anything else. Perhaps this is to represent how Mizi actually ignores or doesn’t pay attention to anything bad, focusing purely on happiness. She puts the bad away from her mind and plays, having fun.

It’s only until Sua dies, that it gets too much for her, she can no longer subconsciously ignore what is happening and is suddenly being forced to notice everything that is happening. Almost like it’s finally being shoved in her face.

-Sua copes by dissociating herself, seperately her body and mind. We can see this as Sua lies doll like in her glass enclosure. She doesn’t move, her eyes are dead and still, she is just there. I believe this represents how she no longer lives in the moment but rather is somewhere else mentally. She’s there physically, treated as a doll in front of the aliens, like a decoration, but she makes no reactions.

By dissociating herself, she has become the perfect doll. It’s easy for her to live life as a doll if she isn’t even mentally there at all. This fits with everything we’ve seen of her, how she constantly wears a deadpan face and doesn’t move unless she is in Mizi’s presence. Mizi makes her want to live in the moment. She legitimately has fun with Mizi, and it’s likely that when she isn’t around her, she goes right back to being doll like. This would give her another reason to constantly be around Mizi, not wanting to go back to the way she was.

If Mizi were to die, she would permanently go back to dissociating constantly, and she doesn’t want that. She wants to live in the moment, she wants to be with Mizi forever, both mentally and physically. But it is impossible for her if Mizi dies, so she sacrifices herself to keep herself from living without her, falling into her sweet dreams with Mizi forever.

-Till copes a much more violent way. Instead he has outbursts and attacks any aliens or humans making him distressed. We see this commonly in the way he rebels. He doesn’t allow others to walk over him. This can be seen when Ivan steps on Till’s flowers and he attacks Ivan. We see a pattern of when Till gets upset, he attacks and gets violent towards the person who got him upset. We see Ivan using this to his advantage multiple times in order to get a reaction out of him.

We can also see this in the scene above where Till attacks the first alien he can, grabbing something to beat them with. It’s likely that Till wasn’t even thinking, but rather just wanted to hurt something. We know that Till had no chance of winning, but that was most likely something he didn’t care or think about at all. This shows that this action was entirely emotional, a decision made rashly. We also know that when Till is hurt badly, he thinks about Mizi to make him feel better, another coping mechanism for him. However by round 6, he has lost both of his coping mechanisms. He lost Mizi, now only able to think about her being gone, and he is reminded that he is powerless, and he is unable to attack back. He has no way to cope, making him much more suicidal in round 6, because he can’t stand or bear his life currently.

-Ivan makes his own life and trauma bearable by constant masking. We can see this happen often with him. He puts on his mask as a way to survive but to cope, forcing himself to be seperated from what is happening to him. Similar to Sua, his mask keeps him away from his trauma. While he still hurts and he is still very traumatized, the effects of his trauma is lessened because his mask doesn’t break. He pretends his trauma doesn’t exist, he pretends he is the perfect person, and no one would be able to guess otherwise.

However the mask is also a trauma of its own. If he were to ever take off his mask, like in round 6 when he did so in front of all the aliens, he would be able to truly express himself. He does so, even at the cost of Till’s dignity and made Till confused and scared. It’s also said that when Ivan takes off his mask around Till, he becomes childish and immature, showing how the mask has also made him mentally younger. How because he doesn’t cope properly or face life the same way a typical untraumatized person would, he is mentally younger, being described a man child in fact.

-Luka projects onto others to let out his feelings of helplessness and powerlessness. It was stated by Vivinos and Qmeng in a Q and A that Luka mentally abuses the other person on the stage, in this case it would be Mizi, because the stage is the one place he can be in control. He feels helpless and powerless outside of the stage, his entire life dictated by his owner as he is unable to chose his own path. He’s been raised from a very young age controlled by everyone around him, so once he gets the chance to have some form of control or power, he immediately jumps on the chance to get it.

He hurts the other contestant, uncaring of how they feel, because it makes him feel in power. He projects onto the other party his pain and his own feelings as a way to cope. Because of this, this could be another reason why Luka is alone. He chooses to hurt others around him because it makes him feel better, so naturally no one would want to be there for him. He has lost everyone because all he does is hurt them, seen with him and Hyuna. How Hyuna is deeply traumatized by Luka and now she avoids him and refuses to think about him.

-Hyuna, similar to Mizi, copes by running away from her traumas, using sustenaces like alcohol or keeping hersef busy to not think. While I did say above Mizi subconsciously forgets what is traumatizing until it gets too much, Hyuna tries desperately to make herself forget. We see her constantly drinking and partying, and when she isn’t, she is on dangerous missions. It’s most likely that she does this to run away from her own mind, that if she pauses and stops for one second, she will become overburdened and overwhelmed but her trauma.

We see her pause or freeze when she sees an image of Luka, forcing her to remember everything that happened. We see her panic on stage, trying so hard to make her voice louder and sing more to forget whats going on in her mind. This makes her trauma a weakness for her, as when she freezes, they are attacked by guards. Because of how long she has been running, the worse the effect of her trauma is to her.

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 8

Vander gets your hopes up, and Silco shares some unnerving news with you...

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Fix-It || SFW | WC: 3.6k

beta reader (and OC cameo!): @silcoitus <333

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

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You wake gradually, sleep still lingering in your bones as you lift your head off the armrest. The crick in your neck and the stiffness in your knees are uncomfortable. Sluggishly, you unfold yourself from the cramped sitting position you slept in, unsticking yourself from the furniture. A thick, patched blanket slides off your shoulders as you stand, and you see that Silco is covered with another, similar blanket.

It’s hard not to stare at him while you stretch. He looks so calm and peaceful, still deeply asleep. You caught a glimpse of him with his guard down last night, but right now he looks completely defenseless. His chest rises and falls with the slow rhythm of ocean waves on a calm night. Light from behind the door leaks into the room, illuminating a dust mote in the air uncurling lazily against his cheek.

For a second, you wish that the couch was wide enough for you to join him, his chest slotted against your back and your fingers entwined… Sharing the warmth of your bodies... Savoring his breath against your neck… Feeling his heartbeat against your spine… Waking him with a soft kiss—

You blush and tiptoe quickly over to your boots, grabbing them before you make your way out of the room as quietly as you can. When you exit, you concentrate on closing the door silently, gripping the handle tight as you shut the door. Then you put on and lace up your shoes. 

Slow, heavy footfalls approach you, and you look down the hallway to see Vander rubbing his eyes and yawning.

 “Good morning,” you say politely to him.

 “Morning,” he says warmly, voice still gravelly from sleep. “Silco still asleep?”

“Yeah,” you say. Curiosity gets the better of you as you ask, “Does he always drink that much?”

Vander shakes his head. “Only when he’s having a good time. Do you want to stay for breakfast?”

“No, I have to get going,” you say regretfully.

“You sure about that? We won’t mind the company.”

“Yeah, thanks though. I appreciate it.”

“I’ll walk you out then,” Vander says. He sweeps his hand up towards the doorway that leads into the pub, gesturing for you to walk ahead of him. You curtsey jokingly and he chuckles.

The Last Drop feels like an alien landscape with all the lights off, the dim outlines of the stacked furniture sitting stoically like rocks in a desert. At least it’s much easier to navigate when all the chairs are put up on the tables. You pat the jukebox affectionately when you pass by it.

When you arrive at the door, you turn to Vander with a smile. “Thanks for last night. I had fun!”

“We were glad to have you,” he says sincerely.

Before you can reach out for the handle, Vander pulls a ring of keys out of his pocket.

“Feel free to come back anytime,” Vander says as he examines the keys. He thumbs through them one by one, squinting at them. “The Children are meeting here tonight. You’re welcome to join us, if you like.”

“Oh…” you say hesitantly.

“I’m sure Silco would love to see you.”

“I’ll… think about it,” you say slowly.

“You know that spark in his eye? The one he gets whenever he talks about the Undercity?” he asks. “He looks at you the same way.”

“Really…?” you ask, trying to sound casual. 

You know that look Vander is talking about: the fire of Silco’s passion blazes bright whenever he speaks of Zaun’s independence. His determination to seize that future is almost ruthless. Just the mere anticipation of fulfilling that dream gives him so much hope and joy.

It seems unbelievable that he would want you just as badly. But the bartender has been Silco’s best friend for over a decade. If anyone knows what Silco wants, it would be Vander.

“Ah, here we are,” Vander says as he picks out a key. He unlocks the door and pushes it open for you.

You don’t move, still lost in thought. Vander calls out your name questioningly.

“Sorry,” you say quickly. You ponder briefly before you ask, “Are you guys—the Children—doing anything before the meeting?”

The bartender shakes his head, then he grins knowingly at you. “Silco should be free for the day.”

You blush and quickly step out into the Lanes, still avoiding Vander’s eyes as you ask, “Could you tell him to meet me at my place if he wants to hang out today?”

“Sure,” he promises.

“Thanks,” you tell him gratefully. You wave goodbye at him as you hurry away, still unable to outrun the unpleasant thoughts that creep up on you.

So, it’s official… Silco wants you to join the Children. You didn’t tell him last night, but you already know what answer you’re going to give him. 

And it’s not the one he wants to hear. 

Knowing Silco, he’ll ask you why. You could tell him that you already have a full-time job, but that’s not the only reason.

For the sake of your friendship, you’ll have to be honest with him.

He deserves to know the whole story. To learn about secrets that you’ve kept from him.  

Even if they paint you in a bad light.

It’s ironic that you have to tell him these things soon, just as you’ve finally acknowledged your feelings for him. You want to tell him the truth so he might better understand you, but that truth might drive him away altogether.  

The anxiety caused by your stalker was already bad enough, but this new worry is imminent, dragging you into rising waters of uncertainty. When exactly should you tell him? Is there a chance he already knows? What if he doesn’t care?

Will he still want you to join the Children?

What if he doesn’t want to be friends anymore? 

What if he’ll hate you?

All these questions and more buzz unpleasantly in your stomach, a cramping pain that has you clutching your side as you run home. Somehow, your body acts on autopilot as you reach your apartment, shower, make breakfast, and get ready for the day. Your throat strains every time you swallow your food, a stone lodged in your throat.

You realize belatedly that you hadn’t set a time for Silco to meet you. Just as you’re about to succumb to unhappy thoughts and climb into your bed, someone knocks at your door. The sound makes you jump, and you almost trip over yourself in your haste to look through the peephole. You step back and take a few deep breaths to compose yourself. Then, as casually as possible, you open the door.

Silco stands there, tall and handsome, shielding his face from the morning sun. It’s a cloudy day and forecasted to rain later tonight, but his cheerful grin would outshine all the stars in the sky even on a cloudless summer day. 

Your bad mood dissipates instantly at seeing him on your threshold, and you almost laugh aloud with relief.

“Good morning,” you say happily. You notice your jacket slung over his arm. Something about seeing him hold it for you makes your heart glow warm. “How are you holding up?”

“Good morning,” he says affectionately. “I’m well, thank you for asking. How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks. I thought you’d be hungover,” you chuckle, stepping back to let him in.

“Only for a little while. I wanted to see you,” he says. His casual remark sends a thrill rocketing through your heart, and you turn away from him to hide your blushing face. He sighs with frustration; you don’t need to look at him to know that he’s pinching between his eyebrows. “I must apologize for my behavior last night. It wasn’t my intention to burden you once again—”

“Silco, it’s okay,” you say automatically. But then you look at him with a smirk. “I won’t say no if you want to make it up to me, though.”

“There is nothing I could do that would adequately demonstrate the depths of my gratitude,” he says, holding your jacket out to you. “But I would do anything you ask of me.” 

“I’m not going to lie, I was hoping you’d say that,” you say eagerly, taking your jacket from him and putting it on. “How do you feel about doing some community service?”

________________________________________

 You hadn’t found an opportunity until today to tell Silco that you still regularly volunteer at Janna’s Embrace, the orphanage where you used to live. You could have told him the first time he slept over at your place, but you kept it to yourself. Bringing attention to your charity work felt too much like showing off that you were helping the Undercity, too; you’re not a mercenary, but you’re just as involved in community outreach as he is. Now that he’s agreed to help you, it seems more acceptable to share that part of you with him. 

Your flexible schedule as a freelancer allows you to drop in whenever you want. You’ve offered to work as a part-time employee there, but the staff include people who have supported and nurtured your love for painting ever since you were a child. They insist that you should focus on your one true calling as an artist. They still appreciate your help, though, and never turn you or your donations away.

Today’s errands involve a food run for the Embrace. The two of you set off for Topside with an old, well-used grocery wagon in tow, its wheels clattering on the cobblestone streets. Silco insists on taking it from you, but you refuse him for now, telling him he can pull it later. Your shopping list is long enough that you’ll want his help carrying everything.

It’s early afternoon by the time you arrive at the farmer’s market. The wide, open courtyard in Midtown Piltover is filled with neat rows of vendors and stalls. You’re both drawn in by the sheer bustle and life of the area, already filled with a milling crowd of shoppers. Lively merchants call out their wares, showing off imported goods from far-off lands. Artisans and hobbyists proudly display handmade crafts, haggling spiritedly with customers. A street performer with tiny pyrotechnics dazzles a small herd of children who shriek with awe and delight. Upbeat, joyful guitar music fills the air, played by a beautiful, pink-haired woman who smiles as brilliantly as a firework when you drop several coins into her open instrument case.

This area is one of the only places worth visiting in Topside, and it’s one of your favorites. You stop yourself from speedwalking directly to your regular booths. Instead, you take your time to explore each row with Silco, pointing out any stands that might pique his interest. 

A seller of hunting knives catches his eye. Silco examines the weapons keenly, picking them up one at a time and testing their sharpness against his fingertip. You tell him that he should take as much time as he wants to browse. It feels like a victory when he finds a knife of polished Noxian steel and buys it after a round of enthusiastic haggling, tucking it into his belt.

The grocery wagon gradually fills with eggs, meats, fruits, vegetables, rice, breads, snacks, spices, sauces, and cooking oils. All too soon, your shopping list is completely crossed out, the wagon overflowing with your bounty. 

You wish you could spend more time hanging with Silco, but duty calls.

“Was there anything else you wanted to look at?” you ask. “I’m ready to go if you are.” 

“Do you have a moment?” he asks. His face is solemn, an intense shine in his eyes. “I’d like to speak more about last night.” 

“…sure,” you say, feeling uneasy. You swallow nervously and tighten your grip on the wagon’s handle. Bracing yourself for Silco’s disappointment isn’t easy, but it’s better to get it over with sooner rather than later. 

The two of you make your way to an empty bench near a fountain, sitting down in sync. Silco leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and slowly wringing his hands.

“I must apologize again for last night,” he says, agitated. “I would like for you to join the Children, but I didn’t mean for you to find out in such a disagreeable manner.”

 “It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I don’t know why you want me to join, though.”

 He frowns at that, then sits up. He looks straight at you with a steady gaze. Even though his eyes are gentle, you can’t help but feel self-conscious. Somehow, his soft stare makes you feel even more vulnerable than his piercing scrutiny. It takes a monumental effort to not look away.

“You are kind, resourceful, generous, and brave,” he says seriously. His lip twitches upward in a hint of a smile when you blush. “The Children of Zaun would benefit greatly if you joined our ranks, and I believe you would as well.”

“Do all your sales pitches start with a compliment?” you ask with a nervous chuckle. You look away from him to rearrange a bag of onions in the wagon. When you imagine Silco trying to persuade Sevika to join the Children by complimenting her, you almost giggle out loud at the thought of her giving him an indifferent stare. 

Silco’s lips settle into a thin line, all humor fading away. You cringe at yourself inwardly, wondering if you said something wrong.

“I don’t wish to alarm you,” he starts grimly. “But I have reason to believe that someone has been trying to follow you.”

“Really?” you ask, surprised at the change of topic.

He nods. “Perhaps it’s just a coincidence. I’ve noticed them approaching the mural on multiple occasions, only when you’re there as well. I’m afraid my attempts to track them down have been unsuccessful.”

“You did that for me?” you ask, touched by his concern.

His eyes dart to the ground, hands balling into fists on his knees. A muscle in his cheek twitches as he admits, “They have proven themselves elusive.”

“Silco, it’s okay,” you reassure him. “If you can’t catch them, there’s no way in hell I could. Besides, it’s probably nothing.”

He turns to look at you with furrowed eyebrows, a suspicious glare in his eyes. “Were you aware of them already?”

“Yeah,” you admit. Despite the stress that the stalker has caused you recently, you feel a sudden embarrassment that they’ve caught Silco’s attention, and that your inaction could be perceived as laziness. You’re hopeful that the problem will go away on its own. 

Before you can tell him that, he jumps to his feet, swerving around to face you.

“How long have you known?!” he asks angrily. His fury turns the rasp in his voice harsh and grating. 

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, leaning away from him in alarm. “It’s not like anything happened—”

“They know where you work! What if they know where you live?”

“They don’t—”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I know how to lose a stalker, Silco,” you say defensively. “I can take care of myself.”

“Is this why you came to The Last Drop?” he demands.

“I—I was just in the neighborhood—”

He calls out your name, cutting you off. His hard glare dares you to lie to him again, as sharp as the brand new knife in his belt.

“…yeah, okay, I wasn’t sure if they were following me last night,” you mutter.

He raises his hackles, asking you through gritted teeth, “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“I… I didn’t want to bother you,” you say quietly, biting your lip. Reluctant to involve Silco in your problems, you feel a hot, twisting shame at not handling this on your own. Compounded by a sudden, horrifying realization that you might have made a mistake, you gasp. “I—I might have fucked up—I hope I didn’t lead them to The Last Drop.”

“Never mind that,” he says impatiently.

“Silco—”

“We just need to scare them,” he says firmly. “They won’t dare set foot in the underground again.”

The thought of the stalker targeting your friend scares you more than them targeting you. You clench your trembling hands into fists, holding them up to your chest as your heart hammers. “But—but what if they go after you?”

“I’m perfectly capable of handling them on my own,” he says confidently. “From my observations, this is a single individual we’re dealing with.”

You grind a fist into your knee, frustrated at your own carelessness. “I’m sorry, I should have told you—”

He says your name again, more gently this time. His irritation at you melts away, replaced by remorse as he says, “I’m the one who must apologize. I would have told you sooner, but I wanted to confirm my suspicions first. I hadn’t realized that my negligence was endangering you.”

“No way!” you say, shocked. “It’s not your fault, Silco. I don’t want you to ever think that.”

Silco carefully pushes the wagon away with his foot, making room for him to kneel in front of you. He gently takes one of your hands in both of his. His eyes are earnest and bright as he looks up at you.

“You once told me to value my own well-being more highly. I am asking you to do the same,” he says softly. “There’s no need for you to suffer in silence. Let me help you.”

“Don’t you have better things to do?” you ask jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

“If I can’t save my friends, then who am I to save the whole of the underground?” he says, squeezing your hand tightly.

Your hand is warm in the cocoon of Silco’s light grip, your fingertips grazing a callus on his palm. The largest one is at the base of his thumb, developed over years of hard living as a miner and fighter. You press against it lightly, and his hand twitches in response. 

Your own hands must feel squishy and weak compared to his. As glad as you are to have dodged a career of intense physical labor, you would feel less pathetic right now if you were stronger. 

It was never your intention to ask Silco for his help. A small part of you whispers that you don’t deserve it. That he already has his hands full with saving the Undercity, so he has more important things to worry about. If he wants to see a free and independent Nation of Zaun in his lifetime, then he doesn’t have time to spare on your stupid little problems.

“You don’t have to do this—” you say quietly.

“There is nothing else I’d rather do,” Silco insists. “Let me stand guard while you work. I can accompany you whenever you visit the Undercity as well.”

“I don’t want you to waste your time—”

“No time spent with you is wasted. Ever,” he says sternly. “Please. If not for you, then for my own peace of mind.”

You can’t resist him when he puts it that way. The discomfort in your heart is briefly overtaken by a flutter of hope, a baby bird tentatively learning to take flight.

“…Alright,” you finally concede.

Silco smiles, jumping to his feet excitedly. “If you join the Children, they will rally to your side as well.”

You frown. “If it’s just one person, wouldn’t that be overkill?”

“I cannot allow this stranger to approach you if they mean you harm,” Silco says, turning serious. “We will stop at nothing to find them.”

“Maybe we can take care of this ourselves,” you say hastily. “If we can’t, then I’ll ask the Children myself.”

Silco arches an eyebrow at you. “Are you sure? We have many resources at our disposal—”

“Yeah, you’re already doing too much for me, Silco. Which I appreciate!” you say gratefully. “If it’s nothing, then we don’t have to get anyone else involved.”

He strokes his chin thoughtfully, then nods. “Have you given any more thought to joining our ranks?”

“I’m still thinking about it,” you lie. “I’ll let you know after I finish the mural.”

“I must admit, it would be better if you joined the Children sooner rather than later. But I understand that you can’t abandon your work,” he says. “Regardless, our doors will always be open to you. All you have to do is say the word.”

You stop yourself from sighing out loud with relief. Maybe it’s wrong to postpone the conversation you need to have with him, but you want to start putting away the perishables of your haul. When you mention this out loud, Silco grabs the wagon’s handle and asks you to lead the way. 

As you cross the bridge, you describe the list of chores you intend to complete at the orphanage. You remind him that he’s free to leave whenever he likes. When he insists on working alongside you for as long as you need him, the baby bird in your heart flutters again, this time with affection.

You marvel inwardly, wondering what on earth you’ve done to deserve such a good friend like Silco. You both chat and laugh openly during your walk, and you never get tired of his smiles: the triumphant ones when he talks about the future, the mischievous ones when he cracks a joke, and even the sarcastic ones when he talks about Piltover’s undeserved status.

These are memories you’ll savor later. When Silco still counts you among his friends and enjoys your company. He’s walking by your side freely, instead of turning away from you in disgust.

You can’t help but wonder if this is the last time you’ll see him. If he’ll withdraw his offer to help.

Because you’ve resolved to tell him everything tonight.

Even if that means losing him. 

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

If you liked this fic, please reblog and/or leave a comment! My inbox is also open to requests for both sketches and drabbles, or just to chat. Feel free to say hi :3c

Chapter 9

[bonne-chanson]

Hello! I’d like to make a request! It would be a fem!reader x Fukuzawa. I’d love something that shows the kind and gentle side of his character when he's with someone important to him. A light smut is fine; I really enjoy it when there's romance. Thank you!

a/n: wahhh thanks for being the first to request! i assume you’re also the other account im my inbox who requested for the same thing? :0 haven’t done this in a really long time (i’m talking years lol) so please bear with me if it’s still a little bland :< hopefully i can continue practicing my writing skills as time goes on! ACKKK i feel like this turned into a mild character study too so pls forgive me if this work isn’t the best :’( this is actually my first time writing for fukuzawa so i hope you still enjoy! ♡

softer steel

✑ character/s: yukichi fukuzawa x fem! reader

✑ short desc: beneath a dense exterior lies a vulnerability he can share only with you.

✑ content includes: fluff ; established relationship ; slight character study(?) ; mild nsfw (making out, MINORS DNI!) ; suggestive themes towards the end (not explicit, implied only) ; no plot, it’s really just reader and fukuzawa being mushy-mushy w/ one another

✑ word count: 1.1k words

Yukichi Fukuzawa is the living embodiment of the very same katana he keeps in the saya attached to his waist.

Much the same way a swordsmith crafts the blade so carefully to aid its master in combat, his upbringing had also molded him to be the warrior he is today — trained finely in one of the best government-funded martial arts schools, honed to perfect both his body on the field and his mind with battle strategies, and eventually layered enough to harden himself against whatever the world decides to throw against him and the armed detective agency that he leads. It is for those reasons that, of course, similar to the tamahagane used to create his sharp blade, he had quite the steely demeanor and personality, a direct result of the circumstances he had grown with.

But too sharp a blade and too pure a hardened steel makes for a brittle sword — one that, over time, when used with the kind of violence it was made for, will quickly shatter. Hence, the katana is also forged specifically to have a softer, much more vulnerable material enveloped by the denser steel, giving it the added strength it needs and rendering it malleable enough to cut through anything with the right precision.

For all that density his façade carries, just like his katana, Fukuzawa still holds onto that softness and vulnerability inside just for you.

You, who he holds so close and dear to himself, because you were the only person who could help him overcome anything by your presence alone; you, who balances out the harder shell he has grown over time with your softer presence; you, whom he looks after like you are the most precious gem he could ever hold in his hands; and you, who is always there to greet him when he comes home, allowing him to let go of everything even just for a while within the comfort of the walls of your home, all because your warmth and your love put his oh-so sharpened mind at ease.

Coming home to you today is no different. Per usual, he slides his haori off his shoulders and folds it neatly, placing it on a nearby table for now, releasing a long-held sigh from his lips, and eventually making his way into the safety of your arms.

That softness beneath his steely demeanor only ever surfaces around you, his beloved, and it’s something you never cease to cherish.

“Yukichi,” you call, his head resting on your chest as you thread your fingers through his hair. The gesture feels so light and loving, a stark contrast to the heavier blows he performs with his blade in battles.

He says nothing, simply responding to your call by pulling his head away (much to his disappointment) to face you, cupping your cheek with a gentle hand, calloused by the many hours of practice he spent in his younger years. For the briefest moment, he soaks in the feeling of your breath mingling with his own before his lips gingerly place themselves on yours and the sound of your breathless sigh is swallowed by him.

Wandering fingers make their way into his hair again, playing with his silvery strands, every so often giving them the kind of tugs you know he likes. No matter how many times you pull away to take in another breath, he comes forward again and again to capture your lips, and his hands eventually roam to hold your hips, drawing you closer to himself. It was almost as if he wanted the heat of the moment to melt you both into each other, unknowing of when breaths are taken and where one action ends and another begins until your breaths are in sync and you both mold together into one.

Those same rough, calloused hands of his that hold you so tenderly guide you along, eventually laying you down on his futon, and when he lifts his head to catch a glimpse of you all flushed and breathless, he makes a silent promise to himself to hold you in his heart forever, to remain vulnerable inside just for you.

A hint of a smile graces your lips as you hold his cheek and he leans into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand.

“You’re a lot more affectionate today than usual,” you muse aloud to your lover, but your voice remains a hushed whisper simply to keep the atmosphere of the scene between you two as serene as it is.

He smiles down at you, holding the hand that cradles his face. “Is it so wrong of me to indulge in my love for you like this?”

To many others, Fukuzawa was a man who held himself with the kind of grace and authority that every fellow leader could acknowledge without hesitation. But right now, on his futon, with you beneath him, the quiet ambience of the rustling leaves, the mellow glow of Yokohama’s sunset through the open window and the breeze caressing your faces, he was simply Yukichi, your Yukichi, the man whose heart was as soft as the steel enveloped by the dense blade of his katana.

“Stay with me like this,” you murmur, eyes hooded as his lips near yours again, “just for a little longer…”

He takes his time with you, making sure your comfort comes first before his own. Feathery light touches combined with peppered kisses along your jaw and the skin of your neck, down to your collarbones with his lips tracing your chest dizzies you, and when his hands slowly pull at the obi wrapped around your waist to loosen your yukata, you are a goner. The gentle caresses of his fingers along every little scar and mark on your body and his honeyed words meant for your ears only make you fall deeper in love, and you can’t help it — your heart is as soft as he is for you, so time becomes nothing more than numbers on a clock when you both allow yourselves to indulge in one another for the evening, to let him take care of you in ways only he knows how.

And as you both melt together in each other’s arms, embraced by the warmth of the setting sunrays, he is reminded yet again of just how valuable it is for him, for any man for that matter, to hold onto his vulnerability under his harsh exterior, for a katana to be forged with milder steel inside its tougher shell.

Yukichi Fukuzawa’s past, the circumstances he had faced then, and the rest of the world may have hardened his demeanor, but the softness that lays inside that steely façade still exists and will continue to exist only for you.

a/n: given the large influence of the samurai on bsd fukuzawa’s character and background in martial arts (considering his real-life counterpart was born into a family of samurai), i thought it would have been fitting to try and incorporate that in this work. :} that being said, i’ve listed down some of the terminology that may be worth explaining / i’ve done a little research for. please correct me if i am wrong!

✑ katana: traditional curved blade. this is the weapon fukuzawa chooses to fight in combat and was a sword used by the samurai. if you want to watch the process of making one (as referenced in this work to explore fukuzawa’s character), click here!

✑ saya: the sheath used to hold the katana.

✑ tamahagane: the steel used to forge a katana.

✑ haori: traditional jacket that fukuzawa wears.

✑ obi: a sash worn with the kimono (in this case, a yukata).

✑ yukata: a lighter, more casual version of the kimono, which fukuzawa also wears.

[thenationofzaun]

A Dark Vi in Season 2:

I'm hoping for a darker take on Vi in season 2. Imagine if Vi takes up a bitter attitude towards Jinx that's similar to Ekko's before the bridge fight - "Powder's gone, all that's left is Jinx." I say before the bridge fight because I think Ekko had a moment of growth there in his view of Jinx, where he was forced to confront the truth that Powder and Jinx are the same person, no matter how much he tries to divorce them to make it easier to kill Jinx.

Back to Vi, it's possible that in response to Jinx's rebuff of her, she bitterly disowns Jinx right back. Not immediately, no. I think Vi in the immediate aftermath of the finale would still be self-blaming, devastated, and confused. But after a while, when Jinx continues to demonstrate her disinterest in reconciling with Vi and her zeal in warring with Piltover of her own accord, even in the absence of Silco, Vi's view of her sister would have to change. I could see anger and resentment creeping in after a while. Vi would have to accept that her sister willingly rebuffed her and chose Silco, willingly ditched Vander's side. Vi might give in to that petty, indignant anger of a child upset with her sibling - "she left me, she is not my sister anymore!"

I can imagine her taking up an attitude like "I don't have a sister. My sister died a long time ago." Kind of like Ekko including Powder on his "wall of the dead" mural. It'd be growth for Vi, just not a positive one. She'd finally accept that there's no "bringing the old Powder back", but she'd pivot all the way to the other end of the spectrum with "you know what, fuck Jinx, the Powder I loved is dead and gone." This would be doubly sad and ironic considering her words in episode 9 - "Are we still sisters?" "Nothing is ever going to change that."

Imagine her telling Ekko "you were right" as she finally agrees with what he said to her in episode 7, but Ekko just has mixed feelings because he himself has since realized he was wrong in saying that. The Powder they loved is not dead, has never been dead. She's still here. She just made choices they disagreed with. She chose to join their enemy. And that's a much harder truth to live with than simply insisting she died and calling it a day.

Vi's view of her sister perfectly parallels her view of the undercity. In season 1 it was horror to find that the old version, the one under Vander, has changed so much in the time she was locked up. It was a refusal to accept this change, an insistence that the old home/sister can still be brought back, all she had to do was remove Silco's rule/influence and she'd restore her home/sister to the way it used to be.

They could continue this parallel in season 2. Vi could give in to anger and disown them both. Begin grieving Vander's undercity and Powder in tandem, while scorning Silco's Zaun and Jinx. She could fall out with Ekko due to this. Where he still wants to live in and help heal the undercity, Vi wants to leave it and turn against it. Vi could blame the undercity for allowing Silco's takeover and "not lifting a finger to stop him". She could take on a harsh view of her people, the Lanes in particular - "They betrayed Vander, they allowed the rise of Chembarons, did nothing to avenge my family in my absence. They're weak." She'd butt heads with Ekko over this, straining their relationship.

It would push her further into the arms of Caitlyn (and Piltover). She'd bury her pain in rage against all of "Silco's ilk". She'd want to wipe out all his loyalists and the Chembarons, since she couldn't fulfill her vengeance on him specifically. She'd think the best way to accomplish this goal is through tougher enforcement and punitive measures from the enforcers/Council. Basically the same thing she did in episode 8 but on steroids, eventually leading to her joining the enforcers. Imagine Ekko's reaction. He has spent the last 7-8 years feeling betrayed by Jinx for joining his enemy. Now Vi returns to him from the dead, and even she betrays him by joining another of his enemies? While the sisters are so preoccupied with feeling abandoned by each other, Ekko feels abandoned by them both. The game has Ekko admonishing Vi as a traitor so I'm excited to see it in the show.

But of course, Vi's elaborate talk of "Powder is dead and only Jinx remains" would just be her way of coping and rationalizing her sister's betrayal. Just like Ekko, it'd be her way of convincing herself she can fight and kill Jinx. But when it comes down to it, she wouldn't actually want Jinx dead. The conflict this would cause with Caitlyn and Piltover... imagine Vi is fighting Jinx and at the last moment, she can't bring herself to deliver the final blow. Jinx gets away and now Vi is disgraced by topsiders, who question her loyalty to them. "Of course we shouldn't have trusted a trencher on the force." Now she is rejected by both cities. Hated by Piltover for bigoted reasons and for her relation to Jinx, hated by Zaunites for being a class traitor.

She'd be a complete outcast, and from here, there could be a lot of character growth. Sometimes you need to hit rock bottom before finding your way back up. Maybe she could dig into Vander's past and find out about his falling out with Silco. Uncovering the past of her beloved mentor whom she idolized, she'd begin to see him for the flawed man he actually was. Realize that he'd have never wanted her to give in to rage. Never wanted her to help bring Piltover's wrath down on Zaun. She'd begin to understand not just Vander, but Silco too, and Jinx's love for him. Not be happy with it of course, just understanding. That's what I'm hoping for in the end - not a reconciliation between the sisters, just a bittersweet understanding. Accepting of each others' choices even if they disagree with them. Anyway, I'm interested to see what they do with Vi's character in Season 2, since I found her to be underwritten in Season 1.

TLDR: A darker, angrier take on Vi in Season 2 could lead to some very interesting places.

[shinobushaori]

I’m literally obsessed w/your work it’s keeping me sane while I try not to think about what’s going to happen to Shinobu in the next movie 💔

I’d like to request just some fluff of Shinobu x a fem reader and they haven’t seen each other for a while. Shinobu is busy being a Hashira and taking care of patients, and reader is busy being slayer taking on mission after mission. Finally, the reader makes it home to the butterfly mansion when it’s already well past dusk, and finds Shinobu slaving away doing late night research. At first Shinobu thinks the reader is some random assistant, but then she quickly realizes it’s the reader, and so Shinobu immediately halts all of her research to dote on the reader. Eventually it leads to the reader gently/lovingly scolding Shinobu for being up late again, which eventually leads to the reader and Shinobu going to bed, and as they catch up, cuddle, and exchange kisses both reader and Shinobu fall asleep. Just very fluffy stuff :D Maybe it even rains too, or it’s cold so Shinobu and the reader have to snuggle up under the covers. All in all just comfort and fluff!

A/N: You're in luck! I actually wrote something really similar but tweaked it a bit to more fit your request. And I'm so happy that my work distracts you as much as it distracts me! Especially from what's going to happen next year LMAO yeah I did find out while writing this tho that I suck at dialogues so that's.. something... hope you enjoy!

LIMITED TIME

- kochou shinobu x f! reader

warning: none

word count: 1.6K

"Finally!"

You squished the demon's remaining ashes under your feet, successfully extinguishing whatever profanities it managed to scream at you. Not bothering to listen to any of them. You're just glad that after a week of overstaying yourself in this village, you've finally gotten rid of the reason you were here in the first place.

It wasn't a strong opponent by any chance but it sure was tricky and cunning. Using ways that even you, who usually just go for the head, think of your actions more deeply. After all, one mistake could lead to a terrifying massacre.

But you waved all of that away. You managed to slay the demon and save people in the process, that's important.

After a while of receiving the countless grateful thank yous, you passed everything else to the Kakushis that had recently arrived with a nod.

"Ame."

Your crow perches on your shoulder and you smile, patting her ruffled feathers as she caws loudly. "Rest! Rest! Rest!"

You chuckle, "Alright, I got it."

Your thoughts wander as you walk towards the direction your crow was guiding you. Warmth settled on your stomach when you realized the familiar pavement and purposely stationed planted flowers as well as the occasional flutter and waves of butterflies.

'Ah.' You fully relax your body, seemingly melting from the warmth on your face alone. You cannot deny that you've longed so much from your family and most of all, from your lover.

It was an unexpected development, you could admit. From close co-workers to friends and then something more. Shinobu captivated you in more ways imaginable and possible. So, imagine the loneliness that clouded you every day that you were away. Being a Hashira as well as her, duties were indeed more important. But sometimes you wish you could be selfish for once and stay one more day with her, free of any worries outside normal, mundane concerns.

Alas, duty calls and you had to be away for two whole months! Countless missions left and right, your recent being the longest you've ever had. It was exhausting and mentally taxing waking up and only having comfort from the frequently exchanged letters sent by the girls and Shinobu before you ready yourself for another night of demon hunting.

Though, you suppose none of those matters now as you stood at the sight of the Butterfly Estate with a tired smile. The sun had already retreated for the day and the bustling mansion was still up and lively, likely nursing after wounded slayers.

You didn't want to possibly distract them so you discreetly went inside and almost immediately bolted towards the work office Shinobu must be working herself on.

You weren't wrong as the clanks and light stomps become audible from behind the thin door.

You widely grinned, you didn't notify any of the girls of your arrival as even you weren't sure when you're free of the duties given towards you. So, you were giddy in your place to surprise Shinobu with your presence.

You raise your arm to knock.

-

Shinobu releases a tired exhale. After the seemingly endless hours stretching on, the beaker she held between her fingers made it entirely worth it. With this specific mixture, she should have a nicely prepared scabbard full of poisonous concoctions of wisteria enough to last a few missions.

'I shouldn't worry for a while.' Shinobu sets the glass aside but momentarily pauses when a knock becomes audible. However, before she could speak, the swish sound of the door harshly sliding enters her ears.

She inwardly sighs, "Aoi-chan, I greatly appreciate your concerns but didn't I-"

"Give the poor girl a break, won't you?"

Shinobu blinks, snapping her head behind. Gaping with widened eyes as your tired state emerged from whatever hell hole you came from.

She eventually snapped out of this quick trance, smirking as you walked closer towards her while she slightly leaned on the table behind. "Oh? Don't tell me you abandoned your missions to visit me? That's sweet but I'm afraid I have to report you to Master~!"

You chuckled, missing her soothing voice yet teasing tone. The two months away truly took so much precious things that you can't help but treasure everything you missed from Shinobu. As you got closer, you immediately pulled her in a tight hug, inhaling the wisteria scent that clung itself onto her and she giggled at your desperate hold.

Feeling you rubbing your head on her neck made Shinobu even giddier, "Now, now. Are you actually coaxing me into not snitching? How cunning of you, my dear."

Already used to this, you didn't mind her teasing behavior. You know just how you could shut Shinobu's mouth and she's well aware of your ability to do so. That in mind, you worked your magic as your hands slowly wandered around her body, while placing small light kisses on her jaw and neck below, grinning at the way she softly sighed as you did so.

Shinobu bit her lip, feeling herself immediately fluster at your touch. She cannot deny she longed so much from you. From your silent touches to the loving gazes. After all, work and research could only do so much to distract her from her aching yearning for you. She's just glad that you're finally free of your duties as much as she is currently too. Tilting her head, she hums at the way your lips last longer on her skin and your palms softly caressing her waist.

"Missed you." You grumbled, leaning away to face her before tilting your head.

"Don't you miss me, too?"

Shinobu chuckles, finding your pleading eyes adorable as she brought a hand to rub your cheek. "Of course I did, my beloved." Her reply easily gets a shy smile from you.

"Good," You sigh, pressing closer towards her again. "..because I missed you so much I could just die."

The Hashira pats your head, loving the way you leaned most of your weight onto her, "Hmmm.. so dramatic."

You completely ignored her words, rather continuing on complaining about your previous missions, grumbling and groaning as if Shinobu was giving attention to everything other than the way you twirled her hair around your finger or the way you lock your jaw the moment you recall something entirely embarrassing or annoying. She could just stare all day and not get tired of doing so.

"..'nobu, Shinobu.. are you listening to me?" She hums, licking her lips and bringing her eyes back and up to your own with a sly grin.

"Something about demons, yes?"

Yep, she wasn't listening. You shook your head. "Well, that's all from me, how about you? I trust that you've been taking care of yourself?"

Shinobu visibly beamed, "Of course, I have-!"

"Don't even lie."

You immediately deadpanned. "You have a futon in here, which you only bring out if you spent a few nights here again. And don't think I didn't notice your cold and untouched dinner set aside either."

Her smile tensed, her head tilting as her purple eyes seemed to glint with a single brow raised. "Well, what's the point of asking something you're already aware of?"

You roll your eyes, "I wanted to test you," You shrug, leaning away from her touch. "I guess you failed."

Shinobu didn't even let a single second pass without her arms tangled around your neck as she immediately pulled you in, her smirk widening.

"Don't think I would let you escape that fast~"

You giggle, easily balancing the two of you as you give her a short kiss. "I'd be saddened if you did." You give her hips a small squeeze, "After all, I wouldn't dream of letting you go."

She huffs in amusement, "My, what a sweet talker you are."

"Says you."

Shinobu laughs, slowly pushing you towards the conventionally placed futon on the side. The two of you immediately cling onto each other, with you burying your head on Shinobu's neck while she lovingly caress your hair, the warm blanket sat above you two.

Pure small moments like these, seemingly ordinary yet profoundly precious, are what Shinobu cherishes the most. Nothing else but love and care radiating from the two of you. How she wishes time could stop and stretch on endlessly just for the two of you to spend time together.

You soon break the long and comfortable silence. "Take care of yourself, will you? Not just for me but for the girls as well."

You take a small peek at her, pouting at the way Shinobu simply smirks with her eyes closed, your words seemingly entering and leaving one ear to another.

"I mean it, Shinobu. Don't push yourself too hard, you deserve a break too."

She sharply exhaled yet the smile plastered on her lips softened hearing your words and you snicker seeing it. You know she secretly likes being taken care well. Although, you doubt she'll agree hearing it.

You return to your supposed location, deep down her nape once again with a satisfied smile. The warmth in your stomach increasingly grows, content being beside your lover like this.

"I love you."

Shinobu feels the heat creep up her face and ears, her heart tug felt painful yet she loved every single beat of it because she knows it's all because of you. You always make her feel like she's floating, always without a single fail. And at that moment, she feels all the strain for the past weeks leave her body as her comfort fully and rightfully embraced her.

Words could never capture the actuality of her feelings and yet it easily left her mouth anyways.

"I love you too."

As she always had and always will.

shinobu secretly liking being taken care of is so so canon to me that i jst had to mention it as a small detail idk why

GRGRGRGG i feel like I could've done better at portraying shinobu but i cant let yall starve any longer so i forced myself to publish this heheheh hopefully i could finish other requests too, have a nice day!

[higuchisora]

In a season without a Noxus plot line, The Hunt for Jinx becomes the story. Without having to rush everything for the dramatic invasion ending, I'd like to imagine they'd have more time to focus on the actual important stuff. Like the development of these characters (primarily the sisters and Caitlyn).

In this, I'd imagine the time skips are longer here. Act 1's major story beats will probably be relatively the same (save for some fiddling, such as making it take longer for Vi to become an enforcer, Caitlyn being less blatantly elitist, etc.). The only extremely significant plot difference is that the confrontation with Jinx doesn't end with Caitlyn hitting Vi and abandoning her. But from there onwards it's entirely different. Tensions between Piltover and Zaun become beyond hostile- they're in an outright civil war. No one can pass between the two cities safely. Blood stains both streets. The bridge hasn't just been closed- it's entirely destroyed, blown up in yet another one of Jinx's big acts.

This is where we get a somewhat similar reading of the sisters to the game. Like in League, Jinx has become the "Joker" to Caitlyn and Vi's "Batman/Robin" (in terms of going out of her way to specifically menace them, etc.), and she seems to be the only one capable of slipping between the two cities and making it out alive. Her acts range from "loud/annoying but harmless" to "loud, annoying, and devastatingly deadly" with seemingly no pattern to it.

As this continues, Caitlyn becomes more irate, more unhinged, more obsessed with catching Jinx to the point that she can hardly function anymore outside of fixating on her evidence boards or patrolling through the streets. This creates a rift between her and Vi pretty quickly, though they both try to brush it under the rug, until eventually they just can't. Vi has been struggling with her own actions for a while now (as well as Caitlyn's), trying to justify them and being less and less convincing to herself each time.

She tries to bottle it, first out of guilt towards Caitlyn and eventually out of guilt for everything and everyone else. People she's hurt, people she's lost, people she misses. She no longer remembers when she was last able to recognize her own image in the mirror. She finds herself to be beyond redemption. After all, Jinx- grave as her sins may be- Jinx was many things. But a traitor wasn't one of them.

As someone who values loyalty so much, to Vi, a traitor is the worst thing anyone could be. Unfortunately, she realizes she's become the thing she hated most. With this self-hatred fueling her thoughts, Vi slowly begins to pull back from Caitlyn. She initially clung to her, seeing her as the only constant left in her life, but after not being able to look at herself the same, she begins to look at Caitlyn- and realizes she doesn't recognize her anymore, either.

She makes a few attempts at trying to rectify this, a part of her not wanting to give up on Caitlyn (or herself) without trying. After all, it was never too late to change, right? To do better? Even if it didn't undo the past, it could keep the future from being worse. However, all of her attempts get soundly rebuffed by Caitlyn, each response being harsher than the last. The last one- whether it's gassing someone, or shooting at a kid, or what have you- ends with Caitlyn hitting Vi. It shocks both of them in that moment, so much so that neither of them seem to breathe for what feels like an entire minute.

Just as quickly, Caitlyn rushes to comfort Vi, apologizing profusely, begging for forgiveness, fussing over her- and Vi lets her do so, lets Caitlyn lead her back home to get her checked and rested. She doesn't address it again- but it's too late. This is Vi's last straw.

She doesn't say anything, but Caitlyn seems to realize she's lost her. She tries to coax Vi back onto her side, "Are you still in this fight, Violet?" And Vi tells her she's "the dirt beneath your nails, Cupcake." It's not romantic. Caitlyn doesn't know what to make of it. She puts Vi on leave to recuperate, opting to lead the strike teams alone, still hunting for Jinx.

Jinx, on the other hand, notices her sister's absence immediately. She tries to tell herself she doesn't care, but that lasts about five seconds before she all but loses it to her own paranoia. Where is she? Jinx's last stunt couldn't have gone that poorly. It wasn't even her worst- it wasn't like she was counting, but she hadn't even brought the nail bombs that time. She doubted more than a handful of people died. (Silco had even bitched about it, the way he usually does when he thinks she's "wasting time" playing around so much. He finds her smaller stunts to be juvenile, and though he never bats an eye at her conduct, he's always insistent on her doing things for "the cause." Like reaching out to Sevika. Or being more strategic with her assaults on Piltover).

Vi couldn't have been injured, couldn't have died. Did she abandon her again? Did she finally grow tired of Jinx?

It drives her up the wall, sends her into the kind of frenzy she hasn't experienced since that wretched dinner party. Who the fuck does Vi think she is, leaving Jinx behind? What gave her the right? What, was she trying to move on? To forget about her sister? Did she really think it'd be that easy? That Jinx would let her walk away? If anyone was supposed to leave, it was Jinx! It was her turn to leave her sister in the dust! To leave Vi begging and pleading on the ground, haunted and so alone. To have her chasing Jinx's shadow, the way Jinx chased hers for years! This wasn't fair, what the fuck, how dare she?

Jinx goes ballistic. Her next act is reckless, more than ever before. She walks right into the heart of Piltover, blowing up important buildings (government, law enforcement, memorials. All of it will go down in a blaze. She'll take them down with her if it's the last thing she does-) cutting enforcers down left and right. She lights everything up around her, blue smoke curling into the sky. She's not leaving until she gets what she came for. She's not leaving until Vi looks her in the goddamn eyes and says it- so Jinx can finally put a bullet in both of their skulls.

This can go several ways. Maybe Vi does go out there, unprepared and horrified, eyes locked on that rising smoke, without so much as her gauntlets as she flies through the streets, desperate to stop her sister- or maybe she doesn't. Maybe she was more injured than she'd previously realized, from not only her previous battle but from years- a lifetime, even- of abuse, of subpar and inhumane conditions, of sleepless nights and skipped meals and constantly running on empty. Of years of stress and grief and anxiety and rage and exhaustion and betrayal. Perhaps that blow to the stomach wasn't all that hard, but it was the straw that broke the camel's back. The last push that sent that massive tree crashing to the ground, if only someone were nearby to hear it.

So for the first time, Vi is told to rest, and she stays there. Not really resting, exactly, she's not very relaxed- but maybe "benched," at the moment. Vi confronting Jinx could go a range of ways that would be delightful to explore, but I'd like to consider what would happen if she doesn't go.

The smoke rises, the city burns, the people scream- and Vi isn't there. Enforcers- whatever remains of them- flood the streets, but Jinx only sees shadows and lights and bodies, bodies, bodies. That she-devil is there, saying something, screaming it, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters, because Vi isn't there.

The voices get louder. Jinx turns up the volume. They're not the only ones who can scream. She sprays brass at the flocking masses of demons. Lets loose another volley of explosives. She's almost out, could only carry so much with her- but Vi. Isn't. There.

Jinx won't be able to recollect what happens next, but eventually it all goes dark. She wakes to the cold concrete of a prison cell floor. In the prison uniform, she's ironically more covered than she's been in years, but bereft of her weaponry, she feels utterly naked. Her braids are gone- not just untied, but chopped off, as if they were afraid she could hide things in them (she could. She has). She tunes Silco out. She doesn't feel like hearing him nag. She doesn't have it in her to feel bad for making him all worried and upset. She doesn't feel like doing anything, at the moment.

People come in and out of the prison, including the she-devil. But none of them are Vi. She tunes them out, too. It's all a blur.

It isn't that the rage is gone. It probably never would be. But it's distant. She's lost the energy to wield it. All that's left is the exhaustion. It consumes her, not unlike a weighted blanket. Or the shackles on her wrists and ankles.

Vi, meanwhile, has regained consciousness. She wakes to fresh destruction around her, breathing in the tang of iron and dust. The taste of ash is impossible to swallow down. Not even moments later, she learns Jinx is in custody, awaiting execution. She feels hollow as she watches the Piltovans celebrate. She ignores the protesting of her limbs, climbing out of bed. She slinks through winding halls with nostalgic ease. It didn't matter how many years its been, her muscles still remember how to sneak through places where her kind are unwelcome. With the right timing, she makes it in unnoticed.

Vi sees her there.

Jinx looks smaller than she has in years. Curled up and despondent. She doesn't turn to the sound of the door opening- it's unclear if she's ignoring it, or if she hasn't even registered the noise. Her hair is all but shorn off. Her hair always grew fast- give it a few weeks, and she'd have a bob, not unlike the one she had as a toddler. Vi approaches after a moment of taking in the sight of her, unnaturally still.

As with many points within this story, this meeting could go several ways. Maybe Jinx doesn't even belive she's actually seeing Vi, and so she doesn't respond for a while. Maybe she tries to muster up some cruel barbs, a cutting remark. Maybe she actually does manage to summon her emotions, maybe she's simply burnt out. But it doesn't really matter what she says or how, or if she says anything at all- ultimately, I think it would end with Vi unlocking the cell door. Perhaps similarly to canon, Vi takes Jinx into her arms. There's no “changing the story” talks, or “using her explosives for good”- Vi buries her face into blue hair, and hugs her sister.

If you prefer tragedies, this could be the perfect “rejected last chance” moment. Maybe Jinx tells Vi to fuck off, or she accepts her fate, having lost all hope, and gets executed, Vi following shortly thereafter in some fashion (by her own hands). Maybe Vi disappears after Jinx's death, from both Piltover and Zaun. But I'm personally very picky when it comes to how tragedies play out, and usually don't prefer them. And so I'll indulge myself with musing a more hopeful alternative.

Many (such as Overton herself) claim the sex scene in the cell to be Vi's “chance to be selfish” and to “Finally get to choose what she wants.” I'm personally of the belief that she's clearly shown time and time again in season 1 (and even a good amount of season 2) that her main desire, above all else, has consistently been to reconcile with her sister. As such, her “selfish moment” in this storyline would be, most likely, to unlock Jinx's shackles. Eyes blurry with tears, she'd fumble to unlock them, and all but rips them off.

Jinx doesn't know what to make of it, if she even wants to- she's tired of hoping. But Vi is here, visibly battered, but here. And Jinx has never really stopped craving Vi's attention, not really. Even if it meant dying by her hands (“it had to be you.”). Even if she tries to verbally protest, she won't stop Vi from releasing her from the cuffs. She won't complain about the hug, though the accusations would start to fly. “Of course,” Jinx might say. Of course, Vi is here now, at the last minute, trying to play hero. Did the cop girl dump her or something?

Vi is past the point of wanting to argue, though. She's all but blubbering. Nothing she says really makes sense. The only thing that's clear is that she's sorry (for what, is unintelligible), that she just wants Jinx back, no matter what form that takes. Jinx might find that too good to be true. But Vi is unyielding. She's at a point where Jinx could probably kill her, maybe take them both out, and she probably wouldn't fight back. Might see it, even, as the better option. They've both stained themselves in blood, now. Zaun reviles them both, Vi the most, but Jinx not far off- she's killed more than Piltovans, and though they stand behind her attack on the Council, some will never forgive or forget.

Vi isn't sure if there's a way out. If any of it even matters anymore. If her and Jinx can ever be “better,” if they could do anything other than die miserably. But she doesn't care anymore, either. Let Ekko pull Zaun back together. Let Caitlyn dive headfirst into battles until she breathes her last- did Vi even have a right to care about anything anymore, with how thoroughly she'd abandoned everything that once mattered to her?

She grasps Jinx’s face. The gentlest hold, on the one last precious thing in the world to her. She's abandoned so many things. Zaun. Her people. Her values. Whatever wasn't already ripped viciously out of her hands, she'd let go of, in the foolish search for comfort, for familiarity, for stability, for everything to be “right” and “make sense” again, in a way it hadn't since it all went up in flames.

Couldn't she just have her sister? If nothing else, could this be the one thing she got to have? Even if Jinx ran off, wanted nothing to do with her ever again- to see her run free, even just in fleeting moments for the rest of her life- she just wanted her sister back.

By the time the guards return, Vi and Jinx would be missing.

[maleyanderecafe]

White Swamp (Webcomic)

Created by: Potato (포타토)

Genre: BL/Psychological

This one is really short with only 7 chapters, but I still think it's a fun ride overall. There's a bit of an age gap, and the pacing is a bit fast, but it does have some twists that are pretty fun to see. I the reveal at the end was done pretty well and it's not too bad for a short dark BL.

The story starts out with Jungseon waking up to Hyunwoo cleaning up the snow on his driveway. He's surprised because it's been a long time since he's seen him and near Christmas, no less. However, this is a sad time for Jungseon given it was when his son died and his wife left him. We see the backstory of how the two met, with Jungseon going to teach the elderly in a remote village after his tragic incident. This is where he met Hyunwoo who at the time was still in school and after his grandmother died, Jungseon took him in as his son of sorts. Eventually Hyunwoo left, revealing to Jungseon that he had been studying theater and ends up as one of the actors in a play called as a lead actor in one of the plays. The two talk about their pasts together, how Hyunwoo was initially pretty abrasive towards Jungseon's adoption of him. Due to a snowstorm, Jungseon lets Hyunwoo stay for the night with Hyunwoo catching him due to Jungseon's bad leg. He ends up massaging him, leading to Jungseon remembering that Hyunwoo confessed to him and this leads to Hyunwoo kisisng him afterwards. This leads to Hyunwoo raping Jungseon only for him to wake up the next day, believing it was a dream. Sanghwo, Jungseon's editor comes to visit the two and Hyunwoo leaves unhappy. Sanghwo talks about how he always finds Hyunwoo creepy though Jungseon shuts him down. The two talk and drink for a while before Sanghwo decides to take a quick drive to get cigerettes despite Jungseon's concerns for the weather. Jungseon gets flashbacks to a car accident, leading him to be extremely traumatized and shaking, and while Jungseon is driving he ends up crashing as his brakes were cut. Jungseon, concerned and afraid for his editor tries to go after him, but is stopped by Hyunwoo who has returned. Sanghwo calls Jungseon to inform him that he's been in an accident, though tells him not to come and get him as he can get to the hospital himself. This still leaves Jungseon reeling from the experience with Hyunwoo kissing him to try to get him to calm down. After hugging it out, Hyunwoo offers to make Jungseon dinner and Junseon asks why Hyunwoo left him in the first place. Hyunwoo mentions that on the day he left, a classmate fell down the stairs and snapped his neck before revealing upfront that he was the one who killed him. He seems to have planned it as the classmate not only insulted him but also wanted to get out of town and this seems to trigger some lost memories he had when his parents died. After soul searching in Seol, Hyunwoo finds a newspaper article talking about a car accident, stating simply that it was extremely similar to a book that Jungseon had wrote himself. It's revealed that Jungseon seemed to be the one who killed Hyunwoo's parents.

Hyunwoo wants to take revenge for his parents, even stating that he was the one who cut the brakes on Sanghwo's car, though Hyunwoo gets jealous for Jungseon even mentioning anything about him. Jungseon is able to break free and run to his car, and despite his trauma starts to drive it. However, Hyunwoo gets in the way and Jungseon is unable to run him over, causing him to swerve and crash instead. After Hyunwoo catches him Jungseon apologizes for killing his parents, and even accepts death for his actions, though Hyunwoo has different plans. He gets raped inside of the car and even has to talk to Sanghwo while this is happening over the phone. After this happens, Hyunwoo tries to end his life with a shard of glass, though Jungseon is able to stop him and reciprocates his feelings out of desperation and obligation. We get a flashback to what actually caused Hyunwoo's parents to die. We see that his parents were constantly fighting, with his dad's work stress causing him to mistreat Hyunwoo in return. After his favorite toy car gets destroyed, we see that on the day of the car accident, Hyunwoo was actually the one who cut the breaks causing his parents to die though he never ends up telling this to Jungseon.

Kind of fitting that I'm writing this on Christmas Eve, but here we are. This story is pretty decent as a horror story, especially set in a more holiday like setting, though my biggest gripe with it is that it's paced really fast. Within only a couple of chapters, Hyunwoo reveals that he not only killed someone but also that he knows Jungseon killed his parents, though I do like the twist at the end that he was the one who ultimately caused his parent's death. Normally I'm not too fond of these kinds of age gaps, but I think in this context it expands on the horror aspect more, seeing that the parental love that Jungseon had for taking care of Hyunwoo turn into a twisted love that he didn't want to give away to anyone. Both of these characters have pretty bad and traumatic events in their lives, with the car accident and the death of his son being a driving force for Jungseon taking care of Hyunwoo and Hyunwoo eventually learning about how Jungseon was the one who was the one who crashed into his parent's car being good driving factors into this entire situation. It is poetic that Hyunwoo tries the cutting the breaks even twice despite not remembering his past, as if foreshadowing just what his past was really like. Hyunwoo has complicated feelings for Jungseon, because while on the one hand he clearly loves and cares about him given that he is the only proper parental figure (outside his grandmother) who really cared for him and on the other hand he feels very resentful for Jungseon not only crashing into his parent's car but also writing a story about it. The haunting part was definitely near the end where he remembers that he was the one who caused his parents death, not Jungseon, yet never tells him, leading him to forever believe that he was the reason for Hyunwoo's trauma really brings a new darkness to it. Like I said, the only big issue I have is the pacing because it could have had a couple of chapters to flesh things out more, and some parts in the middle feel very fast paced or rushed. I think it could have made a great short thriller if it was similar to how A Room Without Windows was paced.

Overall, its not a bad short thriller, especially towards the winter time. I think that it has good twists and turns and is pretty short so if you want a short yandere story to read, this one is a good one to get through.

[jayvikstolemyheart]

What if Jayce was able to get Viktor to stay in the lab in episode 2?

You can tell from their body language that Jayce respects Viktor’s boundaries and autonomy, especially seen when Jayce lets Viktor walk after the latter has said his piece. I don’t think he would try to force/trap Viktor.

Instead he manages to argue that Viktor should wait and let Jayce run some tests on Viktor’s new body, to confirm that Viktor really has recovered and there’s no adverse side effects.

“I know that this is just an excuse Jayce.”

“But am I wrong? Please, I know I was reckless to use the Hexcore on you. But it would be even more reckless now to let you walk out without making sure you’re okay.”

“…”

“Stay for now, give me a few days to examine you, and if after all that everything turns out fine and you still want to leave… I won’t stop you.”

“…Very well.”

The quick ending to this story would be Viktor sees the ghost of Sky telling him to heal Jayce’s back, and then Jayce is lost to the Hivemind and Viktor becomes free to start his commune. But that kind of sucks so let’s say things are too tense for our almost-divorced lab partners.

Ekko and Heimerdinger still come to the lab because the tree was getting sick anyway, and they encounter Jayce and Viktor amidst their testing and awkward silences.

Heimerdinger is understandably alarmed seeing Viktor’s new body and Ekko’s probably shocked too, just cuz Viktor is purple and glowing.

Jayce would explain the merging of the Hexcore with Viktor in order to save the latter’s life, with Viktor being quick to inform the two guests that he had asked Jayce to destroy it, and accepted the fact that he may very well die over it.

(It definitely comes off as Jayvik being a couple who are passively-aggressively fighting in front of their awkward guests. Even better if Jayce has made everyone cups of tea like he did in the show.)

Heimerdinger is of course heavily conflicted over this. Maybe Heimerdinger had become more open minded with the Hex Gates but he always warned about the dangers of magic and ordered his former students to get rid of the Hex Core. And now Viktor has changed physically and it appears mentally as well. But the yordle isn’t so cold hearted to be able to say to his former students’ faces that Viktor should have been left to die.

I’m not sure about Ekko’s reaction to all this. He might just try to steer the conversation towards his tree’s illness. He’s got his own people to worry about.

I’m not sure what Jayce’s tests on Viktor would prove, but I like to think Viktor would be able to sense the magic on the leaf even before Jayce gets it under a microscope and sees the Hextech effects.

(Maybe it’s around here that someone, maybe Ekko, suggests Viktor gets some pants. Viktor puts on some spare pants from somewhere in the lab, but still keeps the blanket.)

This leads to the discovery that the arcana seems to be “leaking” into the Undercity. Jayce and Ekko have a similar confrontation as they do in canon. Viktor is deeply remorseful… well as remorseful as he can be in his emotionally numbed state. I’m not sure how well Ekko knew about Viktor, if he already knew Viktor was from the Undercity. Either way, Ekko definitely wouldn’t go easy on the older man for letting this slip past him.

This stresses Jayce out more, and he might even get a little defensive, at least for Viktor’s sake. He argues that Viktor was fighting to improve lives in the Undercity from the beginning, but to get permission in funding they had to take care of things that the council wanted like the Hexgates. That’s part of why they had to work so hard. Jayce describes how Viktor would pull all-nighters, working himself sick to get everything done faster so that they could eventually have the freedom to the things they want to do, like looking after Zaun.

It’s here that Viktor steps in and says that while all that is true that doesn’t make the him blameless. Viktor overestimated his own abilities about being able to accomplish things like the Hexgate and his other goals in a reasonable time. He underestimated just how much politics get in the way. Viktor contemplates how if he spoke up more, or joined Jayce in being the “Face” of Hextech he could have raised more awareness of the plight of Zaun. It only hit him all the poor decisions he made when he found out he was dying. And now the future is more uncertain than ever.

Maybe at the end of his monologue Viktor tries to leave for the Undercity again, but I imagine it would be Ekko who stops him here. Ekko points out that if Viktor is upset about the way he wasted his power as “the other inventor of Hextech” then going back to the Undercity now with nothing but a blanket in his back isn’t going to help. Ekko suggests the two come down with him to the underground of the Hexgate (can’t remember the exact name) to fix the problem there first. Viktor is a little startled but agrees with Ekko, and compliments the young man for having such a sensible head on his shoulders, unlike Heimerdinger’s other students.

(The professor is offended but Jayce is just happy to hear Viktor crack a joke again. Although Viktor argues it wasn’t a joke just an observation.)

Now what would be interesting is if they all still went to alternate universes, and if Viktor and Jayce ended up in the same post-apocalyptic reality.

Now if the Mage is the one who arranged this, then I believe he would put them in separate parts of the world, Jayce at the very bottom of the Undercity, and Viktor somewhere else, but somewhere he could still see the fields of nothingness.

Why? Well if Jayce and Viktor are together and Jayce still gets injured, then it’s the same problem as before; Jayce joins the hivemind, which would be directly against the Mage’s plans. And if Jayce manages to avoid injury, then Jayce doesn’t get his poetic journey through Piltover that mirrors Viktor’s journey, and we can’t have that.

So the two are separated for a long while. Viktor walks through fields of corpses and can sense the magic and beauty in the silence, but the parts that are still human since the lonely nothing-ness that occurs in an empty world. Viktor can move as much as he wants, he can run, leap, but none of that erases the quiet. The satisfaction of movement can only provide so much comfort. While Viktor wanders he is also mentally wrestling with the Sky Young in the Hexcore, and this Viktor is far less open to Sky’s words, cuz the Hexcore is perfectly happy in this world where the arcane has conquered everything. He moves towards where he senses magic at its strongest, to the Mage. Because it is the only point of interest in the beautiful wasteland.

Jayce does the same as before. He crawls himself from the bottom of the deepest pits, after taking apart his hammer to try and mend himself. The solitude is loud for Jayce. The pain and regret weigh heavy on him.

When they reunite, in sight of the hill but not quite there yet, they stare at each other for what feels like forever. They both thought they came here alone. When they weren’t fighting for their sanities they were worried sick about the kid, the professor, and each other. And now there stands not too far away, their partner.

They run to each other. For the first time ever Viktor is faster than Jayce. They hold each other in a similar way to how Viktor first woke up in the lab which might as well have been eons ago. Only this time Viktor doesn’t just hold out of politeness but nestles into Jayce just like the other man buried himself into Viktor’s shoulder. Even if Viktor’s emotions have weakened, the months of solitude and the suspicion towards the visions of his own mind have ignited an instinctual desperation for his partner that the learned man thought no longer possible.

Jayce nearly falls into his smaller friend as the adrenaline starts to leave him. He had a faced a constant fight to survive for months so the moment he felt an ounce of safety in his partner’s arms he nearly collapsed. Now Viktor is not just an emotional support, but stands as a physical support for Jayce and his newly braced leg. They continue to finish the journey they started, to reach that mysterious point that draws them both.

And they finally encounter the Mage, the alternate Viktor.

It’s there the two learn some incredible truths. That the two meeting is essential to the survival of the world. That Viktor’s wishes for perfection have slowly become warped underneath his skin, and if he cannot resist the wants of the Hexcore then he will doom his planet to the same fate as the one they currently stand on. That Viktor, countless versions of him, have done just that, and may continue to do that indefinitely if the Mage hadn’t altered the odds by pushing Jayce into the path.

It’s afterwards they are sent home where Noxan invasion is imminent and the war between Piltover and Zaun is delayed but still hangs heavy in the air. And now Viktor stands in the centre of all that feeling like there’s a ticking time bomb in his chest.

The memory of Jayce’s corpse holding the hammer haunts Viktor. The deep sorrow and regret of the other Viktor haunts Jayce.

Viktor suggests that he must die once again. Not just that but absolutely vapourised to get rid of any risk of the Hexcore coming to life and taking over the world. Jayce refuses. Yes Viktor has changed but it’s still the same man deep down. If the Hexcore could really control him, would it not have done so by now? As long Viktor doesn’t give in to the voices, they still have a chance to make things right.

Viktor realises now that Jayce won’t drop this. All he can do is make Jayce promise that if the Hexcore takes over, then Jayce will kill him then. And if he still thinks he can’t do it, then he won’t stop the people who are brave enough to do it. Jayce reluctantly agrees.

With that, they go and try to find Ekko, to find out what they need to do with the current threats, swallowing down the fears of what resides in Viktor’s chest.