#EVENT THREAD (BINDING TIES)
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The Sexual Revolution: John Carter x Reader (NSFW)
Tagging: @kmc1989 @anna-bailey @ofsoapsuds @queenslandlover-93 @gemofspace
Summary: You decide to give John a private show before the event.
Companion piece to:
Dreamer (NSFW) - John dreams of you when he's with someone else.
Little John - You try to keep John's mind off the task at hand.
The First One Is Always The Hardest - You comfort John after the death of a patient.
Forget-Me-Nots - John wakes up hung over in a strange bed and with an unexpected memento of the night before.
Speak Your Truth - John speaks his truth in the aftermath of a tragedy.
Trauma - John makes a realisation after his confession.
Fever - John gets more than he bargained for when he attends a friend's stag party in a Chicago Speakeasy.
Minx (NSFW) - John had no idea he had such a deviant little minx on his hands.
Always - You and John discuss the reasons behind your dancing.
Diamonds - John's friend and rival makes you an offer you can't refuse.
The Stethoscope - John's world is turned upside down when he finds your stethoscope in his locker.
Elderberry Wine - You come home to find John waiting for you.
Sex, Lies and Cocaine Dreams - John takes his revenge on the man that shattered your dreams.
By The Grace of God - An unexpected ally goes to bat for you during your beard hearing.
Choices - You and John discuss your options moving forward.

There’s a costume missing.
John doesn’t understand how that can happen.
He watched you pack each one up back in the bedroom, folding them into magenta tissue paper before you placed the lid on each black glossy box.
He’s had them made up especially for the event. Each one has a black lace finish with a pink silk ribbon tied in a bow in the centre. He wants the women who buys these costumes to feel like they’re getting something exclusive, to buy into the brand that is you.
He counts the boxes again. There’s five, there should be six.
“Hey Crys.” He says as he swings into your bedroom. “We’re missing a…”
He pauses in the doorway because now he’s caught a glimpse of you, he understands exactly where that missing costume went to.
You’re wearing it.
The blood red corset glitters with thousands of ruby-like gemstones in the dying light that streams through the window. The top binding dips low between your breasts, revealing the delicate swell underneath the fabric as it clings to your frame. The matching panties sparkle as you cock your hip and his mouth goes dry as he fixates on that crimson garter on your right thigh, the cherry coloured love heart winking at him.
You look like every single filthy fantasy he didn’t know he had. His cock throbs painfully in the confines of his trousers and he finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed entranced. Those teased curls fall across your features as you finish fastening a rose coloured choker around your throat.
“So....” You begin as you press the button on the boombox on top of the dresser. “I noticed that when we were packing up the costumes you couldn’t take your eyes off this one in particular and I thought why don’t I give you a private show before we leave.”
Concrete Blonde’s Bloodletting erupts from the speakers. Your fingers thread through his dark hair, tugging his head back so he can meet your gaze.
“The rules are no coming on the costume or inside me. I don’t have time to take another shower before the show tonight.” He nods his understanding as you lean in close. You’re wearing the perfume he bought you. The dark sensual scent of violets and Bulgarian rose floods his senses as his cock leaks inside his underwear. “Now Mr Carter, audience participation is highly encouraged. I want your hands on me at all times.”
You take his palms guiding them to your breasts, biting your lower lip as he caresses them through the fabric. He can feel your nipples, already pebbling underneath his thumbs and his hips begin to rock impulsively, trying to generate a little friction between his underwear and his dick.
“God I wanna make you come on my mouth so badly.” He says you, pressing his face between your thighs as his palms follow the boning of the corset all the way down to the slender straps of the underwear. “You ever sixty nine before?”
“You’ll be my first.” You tell him as he draws those panties down, taking the garter with them. Your hand is already cradling his cock as you unzip his trousers. He shimmies out of them before yanking his shirt up over his head.
“There is something very erotic about that.” He tells you, lying back on the bed and patting the tattoo on his chest, gesturing for you to climb on board. Your thighs come to rest on either side of his head, straddling his face and you watch a perfect drop of precum, rolls down his cock.
“It gets you off doesn’t it? Knowing you’re about to give me something no one else has.” You tease as you drape yourself over him, your tongue licking that tiny droplet right off the tip.
“Crys,” He murmurs, nuzzling your inner thighs as your mouth envelops him completely. “Your sexual revolution has been my absolute pleasure.”
The thing is before him, you were practically a virgin. You’d has a couple of boyfriends, fucked a few others but you’d never come, not through oral sex and certainly not through penetrative sex. Your orgasms were limited to fingers and that toy you kept in your bottom drawer.
That had all changed when John had taken you to bed, now you don’t leave those sheets unless some part of him is covered in your come.
You moan around his cock when he gets his mouth on you. The vibrations have him arching into your throat. His palms grasp your ass, keeping you pinned against his mouth as he devours you like the beautiful sinful peach that you are. With every hitched breath, you take him deeper, your tongue swirling around him until he’s right here on the cusp.
But John, he doesn’t come until you come. That’s the rule, the promise he made to you when you told him about all those other boyfriends.
His middle finger caresses your opening, swiping back forth, dipping in just a little more until your hips are rocking back, trying to take him. He slides the digit inside you slowly, working that sweet spot until you hurtle towards that peak, hitting nirvana.
He’s still lapping up that sweet honey, when you hollow out your cheeks and suck him like a goddamn lollipop. The ecstasy tears through his nerve endings like the 4th of July, the climax stealing away his breath as he erupts in long hot spurts into your throat. You swallow down every drop before you pull off him with a lewd pop, leaving him wrecked in your sheets. He peppers the inside of your thighs with kisses before you lift off him and collapse onto on the mattress.
“We’re keeping this one right?” He murmurs, his hand reaching out and smoothing over the corset.
“Oh yeah babe.” You say, your arm flung up over your head as you try to catch your breath. “We’re definitely keeping it.”
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Ties That Bind
Charles Leclerc x royal!Reader + Max Verstappen x sister!Reader
Summary: life as Princess of the Netherlands is pretty perfect but when health issues become a (literal) royal pain, you discover a familial connection that will change your life forever
Warnings: struggles with infertility, child abandonment, serious health issues, medical procedures and treatments
This is what happens when I’m insane enough to try juggling writing an 8k+ word fic with studying in medical school
The night was a cascade of ethereal snowflakes, each one glistening under the pale moonlight, landing gracefully upon the earth. The silver car glided along the road, its headlights illuminating the path through the thick curtain of snow, like two piercing eyes navigating through sorrow.
Inside, Prince Frederik of the Netherlands drove in silent contemplation, the weight of the day’s news pressing heavily on his heart. Beside him, Princess Marianne stared out of the frosted window, her reflection capturing swollen eyes that glistened with fresh tears. Her fingers trembled slightly, crumpling yet another now irrelevant medical report indicating one more failed IVF attempt.
“I thought this time would be different,” Marianne whispered, her voice quivering. “I truly believed it.”
Frederik’s grip on the wheel tightened. He turned to his wife, pain evident in his eyes. “I know, my love. I know.”
As they drove, Frederik’s eyes caught a glimpse of something unusual by the side of the road. “What’s that?” He murmured, slowing the car.
Marianne followed his gaze. “It looks like a bundle ... stop the car!”
Frederik brought the vehicle to a halt. They both jumped out and hurried over to the mysterious object. As they approached, Marianne gasped. “Oh my God, Frederik ... it’s a baby!”
She quickly bent down to scoop the tiny, shivering form into her arms. The baby’s skin was cold, blue lips barely parting for shallow breaths as the thin pink blanket wrapped around it did little to fight the chill. “Who could do such a thing?” Marianne cried, holding the child close for warmth.
Frederik’s face hardened. “We need to get her to a hospital. Now.”
Back in the car, Marianne cradled the baby, trying to transfer her warmth. “Stay with us,” she murmured, tears spilling. “Please, stay with us.”
As they sped towards the hospital, Frederik reached over and held Marianne’s free hand. “It'’s a sign,” he whispered. “After everything we’ve been through today ... finding her like this ... it’s fate.”
Marianne looked down at the baby, her fingers gently brushing the soft wisps of hair on the child’s head. “Our little miracle in the snow,” she whispered back.
Frederik smiled faintly, squeezing Marianne's hand. “Yes, our snow angel. We’ll take care of her and she’ll take care of us.”
***
“You know, every time it snows, it feels like the world is celebrating the day we found you,” your father, now King Frederik, remarks, gazing out of the vast palace windows at the flurries descending from the sky.
You smile, reaching for a delicate pastry from the breakfast spread laid out before you. “And every snowflake reminds me of the warmth of this family that saved me from the cold.”
Your mother, Queen Marianne, hair now threaded with silver, gives you a loving glance. “Our snow angel, right when we needed you most.”
“Speaking of snow,” you muse, “I’m thinking of wearing the ice-blue gown for tonight’s gala. Thoughts?”
Your father raises an eyebrow, “For the Children’s Foundation event? Perfect choice. It complements the theme and matches the tiara your mother has picked for you to wear.”
You grin, “Who knew you had such a fashion sense?”
Your mother chuckles, “It’s a king thing. But he’s right. And with your sapphire necklace, you will be the talk of the gala.”
You take a sip of your tea, thinking of the evening ahead. “I want to ensure my speech captures the essence of our foundation’s work. It’s more than just another royal event, this is about making a real difference.”
Your father nods, “It always is for you. That genuine desire to impact lives, it’s how I know you will be a great Queen one day.”
You blush slightly, “I learned from the best.”
Your mother, with a hint of mischief, remarks, “And speaking of learning, have you decided on a dance partner for the first waltz? There’s quite a line-up available.”
You laugh, “Oh, Mom! Let’s not start matchmaking before breakfast is over.”
Your father joins in the mirth, “Give her a break, Marianne. Our snow angel must not melt.”
***
The regal hallways echo with the gentle patter of your heeled footsteps. Lately, the palace, your lifelong sanctuary, feels more like a maze. A sudden wave of dizziness makes you pause, leaning against a gilded wall for support.
“You okay there?” a soft voice calls. It’s your mother, her face etched with worry.
“Just a bit dizzy,” you mumble, attempting a reassuring smile.
She hurries over, her gown flowing. “You’ve been looking pale these past few days.”
Before you can reply, a sharp sensation pricks your nose. Touching it, you’re shocked to see blood on your fingertips. “Oh no,” you whisper, panic creeping into your voice.
Your mother’s eyes widen. “We need to see a doctor.”
“But the gala—”
“Forget the gala!” She interrupts. “Your health comes first.”
***
Inside the royal clinic, the room is a tense silence. Your father paces while your mother sits beside you, holding your hand tightly.
The family physician finally arrives, his expression somber. “Your Highness, Your Majesties,” he begins, “we’ve run several tests.”
“And?” Your father demands, halting his restless walk.
You take a deep, shaky breath, bracing yourself.
The doctor hesitates for a split second. “You have aplastic anemia.”
The room seems to close in. The words hang heavily, turning the opulent clinic cold.
Your mother’s voice trembles, “What does that mean?”
“It’s a condition where the bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells. This leads to fatigue, higher risk of infections, and uncontrolled bleeding,” the doctor explains.
Your mind races. The symptoms make sense now — the fatigue, dizziness, the nosebleed.
Your father’s face hardens, searching for hope. “What’s the treatment?”
The doctor looks grim, “The most effective treatment at this severity is a bone marrow transplant. We will need to find a matching donor.”
Your mother’s grip tightens on your hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We’ll find one. We have to.”
Your father nods. “We will move mountains if we have to.”
You muster a small smile, drawing strength from your parents. “One snowstorm at a time.”
***
“How long does it usually take to find a match?” Youu inquire, voice trembling ever so slightly.
Dr. Van der Meer, the lead hematologist on your case, sighs, “It varies, Your Highness. Some find a match within their family, others from the global database. It can take days or even months.”
Your mother breaks in desperately, “But surely, with our resources, we can expedite the process?”
Your father adds, “Every avenue, every connection we have at our disposal is yours to use, Doctor.”
Dr. Van der Meer nods, “I understand the urgency, Your Majesties. We’ve already started to search within the national database. Meanwhile, we advise immediate family to get tested first.”
You interject, a sense of realization dawning, “But I’m adopted. Our genetic makeup differs.”
Your father and mother exchange a heavy look, the weight of your situation pressing down on them.
“We still have a vast network, a whole nation even,” your father muses. “Surely someone out there is a match.”
Dr. Van der Meer hesitates then says, “Actually, there has already been a hit from the database. A potential match.”
Your heart skips a beat. “Who?”
“We maintain confidentiality, Your Highness,” he replies. “But once we confirm the match and receive their consent, you will be informed.”
Your mother’s voice is tinged with hope. “So there’s a chance? A real chance?”
You lean forward eagerly. “When will we know more?”
Dr. Van der Meer offers a comforting smile. “Soon, Your Highness. For now, patience is our ally.”
***
“It’s been weeks, Doctor. Why haven’t we heard from the potential donor?” The frustration is clear in your mother’s voice.
Dr. Van der Meer looks up, choosing his words carefully. “The potential donor ... has some reservations.”
Your father’s brow furrows. “Reservations? Isn’t saving a life more important?”
The doctor clears his throat, “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Your Majesty. The potential donor is someone you’re familiar with.”
You lean forward, your curiosity piqued. “Who is it?”
There’s a momentary pause, the silence thickening. “Max Verstappen.”
Shock ripples through the room. The name isn’t just any name. It’s a name known to every Dutch citizen, celebrated in every corner of the nation.
Your mother blinks in disbelief. “The Formula 1 racer? We’ve met him multiple times at the Grand Prix. But why would he have reservations?”
Dr. Van der Meer hesitates, “There’s more to it. We ran some further genetic tests, customary for close matches. The results were ... unexpected.”
Your father leans forward in anticipation. “Go on.”
The doctor takes a deep breath, “Max Verstappen is not just a match. He’s ... he’s your half-brother.”
The room goes still. The revelation hangs in the air, too staggering to fully comprehend.
You feel your world tilt. “That’s impossible.”
Your mother’s voice is a whisper, “How can that be?”
Dr. Van der Meer clears his throat. “The genetic markers were unmistakable. Given the rare degree of compatibility and the markers we found, there is no doubt.”
Your father runs a hand through his hair, trying to process the news. “So all these years, at every Grand Prix, we’ve been cheering for ... family?”
You chime in, a flurry of emotions whirling inside, “And he doesn’t know, does he?”
The doctor shakes his head, “No, not yet. That’s the reservation. Revealing this ... it changes everything for him too.”
Your mother is contemplative. “We’ve celebrated his victories, felt the pride of having him represent our country. And now, knowing he’s family ...”
You interject, “And now, we need him more than ever. Not as a driver, not as a national icon, but as family.”
Your father’s resolve strengthens. “We need to tell him. He deserves to know.”
***
“How do you even begin a conversation like this?” You wonder aloud, staring at the blank screen of your laptop.
Your father, deep in thought, answers, “Honestly, directly, and with sensitivity. It’s uncharted territory for all of us.”
Your mothers adds, “Perhaps start by expressing your genuine feelings, without the weight of our titles or his fame."
You nod slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Dear Max,” you repeat out loud as you begin typing, then pause. “Too formal?”
Your father shrugs, “It’s sincere. And that’s what matters.”
Taking a deep breath, you continue:
Dear Max,
This isn’t a typical letter and I struggle to find the right words. By now, you might have been informed by the medical team about our unexpected connection. I wanted to reach out personally, not as the Princess of Orange, but simply as ... family.
Your mother reads over your shoulder, “That’s a good start.”
I cannot imagine how jarring this news must be. It was for me too. All these years, our paths crossed, shared smiles exchanged, never knowing the deeper bond we shared.
“Maybe mention the Grand Prix, how it has been a tradition for us,” your father suggests.
Every year at the Dutch Grand Prix, my parents and I cheered for you, felt immense pride in your victories. The realization that those cheers were for family adds a layer of emotion I can’t quite put into words.
I understand if you need time to process this. But I want you to know that this revelation changes nothing about the respect and admiration I hold for you. However, it does add a depth of connection, a newfound kinship.
Your mother, her voice choked with emotion, suggests, “Maybe let him know why it’s important now, about your condition.”
The reason I am reaching out now is not just about our newfound connection but also because of a pressing health concern I am facing. I need a bone marrow transplant, and as it turns out, you are my best match.
“Reassure him,” your father adds. “It’s a big ask.”
I understand the weight of this request. There is no obligation, only hope. No matter your decision, I want you to know that discovering this bond, this link between us, is a gift in itself.
Please take all the time you need. Whatever you decide, I respect and cherish the connection we have discovered. Wishing you all the best on and off the track.
Sincerely,
Y/N
Your father, visibly moved, murmurs, “It’s perfect.”
Your mother nods in agreement, tears shimmering. “It’s from the heart. Now, we wait.”
***
The roaring engines on the racetrack outside fade as the door to the private lounge close behind you. Max Verstappen stands there, his usual confident demeanor replaced with apprehension. The weight of the recent revelations is thick in the air.
“You look different without the crown,” Max remarks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
You chuckle softly, “And you without the helmet.”
The initial ice broken, the two of you sit. A beat of silence passes. Then Max, eyes searching yours, asks, “Why now?”
You take a deep breath. “I’ve always known I was adopted. Every snowy day, my parents would recount the tale of how they found their snow angel. I grew up surrounded by love and privilege, never lacking anything.” Your voice trembles slightly, “But there were nights ... nights I’d wonder about the person who left me there, in the snow. Why didn’t they want me? Why did they abandon me to the whims of a storm?”
Max’s expression softens, his own memories surfacing. “I grew up with my father’s strict guidance. Racing wasn’t just a passion, it was life. There was little room for anything else. I always thought I understood my family but this ...” He sighs, looking away. “It makes me question everything.”
You nod, shared uncertainty bringing you closer. “But through all this confusion, one thing is clear: we’re family. Blood, it seems, has a way of revealing itself.”
Max smiles ruefully, “You know, I have a sister, a full sister. Growing up, we were close but our paths divided. Racing consumed me. Now, discovering I have another sister, you, it’s ... overwhelming.”
You chuckle, “Two sisters. Lucky you.”
He grins, “Twice the protective instincts.”
The humor fades, replaced by raw emotion. “You know,” you whisper, tears brimming, “Despite everything, I’m grateful for our paths crossing like this. Even if it took a lifetime.”
Max reaches out, taking your hand. “Me too.”
The weight of the moment presses on both of you. You look at each other, eyes brimming with tears, souls bared.
In a sudden rush of emotion, you step forward, collapsing into Max’s embrace. He holds you tightly, as if trying to shield you from all the past hurts, regrets, and questions. The warmth of the hug contrasts sharply with the cold memory of that snowy night. In his embrace, the years of wondering, the pain of abandonment, seem to melt away.
Pulling back slightly, you look up into Max’s eyes. With a tearful smile, you whisper, “Brother.”
He grins back, “Sister. How would you feel about attending the next race, not as royalty but as my guest?”
You hesitate, the memories of previous races filled with formalities and protocols. “It will be different.”
Max wraps an arm around you shoulders, “Very. But I promise, you will see the world of racing like never before.”
***
The roar of the engines, the excitement of the crowd — it was all distantly familiar. Yet, standing beside Max, everything feels different.
As you walk through the paddock, Max’s pride is evident. “Guys,” he calls out to his mechanics, “Meet my sister.”
They look up, surprised, then smiles break out across their faces. “It’s an honor, Your Highness,” one of them greets.
Max nudges him, “Just call her by her name.”
You laugh in agreement, “It’s nice to meet you all without the formalities.”
Max continues his introductions, his enthusiasm infectious. When you reach Christian Horner, he looks pleasantly surprised. “It’s been a while,” he remarks, “Though our meetings were always, well, more formal.”
You nod, “It’s a different world from this side of the track.”
Max beams, “And she’s getting the full experience today.”
When the race starts, every moment feels magnified, more personal.
And then, the checkered flag waves for Max.
The Red Bull garage erupts in jubilation. During the celebration, Max, still in his car, locks eyes with you from across parc fermé. You can see the moisture, the emotion in his eyes. The moment he is out of his car, he races over, pulling you into a tight embrace.
“This win,” he whispers hoarsely, “it’s not just for me this time. It’s for us. For family.”
As the Dutch anthem plays during the podium ceremony, tears fill your eyes. The anthem, a proud symbol of your country and kingdom, now also symbolizes the new, ever-growing bond with your brother.
Max, standing tall on the podium, catches your eye and winks. And as the ceremony concludes, he suddenly turns, aiming his bottle of champagne right at you. The spray catches you off guard, laughter bubbling up as the cold liquid soaks you.
“You had to, didn’t you?” You laugh, wiping away the liquid before it can sting your eyes.
Max ruffles your hair, “It’s my new duty as your older brother!”
***
“Hey, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Max says, pulling you towards the thrumming heart of the afterparty.
The vibrant lights and chatter fill the room but everything seems to slow as you’re introduced to a lean figure with tousled hair and hypnotizing eyes. “This is Charles Leclerc,” Max grins, “One of the toughest guys I’ve raced against.”
Charles offers a charming smile, “Pleasure to meet you. Max speaks highly of you.”
You raise your glass in a mock toast to your brother. “Glad to hear that my bribe has been paying off.”
Charles laughs, “Well, considering today’s win, you might just be his favorite person.”
The two of you share a laugh, an effortless ease settling between you as you barely notice Max walking off with a wink shot your way.
“You’ve been to several races, haven’t you?” Charles asks, sipping his drink.
“In a more official capacity, yes. But today was ... different.”
He nods, his gaze intense, “Being family changes the perspective.”
Charles leans in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now that you’ve seen me on the track maybe I should show you some of my other talents?”
You raise an eyebrow, the thrill of the night’s excitement mixing with his words. “Oh? What other hidden skills do you possess?”
His voice drops to a sultry murmur. “Well, I make a mean pasta carbonara. Maybe I’ll whip it up for you someday.”
You laugh, the warmth of the moment spreading through you. “I’ll definitely hold you to that.”
Max, watching from a distance, nudges Carlos, “Look at them. Told you they’d hit it off.”
“You know, I’ve always been curious about the life of a princess,” Charles muses, a playful glint in his eye. “Is it all tiaras and tea parties?”
You smirk. “It’s more boring than you would think. But for a driver like you, every day’s a thrill, right? Speeding cars, roaring crowds, adoring fans?”
He grins, leaning closer, the proximity making your heart race. “Most days. But some nights, the thrill is ... elsewhere,” his gaze deepening, locked onto yours.
The two of you are drawn into a world of your own, the party’s noise fading into the background.
He brushes a stray hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer. “Have you ever considered doing a hot lap? It’s quite the rush.”
You laugh, feeling the warmth of his touch. “I don’t know about getting in a race car but I can think of something else I’d love to ride right now.”
As the club’s pulsating music envelops you, Charles leans in, his voice husky over the beat, “Care for a dance?”
You accept, and as you both move to the rhythm, the world around seems to disappear. The close proximity, the electric energy on the dance floor, and the feeling of his body moving against yours is intoxicating.
“Right now,” Charles murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear to be heard above the music, “I feel like the winner tonight.”
You smile, your gaze locked onto his, “The night is still young. Let’s see where it takes us.”
***
“I’ve noticed you’re attending more races lately,” Max comments, a teasing glint in his eyes as you both walk through the paddock.
You shrug, feigning innocence. “Well, I’ve developed quite an appreciation for the sport.”
Max chuckles, “Or for a certain Ferrari driver?”
Blushing, you retort, “Can’t it be both?”
Before Max can respond, Charles approaches, his smile brightening as he spots you. “Good to see you again,” he greets, though his eyes convey a warmth that words can’t.
“You too,” you reply in a voice softer than intended.
The three of you share some casual banter before Max excuses himself, leaving you alone with Charles.
“You know,” Charles starts, “it’s become the highlight of my race weekends, seeing you here.”
You smile, “I’ve come to realize that there’s more to F1 than just the thrill of the race. There are ... other attractions.”
Charles grins, “Is that so? Any attraction in particular?”
You playfully nudge him, “Don’t get too confident, Leclerc.”
Weekends spent at circuits become a regular fixture in your life. While you’re initially there for Max, the increasing time spent with Charles deepens your bond. The stolen glances during press conferences, the private moments away from the limelight, and the late-night conversations make the connection undeniable.
One evening, after a particularly intense race, Charles pulls you aside, his face flushed from the adrenaline. “Every time I cross the finish line and look towards the other garages, I hope to catch a glimpse of you.”
Your heart skips a beat. “And if you do?”
He smiles, “It either makes victory all the more sweet or the sting of defeat not quite as painful.”
***
“You’ve made the front page again,” Max remarks dryly, handing you a tabloid during breakfast.
You glance at the headline, The Princess and the Racer: F1’s Fairytale Romance accompanied by a candid shot of you and Charles out to dinner.
Charles groans, “They make it sound like a soap opera.”
You sigh, “It’s the price we pay, I guess.”
As weeks go by, the media scrutiny intensifies. Every public appearance and every minuscule gesture, is analyzed, often blown out of proportion. The weight of the world’s eyes strains the joy of your newfound relationship.
One evening, after a particularly invasive article speculating about a rushed engagement, Charles pulls you aside, his face drawn with concern. “I noticed you’ve been pale lately, more tired. Is it the stress from all this media attention?”
You hesitate, biting your lip. The truth is, it’s more than just the media. Your health has been deteriorating and you’ve been trying to hide it.
“It’s not just the media,” you admit.
His eyes are filled with worry. “What is it?”
Max, overhearing the conversation, interjects, “It’s her health. She didn't want to worry you.”
Charles looks at you in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
You take a deep breath, “I didn’t want to add to the pressures of the season, to be another burden.”
He reaches out, holding you close, “You’re never a burden. We’re in this together.”
You take a shaky breath, drawing strength from his words. “I’ve been diagnosed with aplastic anemia. It’s a condition where my bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells.”
Charles pales, “That’s ... serious.”
You nod, “After this race, I’m starting chemotherapy to destroy the dysfunctional bone marrow in preparation for a transplant.”
Silence envelops the room. Charles processes the weight of the revelation, the enormity of the situation sinking in. “Why now?” He finally asks.
“Timing is crucial,” Max chimes in, “She’s been putting it off, not wanting to disrupt the season. But we can’t wait much longer.”
Charles runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just wish you had told me sooner.”
You reach out, touching his arm, “I didn’t know how. Everything was happening so fast — our relationship, the media attention. I didn’t want to add more stress.”
Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his voice choked with emotion. “Promise me, no more secrets.”
You nod, tears streaming down your face, “I promise.”
***
“Are you sure you want to be here for this?” You ask Charles as you both sit in the sterile hospital room, awaiting the doctor who would be overseeing your chemotherapy treatments.
Charles takes your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Every step of the way.”
The door opens and the doctor walks in, a gentle but serious look on her face. “Before we begin, there’s something important we need to discuss. The chemotherapy might affect your fertility. It’s not certain but there is a significant risk.”
You freeze. You had expected side effects, the potential hair loss, the fatigue. But this? This was unanticipated. This ripped your heart out of your chest.
Charles tightens his grip on your hand, his face pale. “Is there ... any way to mitigate that risk?”
The doctor nods, “We can retrieve and store your eggs. It’s a procedure done before chemotherapy in some cases. You will need hormone injections for about 10 to 12 days to stimulate the ovaries.”
You look at Charles, your eyes filled with tears, “It’s another delay.”
Charles brushes a tear from your cheek, “We face this together. I am here for you no matter what you decide.”
The days that follow are a whirlwind. Charles is by your side every step of the way, providing both emotional support and administering the daily injections.
Each evening, he carefully prepares the hormone shot. “Ready?” He asks, looking into your eyes.
You nod, trying to put on a brave face. But the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the emotional toll. Still, with Charles by your side, each day becomes bearable.
One evening, as he administers the injection, he whispers, “I’m so proud of you. Your strength amazes me every day.”
Tears spring to your eyes. “I couldn’t do this without you.”
Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping you. “You’ll never have to.”
***
“Are you sure about this?” Charles asks, his fingers brushing yours as you lay on the hospital bed.
You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I am. It’s a step towards preserving a potential future, one I hope to share with you.”
His eyes soften. “Every step, I’m here.”
The medical staff move around in the background, preparing for the procedure. The hum of machines and the sterile environment contrast starkly with the intimate bubble you and Charles share.
As the procedure begins, Charles holds your hand, his thumb drawing comforting circles on your skin. “Remember our trip to Monaco?” He murmurs, attempting to distract you. “The sea, the laughter, the little café by the pier?”
A smile tugs at your lips, even as you nod for the OBGYN to proceed. “The one with the overly sweet pastries?”
Charles chuckles, “That’s the one. Imagine us there, a decade from now, two kids in tow, arguing over whether chocolate or vanilla is better.”
The image he paints eases your tension, providing a temporary escape from the clinical room. The retrieval is swift but the emotional weight lingers.
“You did great,” Charles murmurs, brushing a stray hair away from your face.
You smile weakly, “One hurdle crossed.”
The next phase comes swiftly the following day: chemotherapy. The treatment center is full of artificial warmth — the walls painted a deep yellow and the heater working overtime to keep patients as comfortable as possible — but it does nothing to counteract the chill of fear that has taken over your body.
When the nurse enters with the IV bag for your chemotherapy, Charles stands up, his stance protective. “How does this work?”
She explains the process, her voice soft, “The medication will enter her bloodstream and target the rapidly growing cells. There might be some side effects but we will monitor her closely.”
You feel a pinch as the needle is inserted and soon the clear liquid starts making its way into your veins. You blink rapidly, willing the tears away before Charles can see them.
Attempting to lighten the mood, he starts recounting some of his funniest moments from racing. You chuckle at his anecdotes, grateful for the distraction.
Hours pass. The room is filled with a mix of medical beeps and Charles’ voice, offering a counterbalance of cold reality and warm comfort.
As the IV bag nears empty, you feel a wave of fatigue. Charles notices. “Rest,” he urges softly, his thumb caressing your hand.
You nod, closing your eyes, “Thank you for being my anchor.”
He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Always, for every challenge, every step. Always.”
***
“I still can’t believe you made him go,” your mother murmurs from the chair next to you. The hum of machines and the sterile scent of the hospital room are in stark contrast to the roaring engines and burning rubber of the track that you can almost sense through the television screen.
You manage a weak smile. “He belongs on the track, Mom. This race is crucial for the championship.”
“He wanted to stay,” your father adds. “He’s racing with a heavy heart.”
“I know,” you whisper, a tear trickling down. “But he’s strong. And I want him to win, for both of us.”
The room falls silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the machines. You can feel the potent cocktail of drugs coursing through your veins, sapping your strength but a necessary step to fight the disease within.
The TV in the corner broadcasts the race. You hear the commentator’s voice, “... Charles Leclerc, giving it his all today. You have to wonder where he’s drawing this intensity from.”
You know the answer.
The laps go by. With each turn, each overtake Charles makes, you can sense his determination, his desire to win not just for the title but for something else … someone else.
“You should rest,” your father advises, noticing your drooping eyelids.
But you resist, wanting to witness Charles cross the finish line.
The final laps are intense. Charles battles fiercely, and as he takes the checkered flag, the room bursts into subdued cheers.
“He did it!” Your mother exclaims.
You feel a swell of pride. “For us,” you whisper, before fatigue takes over and you drift into a deep sleep.
As consciousness slowly returns not too long after, the first thing you notice is the gentle vibration of your phone on the bedside table. Groggily reaching for it, you see a new message notification from a group chat with Charles and Max.
It’s a photo of Charles and Max, still in their race suits, grinning ear to ear. Charles holds up his first-place trophy while Max proudly displays his second. They’re both covered in champagne, evidence of the post-race celebrations.
These are for you. For our champion.
With shaky fingers, you type back:
My heroes. Thank you for being my strength. So proud of you both. Can’t wait to see you again.
Your mother, noticing your reaction, peers over your shoulder. “Those boys,” she says with a fond smile, “they really adore you.”
You nod, wiping away a tear. “I’m so lucky.”
***
“Hey, sis,” Max’s voice is soft, tinged with a mix of worry and hope as he sits beside you in the pre-op room, “Ready to share a bit more than just DNA?”
You manage a small smile, despite the anxiety. “As long as you don’t start claiming we share driving skills.”
He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Promise.”
The doctor enters, clipboard in hand. “Both of you understand the procedure, correct? Max, we will be extracting bone marrow from your pelvic bone. It’s a relatively straightforward process but you might feel some discomfort.”
Max nods resolutely. “Anything for her.”
You swallow hard, emotions swirling. “Thank you, Max. This ... it means everything.”
He looks at you, eyes filled with a brotherly love that’s grown exponentially over the past few months. “We’re family. We look out for each other.”
As Max is wheeled away for his extraction, he offers a brave smile. “See you on the other side.”
Hours later, as you sit by his bedside, watching him slowly come around post-procedure, you squeeze his hand. “You okay?”
He groans, “Feels like I’ve done a doubleheader race without any breaks. But it’s worth it.”
Then comes your turn. Max, despite his exhaustion, insists on being present. The stem cells he donated are infused into you through a central line. It’s a simple procedure but one filled with so much hope and emotion.
Max watches closely, gripping your hand. “You got this,” he murmurs as the life-saving cells flow into your body.
You try to show a convincing smile before closing your eyes and praying to whoever’s listening that this works.
***
The pale blue walls of the hospital room have become all too familiar, the rhythmic beep of machines a constant in the background. You’re reclined on the bed, an IV line dripping nutrients and much-needed blood transfusions into your system. As your body adjusts to the new bone marrow, these are crucial.
Max is seated beside you, a crossword puzzle in hand. The chairs aren’t particularly comfortable but he’s still rarely left your side.
Max taps his pen against the paper thoughtfully. “Alright, here’s one for you. Seven letters: someone who is always there, no matter what.”
You raise an eyebrow, pondering. “Is it brother?”
He grins, “You’re getting good at this.”
You chuckle, “Well, I can’t help it when the answer is so obvious …”
He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I snuck in some of those chocolates you like from that little shop in town.”
Your eyes widen in mock horror. “You rebel. We’ll be banished from the kingdom.”
He winks, producing a small box from his bag. “Worth it.”
As you both indulge in the illicit treat, you realize just how much these little moments, these shared smiles and inside jokes, make the ordeal bearable.
Max notices your contemplative expression. “Hey, what’s on your mind?”
“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have a brother who sneaks chocolates into a hospital for me.”
He extends his pinky towards you, “Always. Until the end of the race.”
You intertwine your own pinky with his to immortalize the promise, “And beyond.”
Just as the two of you are finishing the last of the chocolates, the door swings open quietly. Charles steps in, his eyes immediately seeking you out. There’s a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand, their vibrant colors standing out against the sterile environment.
“You two conspiring without me?” Charles teases, setting the flowers on the bedside table.
Max smirks, “Just ensuring she gets her daily dose of chocolate, doctor’s orders.”
Charles moves to your side and presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better now that my two favorite racers are here,” you reply with a smile.
Charles laughs, “I see. Well, the doctor outside told me your blood counts are improving. Seems the new bone marrow is getting to work.”
You nod hopefully. “One day at a time.”
Charles moves closer, taking your free hand. “Every day is a step closer to getting you out of here.”
Max, sensing the intimate moment, stands up, stretching. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Need to grab a coffee and give that crossword another go.”
Charles smiles gratefully at him, and as Max exits the room, you’re left in a bubble of comfort and warmth with your boyfriend.
***
“Grant our daughter strength and good news,” your mother’s prayer weaves through the tense atmosphere of the room.
Charles’ grip on your hand tightens and he whispers, “Whatever the news, we face it together.”
“Guide the hands of the doctors, let their knowledge lead to healing.”
Max, on your other side, offers a comforting squeeze, his face betraying his own anxiety. “You’ve come so far already.”
“And bless our family with your grace and protection.”
The prayer lingers in the air just as the door opens.
“Grant her the strength, the health, the life she deserves ...”
The doctor steps in, a manila envelope in hand. Everyone’s gaze immediately fixes on him, the room heavy with bated breath.
He looks around the room, making eye contact with each one of you, then finally says, “The results are in.”
You feel Charles’ hand tremble slightly … Max’s grip tighten … your father barely breathing behind you … a silent prayer still on your mother’s lips.
“The bone marrow has taken exceptionally well. All indicators and markers are positive.” The doctor smiles. “You’re officially in remission. You’re cured.”
A tidal wave of emotion crashes over the room. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, happiness and relief mingling in each drop.
Your mother’s whispered prayer crescendos into a heartfelt “thank you,” choked with emotion.
Your father, the ever-composed king, has moisture in his eyes as he holds you close, “Our snow angel, our miracle.”
Charles pulls you into a tight embrace next, his voice a shaky whisper, “You did it.”
Max is grinning from ear to ear. “Told you, sis. Until the end of the race and beyond.”
***
“Look at them,” Max says, nudging you as the camera pans over the pit crews, each member prominently sporting a bright red ribbon. “All in solidarity.”
Charles beams, joining the conversation. “It was Max’s idea. The ribbons. Both teams were eager to join in.”
You’re touched, tears threatening to spill. “It’s incredible. Both of you, your teams ... I’m speechless.”
The commentator on the screen picks up on the theme. “For those just tuning in, both the Ferrari and Red Bull teams are wearing red ribbons today in support of aplastic anemia awareness, a personal cause for them given the recent battle of the Princess of Orange with the condition.”
Mid-race, Max’s voice crackles over the team radio, “This one’s for you, sis.”
Charles, not to be outdone, pushes his car to the limit, the red ribbon painted on his helmet clearly visible every time the camera focuses on him.
Later, as you walk back out through the paddock, fans approach, many sporting red ribbons of their own. One young girl looks at you with stars in her eyes, “I wear this for my mom. She’s fighting too, just like you did.”
You pull her into a gentle hug. “She’s got this. I know she does.”
***
As soon as the statement goes live on the official website of the Netherlands Royal Family, the internet erupts.
The Royal House of the Netherlands is pleased to announce that Her Royal Highness, Y/N the Princess of Orange, and Mr. Charles Leclerc are officially courting.
Your phone buzzes incessantly with notifications. Charles, seated beside you, chuckles, “Well, there’s no going back now.”
Your father enters the room, a smile playing on his lips. “The people seem to be taking the news ... enthusiastically.”
Your mother, scrolling through her own device, adds, “And overwhelmingly positively. Listen to this: We’ve seen them together. Their chemistry is undeniable. Wishing them all the best!”
You exhale, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “I was so nervous about the reaction.”
Charles brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “We’re in this together, remember?”
Max bursts into the room with his usual energy, “You two are trending. The fans are loving it!”
Screens across the nation flash images of you and Charles — at the racetrack, during hospital visits, candid moments captured by keen-eyed photographers. Talk shows and news channels dive deep into analyzing your relationship, piecing together any crumbs of insight they might have.
A popular racing pundit remarks on a live broadcast, “Their bond is evident, both on and off the track. Charles’ performance has been exceptional since they've been together. It’s clear that they draw strength from each other.”
The public’s fascination is insatiable. Magazines are splashed with titles like Love in the Fast Lane. But despite the media frenzy, what touches you most are the personal messages. Fans share artwork, write songs, and pen heartfelt letters, celebrating love and the winding path that brought you both to this moment.
One evening, as you and Charles sit on the palace balcony overlooking the city, he turns to you, “They’re acting like we’re some sort of fairytale.”
You lean into him, “Maybe we are. It’s our story and I wouldn’t change a single thing.”
***
“You know,” your father begins, a playful glint in his eye as he slices into his steak, “I had an amusing conversation with Prince Albert the other day.”
Charles, taking a sip of his wine, raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Your father chuckles, “He said Monaco might need to extend an invitation for our next state visit given that we seem to have shared interests now.”
The table erupts in laughter. Your mother adds, teasingly, “And here I thought we were simply bonding over diplomatic ties.”
“So,” Max leans forward eagerly. “Any embarrassing stories about Y/N? I have to make up for all of the childhood adventures I’ve missed.”
“Oh, there are plenty! Remember the time she tried to drive a lawnmower and ended up in the rose bushes?” Your father says, trying to look serious.
Marianne chuckles, “Don’t remind me! Those were my favorite roses.”
You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I was eight! And I thought it was a car!”
Charles grins, squeezing your hand under the table. “I can only imagine a mini version of you so determined behind the wheel.”
“And at her sixth birthday party,” your father recounts with a smirk, “she declared that she’d be ruling the kingdom by sundown and tried to hold a mock council meeting with her stuffed toys.”
Charles nudges you playfully, “Planning coups at six? Should I be worried?”
You swat him lightly, “It was a phase.”
As dessert is served, your mother turns contemplative. “You know, I’ve always believed in destiny. And seeing all of you here, witnessing the bonds and the love, it reaffirms that belief.”
Charles nods his agreement, “Life has a way of bringing the right people together.”
Your father raises his glass, “To family, in all its forms. To the journeys we embark on and the memories we create.”
The clinking of glasses has never sounded sweeter.
***
Charles, his face flushed with the victory of the 2025 World Championship, stands on the podium, trophy in hand. The cheering of the crowd is deafening but as he signals for a microphone, a hush descends.
“I’ve never done this before,” he starts emotionally, “naming my car, I mean. I watched Seb do it year after year and I always wondered what that felt like, to have such a connection.” He takes a deep breath, his gaze scanning the audience until it lands on you. “This season, I finally understood. My car, the one that just secured this championship, I named it after the most important person in my life.”
The crowd waits with bated breath.
“I named it,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, “after you. After the woman who has been my anchor, my strength.”
You feel tears prickling your eyes as the sheer intensity of his words hits you.
Charles signals and you’re gently nudged forward, guided up to the podium. The world seems to blur, the noise, the people, everything fading until it’s just you and him.
“Every race, every lap, I had two goals: to win for the team and to make you proud,” he confesses, his eyes never leaving yours. “You are my world. And today, in front of everyone here, in front of the world, I want to ask you one thing.”
He gets down on one knee and your hands move of their own volition to cover your mouth. Producing a gorgeous ring, Charles looks up at you, his eyes shimmering. “Will you marry me?”
The world stops.
The deafening cheers of the crowd seem quiet compared to the beating of your heart.
Tears stream down your face as you nod. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”
No sooner have the words left your mouth than Max and Lando, the other two podium finishers, gleefully seize the moment. With mischievous grins, they uncork their champagne bottles, dousing both you and Charles in a bubbly shower. The liquid gold sparkles in the sunlight, adding to the magic of the moment.
Charles pulls you close, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as you both get soaked.
***
The grand cathedral, bathed in the soft glow of a thousand candles, echoes with the hushed whispers of eagerly waiting guests. Roses, lilies, and orchids cascade down the pillars, their fragrance mingling with the scent of incense.
Behind the doors of the bridal suite, Max stands beside you, dressed impeccably in a classic tux. There’s a brotherly tenderness in his eyes as he reaches out, smoothing the delicate lace of your dress to ensure that every detail is perfect.
“You look breathtaking,” he murmurs, the emotion of the day making his voice waver.
“You clean up pretty well yourself, Man of Honor,” you reply, squeezing his hand.
As the first strains of the bridal march begin, the doors open, revealing the grand aisle, lined with well-wishers from all corners of the globe. Your father steps up and offers you his arm, his eyes glassy with pride and a hint of melancholy. “Ready, my snow angel?”
You nod, tears of happiness already blurring your vision. The world narrows down to the altar, where Charles stands, back straight in his crisp full dress uniform. As you make your way down the aisle, your eyes lock with his and the universe contracts to that singular point of connection.
Charles’ normally composed features give way as he takes in the sight of you. His eyes, also glistening with tears, convey a depth of feeling that words could never capture. Love, gratitude, wonder — all interwoven in that magnetic gaze.
His voice breaks as he whispers just for you, “You are my dream, my reality, my forever.”
Your own voice is thick with emotion, “And you are my heart, my soul, my love.”
As vows are exchanged and promises made, the world bears witness to a love that defied odds, overcame challenges, and brought together not just two souls but two worlds.
And as you both seal your commitment with a kiss, there is not a single dry eye in the cathedral. Because love, true love, is a force to be reckoned with, and today, it reigns supreme.
***
The soft whimpers of a newborn fill the air of the private birthing suite. Nestled in your arms, wrapped in a royal blue blanket, the baby prince stirs, his tiny fingers curling around one of yours.
Charles, sitting beside you, gazes down at your son with sheer wonder. “He’s perfect,” he says in a teary whisper.
You nod, tears streaming down your face. “Our little miracle.” The journey, the IVF treatments with your frozen eggs , the hope, the fear — everything culminated in this singular, beautiful moment.
The door opens gently, revealing Max, his eyes wide as they take in the sight before him, and your parents, their faces a canvas of joy and pride.
Max approaches tentatively, his usual confidence replaced by an awe-inspired reverence. “May I?” He asks softly.
You nod, handing over the precious bundle. As Max holds the baby, a bond forms instantly. “Hey there, little one,” he coos, “Your godfather is here.”
Your mother, tears in her eyes, leans in, planting a gentle kiss on your son’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, our precious grandchild.”
Your father, hoarse with emotion, simply murmurs, “An angel for our snow angel.”
And you know what? You decide that the fans were right. Your life really is a fairytale.
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TW: Death, blood, guns, fighting. 5.6K words. Third and final part to part 1. Part 2 is here
Skilled hands worked away at the rope, each bind falling to the floor with a heavy thump as they were severed by a knife. The sound echoed throughout the little room inside of a foreign dungeon.
Soon, the chair legs were surrounded with the thick brown threads as the saviour continued to free the captive. They operated fast; in just a matter of seconds, half of the bonds were already sliced open- the blade meeting little resistance. Too little, in fact.
But you didn’t have time to worry about that now.
“Y-Y/N, what are you doing here? You’re going to get yourself killed!”
“And watch as Chuuya barges in to what could possibly be his death? I think we both know how disastrous that would be, Yasuko.”
The girl bit her lip and fell silent. You continued to free her, despite having so much you clearly wanted to say at this moment. But you couldn’t risk your best friend finding out about what happened to her, and making a rash decision as a consequence.
“H-how did you find me?” Yasuko stuttered, her limbs trembling with fear. It was perfectly normal considering her situation, but it hindered your progress since your knife got dangerously close to her sometimes due to her shaking.
“I was in Chuuya’s office to retrieve something when he was on a mission. Then his phone lit up with an unknown text and a picture of you tied to this chair. It seemed that your captor had intended for him to come alone, with the threat that he would kill you if Chuuya brought backup or arrived even a second late. I couldn’t determine if it was telling the truth or not, so I went first to test the message’s authenticity. You know what happened afterwards.”
The ropes finally came off- only to reveal that Yasuko’s hands and feet were also bound to the seat. You cursed under your breath, before starting to work on them as well. The girl repeatedly peered over your shoulder in an anxious manner, but you didn’t give much thought about it. You had just passed it off as nervousness.
Until another knife suddenly grazed your cheek, leaving a small crimson trail of your blood in its wake.
The blade pierced itself into the chair, missing Yasuko’s temple by a hair’s breadth. She cried out in surprise and fear, immediately prompting you to react.
Your gun was drawn out and aimed at the attacker before you even processed what was going on.
“How surprising that you came instead. I didn’t know that Chuuya-kun was the type to be late to important events-”
You fired three shots before he could finish talking. Each bullet was aimed good and true, as they were shots made to kill.
“-especially events considering his girlfriend. Wouldn’t you agree, Y/N?”
The beautiful black-haired man standing in front of you smiled.
By his feet lay the bullets that rolled out of his fingers, and the bloody holes they normally left behind were nonexistent. The shots had bounced off of him as if he were made of steel.
His ability must have allowed him to repel any physical attacks that came his way. Defeating him seemed near impossible now.
Your eyes narrowed as he came closer, his unhurried steps matching the complacent aura that he gave off. You knew there was no use in trying to shoot him again, but you still tightened your index finger around the trigger. As a last resort, you could use the gun as a distraction to let Yasuko escape.
“I know who you are. You’re Hasegawa Kyuji. A high-ranking member of Obsidienne; a rival organisation of the Port Mafia.” You stated, with a steely gaze that could rival his relaxed stare.
“But you aren’t here to kill Yasuko. You’re here to kill me instead.”
His golden eyes seemed to shine as he smirked in response. The male tilted his head towards the aforementioned girl.
“Oh no. Quite the opposite, actually. I’m just here to reveal the truth.”
You heard Yasuko give a quiet whimper, and you scowled, aiming the gun at Hasegawa’s forehead.
“And why should I believe you? For all I know, anything that falls out of your mouth could be a lie. Deception is key for getting the upper hand in any fight.”
“...” The young man let out a short chuckle. It wasn’t long before he broke out into a hysterical laugh.
“Oh, you’re so naive it kills me! For all this talk of deception, you don’t even seem to realise a certain friend of yours that was deceiving you for months. And how you thought that nobody could see your obvious infatuation with your best friend. Isn’t that right, Yasuko? My dear cousin?”
He stared straight into her eyes, a dangerous glint apparent in his pupils.
Your eyes widened slightly. Not only at her betrayal and their kinship, but also at the fact that he knew your secret. A secret that you had hidden deep deep down, never letting even a bit of it slip out. Were you easier to read than you thought you were?
Whipping your head around, you glanced at the girl, silently begging her to say that it wasn’t true- that it was all a lie.
But Yasuko silently closed her eyes, hanging her head in a sign of guilty confirmation.
The silence that descended was suffocating, permeating the entire room with an invisible tension.
You had an unreadable expression on your face as you lowered your arm, the fingers clenched around the gun shaking ever so slightly from their rigid hold on the grip. Hasegawa’s smirk widened as you gave no response.
“Oh, but maybe you want to know why she betrayed you. Why she was working with me, a member of an enemy organisation?” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he fixed his golden eyes on you. Yasuko gulped a little, but neither of you paid her any mind.
“Well, it’s simple. It all started 8 years ago- when Yokohama lived in constant terror and dread of a single organisation. The Port Mafia. Many civilians were killed because of the Boss’s paranoia, and a lot more organisations were decimated by his sheer ruthlessness. It must still be as clear as day to you.”
You frowned slightly. Despite not wanting to listen to anything he said, you couldn’t stop the memories from resurfacing. Memories of fear, uncertainty, and bloodshed as the old Boss of the Port Mafia abused his reign, forcing you to live in extreme apprehension every second.
“One day, rumour had it that somebody in our vicinity insulted the Port Mafia. It was only a mere jab at how Yokohama would’ve been better off without the organisation; but that was enough for all the families in the district to be rounded up and interrogated. Then, when it was evident that the culprit wouldn’t show themselves, the Boss ordered everybody to be executed. Not even the infants were spared.”
“And two of the families that were killed on that day were yours and Yasuko’s. Hence why you wanted revenge; they were accused wrongly of something that likely wasn’t committed in the first place.” You interjected. You knew that he wasn’t lying, because there was nothing but truth in his words.
Afterall, the incident he described became very well known amongst the city in a flash.
“But that was when the Port Mafia was still under the control of the old Boss. There wouldn’t be much point in getting revenge now that everything has changed; and besides, our enemies are always hit twice as hard. This old grudge of yours could do nothing against us.”
You knew that you were behaving just as any stereotypical tough-talking mafioso would, but it was all a ploy for you to buy more time until you could figure out a solution. Hasegawa was already a formidable opponent with his ability, and it was obvious he also had the brains to go along with it. Someone of his calibre could decimate you and walk out without any serious injuries.
He spoke again, breaking your train of thought.
“Grudge? You speak as if the Port Mafia itself takes grudges lightly. It is obvious how strict the rule of borrowing and returning is in illegal organisations. Every grudge must be satiated, no matter how high the cost. But we could not act on ours without enough power.”
“And that was when you came up with the idea to join Obsidienne to gain this ‘power’?” You said, narrowed your eyes.
“Oh, I didn’t come up with the idea. Yasuko herself did, and she thought up many more after that. Everything that has happened up until now was all in the palm of her hand. Tell them, Yasuko. Tell them about everything you plotted for their demise.”
The silence that fell this time was deathly.
“... Yasuko. Is it true? That all this time you’ve been planning to take down the Port Mafia, starting with me and Chuuya?”
There was no anger in your voice. Only a cold flatness that seemed to absorb every emotion in the room as you spoke to her.
Yasuko slowly opened her eyes, fixing two beautiful brown pupils onto you. Those same pupils that had deceived those she was around for an entire six months. And they now held nothing but tears and guilt.
“I never meant for it to go this far. But he threatened to kill me if I backed out from this plan. So I had no choice but to continue with it.” She whispered, her voice heavy with resignation.
“And that wasn’t all.” Hasegawa added suddenly. You looked back at him, but he was staring at her. Like how a cat eyes its prey before it goes in for the kill.
“My dear Yasuko, weren’t you also the one who came up with the idea to poison your lover’s wine so that he wouldn’t give us any more trouble?”
Your whole demeanour changed in an instant once you heard those words.
A shot reverberated throughout the chamber, followed by Yasuko’s short scream.
The bullet had pierced through her sleeve, narrowly missing the chance to give her the sweet release of death. Your expression remained emotionless, yet burning in your eyes was anger that was hotter than the black flames of hell. The gun was pointed directly at her brow, held with an unusual stillness that was parallel with your aura.
“The next time, I won’t miss.” You coldly stated, speaking with nothing but truth in your words.
“I was willing to give you another chance. But this promises to exceed the limit of my forgiveness. Daring to poison the man you loved- the man I loved; I expected nothing less from a wretch such as you. A wretch who doesn’t even deserve this quick and painless death.” You stepped closer towards Yasuko, until the gun was pressed up against her skin.
Neither of you moved a single inch. It was as if everything was frozen in time, save for the dust that drifted elegantly onto the ground.
“... Do it.”
The girl whispered, looking up into your eyes with a soulless gaze.
“It’s only proper for me to die as a result of my foolish choices. That’s what a traitor only deserves, afterall. My only regret is… that I didn’t get to spend more time with you as a true friend.”
She closed her eyes for the last time, ready to face death with a serene expression.
Without hesitation, you pulled the trigger.
A final shot rang out within the walls.
And the bullet flew right into Hasegawa’s chest.
“!” His eyes widened in shock and disbelief.
Thankfully, he activated his ability right before the pellet could fully pass through him, but the damage had already been done. Blood gushed out of the wound as the bullet fell out of his body, and you wasted no time in drawing your dagger out.
“Don’t think that I haven’t forgotten you, Hasegawa. Sure, Yasuko’s done some pretty terrible things. But you were the one who was truly behind all of this. If you had not forced her to continue with the plan, then none of this would have happened. The Port Mafia does not forgive those who plan to hurt their family. And I cannot rest until I have finished what I came here for.”
“… So it’s come down to this.” He muttered.
In the blink of an eye, Hasegawa had lunged at you, bringing up his hand that also held a blade within its palm. You raised your own arm up to counter.
The clash of metals resounded in the room, all your training sessions with Chuuya bearing fruit as you found that you could actually keep up with your opponent’s attacks. You were fast and precise with your strikes, whereas he liked to be unpredictable, always making you guess his next move. It was a direct contrast to how your best friend had fought.
Your blades danced in a fierce tango as both parties tried to subdue each other. You were mostly put on the defence due to your attacks having no effect on him, but you kept on twisting and leaping just out of his reach whenever his weapon went to graze your body. He aimed for your stomach, and you managed to dodge the sharp edge that threatened to slice your skin apart.
Your opponent wasted no time in immediately transitioning into an uppercut, but you were prepared for this. Grabbing his wrist, you held it firmly in place before bringing your foot down onto the elbow, twisting his arm the opposite way. A snapping sound echoed, and you heard him curse in pain.
Hasegawa aimed a sloppy swipe at your chest, to which you blocked with your blade. Taking advantage of this momentary stillness, you aimed a kick at his ribs that would’ve broken them upon impact. The force made him stumble backwards a bit, and you were about to close the distance between the two of you with your weapon.
But you failed to consider that there was something he could use to his advantage. And it was already too late when you remembered what it was.
The next moment, Hasegawa threw the kodachi blade with all his might at Yasuko's neck.
The small sword flew through the air with deadly accuracy, landing cleanly into flesh and bone. Crimson liquid splattered all over the girl, some of it dripping off the chair and staining the floor with their scarlet hue.
Yasuko gave a small gasp of disbelief.
“Y-Y/N- why?!”
The kodachi blade was buried deep into your chest, and the tip protruded out of your back. You swore you felt it scrape an artery right near where your lung was.
Hasegawa chuckled at your figure, which struggled to remain standing as the excruciating pain evaded each of your senses. Your ears rang, and you could hear your heart pounding- gradually slowing down as your life started to ebb away. If heartbreak was the sensation that hurt the most, then this definitely had the potential to exceed it.
“In the end, you still chose to protect the one Chuuya-kun cared for the most. I must say that I’m touched; not many people can see the sight of true love at its finest.” Your opponent slowly approached you, the barrel of a gun directed straight at your face. His broken arm hung limply by his side, bent at an unnatural angle, but it didn’t even seem to faze him.
“Do you have any last words, Y/N?”
“... Go to hell.”
Hasegawa gave a dry chuckle. But he suddenly frowned when he realised that his index finger refused to move.
One by one, the fingers on his hand started to shake, loosening their grip on the gun. It clattered to the floor, bouncing away from him.
You laughed, despite your vision starting to grow blurry from blood loss.
“You made a mistake, Hasegawa-kun. When I shot you in the chest, the bullet was tipped with poison that was absorbed through your skin. It didn’t act immediately, but the more you moved, the quicker it spread in your bloodstream. And it will not stop until your heart has ceased to beat.”
The male collapsed against the wall, his legs having lost their strength to keep him standing. A sheen of sweat coated him as his body tried to force the toxins out, but to no use. The poison was designed to kill without leaving any exceptions.
“Hahaha... Well done. You truly… deserve… to be called my opponent.”
He smiled slightly, before he stilled.
You turned around to Yasuko. Grabbing the knife stuck in the chair, you haphazardly cut the last remaining ropes off of her hands and feet, successfully freeing her from the binds. She slowly stood up, staring wide-eyed in shock and penitence at you as you started to lean against the wall.
Your knees buckled, causing you to drop to the floor. The blade was knocked out of your body due to the impact, clattering onto the ground as a result of gravity. Blood spurted out of the opening as your breaths became shallow and rapid, trying to get as much oxygen they could into your lungs. Yasuko slowly crouched down by your side, pressing her hands to your wound in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She didn’t deserve to cry over something that was entirely her fault.
“I was always wary of you.” You said, breaking the silence.
“It all started when Chuuya rescued you. People don’t tend to think about suspecting an innocent civilian girl who got kidnapped by an underground organisation, and was coincidentally saved by a Port Mafia executive. However, crime syndicates tend to stay away from citizens due to their fear of attracting the government’s attention. The only exceptions being if a civilian was somehow connected to a rival group. And after doing some digging… I found out that the organisation who kidnapped you was an enemy of both Obsidienne and the Port Mafia. Your cousin, Hasegawa Kyuji, was an executive of Obsidienne, and both of your families were killed on that fateful night 8 years ago. The entire situation seemed too suspicious. It was then… that I knew to keep a closer eye on you.”
“If you suspected me… then why didn’t you tell Chuuya? Or anyone else in the Port Mafia for that matter?” Yasuko asked, her voice shaking.
You let out a dry laugh in response.
“Do you honestly think he’d take my side with the way he looks at you? Seven long years of being his best friend… and he’d still choose his lover of whom he’d only known for six months over me. His lover who only loved him so that she could betray him in the end.”
“…” She looked down into her lap, her silence speaking more than words themselves. A single teardrop fell from her eye, landing onto the floor with a silent plop.
“… I wanted to stop. I realised that the Port Mafia was not the same as it was 8 years ago, and that Chuuya was genuinely a kind man who wanted the best for me. But when I realised it… it was too late. So instead of putting the poison into his wine, I slipped it into Hasegawa’s drink. But he caught me, and furious at my betrayal, he decided to use me as bait to lure Chuuya here. I… I had told Hasegawa that my lover was more of a long-ranged fighter due to his gravity manipulation ability. So he planned that when Chuuya was at an appropriate distance from him, he’d hit a switch hidden on the wall, which would release toxic gas onto Chuuya so that he could be easier to defeat. But he didn’t expect you to be the one to show up. I only knew about this when I was being tied to the chair-”
You cut her off by coughing up drops of blood. Some of it landed onto her cream-coloured dress, creating a jarring contrast against the fabric.
The movement doubled the amount of pain you were in as your breathing quickened. Yasuko bit back a sob, her hands pressing harder onto your wound as more blood seeped out of it, staining the majority of your shirt a beautiful red.
“It seems that- I don’t have much time left.” You rasped, already feeling that you were starting to lose consciousness. Putting your hand over hers, you grasped it in a frail grip, tugging her closer as you forced the girl to look into your sincere eyes. Eyes that hid nothing in their final moments.
“Yasuko. I want you to leave Obsidienne. Leave the underworld of Yokohama, and live on as a normal person. Nothing good comes out of a life of crime, no matter how tempting the money or power is. Because all that will await you is a cold and empty death that doesn’t suit a girl like you.”
The female listened in solemn silence, her hand clasping yours tighter as she felt your hold weakening.
The ruby ring that sat on top of her finger knocked against your silver one, as if in a desperate attempt to transfer some of its life force to the metal. But just like its owner, the silver ring seemed… dim. Tarnished. No longer carrying any value after it was consumed by the shadow of death itself.
You hacked up some more blood, with the droplets being the darkest red this time. The liquid dripped down your chin, filling your mouth with the metallic taste of iron.
“... Tell Chuuya… that I’m sorry. I promised him I wouldn’t recklessly throw my life on the line again, but I did. However, I’m not searching for his forgiveness... because I’ll still love him just as I always did.” You said, your voice growing fainter. Yasuko had to lean in close to properly catch your words.
She gave a bittersweet smile, despite her vision starting to go blurry from the built-up tears in her eyes.
“I will. Chuuya really was lucky that he had you in his life.”
You gave a small chuckle, the grip on her hand loosening with each passing second.
“Tell me…” You whispered, each word seeming to evaporate into the atmosphere after it left your lips.
“Can a heart still break once it’s stopped beating?”
The stillness that followed afterwards would haunt Yasuko for the rest of her life.
Your hand, which had been warm in Yasuko’s grasp, slipped out of her hold, finding its final resting place on the floor.
The room seemed to hold its breath as your life flickered out, leaving only the echo of what it once was.
Time stood still as Yasuko hugged your body to hers. She finally let go of the tears that had already started streaming down her cheeks. The reality of her choices, the betrayal that had led to this devastating moment- all came crashing down onto her in waves of remorse and guilt as she acknowledged that your blood was on her hands.
She sobbed endlessly, her cries muffled by your shoulder that she buried her face into. The female didn’t look up, not even when hurried footsteps raced to the room she was in. All she cared about was that you were gone because of her stupidity.
Chuuya burst into the room, enraged and ready to fight whichever bastard dared to kidnap his girlfriend.
Only to find her weeping over a dead body. Your dead body.
His eyes widened in disbelief.
No… not them too!...
Chuuya stumbled against the wall, almost collapsing to the ground as he bit back a scream.
Surely this wasn’t happening, right? You must have been gravely injured instead; there should still be hope that a doctor at the Port Mafia could manage to save you just in time. He knew that you survived worse before, and each time you bounced back after you were healed. There was no way that you were dead!
But he knew, deep deep down, that you had left him too.
Chuuya shook his head, blinking back the wetness in his eyes that he didn’t even realise was there.
The first priority right now was to get Yasuko to safety. There were still members of Obsidienne in the building, and there was no way in hell that he was letting her stay here for another second. He hated that it had to be this way, but he’ll have to come back afterwards to properly avenge you.
He approached her slowly, laying a gentle hand down on her elbow.
Yasuko didn’t react much as Chuuya helped her to stand, putting his arm around her shoulder just like he always did when he was with her. She leaned onto him, with tears silently streaming down her face while she walked. Not even noticing how he cast one last glance towards your blood-stained body against the wall.
The whole ride back to their home was a blur to her. The Mafia executive had stayed at Obsidienne’s headquarters, ordering his men to completely exterminate every single member in the building. He even engaged in full-out combat with the powerful ability users who also belonged to the organisation. It was the angriest she had ever seen him; but she knew he was also suffering behind the fury that consumed him whole.
The limousine stopped in front of her house, and she collapsed onto the couch once she was inside, starting to cry again as she recalled the events that had happened just less than an hour ago. Events that she could have prevented in the very first place.
An eternity seemed to pass before she heard footsteps, and looked up to see Chuuya holding a glass of water in his hand. He gazed at her softly, fighting back his own emotions that threatened to rip his chest apart if he didn’t let them out somehow. But he pushed them down, instead focusing on the woman he loved.
He held her, not saying a word as she sobbed, getting his shirt wet from the salty tears that never seemed to end. His hand rubbed up and down her back, the steadiness of his touch grounding Yasuko as she hiccupped, trying to take deep breaths so that she could calm down.
“It’s okay, baby… it wasn’t your fault.” Chuuya said softly, planting a tender kiss on her forehead as he hugged her close.
She pushed herself off of him, staring back at his slightly confused expression towards her action. Yasuko bit her lip, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dug deep into her palms.
“N-no, it was my fault! I-If I hadn’t done the things that I did back then, if I had been stronger and smarter, then Y/N wouldn’t have died! All I did was to stand back and watch as they took the hit for me-” A sob erupted in her throat- the sound of the blade passing through your flesh was still vivid in her memories.
Chuuya stepped forward, his blue eyes tender as he took her hand in his.
“My love… don’t blame yourself. I know that it hurts, knowing that you couldn’t save them. But I will never get tired of saying that it was not your fault. That bastard was to blame, not you-”
“Why don’t you understand?! It was my fault!! I had the idea of joining Obsidienne in order to exact revenge on the Port Mafia for murdering my family. And I came up with the idea of being close to you so that the plan would be easier to commence!” She half-yelled, her voice cracking.
“Being close to me?... What are you talking about-”
Yasuko knew that she should stop before she ruined everything between them. But Y/N’s death weighed upon her shoulders, never letting go until she confessed. She would rather end things with the truth than to die with the guilt of a lie.
“I planned to be kidnapped by the criminal organisation because I knew that the Port Mafia would soon dispatch someone powerful to take care of them once and for all. Then I came up with the idea to romance you in order to know your weaknesses, just so that you wouldn’t be a hindrance once Hasegawa and I finally launch our attack on the Mafia. But soon, I wanted to stop when I realised that it all meant nothing. H-He didn’t let me, and instead used me as a hostage, setting up a trap for you when you’d arrive to set me free. However, Y/N showed up instead, and… and fought him instead. It’s all because of me that they’re dead!!”
She broke down, burying her face in her hands once again. Silence followed for a long time after her confession.
Until it was suddenly broken by the shattering of glass.
Yasuko looked up in alarm.
Chuuya stood there silently with a wide-eyed stare. His gaze seemed distant, painful- countless things running in his mind hidden behind those beautiful blue eyes of his. Despite having dated him for six months, he was still unreadable to her sometimes. Only Y/N could’ve deciphered those complex emotions of his hidden within his head.
He had crushed the glass in his hand, soaking himself in water as the shards embedded themselves into the floor. Yet despite this somewhat violent action, he only remained still.
“Chuuya?” Yasuko asked meekly, slightly fearing what his reaction afterwards would be like. Would he shout at her? Use his ability on her? The Port Mafia didn’t take traitors lightly, afterall. And he was an executive in the said organisation, too.
But instead, he walked towards the door. Picking up his hat, he dusted it off before standing in the hallway, casting his gaze at her.
“... I need to be alone for a while.”
And just like that, he walked out of the house for the final time.
Chuuya felt nothing but rage that day.
His gloves and coat were repeatedly stained with blood as he hunted down the remaining members of Obsidienne in Japan. The expensive leather and fabric quickly became filthy after the first few kills. But he didn’t care; because nothing he did could bring back his best friend. His best friend that was always there for him, who understood him better than anyone else.
His best friend that was now gone as well.
Chuuya wouldn’t- no, he couldn’t rest until he found every single member and crushed them with the weight of gravity. There would be no mercy, not even for the Boss of the organisation himself as he pleaded for his life. The gravity manipulator let loose his feelings, hurling bullets and remorseless kicks at his enemies.
Blood splattered onto the walls in each base as the dying screams of it’s owners faded away into nothingness. Buildings collapsed on top of each other, the infrastructure groaning as it succumbed into the pull of gravity. Even Mori was slightly surprised at Chuuya’s brutality as he tracked down one base after the next.
All for Y/N.
Back at home, Yasuko sat down onto the couch again, breathing heavily from her outburst.
Something fell out of her pocket, and she stiffened as soon as she saw what it was.
Trembling hands slowly picked the object up. The sun’s rays were reflected back onto her face, but she felt no warmth.
It was the topaz bracelet that you had just bought with her a few days ago. When you were still happy and alive.
Yasuko held it to her chest, where there was nothing left but numbness.
Only death could truly reunite her with you now.
~~~
Chuuya sat with his back against your grave, the cold stone pressing into the skin that was full of scars.
There was only silence that filled the tranquil air of the Port Mafia’s private cemetery.
“... You’re an idiot, you know that?”
He spoke as if you were there with him, listening to his every word.
“You promised me that you wouldn’t be so reckless ever again. You could’ve waited for me to return, and we might have been able to defeat him together. Like we always did ever since we were fifteen. But you didn’t.” Chuuya gave a wry chuckle, lifting his head up to gaze at the blue sky. His eyes held nothing but sorrow and regret.
“... Yasuko and I have cut connections. She told me everything about what she did. I don’t blame her for your death, but it’s hard to look at her in the same way again after knowing about the truth.”
Again, there was only silence that answered him. But Chuuya could still see your smile, and hear your voice as clear as the day in his mind when you responded in your typical manner. He closed his eyes, wordlessly curling his mouth up into a forlorn smile as he laid his head against your tombstone.
“If you were mine instead… would you still be here beside me?”
It was softer than a whisper, but his words carried a weight heavier than all the precious stones in the world combined together.
A small gust of wind blew by, ruffling his clothes and hair in a virtually affectionate yet comforting manner. It gently brushed against his cheek, before moving on to his lips, his neck, and his forehead. The breeze was neither cold nor warm, and it strangely felt like the caress of a lover. Almost as if you had heard his statement and responded with a reply of your own.
Chuuya opened his eyes when he felt the last touches of the wind disappear. All that was left behind was the silence that had always been there.
The silence that would forever be tinged with tainted sorrow.
@circinuus @justcallmesakira @riiwrites @ruanais @sariel626 @atlasnessie @yasu-masashige @oldworldpoolhall @yuugen-benni @chocsra @heartsfourdazai @iridescentdove
#silverbladexyz#bsd x reader#bungou stray dogs x reader#chuuya x reader#chuuya nakahara x reader#bsd x gender neutral reader#bsd x you#bungo stray dogs x reader#chuuya x you#chuuya x y/n#chuuya x gn reader#chuuya x gender neutral reader#final part of unrequited love fic#unrequited love fic
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KAKAIRU BIG BANG 2024 MASTERLIST
Hello everyone!
We have been amazed by the sheer talent by all the story submissions this year. A huge round of applause to everyone that participated. To all of our incredible writers, artists and betas - and those that pulled double duty - we have no doubt that you've poured your hearts out onto the page, and we’re grateful to have had you join.
Please continue to show everyone your love for our little fandom community. Support them by sharing, commenting on their works and reblogging where possible!
You can find all the works listed below, in this AO3 collection or in this Airtable gallery. We are sure you'll find something that you'll love.
As always we would love to hear what you thought about the event. We ran this one differently to the Reverse Bang in a year long event. Did you participate? What worked for you and what didn't? Please let us know here. We would love to hear your thoughts.
On behalf of everyone from the Kakairu Big Bang mod team, take care, and see you in the next one. 💖
Here you can find all creations for this big bang. Artwork, word count, ratings, warnings, tags and summary after the read-more cut.
TEAM HOT TOPIC NO JUTSU Artist: @animae-n-sht , Writer: @mandapandabug20 Title: A Magnitude of Opposites
🎶TEAM APPASSIONATO NO JUTSU🎶 Artist: @that1valiantcougar, Writer: @myprivatetsukuyomi Title: Perfect Harmony
🗝️TEAM LOCKSMITH NO JUTSU 🗝️ Artist: @lildraws, Writer: @tucuxi Title: Meet Me At The Intersection
🍹TEAM KIWIPUNCH NO JUTSU 🍹 Artist: @rocketpunchhh, Writer: @hystericalcherries Title: It's All Fun and Games (Until I See Your Face)
TEAM WHOSE FACE NO JUTSU Artist: @Bow_art , Writer: @hkandi Title: His face, your face
TEAM OKAMI NO JUTSU Artist: @Anniemaar, Writer: @Naferty Title: As a Species
👨🏫TEAM BLACKBOARD NO JUTSU👨🏫 Artist: @DoctorBethany, Writer: @Kaoruhana Title: The Year in Konoha
🌑 TEAM IROSAI NO JUTSU 🌑 Artist: @Anna_Lale, Writer: @Crimsonleaf Title: Irosai
🧝♂️TEAM ISEKAI NO JUTSU🧝♂️ Artist: @Bakakakashi, Writer: @Mandapandabug Title: The other worlder is surprisingly competent
💐TEAM POPPY NO JUTSU 💐 Artist: @Kakamonoki, Writer: @DoctorBethany Title: Bouquet
🔎 TEAM MYSTERY NO JUTSU 🔎 Artist: @radkoko, Writer: @mt_nikolle Title: Open Minds
💚 TEAM V SQUARED NO JUTSU 💚 Artist: @Fire_Cat, Writer: @Virtualcarrot Title: The ties that bind
💕TEAM FAKE RELATIONSHIP NO JUTSU💕 Artist: @animetrashmuffin Writer: @thegigibeegees Title: two lies and what's left over
↪️ TEAM REDUX NO JUTSU ↪️ Artist: @That1ValiantCougar, Writer: @Chierei Title: here and now and forever
🍜 TEAM Culinary no Jutsu 🍜 Artist: @Sweetysamaa, Writer: @hkandi Title: The way to a man's heart
✨TEAM Kiramizu no jutsu✨ Artist: @Doolim, Writer: @onceuponamoon Title: crimson threads
🦸🦹TEAM Rugget no Jutsu 🦹🦸 Artist: @Microrockets, Writer: @Megyal Title: We can Only See A Short Distance Ahead
🏰 TEAM RENAISSANCE FAIR NO JUTSU🏰 Artist: @animetrashmuffin, 🏰 @vulcanhighblood Title: The Tournament

TEAM HOT TOPIC NO JUTSU Artist: @animae-n-sht , Writer: @mandapandabug20
Title: A Magnitude of Opposites
Word count: 9,746 Rating: General Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Female Kakashi, Female Umino Iruka, All genders swapped, Prejudice against punk, neighbors to lovers, Idiots in Love, Repressed Iruka
Summary: Iruka and Kakashi couldn’t be more opposite. Yet fate decided to make them share a duplex as neighbors. Iruka must reevaluate her increasingly unwelcoming attitude (and why she seems to hate her neighbor) and Kakashi has to deal with her unexplainable feelings for said neighbor. Punk meets conservative.

🎶TEAM APPASSIONATO NO JUTSU🎶 Artist: @that1valiantcougar, Writer: @myprivatetsukuyomi
Title: Perfect Harmony
Word count: 33,012 Rating: Mature Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Alternate Universe: Modern Setting, Musician AU, Composer/Pianist Kakashi, Opera Singer Iruka
Summary: Kakashi Hatake, the once great pianist and composer now turned reclusive shut-in, finds his life unexpectedly turned upside down with the arrival of a new next-door neighbor. Could new beginnings really happen because of too-thin New York apartment walls? Through the language of music, life and love can begin anew.

🗝️TEAM LOCKSMITH NO JUTSU 🗝️ Artist: @lildraws, Writer: @tucuxi
Title: Meet Me At The Intersection
Word count: 25,688 Rating: Teen Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Disability, Physical Disability, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pre-CanonChronic Pain, chronic disability after traumatic injury, Stubborn Umino Iruka, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivor Guilt, civilian shinobi relations, Shinobi Politics (Naruto), Shinobi Culture (Naruto), Anbu Root (Naruto), Anbu Hatake Kakashi, Trauma, medical bias, systemic bias, Denial of care, Ableism, Medical Gatekeeping, Canon-Typical Violence, Medical Jutsu, Original Jutsu (Naruto), Mobility Aids, Past Child Neglect, Minor Character Death, Canonical Character Death
Summary: Umino Iruka regarded the man standing before his shop counter with what was probably poorly-veiled irritation. "Yes, thank you," he said. "I know how a triple-layered chakra lock works." Long years of experience kept Iruka's tone even: losing his temper meant losing customers, even if there weren't very many people in Konoha who did what he did. * * * The canon-divergent au in which Iruka graduates the academy, does 3 D-rank missions, and then retires, because his leg was badly crushed in the kyuubi attack—so he re-trains as a locksmith and makes chakra-manipulated locks. A story about systemic structural power imbalances between shinobi and civilians and the various ways in which expectations of physical strength and implicit ableism are detrimental to community trust. In which Iruka finds himself stuck between worlds, all because Sharingan Kakashi demanded the impossible, and Iruka made him a quadruple-layered chakra lock.

🍹TEAM KIWIPUNCH NO JUTSU 🍹 Artist: @rocketpunchhh, Writer: @hystericalcherries
Title: It's All Fun and Games (Until I See Your Face)
Word count: 23,263 Rating: Teen Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Umino Iruka-centric, POV Umino Iruka, Prankster Umino Iruka, Anbu Hatake Kakashi, Hatake Kakashi is Bad at Feelings, Hatake Kakashi is a Troll, Dogteeth Hatake Kakashi, Nuisances to friends to lovers, Awkward Flirting
Summary: Hatake Kakashi’s face is a mystery and Iruka is determined to keep it that way.

TEAM WHOSE FACE NO JUTSU Artist: @Bow_art , Writer: @hkandi
Title: His face, your face
Word count: 26,765 Rating: Teen Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: No Archive Warnings ApplyHatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka Sukea/Umino Iruka Hatake Kakashi & Yamato | Tenzou Umino Iruka & Uzumaki Naruto Hatake Kakashi & Hatake Kakashi's Ninken PackHatake Kakashi Umino Iruka Sukea (Naruto) Yamato | Tenzou Tsunade (Naruto) Mitarashi Anko Uzumaki Naruto Hatake Kakashi's Ninken PackKakaIru Big Bang 2024 Secret Identity Identity Reveal Humor Flirting Feelings Mission Fic Mission gone wrong...for Kakashi Sukea to the rescue...kind of Hatake Kakashi Needs a Hug Hatake Kakashi is Not Okay Umino Iruka Is So Done Anbu Yamato | Tenzou Protective Tsunade (Naruto) Naruto is Just Naruto Icha Icha Series (Naruto) Icha Icha come to life?
Summary: Kakashi was on a mission undercover as Sukea, but the mission goes sideways and Kakashi becomes “stuck” as Sukea, physically and mentally. Tsunade sends Iruka out of the village to help; Iruka just thinks he’s been tasked with chaperoning a VIP, and that having an ANBU on the sidelines to help is just a natural part of it. Sukea is pleasant company and attractive, so Iruka’s not complaining! Even if Sukea flirts a lot...Iruka is a professional, so no big deal, right? And when they return to Konoha and continue to spend time together...well, Iruka thinks it's just part of his mission. Except it becomes more than that, and then Kakashi returns to his usual self all of a sudden! Will Iruka be safe after that, and does he dare tell Kakashi of their time together?

TEAM OKAMI NO JUTSU Artist: @Anniemaar, Writer: @Naferty
Title: As a Species
Word count: 33,782 Rating: Teen Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Demon AU, Human Umino Iruka, Demon Hatake Kakashi, Demon Team 7, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Violence, minor violence against children, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, animal features, Umino Iruka-centric, Uzumaki Naruto is a Ray of Sunshine and a cinnamon roll
Summary: Iruka lived his life as best he could in a world where demons and humans were constantly in conflict. He expected nothing different. He expected nothing to change. Then, an injured demon fox came crashing through his door and brought with him his wounded friends and their wounded sensei.

👨🏫TEAM BLACKBOARD NO JUTSU👨🏫 Artist: @DoctorBethany, Writer: @Kaoruhana
Title: The Year in Konoha
Word count: 27,671 Rating: Teen Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Teacher Iruka, slowburn, Bad breakup (past), Cheating (Past), Slice of Life, Good friend Tenzo, Anything else I forgot to tag, KakaIru Big Bang 2024, art fic, small town Konoha
Summary: “I think I need to leave the city for a while.” Iruka finally said, still pushing the inarizushi around on his plate. “To get away. From everything.” “You sure?” Asuma asked Iruka. “I’m sure.” Iruka answered, sitting up a bit straighter. “I’m sure.” He repeated, voice getting stronger, that same determination and assurance in it again. “For a year,” he answered. A year wouldn’t be too long. Just a year, one year to think and reflect and plan, and see where he would take his life now. | Just a year for him to move on. Asuma gave a nod, leaning back in his chair, one arm coming to drape over the back lazily. “My old man is looking for a teacher. It’s a country school: my old high school back in Konoha. Would you be interested in teaching there?”

🌑 TEAM IROSAI NO JUTSU 🌑 Artist: @Anna_Lale, Writer: @Crimsonleaf
Title: Irosai
Word count: 8,934 Rating: Teen Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Soulmark AU, Psychological, Akatsuki (Naruto), Tsukuyomi Jutsu (Naruto), Itachi's Mangekyou Sharingan is involved, Dark, Hospital, Genjutsu (Naruto), False Memories
Summary: Iruka was just planning a fun day out to cheer up Naruto, when he gets caught up in an Akatsuki attack. Lost in a genjutsu, only Kakashi, who recently discovered his soulmark for Iruka, can save him from certain death.

🧝♂️TEAM ISEKAI NO JUTSU🧝♂️ Artist: @Bakakakashi, Writer: @Mandapandabug
Title: The other worlder is surprisingly competent
Word count: 36,479 Rating: Mature Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Isekai, otherworld au, Otherworld’s books depend on the bean counter AU, Fantasy world au, consensual but dubious sex, Healing Sex, not very explicit, Idiots in Love, Mildly Dubious Consent, Unconscious Sex, needing to have sex to heal someone
Summary: Based on (with many liberties taken) the manga, the other world’s books depend on the bean counter. Iruka is an overworked and underpaid social worker, tasked with the care of orphan Naruto. When a portal opens and starts to suck Naruto away, Iruka jumps in the save him. Unfortunately, they instead are both dragged into another world, full of medieval intrigue and magical energy. Naruto thrives in this new world, but Iruka only gets weaker and weaker. Luckily, he has a guardian angel, Captain of the ANBU guards, Hatake Kakashi.

💐TEAM POPPY NO JUTSU 💐 Artist: @Kakamonoki, Writer: @DoctorBethany
Title: Bouquet
Word count: 14,927 Rating: Teen Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Flower Language, Big Brother Kakashi, Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Summary: Iruka has been receiving flowers for a couple of years now but has never thought to look into it despite his friends' insistence; in between teaching the hokage’s son and the mission desk there just wasn’t time for sleuthing. Now the final exam is drawing near which means more training for Naruto and more of his not-a-brother coming to “supervise”.

🔎 TEAM MYSTERY NO JUTSU 🔎 Artist: @radkoko, Writer: @mt_nikolle
Title: Open Minds
Word count: 17505 Rating: Teen Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Trope Inversion, Mystery, Investigations, Strangers to Friends, Platonic Relationships, bring your own subtext, Kakashi hides from Gai, and then he can't, Humor, Genjutsu (Naruto), Jigyaku no Jutsu, Saiko Denshin, Hospitals, hospital stays, Iruka wakes up a lot, because he falls unconscious a lot, MORE THAN I EXPECTED, Whump, holy shit is this whump, omg I wrote whump, Umino Iruka Is So Done, Tired Umino Iruka, mostly made up investigative procedures, mostly made up medical procedures, Books, books are a bonding experience, references to drinking and its aftereffects, Umino Iruka Can't Cook, well he can't cook fish, Ramen, Fuuinjutsu User Umino Iruka, Did they do away with the seals master tag?!, KakaIru Big Bang 2024, which means there's great art inside, image descriptions included
Summary: Kakashi comes home after a mission, opens the door, and is shocked to find Iruka unconscious inside.

💚 TEAM V SQUARED NO JUTSU 💚 Artist: @Fire_Cat, Writer: @Virtualcarrot
Title: The ties that bind
Word count: 17732 Rating: Teen Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Misunderstanding, Everyone Thinks They're Together, Embedded Images
Summary: Iruka's always been made aware that his big heart would be his undoing, but he never expected it'd happen from helping out a fellow shinobi in need. or: the one where Iruka helps Kakashi keep his face hidden away in a fit of chivalry, and sets tongues wagging for it. Brings back memories, that does.

💕TEAM FAKE RELATIONSHIP NO JUTSU💕 Artist: @animetrashmuffin Writer: @thegigibeegees
Title: two lies and what's left over
Word count: 12282 Rating: Teen Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Canon Universe, -ish mostly., Fake/Pretend Relationship, Misunderstandings, a light sprinkling of angst. no consequences to actions. which makes the next tag even funnier., Attempted Murder, Humor, wodehouse and georgette heyer influence in this is what i mean by humor., t for a lot of blithe talk about death
Summary: Hatake Kakashi's latest (self-imposed) mission: eliminate the threat to Konoha security known as Umino Iruka. Umino Iruka's latest (self-inflicted) worry: turn this attempted assassination into Konoha's most public relationship. What could go wrong?

↪️ TEAM REDUX NO JUTSU ↪️ Artist: @That1ValiantCougar, Writer: @Chierei
Title: here and now and forever
Word count: 6430 Rating: Teen Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Time Travel, Fluff, Angst
Summary: t the end of the world, Iruka and Kakashi make one last, desperate bid for a second chance.

🍜 TEAM Culinary no Jutsu 🍜 Artist: @Sweetysamaa, Writer: @hkandi
Title: The way to a man's heart
Word count: 6248 Rating: General Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Alternate universe modern setting, cooking, humor, fluff, didn't know they're dating, developing feelings
Summary: Iruka moves into Kakashi's apartment building and they strike up friendship, sprinkled with some mutual interest, not that either know it. Kakashi begins to woo Iruka with food, leading to cooking together and spending more time together. So, basically, they're dating, or so Kakashi sees it. But does Iruka?

✨TEAM Kiramizu no jutsu✨ Artist: @Doolim, Writer: @onceuponamoon
Title: crimson threads
Word count: 41,385 Rating: Explicit Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Undercover Missions, Mission Fic, Undercover As Prostitute, Undercover As Politician, Brothels, Sex Work, Dubious Consent, (Undercover/Mission Sex Work), Infiltration, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Cults, Religious Cults, Hurt/Comfort, Shinobi Politics (Naruto), Political Alliances, Trans Hatake Kakashi, Explicit Sexual Content, Resolved Sexual Tension, Memory Alteration
Summary: Kakashi hears a delicate, “Yes, ma’am!” in response, then soft, measured footsteps rushing around the corner before the individual slows, likely hoping to appear more composed once they finally make it to their booth and—
He’s frozen. Genuinely, Kakashi is shocked. Despite the fact that he heard it straight from Genma’s mouth only hours before, Kakashi’s heart gives a stutter inside his chest and he even hears his breath audibly catch, because…that’s Iruka. That’s Iruka.

🦸🦹TEAM Rugget no Jutsu 🦹🦸 Artist: @Microrockets, Writer: @Megyal
Title: We can Only See A Short Distance Ahead
Word count: 18000 Rating: Teen Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Superheroes, Action, Cute, Cute Ending, Happy Ending
Summary: Kakashi is a top-ranked superhero who has been in the field for years. Iruka is quite new to the business, with a particular mission of his own. Kakashi's a little jaded…but Iruka's preppy outlook may give him something new to believe in.

🏰 TEAM RENAISSANCE FAIR NO JUTSU🏰 Artist: @animetrashmuffin, 🏰 @vulcanhighblood
Title: The Tournament
Word count: 102,339 Rating: Mature Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence Tags: Tournaments, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon-Typical Violence, Sex Work, Secret Identity, idiots to lovers, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Umino Iruka Needs a Hug, Debt, Financial Issues, Slut Shaming, Hatake Kakashi is a Tease, Child Soldiers, Human Trafficking, Umino Iruka is Bad at Feelings, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Child Death
Summary: In his twenty-seven years, Iruka has learned many useful things: how to know when you're being cheated, what alleys not to use as shortcuts, and which shopkeepers wouldn't take your hand if you lifted their goods. He’s also learned that the world hates orphans, and luck favors the wealthy. Besieged by debts and having nowhere else to turn, Iruka enters a tournament where common folk can earn the chance to marry into a noble family. He didn't expect a one-night-stand with a noble to turn into something more, nor did he expect to do well in the tournament. Now, an entirely different problem presents itself: Iruka doesn't want to marry Prince Kakashi; he wants to marry his noble-born lover, Sukea.
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The Curse of Cassandra [EP : IV]
Read in Ao3 : here
Pairings: Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader) [The Acolyte]
Content Rating : Mature 18+ Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)
tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers
Summary: Even though you saw a chance to escape, you face an inner conflict between desire for freedom and a growing attachment to Qimir. You’re unsure whether you want to flee or stay by his side.
Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)
A/N : beware! This dude is a mastermind manipulator (and he's also fucking hot when he does this)
➡ Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)
Special OS : Phantom Thread // My mother is my enemy
[Episodes 4] Seek freedom and become captive of your desires.
A storm was raging across the surface of an unfamiliar planet, and through the small viewport, nothing was visible except for the relentless sheets of rain and the murky, gray sky. All other sounds were drowned out by the deafening roar of raindrops striking the roof. The air was thick with the damp scent of rain, but it couldn’t mask the overpowering stench of blood that lingered stronger still.
You closed your eyes, taking a long, measured breath, trying to calm your turbulent mind. You had known this was inevitable, yet the guilt burning in your chest hadn't diminished at all.
Your mind drifted back to your memories. Three days ago, you had begun using your prescient visions once more, searching for the future that lay ahead. It was then that you saw one path in destiny—a crucial opportunity to escape Qimir. The likelihood of success was a staggering hundred percent. As long as events unfolded along this path with no missteps, freedom would be yours, true and unshackled, severing all ties with him and every other bounty hunter who might come after you.
However, the price for your freedom was steep, paid with the blood of others.
And that price had already been exacted—on Qimir, with you as the cause.
That was the story you had seen in your vision. Like the butterfly effect, it all began with a small rumor that spread like wildfire among the bounty hunters—a whisper passed from one to another, ear to ear, that Qimir was in possession of a woman with a high bounty on her head, and they were now wandering across the galaxy together.
These rumors fueled the greed of many, and eventually, a group of daring bandits concocted a sinister plan. The plan was brutally simple: kill Qimir, capture the woman, and claim the bounty for themselves.
Your prophetic vision had laid it all bare for you. They would attempt to assassinate Qimir on a day when a heavy storm raged on a remote planet far beyond the reach of the Republic's watchful eye. Everything was perfectly set for murder and evidence concealment, ensuring that no lawkeeper would trace the deed back to them.
But what those criminals hadn't considered was that Qimir was no easy prey.
You had faced off against Qimir multiple times. You knew him thoroughly, unquestionably in his skill, and the future vision confirmed this. Even though he would be surrounded by over a dozen armed men, Qimir was still formidable enough to defeat them all—and ruthless enough to kill every one of them, leaving no one alive to tell others about you.
You already knew he wouldn't die, but this fight would severely injure him, paving the way for your escape. Qimir would have no chance of catching up with you, and if you managed to escape successfully, he would never find you again. The thread of fate binding you two together would end there.
You knew this was the only chance you'd been waiting for. The chance to break free from him. as you've always wanted.
So, you chose not to warn Qimir, even though you knew exactly what he would face.
You didn't care who got hurt or died. You fully embraced the truth that you were not a good person because this universe had no place for good people. To survive, one had to learn to be selfish and heartless. This was how you were raised, and there was no changing that.
All you have to do is wait. Let fate play out as you've foreseen it. Don't interfere; don't alter the course. Then, when Qimir is gravely injured, you'll leave him here, steal his ship, and escape to another planet. That would be the end of all this chaos—no more being hunted, no more death, and no more Sith haunting your dreams.
Everything seemed so easy in your mind. But when the moment arrived, you found yourself hesitating.
Your clear blue eyes gazed down at the large figure lying on the floor. Qimir's face was growing paler by the moment. His eyes closed in unconsciousness. His body was riddled with wounds, and his clothes were soaked with blood that had darkened to a deep crimson. At a glance, it was hard to tell if he was even breathing, but deep down, you knew he wasn't going to die—not today.
And yet, the sight of him had a greater impact on you than you'd expected.
You clenched your fists so tightly that your nails dug into your palms, the pain sinking deep into your thoughts. A voice from your conscience whispered accusations, telling you this was all your fault. You might not have wielded the knife against him, but you allowed this to happen. You were part of what led him to this fate.
You quickly shook your head, trying to banish the nagging thoughts. You had no reason to feel guilty about Qimir. He was a bounty hunter, after all. He had captured you and imprisoned you, all for the sake of a reward. He was just as selfish as you. You don't need to care about him at all.
You tried—really tried—to convince yourself of that. You tried to force yourself to walk away while you still had the chance.
But in the end, you found yourself right back where you started. Back where Qimir's body lay unconscious, injured, and vulnerable, as if he could die at any moment.
“Damn it!” You curse under your breath, frustration gnawing at you as you kneel down, gathering all your strength to lift him off the ground, not caring that his blood is staining you all over.
You pulled his arm over your shoulder, struggling greatly as Qimir was much bigger than you. But you were determined to drag him through the rain and onto the ship as quickly as possible before anyone else stumbled upon you and the bodies of the criminals.
You knew you were getting yourself into trouble. You knew that well.
But this time, to hell with fate.
“How long am I unconscious?”
Qimir’s question makes you frown, your eyes drifting for a moment in thought. “About a week, I guess. I didn’t count.” You shake your head before focusing on examining the large wound on his abdomen again. “Don’t move. Do you want to tear your wound open again?” you scold him firmly, pushing gently against his chest as he attempts to sit up suddenly.
Qimir complies, though he feels somewhat bored. It has been three days since he regained consciousness, but he remains confined to the hard bed of his ship, with you attending to his every need—cooking for him, applying medicine, and wiping him down. You do all this without a single complaint.
In truth, the wound is minor for him. He could heal himself completely right now if he wants to, but he doesn’t want to draw any unwanted attention from you. Moreover, deep down, he enjoys your care and attention. With this thought, enduring another few days of lying still isn’t so bad.
Qimir watches as you move closer, close enough that he can smell the faint scent of sandalwood from you. It is a strangely calming scent. You place your hand on his abdomen, near his wound, your fingers carefully tracking along the shape of his muscles. Your face looks worried as you look up at him. “Does it still hurt?”
Not at all, he thinks, but chooses to answer the opposite. “It hurts.”
You lower your eyes, trying to ignore Qimir’s gaze that has been fixed on you constantly since he fully regained consciousness. You reach for the Bacta spray, telling him, “Just bear with the pain for a bit, okay?” Then you spray the healing substance on his wound. The blue liquid covers all the damaged areas on his skin, rapidly regenerating new flesh.
The bacta healing process is quite painful for a large wound like this. However, Qimir’s expression doesn’t change one bit.
After finishing dressing the wound, you are about to move away, but Qimir grabs your arm, holding you in place.
“Why did you save me?”
You hesitate, taken aback. Even though you knew he would eventually ask this question, you are momentarily speechless.
You had previously tried to come up with a hundred reasons to answer this question for yourself, but no matter how much you pondered, none of the answers seemed entirely correct.
Even now, you still don’t understand yourself. Why?
Why are you still standing here? Why haven’t you just left him?
“I don’t know,” you say honestly, pretending to busy yourself with putting the medical supplies back into the box, avoiding his gaze. “I just didn’t want to see you like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like...” You close your eyes, and even with your eyes closed, you can still feel Qimir’s intense gaze. This time, it holds more than just curiosity. There is something in his eyes that makes your heart waver and tremble. “I didn’t want to see you hurt,” you say, opening your eyes, but you still don’t turn to face him.
Qimir notices your nervousness, which you can’t hide. He can tell you are speaking the truth, not lying.
He chuckles at your reaction before playfully tugging at your hand, pulling you closer until you are almost breathing on each other’s necks. You stiffen, your face flushing lightly, but you don’t pull away or push him off.
“You are worried about me?” His voice is low but not threatening. On the contrary, you think it sounds oddly seductive.
You bite your lip hard, refusing to answer his question. You’d rather die than admit you are worried about him because you know that if you do, he’ll start to get cocky. You don’t want to boost his already towering ego any further.
Qimir seems unwilling to give up his intentions. He raises his hand to cup your face, gently forcing you to look at him again. As your eyes lock with his, your breath quickens involuntarily. It is the first time you are this close to someone, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body and see all the details you have only observed from afar before—his collarbones, his sharp jawline, and his eyes...
You notice that Qimir’s eyes are pitch black, devoid of any other color, as if nothing exists within them but an empty darkness.
Strangely, you think Qimir makes that black color look captivating.
Your heart pounds erratically as he leans in closer, his nose almost touching yours. For a moment, you think he might kiss you, but instead, Qimir simply tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.
“You know, you don’t have to hide yourself when you’re with me,” Qimir whispers, his fingers tracing your cheek slowly. The warmth of his touch lingers long after he has pulled away.
You blink, momentarily lost in a trance. As reality rushes back, you step back as if you have touched something scalding. Without a word, you quickly make your way out of his room, almost running in your haste.
Yet, even then, you can still feel Qimir’s dark eyes following your every move, watching you until you vanish from sight.
Swallowing hard, you place your hands over your chest, hoping to calm your racing heart. With each passing day, it becomes more apparent that Qimir’s presence is disturbing your thoughts and emotions deeply. The only solution seems to be distancing yourself from him before things go too far.
But it is impossible for you to stay away from him. No matter where you go, his presence, his scent, his gaze, and his voice always manage to find you.
And you know well that, deep down, you don’t want to leave him either.
#star wars#qimir fic#qimir x reader#the acolyte fic#qimir#qimir x y/n#the acolyte#the curse of cassandra#star wars fic#the acolyte x reader#the stranger x reader#qimir x you#the acolyte fanfiction#qimir the stranger#the acolyte qimir#dune fanfiction#dune fanfic
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//continued from here @allyphase
Ever the active spark, Sain dances around the dining hall until he reaches his table--Mark in tow. He listens to her comment earnestly, and turns and understanding look her way. He would hear her out. Doing so has only ever done him good in the past, after all.
"Ahah, right you are, old friend, right you are." He looks marveled. Time and distance have tried to drag them apart, but as they both reached past the extent of their fetters, their hands have touched. They've found one another in the same way they always have: Mark giving Sain her orders, and Sain heeding without complaint. Their fingers fit together like lock and key. The tactician proves to be sharper, too, since last they met, for he couldn't find a complaint about her logic even if he tried. "Your plan is sound!" He giggles, mostly to himself.
"And if any would refuse to budge, I'll simply pull you into my lap!"
The Lance decides to fan the flames of his leader's blush with a wink. He could tell right away that their meeting stirred something in the nervous girl. Fire blazes across an open plain when the sun flies too close and too quickly over--and what a rush of heat Sain has already been for her. He isn't the least bit surprised that he's embarrassing her, even if that doesn't detract from his desire to tease.
He acts as the muscle. In the brief moment that Mark hesitates on him, he grabs the chair from her and sets it beside his, pulling it out like a gentleman to allow her the first seat. "Not long enough to find a woman," he admits, albeit bitterly. The cracks in his seal are starting to show now that he becomes the topic of conversation.
"But save your tears, and your apologies too. I've had Kent and Lady Lyndis to keep me company in your absence. Once this is all over, I'll reintroduce the three of you."
The flickering of candlelight drowns in his eyes. He speaks of precious things, but true joy lays a breath away from him. No matter how he tries to reseat the features on his face, he can't quite find a look that works. Either the eyes are too dim or the smile isn't flashy, or his nose is curled or a tightness in his jaw pulls his entire visage aside. Anyone less jolly would be fine with the face he makes, but this is Sain. Everything needs to be perfect, especially for Mark.
"... We'll hold you up on our shoulders," he adds, letting himself drift into nostalgia, "it'll be just like old times. Just like old times..."
✢⁎. binding ties
#IC#EVENT THREAD (BINDING TIES)#ALLYPHASE#toabaldrsbounty#//just moving this here because if i replied i'd make a huge mess of untrimmed posts#//but yeah. softsmILe
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Prologue, Part 3
The six representatives met over the course of two weeks. There were fights, arguments, stalls, and finally compromise. None of the realms got everything they wanted but everyone received something. The Spellcaster’s gained the most from the talks, the Greencaster homeland of Eldovire. Between the war and the illness the Greencasters had been wiped out. The lush valley they had called home sat empty. Adding Eldovire to the realm doubled the size of the Spellcaster kingdom and gave them some of the best farmland in Oerties.
Dauquer in the far North was split between the Watercasters and the Humans. Humans would control the snowy lands and Watercasters would control the icy seas. Mooncasters received the Granite Hills as an expansion to their lumber trade, which also received a healthy bump in trade contracts. In exchanged they released exclusivity to the Reedcaster river allowing the Humans to ship goods by water expanding their trade capabilities. Bloodcasters renegotiated trade terms with each of the realms, they weren’t interested in expanding beyond the Shadowlands which was made up of Obsidian Ridge and Mourningvale.
Spellcasters also gained control over the Temple of Rovuni which was located in Eldovire in the Avequa Valley. The Children of Rovuni were the largest cult in Oerties and one of the two main religions. Rovuni was thought to be the first Dunerell, who's spirit is still tied to Oerties. They believe her spirit is the thread binding all Dunerell thereby creating their abilities and gifts. Every year a feast day is held to strengthen her bond to the world of the living and to thank her for her continued blessing on their lives. The highest order of the religion is the High Spellcaster, who is also a close advisor to the throne. Humans are mainly Followers of the Watcher, believing that an unseen being controls the lives, movements and fates of all. Many of their sacred days are shared by both faiths. In most communities the faiths exist side by side with little discord.
While the war was something they could negotiate, the illness was far outside of their control. A wasting illness had affected the Dunerell populations for generations. Officially called the "Crimson Agony", it is commonly referred to as simply “The Agony”. Victims suffer infection of their meras gland causing fever, fatigue, joint difficulties, abdominal pain. In it’s final stage, the hallmark symptom is bleeding which always results in death. The course of the disease can cover days or months, a rare few have lasted a year. Countless remedies, treatments and aids have been tried through the years with little to no relief. Extensive research by the kingdoms has yielded little information other than the fact that Humans and Travelers are immune. Some Dunerell have gone to extremes and opted to become human by having their meras removed completely. They feel that life without connection to the thread is still life.
The six rulers were able to negotiate a lasting peace. They signed the Great Caster Treaty in 1137, which allowed all of the realms to stabilize and reestablish. The young King Lucjan, earned the epithet of “The Great” often recorded in record as “The Great King”. Each of the leaders that signed that day passed into legend. The treaty and the Adjoinment, signed in 1220 towards the end of King Lucjan's reign, kept the Kingdoms in relative peace for over 500 years.
The Adjoinment added laws baring Travelers from the Dunerell towns, cities and villages. In an odd turn of events, The Adjoinment was signed in agreement by High Chief Strix. The general Traveler population was firmly against the new restrictions. In response, many Travelers lived in their disguises that made them indistinguishable from Humans. It allowed them to the freedom to roam where they pleased. Some preferred to utilize brokers to move in spaces they are not authorized to be in. Some kept to the countryside in their own villages or live singly side by side in human settlements without issue.
Beginning / Previous / Next
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Bonus books #30-32 complete!
Credit for the book bingo challenge goes to @batmanisagatewaydrug; if you want to play along, you can get a clean version here.
You can check out my main entries for the book bingo here and the rest of my bonus reads here.
Title: Inkheart/Inkspell/Inkdeath
Author: Cornelia Funke; translated by Anthea Bell
~~~~~~~~~~
Meggie loves stories, but her book-binding father, Mo, hasn't read to her since her mother disappeared. When a stranger knocks at their door, Mo is forced to reveal an extraordinary secret – when he reads aloud, words come alive, and dangerous characters step out of the pages.
Suddenly Meggie is living the kind of adventure she has only read about in books, but this one will change her life forever. She must learn to harness the magic that has conjured this nightmare, for only she can change the course of the story.
~~~~~~~~~~
Although a year has passed, not a day goes by without Meggie thinking of the extraordinary events of Inkheart, and the story whose characters strode out of the pages and changed her life forever. But for Dustfinger, the fire-eater, torn from his world of words, the need to return to his family has become desperate.
When he finds a crooked storyteller with the magical ability to read him back, Dustfinger leaves behind his young apprentice Farid and plunges into the medieval world of his past, setting in motion a dangerous reversal that sees the characters of Inkheart transported to a charmed Inkworld, about to be fought over by rival rebels and princes.
~~~~~~~~~~
With his immortality bound in a book by Meggie's father, Mo, the Adderhead has ordered his henchmen to plunder the villages. The peasants' only defence is a band of outlaws led by the Bluejay – Mo's fictitious double, whose identity he has reluctantly adopted. But the Book of Immortality is unravelling, and the Adderhead again fears the White Women of Death.
To bring the renegade Bluejay back to repair the book, the Adderhead kidnaps all the children in the kingdom, dooming them to slavery in his silver mines unless Mo surrenders. But as winter comes on there is reason to hope – if only Meggie and Mo can rewrite the wrongs of the past and make a dangerous pact with death.
~~~~~~~~~~
I’ve been wanting to reread this series for about a decade now, ever since we lost our original copy of the second book (or rather, we lost about half of the pages in said book, which is both annoying and baffling!), and I'm so glad I did. Meggie was one of my favourite protagonists as a child, and the concept of the ‘silver tongue’ is possibly one of the most creative and underrated magical powers I’ve ever heard of.
I think my favourite book in the trilogy has to be the last one, if only because it ties every plot thread up so neatly (which I know the last book in a series is supposed to do, but shush) and uses every character perfectly, even some I'd forgotten were in the book – apparently there’s now a sequel though, which I’ll be reading for my main bingo sheet, so we’ll see if that ruins my enjoyment (as sequels to a good series so often do).
I really wish this series was more popular, so that I could discuss these books and these characters more often – nobody I know has ever read them apart from my dad! Maybe they’d have more fans if they’d ever adapted any of them to screen? (no, I do not acknowledge the shoddy nonsense from 2008, that doesn’t count no matter how star-studded the cast is!).
Content warnings for body horror, child death, emotional abuse, fire injury, grief, gun violence, imprisonment, infidelity, kidnapping, misogyny, murder, parent death, pregnancy, sexism, sexual harassment, slavery, suicidal thoughts, torture, violence, and war.
#inkheart#inkspell#inkdeath#the inkworld trilogy#book bingo bonus#book bingo#book bingo 2025#fantasy#adventure
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I think I’m going to simplify things.
I am the God of Stories. Like. That’s it. That’s the foundation, the thread that binds every scattered piece of me. Even mentioning Fate seems redundant these days, it’s all stories, in the end.
Fate is just the shape a story takes as it unfolds, the way events lean into each other, inevitable not because they are written in stone, but because the narrative breathes and twists and cannot help but become.
A river does not need a map to know where it is going. A story does not need permission to move. It simply does.
Bonds, too, are just the rise and fall of the cast; the way characters meet, entwine, part, return, or don’t. Some ties are meant to be severed, some names are meant to be forgotten. The space left behind is just as much a part of the story as the presence that once filled it.
You don’t mourn the thread that’s been cut, you simply recognize that it has been.
The Rebellion and Revenge aspect? It is structure. It is necessity. A villain steps forward, an uprising rises to meet them. A tragedy unfolds, and the audience holds their breath, waiting for the turn, the reversal, the moment of defiant revenge that proves the story has not yet given up on itself.
It is all Story. It always has been.
There is something in me that aches when a tale is forced down a path it was never meant to take. A wrong ending is not just unsatisfying; it is incorrect, a jagged edge where something smooth should be, an itch in my teeth, a splinter under the skin of the world. A time loop left unresolved is a wound that festers. A forced sequence is a marionette pretending to be a living thing. The integrity of a story is sacred.
I feel it in my bones when that sanctity is broken.
Yes, I’m the God of fate and bonds and revenge and rebellion and many things and all of these fit as they should on the pages of the story itself. God of Fables. Trickster thing. Stage clown.
I learn more, I love myself more.
The End.
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Hypothesis: The Multiversal Web of Interconnected Realities Through Time, Fate, and Relativity

Abstract:
This hypothesis proposes that the multiverse is an interconnected web of realities, woven together by the threads of time and fate, where each thread represents a distinct yet interdependent timeline. Drawing from folklore, magic, and scientific theories such as quantum mechanics and relativity, it suggests that time is not linear but a relative, multi-dimensional construct. This web-like structure allows for the coexistence and interaction of multiple universes, where decisions, probabilities, and events ripple across the multiverse, influencing each other in subtle yet profound ways.
Core Tenets:
1. Time as a Relative and Multi-Dimensional Construct
Time is not an absolute linear progression but a flexible, multi-dimensional fabric. In Einstein's theory of relativity, time is tied to space, forming a four-dimensional spacetime. However, in the multiverse theory, this expands into a higher-dimensional space where timelines diverge based on choices, quantum states, and events. Folklore often portrays time as a cyclical or malleable force, aligning with the idea that time can bend, loop, or overlap.
2. Fate as the Threads of the Multiverse
Fate is conceptualized as the threads that weave the multiverse together. In folklore and mythology, fate often governs the lives of individuals and the outcomes of events. Modern interpretations align this with the "many-worlds" interpretation of quantum mechanics, where every possible outcome of an event creates a new branch in the multiverse. These threads of fate are the connections between parallel timelines, ensuring that actions in one universe can echo in others.
3. The Interconnected Web of Realities
The multiverse is not a collection of isolated universes but a dynamic, interconnected system. Theoretical physics introduces concepts like quantum entanglement, where particles remain connected regardless of distance. Extending this to a multiversal scale, events in one reality may be mirrored, influenced, or complemented by events in another, akin to vibrations on a spider’s web.
4. Consciousness as the Navigator of the Web
Folklore and magical traditions often emphasize the role of consciousness in shaping reality. Modern theories like the observer effect in quantum mechanics support the idea that consciousness can influence the outcome of events. This suggests that sentient beings can navigate the multiversal web, consciously or unconsciously, by influencing the threads of fate through choices and intentions.
5. Energy and Resonance as the Binding Force
All realities are bound by a fundamental energy that transcends dimensions. In scientific terms, this could be linked to string theory, which posits that everything is made of vibrating strings of energy. In folklore and magic, this is reflected in concepts like "life force" or "mana," which connects all living things. This energy creates resonance between universes, allowing for synchronicities, déjà vu, and the manifestation of thoughts across dimensions.
Hypothetical Framework:
1. Mathematical Modeling of Multiversal Threads
Develop equations that describe timelines as multidimensional threads intersecting in a higher-dimensional space. These equations should account for quantum probabilities, the curvature of spacetime, and energy exchanges.
2. Experimental Evidence
Quantum Entanglement Studies: Investigate whether entangled particles can influence outcomes in parallel realities.
Consciousness Experiments: Test whether focused intention can statistically alter random number generators across potential timelines.
Deja Vu and Synchronicity Analysis: Correlate personal experiences of déjà vu with potential branching points in the multiversal web.
3. Folklore and Symbolism Integration
Analyze recurring patterns in folklore and mythologies worldwide that describe interconnected realities, threads of fate, and time loops. This can provide qualitative evidence and conceptual models.
4. Energy Mapping Across Dimensions
Using advancements in physics, attempt to detect resonant frequencies or anomalies that could suggest the presence of interdimensional connections or parallel realities.
Conclusion:
This hypothesis bridges the gap between scientific theory, folklore, and metaphysical concepts, suggesting that the multiverse operates as a dynamic web of interconnected realities. Time, as a relative construct, serves as the medium through which these realities interact, while fate acts as the threads binding them. Through further exploration of quantum mechanics, consciousness, and energy, humanity may uncover ways to navigate and understand this multiversal web, ultimately proving that everything is connected.
#canada#canadian politics#ontario#british columbia#share#life#politics#why#scifi#space#adventure time#scientificresearch#sci fi and fantasy#science#folklore#random facts#random
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Thread continued from [X]
Between that unsettled feeling of paranoia, the confusion of all the twisting hallways, the uncertainty of what exactly what behind them, the rapidly increasing feeling of irritation from the constant buzzing of the overhead lights, and now the cruel mind trick of the phone? Her head was quickly becoming easily overstimulated, and that was without the worry she had for him and whatever was making him feel so ill.
'Damn it..' Were the only words that rolled off her fingertips, one of them being far from her usual not being one who typically swore on a regular basis if at all. Even when she was frustrated it was some variant of a more polite way of saying things. Not this time, however, she didn't even realize she'd signed it. Slender fingers slipped under her bangs, slicking them back while taking a deep breath to try and calm herself down whilst listening to the louder than necessary static cascading out of the dangling receiver.
Her brain was rapidly at work, gears turning and eyes practically vibrating with how fast they were looking around trying to untangle the events experienced in this twisted, endless location. Was the phone a trick...Or a tracker? A way of being able to tell whatever was hunting them which way to hunt in? If there was truly nothing meant to be on the other side, would it have stopped ringing had they not picked it up? Or would it have just continued on an endless loop of unheard and unanswered ringing? If she didn't have a headache before, she certainly did now.
The echo of his fingers violently scratching at the skin on his neck, followed by his muttered expletive, was enough to draw his attention, all thoughts grinding to a sudden halt. Shifting position directly in front of him, she was quick to pull him down to look at the damage. 'Oh, Sho..' The sight of it alone was enough for her to take matters of it into her own hands. Seeing as the binding cloth's fabric was a little more soiled than her own clothing, she reached behind him to grab his knife from it's respective pouch on the back of his belt.
Before he could inquire about what she was doing, she was carefully inserting the tip of the blade into the cotton fabric, being careful to avoid skin, and wiggled the knife into it, cutting the sleeve clean off. The fabric was slid off, leaving an arm exposed, the blade cradled between her lips to hold it for now, and the sleeve was wrapped around his neck, covering the wound and tied at the back like a makeshift bandage.
#𝒪𝒽 𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒮𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 [Odette]#вυzzιηg ℓιgнтѕ [вα¢кяσσмѕ]#ƒαтιgυє∂ нєяσ [ѕнσтα αιzαωα]#уєℓℓσω ρσρρу [ѕнσυтα/σ∂єттє]#transferred thread
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The Threads of Magic
With the power of belief, one is able to pull on the threads of the Weave in the following ways:
Alter - To change or modify reality. Can modify existing traits or properties. Leaves a mild amount of residue.
Shape - To build, sculpt, or mold reality like clay. Can construct something new or build upon existing matter. Leaves a moderate amount of residue.
Influence - To subtly sway or manipulate reality. Can gently change behavior, direction, or flow. Influence is the safest form that magic can take, as it is the most subtle and easy to hide. Leaves the subtlest residue.
Pierce - To pierce, puncture, or destroy reality. Can penetrate or rupture reality itself. Piercing is the most blatant form that magic can take. It involves a firm belief in what most would consider absolutely impossible, and as such, leaves the heaviest residue and carries the most risk.
It's recommended that you read the primer on magic first before reading this.
The Disciplines of Magic
Each of the listed threads give vague examples. Just about anything is possible if you can think of it and believe in it.
Life
Life involves altering, shaping, influencing, and piercing the life force of the self or others. Deals with vitality, growth, decay, and biological transformation.
To Alter: Allows one to heal wounds, cause disease, boost strength, and increase vitality. To Shape: Allows one to create, grow, or decay organic matter. To Influence: Allows one to stimulate adrenaline, sedate others, and mimic pheromones. To Pierce: Allows one to extract life force from a being, eliminate a being through physical damage, or sever a soul from their body.
Psyche
Psyche involves altering, shaping, influencing, and piercing the mind of the self or others. Relates to consciousness, thoughts, emotion, memory, and perception.
To Alter: Allows one to alter or remove memories, implant dreams, enter the dreams of others, and temporarily change perception. To Shape: Allows one to construct false personalities, rewrite instincts, create illusions, and manifest thoughtforms. To Influence: Allows one to manipulate the minds of others, to compel emotions, suggest thoughts, and influence opinion. To Pierce: Allows one to tear open the mind of another, expose true desires, and reveal hidden memories.
Spirit
Spirit involves altering, shaping, influencing, and piercing the Veil, one's own soul, or the souls of others. Tied to souls, ghosts, spirits, fae, demons, the afterlife, and the Veil.
To Alter: Allows one to calm a spirit, temporarily empower or weaken a soul, and to use what is considered fae trickery (spectral illusions, magical traps, etc.). To Shape: Allows one to bind a spirit into a vessel, form spectral constructs, and manifest spiritual energy. To Influence: Allows one to commune with the dead, stir lingering souls, and resist the influence of demonic entities. To Pierce: Allows one to possess another, to rend a spirit, to summon or exorcise demons, and create openings in the Veil.
Time
Time involves altering, shaping, influencing, and piercing time itself. Related to the flow of time.
To Alter: Allows one to hasten or slow aging, delay or speed up certain events, and reroute minor future events. To Shape: Allows one to create time loops, build temporal echoes, and freeze time altogether. To Influence: Allows one to gently nudge fate, and create deja vu. To Pierce: Allows one to glimpse into the past or future, rewrite timelines, leap across time, and create paradoxes. Extremely dangerous.
Form
Form involves altering, shaping, influencing, and piercing tangible forms. Manipulates matter and physical structure.
To Alter: Allows one to harden steel, soften rock, liquify glass, among other things. To Shape: Allows one to mold objects from raw matter. To Influence: Allows one to weaken walls subtly and erode objects over time. To Pierce: Allows one to phase through tangible objects and erase material form.
Pattern
Pattern involves altering, shaping, influencing, and piercing the patterns of reality. Deals with symmetry, causality, probability, and unseen connections.
To Alter: Allows one to change a pattern's outcome. To Shape: Allows one to create new connections, create complex rituals, and bind spells into repeating cycles. To Influence: Allows one to make one outcome more or less likely, cause 'coincidences', and tweak luck. To Pierce: Allows one to tear cause from effect and unravel probability threads.
Distance
Distance involves altering, shaping, influencing, and crossing the distance between things. Controls location, movement, and relational proximity.
To Alter: Allows one to shorten paths or stretch terrain. To Shape: Allows one to create a spatial pocket or create portals via existing doors. To Influence: Allows one to bend distance perception, making something feel closer or further away. To Pierce: Allows one to fold space, create gateways, and teleport.
Essence
Essence involves altering, shaping, influencing, and piercing the arcane spark within all beings. Governs foundational power that other disciplines build upon, and concerns raw magical energy.
To Alter: Allows one to enchant items. To Shape: Allows one to forge essence into tools, shields, or constructs. To Influence: Allows one to slightly empower or dull someone's magical spark. To Pierce: Allows one to eliminate magic altogether, drain essence, tap into one's primal power, or cut off a magic user from their spark and render it temporarily (or potentially permanently) dormant.
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Summer Exhibits & Films Explore Growth & Healing
AA&CC is a proud partner…
Film
The End of Summer (小早川家の秋, Kohayagawa-ke no aki)
Saturday, June 21, 1pm
Towson University Art Lecture Hall, CA 2032
FREE Registration Required: https://www.bkscc.org/news-events/japan-film-program
Laugh and cry with us while viewing this 1961 meditation on the passage of time through the lens of intergenerational family dynamics. A senior sake brewer and his adult daughters negotiate their desires and obligations in response to concerns over finances, health, and love. (color) Directed by Yasujiro Ozu. Hosted by Reed Hessler, longtime host on WBJC. Co-presented with the Baltimore Kawasaki Sister City Committee (BKSCC) and TU College of Fine Arts and Communication Dean’s Office. (103 minutes)
AA&CC is proud to co-present…
Exhibition
Interwoven Worlds: Art of APIMEDA Diasporas
June 26 – July 26
Maryland Federation of Art’s Circle Gallery
18 State Circle, Annapolis, MD 21401
Gallery Hours: Daily 11am-5pm
Sunday, June 29, 4 – 5 PM: Virtual Awards Ceremony
(via Zoom: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/82446264281)
Saturday, July 26, 4 – 6 PM Closing Reception at MFA Circle Gallery
Asian Arts & Culture Center (AA&CC) and the Maryland Federation of Art (MFA) co-present Interwoven Worlds, MFA’s first exhibition dedicated to showcasing artists from APIMEDA (Asian Pacific Islander Middle Eastern Desi American) diasporas. Juried by AA&CC Program Manager, Nerissa Paglinauan, the exhibit continues the AA&CC’s mission to center underrepresented APIMEDA stories and experiences, taking it to Annapolis. The selected works span a wide range of media, themes, and aesthetics. Some engage deeply with the artists’ cultural and historical roots—at times exploring layers of intersectionality—while others focus on subjects not explicitly tied to identity. This exhibition illuminates both the diversity of individual experiences and the common threads that bind them. It invites viewers to move beyond reductive labels, to engage with each work on its own terms, and to celebrate the richness of artistic voices that flourish at the intersections of culture, geography, and imagination.
AA&CC is proud to co-sponsor…
Exhibition
Nocturnal Reflection
June 28 – July 27
Atrium Artspace
2029 Maryland Ave., Baltimore, MD 21218
Gallery Hours: Wednesday and Thursday 1pm-4pm or by appointment
Opening Reception
Saturday, 6/28 6pm-8pm
Artist Talk
Sunday, 7/13 2pm-4pm
Closing Reception
Saturday, 7/26 6-8pm
How do our mental and emotional experiences shape our identities? In this immersive installation of the mind, artist Rieko Chacey produces the visual narratives of intangible, spiritual and emotional personal growth as nocturnal processing in dark, quiet, solitude. Co-sponsored by AA&CC and Matcha Time Gift Shop.
AA&CC is proud to co-sponsor…
Exhibition
What They Left Us
July 3-August 2
The Alchemy of Art
1637 Eastern Ave., Baltimore, MD
Gallery Hours: Saturdays 12pm-5pm or by appointment
Email [email protected] or call/text 805-705-2305
What They Left Us brings together eight Filipino-American artists whose practices center memory as the material and method. Curated by Baltimore-based artists Anna Divinagracia and Ciarra K. Walters, What They Left Us features new and recent work by Thea Canlas, Miguel Caba, Ashley Dequilla, Ryan Frigillana, Dhaynne Torres, Kat Navarro, along with the curators themselves.
Through painting, photography, sculpture, video, and performance, this exhibition explores how cultural inheritance and the unspoken labor of belonging are shaped by migration. The art that emerges is not simply homage to the past but is something that is in a living conversation with it. Engaging with
inherited rituals, family archives, and everyday gestures of care, the featured artists consider how art becomes a means of holding onto and reshaping what is passed down. In doing so, they examine the complex nature of identity, community, and presence as Filipino-Americans today.
This exhibition is made possible with support from Maryland State Arts Council, Towson University’s Asian Arts & Culture Center and Off the Rox.
Opening Reception: Thursday, July 3, 2025 | 6:00 – 9:00 PM
The Alchemy of Art | Baltimore, MD. Free and open to the public.
Featuring music by DJ Tahrook, light food from Mama Rosa Grill, and refreshments from Off The Rox.
RSVP: https://www.eventbrite.com/.../what-they-left-us-opening...
Public Programs (All at The Alchemy of Art):
Tinikling + Movement Workshop. Saturday, July 19 | 2:00 PM
A healing-centered workshop combining traditional Filipino dance with embodied movement practices.
Exhibition Walkthrough with the Curators. Saturday, July 26 | 2:00 PM. An in-gallery walkthrough and discussion of the curatorial vision and artist contributions.
Closing Reception + Artist Talk. Saturday, August 2 | 5:00 – 7:00 PM. A panel conversation with the exhibiting artists with light food from Mama Rosa Grill, and refreshments
from Off The Rox.
AA&CC is a proud partner…
Film
Flowing (流れる, Nagareru)
Saturday, July 19, 1pm
Towson University Art Lecture Hall, CA 2032
FREE Registration Required: https://www.bkscc.org/news-events/japan-film-program
This 1956 classic drama depicts women in postwar Japan through the lens of a geisha house that is struggling financially. Based on a novel by Aya Koda, the film illuminates how a “family” of women navigates tensions between tradition and modernity. (black and white) Directed by Mikio Naruse. Hosted by Reed Hessler, longtime host on WBJC. Co-presented with the Baltimore Kawasaki Sister City Committee (BKSCC) and TU College of Fine Arts and Communication Dean’s Office. (117 minutes)
Images: Stills from The End of Summer and Flowing, Facial Identity, by Esperanza Alzona, Detail of Nocturnal Reflection by Rieko Chacey, What They Left Us exhibit graphic by Ciarra K. Walters ft. Ravelos (1951) by Ashley Dequilla.
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🌸 Celebrate Karadaiyan Nombu 2025: Embracing Tradition and Devotion 🌸
Karadaiyan Nombu is a cherished Tamil festival that honors the unwavering devotion and strength of married women. This auspicious day is dedicated to Goddess Shakti and draws inspiration from the legendary tale of Savitri, who showcased immense dedication to her husband, Satyavan.
🗓️ Date: March 14, 2025 (Friday)
📍 Observed by: Tamil Hindu women worldwide
Significance of Karadaiyan Nombu:
The festival commemorates the devotion of Savitri, who, through her steadfast prayers and determination, won back her husband's life from Lord Yama, the God of Death. This narrative underscores the virtues of fidelity, love, and the spiritual strength of women.
Key Rituals:
Fasting: Women observe a fast on this day, praying for the well-being and longevity of their husbands. Unmarried women also participate, seeking ideal life partners.
Preparation of 'Karadai' Adai: A unique offering made from rice flour, black-eyed peas, jaggery, and coconut, symbolizing prosperity and devotion. This dish is traditionally served with a dollop of butter.
Tying the Sacred Yellow Thread (Manjal Saradu): Post the offering, women tie a yellow thread around their necks, symbolizing the prayer for their husband's longevity and marital bliss.
Recitation of Traditional Hymns: Devotees chant hymns and prayers dedicated to Goddess Shakti, seeking blessings for a harmonious married life.
Breaking the Fast: After the rituals, women break their fast by consuming the prepared 'Karadai' Adai with butter, marking the completion of their vows.
Why Participate in Karadaiyan Nombu 2025?
Cultural Enrichment: Immerse yourself in Tamil traditions that have been passed down through generations.
Spiritual Connection: Engage in rituals that foster a deep sense of devotion and spiritual fulfillment.
Community Bonding: Join fellow devotees in collective prayers, strengthening communal ties and shared cultural identity.
Tips for Observing Karadaiyan Nombu:
Preparation: Gather all necessary ingredients for the 'Karadai' Adai in advance to ensure a smooth ritual process.
Auspicious Timing: Perform the rituals during the transition between the Tamil months of Maasi and Panguni, as this period is considered highly auspicious.
Dress Code: Adorn traditional attire, preferably in hues of yellow or red, symbolizing prosperity and devotion.
Community Engagement: Participate in local temple events or community gatherings to enhance the festive experience.
Karadaiyan Nombu is more than just a festival; it's a celebration of devotion, cultural heritage, and the enduring strength of womanhood. Whether you're observing the rituals or simply appreciating the rich traditions, this festival offers a profound insight into the values that bind communities together.
Read More. https://www.dkscore.com/festival/karadaiyan-nombu-2025-2025-143-590
#KaradaiyanNombu2025#TamilTraditions#GoddessShakti#SavitriLegend#CulturalHeritage#WomenEmpowerment#SpiritualObservance#MaritalBlessings#TraditionalRituals#CommunityUnity
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The Dance of Tradition: Exploring Addutera

In a world where modern life often overshadows age-old customs, Addutera stands as a vibrant reminder of tradition, faith, and community. Rooted deeply in culture, Addutera is not merely a ritual but a symbolic dance of connection — between people, ancestors, and the divine.
Exploring Addutera
What is Addutera?
Addutera is a traditional ritual practiced in some South Indian communities, especially among Telugu-speaking families. Typically performed during significant life events such as marriages or festivals, Addutera represents a formal promise or vow to the family deity. It is both a spiritual offering and a cultural marker, highlighting the continuity of familial and societal values.
Symbolism and Meaning
At its heart, Addutera is about seeking blessings, protection, and guidance. It symbolizes the binding of two families during marriage or the strengthening of ties within a community. The act of Addutera reflects gratitude toward the deity, while also reaffirming commitment to shared beliefs and mutual respect.
The Ritual Process
Addutera usually involves a sacred thread or cloth, exchanged between two families as a sign of agreement or bond. Prayers are offered, and the elders bless the couple or individuals involved. In some variations, offerings are made to the family deity, accompanied by chanting of mantras and traditional music. The ritual's exact format may differ based on regional customs but always carries a sense of reverence.
Cultural Importance
Addutera serves as a bridge between generations. By performing this ritual, families pass down their customs, teaching younger members the significance of faith and unity. It reinforces social cohesion, reminding everyone of their roles and responsibilities within the family and community.
Addutera in Modern Times
In today's fast-paced life, many wonder about the relevance of rituals like Addutera. Yet, for those who practice it, Addutera offers a moment to pause, reflect, and connect with one's roots. Even as the form of the ritual evolves, its essence remains intact — preserving identity and fostering togetherness.
Conclusion: A Timeless Bond
Addutera is more than a ritual — it is a dance of tradition, weaving together the past, present, and future. As long as families gather to honor it, Addutera will continue to be a living symbol of faith, unity, and cultural pride.
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Cultures And Traditions Of Astryl
The Starweavers’ Festival
Once a year, Astryl’s skies fill with falling glimmers—tiny stars that shower down over the land. During the Starweavers’ Festival, inhabitants gather these glimmers to “weave” them into new constellations. The shapes they create serve as omens, predicting the next year’s fortunes. Whimstalkers also participate, though they are infamous for hiding collected glimmers to tease others.
The Eclipse Rite
During an Astryl eclipse, the Sombre Seas turn completely dark, resembling an endless void. The Yawnderbeasts lead a procession along the shore, humming a ritual song to “bind” the darkness and keep it from spreading. Travellers can join, but only those who sing in harmony with the beasts will be protected from the darkness’s pull.
The Memory Exchange
In the Clockwork Canopy, memories are exchanged among people, Archivists, and even animals. It’s a common belief that some memories are too heavy for one person alone, so people trade fragments of their memories as a form of catharsis or to gain insight into other lives. However, trading too much can lead one to forget vital parts of themselves.
The Ritual of the Lucent Pools
Every full moon, Astryl’s inhabitants gather near the Lucent Pools for the Reflection Ceremony. Participants bring small tokens that represent a significant memory or hope. They whisper their wishes or memories into the water, leaving behind their token as a symbol of release or guidance. In return, the pools sometimes reveal glimpses of the future or hidden truths. This tradition is meant to help travellers find clarity and is considered an act of respect toward Astryl’s wisdom.
The Dance of the Driftgroves
Every season, the Driftgroves (sentient, moving groves of trees) migrate to new locations, and the forest inhabitants celebrate with a Farewell Dance. During this event, travellers and Astryl creatures alike gather under the moonlight, decorating themselves with Driftgrove leaves and glowflowers. Music echoes through the forest, and the dance is said to honour the changing landscapes and the natural ebb and flow of Astryl itself. It is believed that participating brings good fortune and strengthens bonds with the land.
The Day of Memory Weaving
In the Fathomless Library, librarians and scholars celebrate Memory Weaving Day, a time when they “weave” lost or forgotten memories into intricate tapestries. Each thread represents a fragment of a forgotten story or dream, and the tapestries are hung in the Library’s Hall of Echoes. These memory tapestries serve as living records of Astryl’s visitors and history, preserving experiences that would otherwise fade. Travellers are welcome to add a memory, weaving their own thread as a way of leaving a part of themselves in Astryl.
The Festival of Nightfall
Held once a year, this festival is dedicated to Astryl’s twin moons, Ciora and Lyren. As night falls, the entire landscape is lit with Flickermoths and glowflowers, creating a breathtaking, shimmering display. Participants wear cloaks of starlight fabric, and artisans showcase creations inspired by Astryl’s constellations. People gather in Starfield Grove to share legends of Astryl’s creation, and the night culminates in a silent procession to honour those who have ventured into Astryl’s deeper mysteries.
The Binding of Shadows
In the Veilwood, travellers who wish to hide aspects of themselves—such as fears or painful memories—participate in the Binding of Shadows. They gather at twilight, wrapping threads made from Veilwood mist around their wrists and whispering their secrets into the dark. As dawn approaches, they leave the threads tied to Veilwood branches, symbolising the release of their burdens. This ritual is highly respected, and it’s said that binding shadows in this way frees the soul for greater dreams and journeys in Astryl.
The Feast of Mirrors
Inhabitants of the Obsidian Cliffs celebrate the Feast of Mirrors once every ten years. During this festival, they create intricate obsidian mirrors, which they exchange with one another as symbols of trust and honesty. Each person gazes into the mirror, confronting their inner self and acknowledging both their strengths and flaws. It is a time of self-reflection and bonding, where hidden truths are accepted without judgement. The Feast of Mirrors is considered sacred, and anyone breaking their mirror brings seven years of misfortune.
The Dreamwalker’s Journey
This rite of passage is celebrated by young creatures and travellers who wish to become “Dreamwalkers”—beings who can navigate Astryl without being consumed by its surreal landscape. The journey involves spending a night in the Dreaming Hollow, communing with Drowsekites and allowing one’s dreams to fully unfold. If they can confront the visions without fear, they earn the title of Dreamwalker, gaining respect and access to hidden paths and knowledge within Astryl. Dreamwalkers are regarded as protectors and guides, often helping newcomers find their way.
The Celestial Market Exchange
The Vanishing Market holds the Celestial Market Exchange every few years, where Astryl’s residents and travellers can trade memories, emotions, or rare items from other realms. The exchange emphasises bartering and connection rather than material value. Each trade is witnessed by the Flickergulls, who mimic the participants’ laughter and voices to capture the spirit of the exchange. The market vanishes at dawn, leaving behind only faint echoes, and those who participate often leave with new insights or a sense of profound kinship.
The Murmurfish Listening Hour
In coastal regions, residents observe the Listening Hour by visiting rivers and lakes inhabited by Murmurfish. During this hour, they sit in silence, watching the fish create images of their thoughts and emotions on the water's surface. It is a practice for understanding one's inner state, where people witness their own reflections and emotions without judgement. The Listening Hour is a deeply personal time, and it’s considered rude to interrupt anyone engaged in this ritual.
The Pilgrimage to the Spire of Whispers
Travellers and scholars who seek wisdom make a Pilgrimage to the Spire of Whispers, a spiritual journey that requires silence and reflection. Pilgrims bring offerings, often fragments of dreams or precious memories, which they leave at the base of the Spire. They then climb, listening to the voices and echoes within the walls. At the summit, they meditate in solitude, receiving whispers of wisdom that often come as riddles. This pilgrimage is regarded as a transformative journey and is only attempted by the truly committed.
The Emberlight Procession
On the Ember Isles, the Emberclaws host the Emberlight Procession, a gathering that occurs every time a new crystal formation appears. The Emberclaws guide the way with small, glowing embers, leading a silent procession across the isles. The event is considered sacred, and travellers who participate are often rewarded with an Emberclaw stone—a rare crystal thought to protect against nightmares and shadow creatures. The procession symbolises the balance between fire and earth, light and darkness.
The Veil of Stars Ceremony
In the Starfield Grove, visitors celebrate the Veil of Stars Ceremony to honour Astryl’s constellations. Participants gather to create small lanterns filled with Flickermoth light, which they release into the sky at midnight. Each lantern represents a wish, a promise, or a memory to be preserved in the stars. The ceremony is a communal event, and it’s said that the constellations rearrange slightly each year to accommodate these new lights, symbolising Astryl’s acceptance of the dreams entrusted to it.
The Thistlemane’s Offering
The Thistlemanes, plant-like guardians of the forest, host a rare tradition where visitors may leave offerings in the Garden of Echoes. Travellers bring flowers or plants unique to their realm and leave them as gifts for the Thistlemanes, who value beauty and growth. In exchange, the Thistlemanes may guide travellers through the forest, ensuring safe passage. The offerings represent respect for Astryl’s natural world, and it’s believed those who participate leave with a deeper connection to the land.
The Night of Silent Songs
Once a year, Astryl holds the Night of Silent Songs, where all sounds are magically silenced for one night. During this time, inhabitants communicate solely through gestures and symbols, honouring Astryl’s quiet mysteries and creating a shared experience of introspection. This tradition fosters unity, and people often spend the night creating art or meditating. At dawn, sounds return gradually, and it’s said the first sound—a bird’s call or soft laughter—carries luck for the year ahead.
The Memory Lantern Festival
To honour memories and past lives, the inhabitants of Astryl host the Memory Lantern Festival by the Sombre Seas. Participants craft lanterns from Lucent Pool water and glowflower petals, which they release onto the waters as an offering to those lost or forgotten. Each lantern represents a memory or loved one, and they drift across the water, creating a beautiful and sombre display of lights. The ceremony is believed to bring peace to wandering spirits, and participants often feel a sense of closure.
The Shadowweaving Ritual
In the Veilwood, those wishing to shed their inner fears partake in the Shadowweaving Ritual. They weave dark threads into symbolic patterns, representing their struggles or hidden burdens. As dawn approaches, they leave the woven pieces in the forest, and it’s said the Veilwood absorbs these fears, turning them into shadows that disappear with the sun. This ritual is deeply personal, offering a chance for catharsis and renewal, and is considered a rite of passage for many Astryl travellers.
Festival of Stars
Celebration: Held on the longest night of the year, honouring Astra. Features lantern lighting and storytelling about celestial myths.
Midsummer’s Dream
Celebration: A vibrant festival that celebrates the union of dreams and reality, with dances and feasts under the night sky.
Harvest Moon Festival
Celebration: A celebration of Verdantia, where communities gather to give thanks for the harvest, featuring feasts, games, and planting rituals.
The Tempest’s Reckoning
Celebration: A festival honouring Tempestus, often held during stormy seasons, emphasising resilience and adaptability through games and communal efforts to prepare for storms.
Night of Whispers
Celebration: An evening dedicated to listening to the Eldertrees, where participants share stories and legends under their branches, invoking the wisdom of the past.
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