#I did these while on call with spare changes server I love you spare changes server

[wamzyy]

Some super silly doodles they’re crazy I love them

[therogueflame]

Hellooo!! I love your writing, and ask for thou to spare a mere lowborn a moment (this is somewhat long Cregan x reader ask, so I apologize in advance 😭)

So you know the Jon Snow story? Lyanna dies and Ned pretends Jon’s his bastard but he’s actually a Targaryen? That whole thing? Yeah, that, but instead it’s reader! You can play this out however you want, but like I’m thinking that the backstory goes like this (ish)

The Crewyn family’s vibing, maybe the sister of Lord Crewyn runs off with a Targaryen Prince. A war breaks out for some reason, maybe because of the scandalous Targ/Cerw-marrige. It puts the Crewyn sister in danger, Lord Crewyn travels to save her but she’s already injured. She tells Crewyn to take care of baby-reader and he does

Now! Maybe everyone knows reader’s a Targaryen, or maybe Lord Cerwyn goes the Ned Stark-path. Either way, reader kinda gets the reverse Strong-boys-problem. Reader gets the Targaryen features and hates them. The northern houses don’t accept her because of her appearance, so maybe she develops a medieval body-dysmorphia

She’s raised alongside Cregan’s bestie (bro lost his name privileges in the book, but imma call him Clay 💀). Clay and reader are raised in the Cerwyn castle, hunting, fighting, vibing. Cregan and Clay become bff’s, time goes on and reader becomes a formidable fighter to make up for her appearance, she catches Cregan’s attention, he tries to win her hand, though she doesn’t believe him and thinks Clay and him are playing a trick on her

(If this too complicated or confusing, then you can just ignore it, luv u and ur mind 😚❤️)

hi precious anon!

thank you so much for this request, i did follow most of it, but i changed a couple of things - no war, and no second person. i did try second person, but third person just made it so much more dramatic imo. thank you again!

The Ghost of the North

Very little dialogue, I am so sorry

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Summary: Born in the shadow of legacy and power, only to be shaped by the land of ice and wolves.

Warnings: angst, parental death, emotional neglect (kinda?), ostracization, idk this is my first one in a while that i didnt prewrite pls be nice ilysm

WC: 9.3k

Cregan Stark x Bastard!Targaryen

MDNI!!!

The Wolfswood swallowed the light, the skeletal branches of the trees clawing at the sky. The wind whistled through the pines, biting against Edwyn Cerwyn’s face as he rode, the breath of his horse curling in the freezing air. The ground was hard beneath the hooves, the leaves brittle with frost, crunching under the weight of his men’s approach. It was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that turned a man’s stomach, that pressed against the back of his neck like the cold edge of a blade.

A wolf howled. A long, drawn-out cry that sent something sharp running down Edwyn’s spine. Then another. Then another. The sound echoed through the trees, coming from somewhere ahead, too close, too many. A pack had gathered, but for what? A fresh kill? A wounded stag? His hand went to the hilt of his sword, but the unease crawling through him was not the kind a blade could quell. The air itself felt wrong.

His sister had always been drawn to danger. She was born in a storm, her first cry swallowed by the howling winds that rattled the stones of Cerwyn Keep. Their mother had died in the birthing bed before dawn, leaving behind a bloodied babe with pale blue eyes and soft brown curls, a girl who never should have been born but fought to live all the same. Their father had never looked at her without a shadow passing behind his eyes, as if he resented her for surviving where his wife had not. Edwyn had been eight at the time, old enough to remember how their father barely touched the girl, how he had all but given her over to the wet nurse and the maids, how he had remarried before the year was out, siring two more sons on his new wife.

But she had been his sister. His first charge. She had followed him like a shadow, chasing after his heels, refusing to be left behind even when he told her she was too small, too slow, too weak. She had climbed the ramparts when she was five, slipping through the cracks in the stone like a wisp of wind. She had stolen his sword at eight, dragging it behind her like a child with a doll. She had bested her septa in an argument before she could read, lied through her teeth with a smile sweet enough to fool even their father, laughed louder than anyone in the hall, bold and brash and reckless.

And then she had fallen in love. It had not been love at first, not truly, just curiosity. A girl too young to understand the weight of a name, drawn in by something strange and new and forbidden. She had not spoken of him for a long time, had kept the letters pressed between the pages of the book beneath her pillow, had pretended the stolen glances were nothing at all. But Edwyn had known. Had seen the way she had changed, the way she had become restless, the way she had waited for something she would not speak of.

Then one day, she had vanished. She had left only a note, ink smudged in her haste, a mess of words that said everything and nothing at once. She was sorry. She had to go. She loved them. She would write. Their father had burned the letter in the hearth without a word.

For a year, there had been nothing. No news. No word. Only rumors that whispered through the halls, speculation that festered in the minds of their kin. She had taken up with a man. She had given herself to him. She had thrown away her name and her home and her honor for love, and for what? A fool’s dream. A man who would never truly be hers.

Then, months later, a raven came. She was with child. Edwyn had taken the letter to his father, had seen the way his face darkened, how he had clenched his fists and stood so still, so silent, the flames of the hearth casting deep shadows across his face. That was when Edwyn had realized—his father had known. He had always known. He had suspected from the moment she left, but now, with her words in ink before him, with proof, with shame, with certainty, he could not ignore it.

Another child born into this world without a name.

Edwyn had been the one to send the next raven.

Come home.

She never responded.

And now, he had found her at last, beneath the weirwood, drenched in blood, her body torn and broken, her breaths shallow.

His stomach twisted. He did not think. Did not breathe. He was already off his horse before he realized he had moved, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. The earth was wet beneath him, thick with fresh blood, seeping into the fallen leaves. He barely noticed the others dismounting behind him, barely heard them as they called after him. He was already kneeling, already reaching, pressing his hands against the torn and bloodied flesh of the woman in the dirt.

She was so small. So still. Her dark riding cloak was ripped open, her hands slack at her sides, her dress clinging to her like a second skin where the blood had soaked through. Her chest barely moved. Her breath came in weak, stuttering gasps, lips parted as though she wanted to speak but could not find the strength.

He knew that face. He had known it since she was born. Since she had clung to his hand as a child. Since she had laughed at the dinner table, since she had run through the halls of their father’s keep, since she had looked at him with wide, frightened eyes the day she had fled. His sister. Seventeen years old. Dying.

She exhaled, a shuddering breath that barely reached the air. Her lips trembled, eyes glassy, unfocused, staring past him, past the trees, past the sky.

“Protect her.”

His breath caught in his throat. Then her body went still. The wind whistled through the trees.

And then, a cry. High. Thin. Fragile.

His head snapped up. The sound came from beyond the tree line, from the underbrush just beyond the weirwood’s twisted roots. His men shifted behind him, uncertain. He barely heard them. His body moved on instinct, staggering to his feet, boots slipping against the bloodied leaves. The crying grew louder as he walked toward the sound.

The hollow of a fallen tree lay just beyond the clearing, hidden beneath frost-covered branches. A bundle of wool lay nestled inside, shifting, writhing, a small, desperate hand reaching up toward the cold air. The child was crying, face red with the effort, mouth open in a furious wail. Her limbs flailed, fists curling, voice breaking the silence that had settled over the clearing.

His stomach clenched. She was untouched. No scratches. No bite marks. No signs that the wolves had so much as looked at her. She was clean, warm, safe. As if something had kept them away.

“Gods,” someone breathed behind him.

Slowly, he reached down, lifting the bundle into his arms. She was so small. Lighter than he expected. Her tiny hands clutched at the fabric of his cloak, her face still scrunched in distress. He exhaled, his own breath shaking. Then her eyes opened.

Pale. Lighter than lilac. Almost silver.

Something twisted in his chest, something deep and nameless. He turned, glancing back at the weirwood, at the body slumped against its roots, at the blood staining the snow-covered ground. The words echoed in his head, the last thing his sister had spoken.

Protect her.

His throat tightened. He knew what people would say. He knew what they would whisper when he rode home with a silver-haired babe in his arms. The Targaryen blood runs hot. She was doomed from the start.

His men were still staring, waiting, uneasy. He forced his voice to steady.

“Take my sister.”

No one argued.

He turned toward his horse, toward home, toward the life that would come next. The babe still cried in his arms, breath fogging in the cold air, louder than the wolves, louder than the wind.

The walls of Cerwyn Keep rose like a shadow against the dim morning light, its grey stone touched with frost, the banners above the gate unmoving in the still air. The ride had been long, cold, and silent. His men were tired, the weight of their journey pressing down on them, but none spoke as they passed through the gates. The body of his sister was wrapped tightly, tied to the back of a horse, the fabric dark with frozen blood. The child in his arms barely stirred, though every so often, she let out a small breath, the sound barely audible beneath the creak of saddles and the heavy tread of hooves.

The keep was stirring. The stable boys rushed forward, their hands fumbling with the reins, eyes darting between the bundle in his arms and the body draped over the horse. A hush followed them as they passed, whispers trailing in their wake. They did not ask. They did not need to. They would know soon enough.

Inside the courtyard, the servants had gathered, drawn from their morning duties by the sight of their lord’s unexpected return. The kitchen girls lingered near the door, their hands still dusted with flour. The steward stood stiff-backed near the steps, mouth pressed in a tight line. The wet nurse, holding Cley in her arms, clutched the child a little tighter as she caught sight of them. His son blinked at him, sleepy, his small fingers curling in the fabric of the woman’s dress.

He should have gone to his wife first. He should have gone to her chambers, woken her gently, told her what had happened before the keep had time to start whispering. But it was too late for that now.

A few of the servants stepped forward hesitantly. One of the older maids reached out her arms, clearly expecting to take the babe, but Edwyn did not relinquish her. "Find the wet nurse," he said instead. "She needs to be fed."

The girl hesitated, looking between him and the child, but after a quick glance toward the steward, she gave a stiff nod and hurried off.

Cley wriggled in the nurse’s grip, reaching out a hand toward him. "Father?"

Edwyn let out a slow breath, shifting the babe against his chest before reaching out to ruffle his son’s dark curls. "I am home, little one."

The boy’s gaze flickered to the bundle in his arms, his face scrunching up in confusion. "Baby?"

"Yes," Edwyn murmured.

Cley frowned, then turned his face into the wet nurse’s shoulder, looking thoughtful in the way that only children could. He did not ask more, did not cry or protest. He simply accepted it as fact, as children often did.

The steward finally spoke, his voice careful. "And… the lady?"

Edwyn looked at him, expression unreadable. "See to it that my sister is given a proper burial. She will be laid in the crypts."

The steward’s brow furrowed for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Edwyn to catch it before the man bowed his head in understanding. His sister had abandoned her home, had thrown herself into a life that was not meant for her, had borne a child in secret and died alone beneath the weirwood. She should not have been granted the honor of a place in the family crypt. But Edwyn was Lord Cerwyn. His word was final.

The man gave a short bow and turned away, barking orders to the men near the gate.

The babe stirred against his chest, shifting slightly, but did not wake.

"Take her to the west wing," Edwyn said. "Keep her warm."

The wet nurse hesitated, but after another quick glance toward the steward, she nodded. "Aye, my lord." She turned and walked swiftly toward the keep, her steps purposeful. The babe disappeared with her, swallowed into the halls of Cerwyn.

The air was still heavy, the weight of the morning pressing down on the gathering. The servants lingered, shifting uneasily, waiting for him to say something more, to give another order, another command. But he was tired.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and made his way toward his chambers, knowing his wife would be waiting.

The halls of Cerwyn Keep were still, the hush of early morning settling heavy over the stone. His men had gone to their chambers, the servants had scattered, and the babe had been taken to be fed. Cley had barely stirred when placed in his bed, exhausted from the excitement of seeing his father return, his small hands still gripping the blanket as he slept.

Edwyn moved through the corridors without a word, the exhaustion of the day dragging at his limbs. He had not yet taken off his cloak, the scent of pine and blood still clinging to the fabric. His boots were damp with half-melted snow, his fingers numb from gripping the reins for hours, but none of it mattered now. The weight in his chest was heavier than all of it.

His wife was waiting for him.

She stood near the hearth, the fire casting long shadows across her face, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her dark hair was pulled back, her shoulders drawn, but her eyes, sharp and knowing, had already seen too much. She had not spoken when he entered. She had only waited.

She did not have to ask what had happened.

She had known from the moment she saw him ride through the gates, the shrouded form strapped to the back of a horse, the bundle in his arms held too carefully to be anything but a child.

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound final in the quiet.

"You should have told me," she said.

Edwyn let out a slow breath, pressing a hand against the back of the chair nearest to him. "I did what I had to do."

She let out a soft breath, something close to a scoff, shaking her head. "And what did you have to do, exactly? Ride home with a babe in your arms and expect me to act as though nothing had changed?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, fixing his gaze on her. "My sister is dead."

The words hung in the air, settling between them like dust. She did not move, did not blink, but the firelight flickered across her face, illuminating the way her lips pressed into a thin line.

"And the child?" she asked.

"The babe is hers." He did not hesitate. "She was alone. She would not have survived."

His wife inhaled slowly, carefully. She turned slightly, her fingers brushing the edge of the mantel, as if grounding herself. "So you brought her here. To our home."

"She had no one else," Edwyn said.

Her hands curled into fists, her nails pressing into her palms. "You claimed her as your own."

"It was the only way," he said, voice steady.

Her eyes flickered, the fire casting a faint sheen over them, something dark and unreadable lurking behind them.

"They will think she is yours," she said, quieter this time. "They will think you have shamed me, that I have been cast aside. That I was not enough."

Edwyn pushed himself away from the chair, stepping closer. "I do not care what they think."

"You might not, but I will be the one they whisper about." Her voice did not rise, but there was something sharp beneath it, something that cut deeper than any raised tone could have. "I will be the one they pity. The one they speak of in hushed voices. The one who could not keep her husband’s attention." She turned her head slightly, her gaze locking onto his. "And what of Cley? What will they say of him, when you have brought a ghost into this house?"

Edwyn swallowed. He had known this would come. Had known it would not be as simple as carrying the babe through the gates and expecting his wife to understand. He had thought of every consequence, every rumor, every burden he had placed upon her shoulders without her consent. And yet, even with all of it, he had made his choice.

"I do not ask you to love her," he said, his voice quieter now. "I do not ask you to take her as your own. But I ask you to understand. My sister died alone in the snow, bleeding beneath a weirwood tree. The babe survived. I do not know why. I do not know if it was the gods or mere chance, but I swore I would protect her, and I will not break that oath."

His wife turned her head slightly, eyes flicking toward him, but she did not speak.

He let out a slow breath. "I know what I have done. I know the burden I have placed upon you, the whispers you will have to endure. If there were another way, I would have taken it. But there was not."

The silence between them stretched. He could hear the faint crackle of the fire, the distant murmur of the keep beyond the thick stone walls.

Then, finally, she straightened, tilting her chin up slightly as she looked at him fully.

"The child will have a wet nurse and be given what she needs," she said, voice measured, controlled. "But she will not call me mother. I will not raise her as mine."

He nodded. "I do not ask you to."

She studied him for another moment, something unreadable flickering across her face before she turned toward the door. Without another word, she left the room, her steps steady, her back straight.

Edwyn did not move.

He stared at the empty space where she had stood, the fire casting flickering light across the chamber. The weight of the night pressed against his shoulders, settling deep in his bones.

He had told himself that time would ease things. That the whispers would die down, that the tension in his wife’s voice would fade, that one day, the child would simply be another part of their household, no more questioned than any other.

But even as he stood there, watching the flames, he could not quite bring himself to believe it.

The first memories she had were of winter, of frost clinging to the stone walls of Cerwyn Keep, turning the grey stone white in the early morning light. Snowdrifts rose high enough to swallow the courtyard, untouched and perfect until she and Cley ran through them, kicking up flurries with each step. The air was always sharp with cold, biting at her cheeks, slipping beneath the heavy wool of her cloak. It burned her lungs when she ran, but she never stopped. Cley’s laughter trailed behind her, loud and bright, as he tried and failed to catch her.

Winter was the only thing she had ever known. It was in the way the trees groaned under the weight of ice, their branches stretched thin and fragile against the sky, snapping when the wind blew too hard. It was in the way the river froze over so thick that even the horses could cross it without fear, the ice so smooth it looked like glass. It was in the way her breath curled before her lips, vanishing into the air, dissolving as though it had never been there at all.

There were days when the snow fell in thick sheets, piling high against the walls, blanketing the world in white. Those were the days she loved most, when the whole keep felt muffled, swallowed by the storm. She and Cley would press their faces to the windowpanes, watching as the flakes drifted down, catching in the torches by the gate. Sometimes they would sneak outside when no one was watching, their boots sinking deep into the drifts as they tried to outrun each other through the storm.

Other times, when the wind howled and the snow fell so fast it was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead, they were kept inside, left to entertain themselves within the stone halls. Cley always found ways to make the time pass—stealing pastries from the kitchens, challenging her to races up the winding stairwells, pestering the guards until they reluctantly agreed to let him hold a sword. She would follow after him, always close behind, always listening, always watching. She was quieter than him, more patient. She watched the way the men moved in the yard, memorized the way their hands fit around their weapons, the way their feet shifted in the snow. She watched the way the stable hands calmed the horses when the storms rattled the doors of the stables, the way the kitchen girls kept their voices low as they worked, their hands moving fast and sure.

She watched the way people looked at her when they thought she wasn’t paying attention.

The keep had always been home, but even as a child, she had known that something about her did not quite belong. The servants would pause when she passed, their eyes flicking toward her before darting away, their voices falling to quiet murmurs. The kitchen girls hushed each other when she entered, their hands still dusted with flour, their gazes lingering for a beat too long before returning to their work. The stable hands spoke with careful voices when they saddled her horse, looking anywhere but at her, their hands working fast, as if eager to be rid of the task.

The other children were different, too. They played in the mud, their hands grubby, their braids loose, their clothes torn at the knees from climbing trees they were not supposed to. They ran through the halls, leaving footprints behind on the stone, careless and laughing and full of life. They looked like the North, like the land itself had shaped them, like the mountains had made them strong, like the cold had toughened their bones. She was not like them.

Her hair was pale as fresh snowfall, fine and weightless, never holding a braid for long no matter how tightly it was woven. It fell loose against her shoulders, stark against the grey walls of the keep. Her skin, pale as morning light, never browned in the sun the way Cley’s did in the summers, never grew ruddy from the cold the way the other children’s did in winter. Her eyes, pale and strange, caught the torchlight in ways she did not understand. She looked nothing like Lord Cerwyn’s son. Nothing like his wife. Nothing like anyone in the North.

But Lord Cerwyn was her father.

She had always known it, because he had always made it so. When she was small, he lifted her onto his horse and let her hold the reins, his voice steady as he guided her hands, never letting her fall. He carried her in his arms when she was too tired to walk, his furs warm against her cheek, his steady breath rising and falling beneath her small hands. He placed her before him at the high table, sitting her beside Cley, making sure her cup was filled when no one else thought to. When she woke from dreams she could not remember, trembling in the dark, his voice was the first thing she reached for.

She called him father before she even knew what the word meant. His wife was different.

She was never cruel, never raised a hand against her, never looked at her with the same quiet disdain as the others. But she was not warm. She never called her daughter. Never reached for her hand. Never smoothed her hair the way she did with Cley. She was not unkind, but she was not kind either.

The first time she called her mother, it was an accident. She had fallen in the yard, her knees scraped raw against the cold stone, her hands trembling as she pushed herself up. The wind had knocked the breath from her lungs, left her blinking against the sharp sting of cold. Lord Cerwyn’s wife had been standing nearby, her skirts trailing against the dirt, her lips pressed into a thin line as she waited for the child to rise on her own.

She had looked up at her, small hands curled into fists, her breath still hitching in her throat.

"Mother."

The woman’s face did not change.

She did not scold her, did not frown, did not step forward to take her by the hand. She only watched her for a long moment, her expression unreadable, the firelight flickering in her dark eyes.

"Get up," was all she said.

So she did.

She never called her mother again after that. Not intentionally, at least. But sometimes it slipped.

It slipped when she was tired, when sleep pulled heavy at her limbs, her mind too sluggish to remember that she was supposed to keep the word behind her teeth. It slipped when she was sick, when fever blurred the edges of her vision, when the only voice she recognized was hers. It slipped when she was small, when she forgot herself.

And Lord Cerwyn’s wife never corrected her. Never turned her away. Never looked at her with anger the way she had feared. But she never answered either.

So she learned to stop saying it.

It was Lord Cerwyn who made it so that she never felt the weight of it pressing too heavily on her shoulders. He never wavered in his treatment of her, never let her think she was anything but his child. He spoke her name without hesitation, stood her beside him at feasts, placed a hand on her shoulder when she stood too stiffly in a hall full of people who barely hid their unease. He taught her how to ride, setting her atop a pony before she could walk on her own, guiding her hands as she clutched the reins, steadying her when she threatened to slip. He let her sit in the crook of his arm in the evenings, letting her drowse against his furs, speaking to her in a voice that rumbled low and steady like distant thunder. When she fell, he picked her up. When she failed, he told her to try again. When she asked him if she truly belonged, he did not answer with words, only with the unwavering presence of a father who had already decided long ago that she did.

But the North did not love her as he did. They called her the Ghost in the North.

The name was first spoken in the whispers of servants, in the murmurs of men who gathered too close to the fire, in the wary tones of visiting bannermen who looked at her and did not know what to make of her. The words spread from the mouths of cooks and stable hands, slipped past the lips of knights and guards, reached the ears of the highborn sons and daughters who had never known anything beyond the lands of their fathers. The name took root before she was old enough to truly understand it, but she felt it all the same.

She was too pale, too quiet, too unnatural in the way she moved. Her hair was white as untouched snow, fine as silk, loose and weightless in the cold northern air. Her skin never flushed in the cold, never took on the healthy red of the other children’s faces, never tanned under the summer sun. Her eyes were a color that did not belong here, something too light, too strange, something that caught the torchlight in ways that made men glance away. She moved like she was not meant to be seen, slipping between the trees like mist, running through the snow without leaving footprints, vanishing into the woods only to reappear hours later without a word. She never meant to move like a shadow, but she did.

She was faster than the others. She could climb higher, run farther, disappear into the hills before anyone knew she was gone. The first time she took a bow into her hands, it felt as though it had always been there. Her arrows flew true even before she understood how to aim, her hands steady, her breath never wavering even when her target moved. She was quick on a horse, learned to read its movements, to let it carry her as though they were one. She rode harder than the others, pushed herself faster, made sure no one could say she was unworthy. If she was not like them, she would be better than them. If they would not accept her, they would respect her.

Cley never cared for the whispers. He never heard them the way she did, never let them worm their way beneath his skin. He had never known a world without her in it. To him, she was his sister, no more, no less. He dragged her along behind him without question, called for her when the halls felt too empty, looped an arm around her shoulders as if daring the world to tell him she was not his blood. He did not fight her battles for her, did not step in when the whispers grew too sharp, because he knew she did not need him to. But he was always beside her. Always steady. Always there. It was through Cley that she met Cregan Stark.

Winterfell’s heir was little more than a boy when his father died, just thirteen years old when he took the seat of his ancestors. He was young, but not soft. He was quiet, but not weak. He carried his grief and his duty in equal measure, his shoulders squared beneath a weight that would have broken lesser men. He was steady like the roots of the Weirwood, sharp like the edge of an axe, cold like the winds that rolled over the frozen rivers at night. He was the North in a way that few men were.He and Cley were close. Best friends, as close as brothers. They spoke in ways that did not need words, understood each other without pretense.

She was not close with Cregan in the beginning. She had no claim to his attention, no reason to think he would look at her as anything but an oddity, something strange and unnatural lurking at the edges of his home. But he never treated her as the others did. He did not whisper, did not glance away when she caught his eye, did not speak her name like it was something fragile. He let her be. He did not push her to speak, did not challenge her silence, did not pretend not to notice when she slipped away from the halls to disappear into the woods. It was the first time she had met someone who did not look at her and expect her to be something other than what she was.

Cregan Stark had always known marriage was a part of his duty, an obligation that loomed steadily closer with every passing winter, but it had never been something that held his interest. He had watched other lords wed for alliances, for land, for bloodlines and politics, but none of that held meaning for him beyond the stark, simple truth that it was necessary. He had endured his council's gentle insistence that the North needed a Lady Stark, that Winterfell required heirs, that stability came through marriage and children, but he had never considered any woman with true intention. That was, until the day he truly saw her for the first time, until the day the Ghost in the North stepped fully into his path and altered everything he thought he knew about what he wanted.

He had known her nearly all his life, known her as Cley Cerwyn’s quiet, shadowy sister who rode like a storm and moved through the woods like a wolf. She had always been there at the edges of his vision, present but distant, a pale figure who seemed to haunt the periphery of every gathering without ever quite being part of it. She was different from the women who paraded themselves before him at every feast, their eyes hopeful, their smiles carefully arranged. They laughed softly, whispered promises and veiled flattery, but he had never felt compelled to listen. She was different because she did none of those things. She did not care to flatter or impress him, did not soften herself to gain his attention. Instead, she challenged him. She argued with him openly, meeting his eyes without hesitation, asking questions that left him searching for answers he’d never considered. She made him uncertain, made him pause, made him think.

And then he began watching her. He noticed how she rode, fluid and effortless, leaning low against her horse’s neck, her hair flying behind her like white fire as she cut through the fields faster than any man. He noticed how she held a bow, how she loosed her arrows with practiced ease, her aim sharp and deadly accurate, each shaft finding its target without fail. He noticed how she stood straight-backed and proud despite the whispers, despite the veiled glances, despite the way others spoke her name in quiet voices as if she were something forbidden. He saw her clearly for perhaps the first time, and he realized then how unlike anyone else she truly was.

At first, he told himself he was merely curious. He found himself lingering longer in the Cerwyn courtyard, inventing reasons to speak with her after training or during hunts. He made subtle gestures, offers to ride alongside her, to shoot together at targets in the yard. She treated each offer with wary suspicion, her eyes narrowed slightly as if expecting some hidden cruelty behind his invitation. Yet still, he persisted, driven by a need he couldn't quite name.

It was not until one day, when he caught her alone at the archery range, that he finally spoke openly. He had been watching from the edge of the courtyard as she loosed arrows in rapid succession, each one hitting the center with unerring precision. She paid him no mind, continuing until the quiver was empty, then moved to retrieve the arrows from the target. He crossed the yard and stopped just short of her, watching as she pulled the arrows free.

“You shoot truer than most of my men,” Cregan remarked, forcing ease into his voice, though his pulse quickened at the sight of her.

She glanced over her shoulder, pale eyes guarded, fingers tightening briefly around the arrows she held. “Only most?”

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “Perhaps all.”

She turned fully to face him then, standing straight-backed and wary, gaze unflinching beneath the pale sweep of her hair. “Why have you come, Lord Stark?”

He hesitated only briefly before stepping closer. “To speak with you.”

She raised an eyebrow, watching him carefully, suspicion flickering beneath her steady gaze. “You’ve never lacked words before. Why is today any different?”

Cregan met her eyes steadily, drawing a breath to steel himself. “Because I am considering marriage.”

She laughed once, the sound short and sharp, edged with bitterness. Turning her back to him, she placed the arrows carefully into the quiver. “Then you ought to seek out my brother. Cley knows half a dozen Northern ladies who would gladly bear your heirs.”

“That isn’t my meaning,” he said quietly, his voice calm yet firm.

She stilled instantly, her hand freezing over the quiver before she slowly turned back, eyes narrowed sharply in wary disbelief. “Then speak plainly, my lord. What do you mean?”

He moved a step closer, his voice measured and steady. “I mean that I am considering you.”

She stared at him, expression unreadable as silence stretched long between them. Finally, she shook her head slightly, her voice low and cautious, tinged with suspicion. “Is this my brother’s notion, or your own?”

“It is mine,” he said firmly, holding her gaze. “Mine alone.”

She shook her head again, stepping back as though his words might sting her. “Why do you torment me with this? Is it some game, a jest for your amusement? I thought better of you, Cregan Stark.”

Frustration tightened his jaw as he stepped toward her, unwilling to let her withdraw further. “There is no jest here. Why would you doubt my honesty?”

Her gaze sharpened, her voice rising, edged now with hurt and anger. “Because no lord in his right mind would wed the Ghost. Do you think me blind or deaf? I hear every whisper, every lie spoken behind my back. They say I am no Northerner, that I will betray these lands one day and flee south to claim some birthright that is not mine. Even if you do not think it, your bannermen do. They would never accept this.”

Cregan shook his head slowly, voice steady, unwavering despite the anger that burned quietly in her eyes. “I care nothing for what they say.”

She let out a bitter breath, eyes glinting sharply. “You should. They will never let you forget it.”

He stepped closer still, carefully grasping her wrist, gentle yet insistent. “Look at me,” he commanded softly, waiting until she met his gaze. “Do you truly think I care what they whisper? I have watched you for years. I have seen you stand stronger than men twice your age. I have watched you hunt and ride with skill unmatched by any knight sworn to me. You bow to no one, you fear no whispers. You challenge me in ways no one else ever could. Why would I seek another to stand by my side when you are here before me?”

She stared at him, her breathing shallow, lips parted slightly, uncertain and hesitant. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible, fragile and tentative as never before. “I do not believe you. I cannot.”

His grip on her wrist loosened slightly, though he did not let go. “Then let me prove my words,” he murmured, holding her gaze steadily, stepping closer so that his voice was little more than a breath. “Allow me the chance to show you the truth of them.”

She hesitated, eyes desperately searching his face for any hint of deceit, for cruelty or mockery, yet finding none. Her voice broke softly on a single word. “Why?”

Cregan leaned closer, voice quiet, certain and unwavering. “Because now that I have seen you clearly, I can see no one else.”

She pulled back then, breaking the contact as though burned, still uncertain, still afraid, yet the doubt in her eyes had softened into something else, something hopeful but guarded. She said nothing more, merely turned and walked quickly away, leaving Cregan standing alone in the yard, watching her retreating figure and knowing, deep in his bones, that he had chosen rightly. He would prove himself to her, no matter how long it took.

Cregan did not court her in the way of noblemen. He did not send her songs or write poetry, did not lay delicate gifts of silk or jewels before her. Instead, he rode with her through the deep woods beyond Winterfell, keeping pace beside her in silence, the thunder of hooves their only conversation. He hunted with her, watching as she tracked deer through snow so thick it muffled every sound, her pale figure a blur between the trees. He learned from her, watched how she moved like a shadow, mimicking her steps, imitating the way she lowered herself into a crouch, bow drawn and ready, silent and still as stone. He did not try to impress her, did not boast of his own skill, but watched her closely, quietly impressed by the certainty with which she moved, the ease with which she read the land and the sky. They spoke rarely on these journeys, exchanging few words beyond what was needed, but he learned more about her in those quiet moments than he ever had before.

When they sparred, he did not hold back, did not treat her as if she were made of glass. He faced her in the yard with a blunt sword in hand, pushing her harder than any other opponent would have dared. He struck with measured blows, testing her defenses, forcing her to move swiftly, to think ahead. He never made it easy for her, never allowed her to win merely to please her, because he knew she would resent it. Instead, he challenged her, drove her to become sharper, faster, stronger. And each time he knocked her down, he extended a hand and pulled her back to her feet, never saying more than a simple command to try again. He was patient, relentless, persistent, a quiet force always at her side, never demanding her attention, but never wavering from her either. She did not understand why he kept returning, why he chose to spend his days trailing after her through the woods or sparring beneath the grey sky until the sun sank low. She could not comprehend why he, a lord who could choose any noble lady in the North, would choose her. She suspected cruelty behind his quiet words, expected betrayal in his lingering gaze, waited for the moment when he would laugh and tell her that it had all been a cruel jest after all. Each time he appeared at her side, she was cautious, wary, questioning every motive, every gesture, every quiet offer of companionship.

“Why do you insist on wasting your time?” she asked finally, breathing hard from the sparring, hair tangled and damp from exertion as she lifted her chin, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “Surely there is some lady waiting patiently at Winterfell, someone more suitable to be Lady Stark than a ghost who can barely stand your presence.”

Cregan considered her carefully, a quiet gentleness flickering in his grey eyes, the edge of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Perhaps I do not wish for someone who merely tolerates me,” he replied evenly. “Perhaps what I seek is someone who meets my gaze without fear, who refuses to yield simply because I command it. Someone who challenges me rather than obeys me without question. A woman who walks at my side, not behind me. There is none more fitting than you.”

She let out a short, bitter breath, eyes narrowing sharply with suspicion. “Pretty words come easily, Cregan Stark. I have heard whispers all my life—I know what your bannermen say about me. How can I trust that you are different? How can I believe you do not share their opinion, that you do not see me as something strange and unnatural?”

He stepped closer to her, unyielding, voice low and firm. “Because I have never hidden behind whispers. Every word I speak, I say openly, plainly. You know this as well as anyone.”

She hesitated, something unreadable flickering in her eyes, her fingers tightening briefly around the grip of her sword before she turned abruptly, walking toward her horse without another word. He watched her go, unwilling to follow, unwilling to push further, knowing it would only make her retreat further. He would let her consider what he had said. He knew he had not yet convinced her, but he had patience enough to wait. He would not give up so easily.

He would ride with her again tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that until she understood that he was not playing a game. Until she saw clearly that he meant to have her by his side, no matter what it took or how long he had to wait.

It was in the heart of winter when she finally saw the truth clearly. The snows had come early, blanketing the North beneath thick layers of ice and frost, turning the Wolfswood into a place of shadow and silence, the air frozen into something sharp enough to cut flesh. She and Cley had been out hunting in the deeper woods, riding hard as they always did, pushing further than was wise or safe in pursuit of the stag they had glimpsed between the trees. Cregan had ridden with them as always, quiet and steady at her side, his grey eyes watchful beneath the dark fur of his hood. They had followed the tracks further than they had intended, deeper into the Wolfswood than even she knew well, where the trees pressed close and the daylight grew thin and grey.

 It was then that the storm came, sudden and fierce, rolling in from nowhere to wrap the woods in blinding snow. Visibility vanished in moments, the trees swallowed whole by swirling white flakes, the ground beneath their horses’ hooves becoming treacherous and uncertain. Cley shouted something lost beneath the howl of the wind, the horses shifting nervously as they struggled to see beyond the wall of snow. She urged her mount forward, trying to find their path back, but the snow fell so thickly it felt impossible to tell one direction from another. Her horse stumbled suddenly, sliding sharply sideways, pitching her from the saddle and sending her tumbling into the drifts. She hit the ground hard, the air knocked from her chest, snow stinging her face and hands as she struggled back to her feet. She called for Cley, for Cregan, but the wind stole the words from her mouth, leaving her alone in a storm that felt like it could tear her apart. She moved blindly, stumbling through snowdrifts that rose above her knees, her cloak heavy and wet with ice, her breath ragged and harsh against the cold. She could not see anything, could barely breathe, her throat burning as panic rose sharply in her chest, tightening around her heart. 

Then she heard him call her name, clear and strong, breaking through the storm with a voice that carried like steel, steady and unwavering, guiding her toward him. She moved toward the sound, desperate and half-blind, following the faint shape of him through the storm until she finally reached his side. His hand found hers immediately, fingers tightening securely, reassuringly warm even through the thick leather of their gloves. He pulled her close, his body shielding hers from the worst of the wind, guiding her toward shelter. They found the hollow beneath an ancient tree, deep enough to keep out the worst of the storm. Inside, the wind was quieter, though still fierce enough to shake the branches overhead. Cley was not with them. Her heart twisted sharply at the realization, panic flickering briefly across her face as she tried to pull free, intent on returning into the storm. But Cregan did not let go. 

"Stay," he shouted above the howl of the wind, his voice fierce with command, his grip unyielding. "Cley knows these woods better than anyone. He'll have found shelter. I won't lose you trying to find him." 

She wanted to argue, wanted to fight him, to tear herself away and rush back into the storm, but something in his face stopped her, something deep and powerful and desperate. She had never seen him afraid before, had never seen him so openly worried. The realization struck her with a force greater than the storm itself, shaking something loose in her chest, something she had been holding tight for far too long. He was afraid of losing her. Not because of duty or honor or pride, but because he could not bear it, because the thought of her lost in the storm frightened him more than anything he had faced before. She stared up at him, breathing heavily, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. 

"Why are you doing this?" she asked finally, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind. "Why do you care so much?" He moved closer, tilting her chin up gently, forcing her to meet his eyes fully. 

"Because I love you," he said, his voice steady, quiet but carrying clearly through the storm. "Because the thought of losing you scares me in ways I never knew possible."

She blinked snow from her lashes, searching his face desperately for the lie she had always expected to find there, for some hidden cruelty or jest, but there was nothing but honesty, stark and clear in his eyes, unmasked by the storm. She had always thought the truth would break her, yet now it only left her standing strangely whole. Her throat tightened, words impossible, so she nodded slowly instead, fingers curling tighter around his. He squeezed her hand once, pulling her closer, holding her firmly against him until the worst of the wind passed, until the snow finally began to ease, until they could hear Cley's distant voice calling their names, guiding them home through the slowly fading storm.

After that night, the world around her shifted quietly, subtly, like snow settling after a storm. The whispers did not cease entirely, but they softened, became less frequent, less sharp at the edges. Cregan’s presence at her side became constant, certain, a quiet, steady force that she no longer questioned. He did not ask for more than she could give, did not rush her toward decisions she was not ready to make, but he was there, a silent reminder that he would not falter, would not turn away, would not abandon her as she had always feared someone might. Over the weeks that followed, he rode with her, hunted with her, matched his steps to hers without hesitation, proving time and again that his promise was true. Gradually, she began to trust him, began to believe the quiet sincerity that shone steadily in his eyes each time he looked at her. Her heart still beat faster when he drew close, uncertainty still lingered at the edges of her thoughts, but now she found herself willing to face it, willing to believe he meant what he said.

When the day finally came, it was quiet, without fanfare, without elaborate ceremony or flourish. They wed beneath the pale branches of the weirwood, deep within the godswood of Winterfell, surrounded by nothing but snow and silence, and the quiet circle of those they trusted most. There were no great banners, no trumpets or feasts to mark their union. There was only the whisper of winter wind through the branches, the gentle creak of ice-laden limbs shifting overhead, and the soft crunch of snow beneath their feet. She stood before Cregan, her cloak pale and heavy around her shoulders, her silver hair cascading loose and unbound like moonlit frost, her breath rising steadily into the cold air. Her pale eyes were steady as she gazed into his, unafraid and unwavering, knowing with a quiet certainty that he meant every vow he spoke.

He had chosen her despite everything the world whispered. Yet here she stood, heart steady despite the chill in the air, pulse calm even though everything had changed around her. She did not tremble, she did not flinch, even as the wind bit at her skin, even as snow settled gently in her hair. She had never felt so certain, so unshakably calm. Beside her, Cregan stood strong and unwavering, shoulders squared, his cloak dark and thick against the snow, his grey eyes fixed entirely on her. She saw nothing but warmth in his gaze, steady as the mountains, gentle as the wind through the pines, his voice quiet yet sure as he spoke the vows. He did not falter when he named her his wife, did not hesitate to join his life with hers, though he knew as well as she did that the choice was not an easy one. His voice echoed softly in the godswood, clear and steady, never wavering, never uncertain. He chose her fully, knowing what it meant, knowing how fiercely the North might resist it, but never looking away.

When the vows had been said and the ceremony ended, there was no applause, no celebration, no cheering or shouting or laughter ringing through the halls. There was only the silence of snow falling softly, steadily, blanketing the ground around them, covering their tracks as though nothing else existed but that moment beneath the watchful gaze of the old gods. Lord Cerwyn stood quietly to the side, watching her with pride and quiet relief, something like sorrow and acceptance mingled in his eyes. Beside him stood Cley, his expression a mix of fierce loyalty and joy, unmasked and open in ways that spoke louder than any words he might have said. But it was Cregan she held onto, his hands clasped tightly around hers, his warmth seeping into her skin, the weight of his promise anchoring her to the earth. He looked at her openly, unafraid, accepting her as she was, claiming her not as the ghost, not as an outsider, but as his wife, the one woman he had freely chosen above all others.

 When they turned to face the few who had gathered, she felt the shift immediately. The eyes watching her were not those of curiosity or wariness but of quiet acceptance. They did not whisper, did not glance aside, did not hide their faces behind raised hands. They saw her clearly now, perhaps for the first time, not as something unnatural, not as something other, but as Lady Stark, the woman who would stand beside their lord and hold Winterfell with him. No one spoke as the ceremony ended, no cheers rang out through the godswood, no songs were sung, but the silence felt different now. It was peaceful rather than uncertain, accepting rather than hesitant. 

The North would never again see her as simply the Ghost who haunted Cerwyn’s halls, as something strange and foreign. They would see her as the woman who stood beside Cregan Stark, who bore his cloak, who had pledged herself beneath the weirwood, who was now bound to Winterfell in ways no whispers could undo. As the small gathering dispersed, leaving her standing beside her husband beneath the watchful eyes of the gods, she realized fully for the first time what it meant. She had not only chosen him; he had chosen her in return. She belonged now, not because she had finally changed, not because she had proven herself worthy through skill with a bow or strength in the saddle, but simply because he had decided she was his equal, his match. She had spent her entire life running from whispers, struggling against suspicion and doubt, fighting to prove she was enough. Now she felt nothing but a quiet, deep-rooted certainty that none of that mattered anymore. 

The North had no choice but to accept her because the Wolf of Winterfell had taken her as his own. She was not merely tolerated or begrudgingly permitted; she was the Lady of Winterfell, the woman who would stand beside the Wolf when winter storms battered their gates. The weight of that understanding settled deep inside her, lifting burdens she had carried silently all her life. As they stood alone beneath the pale branches of the weirwood after the others had drifted quietly away, she felt a strange, deep-rooted peace for the first time. Cregan reached out, taking her hand in his, their fingers intertwining tightly, silently sealing the promise between them. 

"Do you regret it?" he asked softly, his voice barely louder than the whisper of snow against branches. 

She met his gaze, felt warmth blossom deep within her chest as she shook her head slowly. "Never," she whispered, her voice steady, certain in a way she had never known possible before this moment. "I never will."

[npookie0]

Ronin x AFAB reader who has really bad period cramps 🧐? Could be headcanon format or fic, depends on what you want if you’re up for it. Just the imagery of reader usually being very into Ronin’s brand of madness and falling into it and being very active on server, but when they’re on their period they just do not enter the server at all and are avoidant because they’re in so much pain. Idk if I verbalized this well. 🙏 don’t worry about this, ignore it if it is an uncomfortable request !

Devil's Special Care.

(writing this shit while on a period btw)

Ah yes, being born in a female body.

What a beautiful fate it was, you matured way faster than people who are biologically male, you didn't wake up with a bulge in your pants first thing in the morning and... uh well these are the only things that are actually good for you. You could name every negative aspect for hours and the list would be never ending.

But amongst all of the terrible things, there was your true nightmare. Period. Or more specific its way of affecting your life. Cramps, hormones acting up, weight gain, bleeding, and a few more that you didn't want to remember.

Yes, "this time of a month" wasn't your favourite thing. Especially with how it changed your habits, way of living and how social you were.

Usually by now, you would be online in the serial killer group chat, getting on V's nerves with Misaki, gossiping about Ronin with Angel, or talking to your boyfriend Ronin thought a video call. Unfortunately, none of the above was happening.

You were laying all curled up in your bed, holding your stomach and cursing Eve for eating that stupid apple.

You can't exactly blame the poor woman for following the Devil's words, you are doing the exact same thing. But instead of a talking snake, you got yourself a deranged serial killer who just loves to test your limits and annoying you every chance he gets.

Well today was different, you were offline, no calls, no texts, nothing. He got a little bit troubled to say the least, not even a "sorry busy today" text, just plain silence on your side. And would Ronin be himself if he just accepted your sudden silence? Of course not.

The Devil arrived at your doorstep, the spare keys to your house in one hand, and some take out food in the other, he figured that you could be either sick, drowned under your work or a new book idea, or that you could as well just eat something for lunch.

He was walking though your house, reaching your bedroom. He could hear some whimpers coming from behind the door. It made his brows furrow, he was definitely worried now. He opened the door, stepped into the room and locked around.

He spotted you, whimpering and all curled up in your bed. You looked in pain, and somehow Ronin immediately knew what was going on. He too had to deal with this before his transition.

Ronin snooped around your room for a while to find your hot water bottle so you could press it to where it hurts.

"Hey darling, did you eat anything?" He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, an unusual gesture for him.

You shook your head in response, not even looking at him.

"You have to eat, so then you can take some pain killers babe." He said and got up from the bed. "I have food for you, should I feed you?"

Ronin was surprisingly very caring. Offering to feed you, and doing so. Making sure that you will take every medicine you may need, cuddle with you and an eye on you to see how you're doing.

He was really attentive and understanding, he didn't even tease you. You were in need of comfort not a bully boyfriend.

Such a Good and Caring Lover the Devil Turns Out to Be.

[the-uninformed-zennial]

So, uh, Fable ended.

And now I’m gonna be sappy on main.

I started watching Fable about half a year before I started being active in the fandom, around the time I started falling in love with my partner @hoardingpuffin . Watching Rae and Caspian’s relationship develop was actually part of what helped me realize that the things I was feeling for them were romantic and not just platonic. Surprisingly enough, that’s just the beginning of the profound effect Fable had on me.

I had never really interacted with fandom spaces before Fable. But when I caught up with lore sometime in November 2022, I decided to join the discord. It was a crazy place. Being someone who’d never really been in a server before I was completely overwhelmed and nervous, so I didn’t interact much for the first month or so.

Then I discovered that, despite the incredible love for the project, no one had made a “which character are you?” Quiz yet, so, I decided to fuck it and make one myself. The response I got to that was unlike any I had seen before. I was getting pinged weeks afterwards with people’s results and it made me really happy to see how much my work was appreciated by everyone in the community. It got me thinking about other ways I might be able to give back.

Then, as you all know, the stream “Call” and it’s partner “Response” came out on Ghosty and HeyHay’s channels. I’d been feeling so similarly to the two characters, dealing with my long distance relationship with Puffin. So, I took those feelings and the words Heyhay and Ghosty had used to convey them for their characters and put them into a song.

And then something insane happened.

Everyone liked it. Like, everyone liked it. This crappy recording I made at 2 AM suddenly got hundreds and then thousands of views when I put it on SoundCloud and YouTube. It was insane. I had written some songs before, but they’d always been ridiculed, so having a large group of people like the fable community enjoy something that I wrote was absolutely insane to me, and it encouraged me to make more.

I found myself being inspired by the characters in fable, connecting with different storylines or sentences said on streams. I found myself writing songs, one after another after another.  At one point I was writing a song a week for a period of about three months. I had never experienced this amount of raw creativity before, but every time I put a new song out, I only got encouraged to make more.

And then people started to ask me when I was going to put them on Spotify. And that was another moment that everything changed. I realized if I was gonna put these out there in such an official way I didn’t want it to just be a bunch of crappy recorded singles. So I needed to make an album.

That was something I had never considered doing before. I knew nothing about music editing or sound mixing. Up until that point all of my songs had been made on GarageBand at 2 AM with very little editing or mixing going into them. So, I started saving for a real music editing program and within a few months I got there.

Then came the actual making of the album. I took a few months off in the summer and just dove headfirst into it. Every spare moment I wasn’t modding for the Sherbathon, or the discord, or streaming my own lore, was spent working on those songs. And while looking back now I wish I knew what I know now about music editing, I’m so glad I did what I did. Putting that album out, seeing how you all responded to it… it made me realize that this is something I love, something that I don’t have to wait for someone else’s permission or teaching to do.

This fandom is the reason I’m a musical artist and that is something I don’t think I will ever be able to express the importance of enough.



As much as I could talk about the unending support and encouragement I received from the wonderful cast members throughout my experience making the album, or how being given the role of mod on the fandom discord taught me so much about how to be a creator in my own right, or even the amazing experience I had being able to make songs for the lore. When it comes right down to it, it was the community, cast and all, that impacted my life in the profound way it has been. So thank you, each and every one of you, whether you are a cast member, a fan, a fellow mod, or even just someone who streamed a song you didn’t have any context for. Thank you for changing my life, for giving me the encouragement to pursue my dreams.

Thank you Fable SMP cast, crew, and community 💕

[waterfire1848]

AU where Zuko joins Katara instead of Azula during The Crossroads of Destiny.

Hello, @wingchunwaterbender !!! Thanks for the second ask I’m loving these aus!!!

1. In the catacombs, Zuko actually listens to Iroh and turns against Azula. In doing so, he guarantees a success for Aang and Katara because Azula is now on her own. Azula tries to escape but Zuko tells them to stop her, claiming she has control of the Dai Li. Aang earthbends any exits closed and Katara grabs Azula’s leg and arm with waterbending, freezing the water around her and making her unable to move. They escape with her as a prisoner so that the Dai Li don’t attack them then get the Dai Li to stand down. With Azula captured and Aang not dead, Ba Sing Se is returned to Kuei’s control.

2. Since Zuko didn’t betray them this time around, the Gaang isn’t as suspicious of him as they previously were. They don’t completely trust him and Iroh (they did still try to capture them for months) but they trust them in a sense. That trust grows when Iroh agrees to help with the invasion and Zuko agrees to teach Aang firebending. With BSS secured, the Gaang remain in the city for safety until it’s time for the invasion. Sokka is off with the military to get them back on track for the invasion. He continues to send letters to his dad, telling him about his plans and the South Pole has agreed to send back up.

3. During that time, Zuko and Katara grow closer. Since it isn’t time for Aang to learn firebending yet, Zuko isn’t needed as much to be his teacher and he and Katara can often be found practicing and sparing together. (Katara: You know, when I agreed to spare with you, I thought you’d be good at this. Zuko: I’m a little rusty. Katara: Maybe being a tea server is the better calling. Zuko: I make an amazing tea server so I take that as a compliment. Katara: I’ll have to see that sometime. Tea server Zuko. Now that’s a sentence I never thought I’d say). That, or they’re chatting about the past few months and family. (Zuko: I…I don’t want to leave Azula down there*in BSS prison* Katara: She tried to kill us. She- Zuko: So did I! I was exactly like her less than a year ago. How come I get to sit here and eat amazing meals while she’d down there? Katara: Because you saw what you were doing was awful and changed. Zuko: Yeah, I changed. And I really think that my little sister can change too.)

4 (part 1). A few more weeks go with things actually going Team Avatar’s way (so you know something bad is about to happen) before BSS is attacked. Ozai sends in troops and soldiers to attack the wall and bring it down so he can take over the city before the comet comes and retrieve Azula. The Gaang soon discover that while they had taken down the Dai Li they did not account for Long Feng and he managed to get a letter to Ozai and told him what occurred. He also helped some soldiers sneak into the city and the palace is attacked (the Gaang defeats them but this does alert them to the fact that the Fire Nation is here).

4 (Part 2). While the group is trying to figure out what to do, some people saying nothing because no one ever managed to get through the wall that quickly and others saying they need to attack Ozai with their military, Zuko gets a message from the guards saying Azula wants to talk. Katara goes down with him. Azula offers information for dealing with Ozai in exchange for her, Mai and Ty Lee’s freedom (Zuko: You’d sell out father? Azula: I wouldn’t call it selling out more like saving my head. You think father will be pleased that I failed in Ba Sing Se and completed none of my missions? I’m not trying to match you, Zuzu. Zuko: Ozai won’t get- Azula: He will if you don’t do something. He has someone, an earthbender, on the inside now, and years of knowledge from failed attacks on the city. He will break through if something isn’t done). Zuko agrees and Azula, Mai and Ty Lee are set free.

5. The group works together to try and drive Ozai out of the city. For a while, they are successful since most of the Earth Kingdom troops are in the city anyways, but then they start to lose and the troops have to fall back. The Gaang has been debating about what is best to do and if they should stay and fight or leave and save Aang. When Ozai finally breaks through the wall, they decide to remain and fight. Thanks to Azula's knowledge, they are able to stop the Fire Nation from getting too far except that Ozai and a couple soldiers manage to sneak through and get to the palace (of course with the intent to kill Kuei and Aang). Zuko, Katara and a couple EK soldiers spot the small group and attack. The fight becomes Ozai vs Zuko and Katara pretty quickly. While fighting, Ozai manages to get a hold of Zuko and brings his hand down only to get it frozen and Katara to sent an ice spike straight at his eyes. She misses one but hits him in the other one. Ozai is forced to realize Zuko but not before grabbing Katara and burning her shoulder (badly). With perfect timing, Katara and Zuko lock eyes and Katara (through the pain) sends a water whip straight at Ozai's back so he'll release her while Zuko openly mocks him (Yes, I said what I said. Zuko: Greatest firelord in history? You're getting your butt handed to you by a fourteen year old girl who isn't even a master yet. Katara, through clenched teeth: Less about me, Zuko! Zuko: Iroh would have taken this city weeks before you did. Honestly, all of us were back here laughing at how long it was taking you.) Ozai sends a lighting blast at him just in time for Zuko to redirect it right at Ozai.

+1 - The rest of the troops back off when they learn Ozai is killed and the other members of the Royal Family are telling them to leave. Katara is rushed to the healers room and operated on for days to prevent her from losing the arm. Thankfully, Aang and Sokka remember that she had the water from the North Pole and Aang works days and nights to heal her with every last drop of it. When Katara wakes up, she learns that Zuko had stayed on the chair in her room the entire time. (Katara: I guess I trust you now. Zuko: You guess, huh? Katara: I mean, if you really cared you would have brought me candy. Zuko: My mistake. I'll remember that next time you're in the healers room clinging to life.) Of course, it ends with a Zutara kiss and the war officially coming to an end.

[astrabear]

Thoughts on sun/moon symbolism?

What a fascinating question to get with no context whatsoever! I have no idea how to answer it. Do you mean in general? In literature? In fandom? In The Old Guard in particular? Or just any thoughts I might happen to have lying around like spare change?

I'm going to go with the spare change approach.

First, a slight tangent: I got into the Old Guard fandom after having never been involved in fandom in more than a superficial way before. This means, for example, that I had no idea what the common fanfic tropes were. I'd see something and be like "my goodness! How creative! However did they think of that?" and it took a while to realize that's just, like, a thing that everyone knows about. "An AU in which one of them is a florist and the other a tattoo artist, that's interesting, I wonder what the draw was of those particular jobs..."

Anyway I saw a lot of sun/moon symbolism in art and fic, and sure, that makes sense, Joe calls Nicky "the moon when I'm lost in darkness," I dig it, it seems pretty popular. Then I joined tumblr (I started reading fic in summer 2020, joined a TOG Discord server in fall 2020, and didn't create a tumblr account until fall 2021. And I discovered that sun/moon symbolism is also a fandom thing, and people apply it to characters even when one of them doesn't call the other the moon. There was even a sun/moon character poll and I got very melodramatic about it just because it was a fun community bonding event.

But the thing is... after more than three years of TOG activity and especially after more than two years on tumblr and seeing how much of what happens in TOG happens elsewhere... I really don't have a whole lot of interest in tropes that tend to force characters into opposites/binaries. Joe = sun = warm, bright, passionate, loud, cheerful/ Nicky = moon = cool, pale, calm, quiet, inexpressive... they are so similar. They really really are. (They are also not the main characters and appear in a single two-hour movie, so most conclusions about their personalities and habits are extrapolated from very small details. Let's be honest, we've thought way more about this stuff than the writer and actors did and most of it is only one step above 'made up'.)

Also one of my pet peeves hates pet peeves is people trying to force these guys into some kind of weird heteronormative funhouse-mirror version of themselves that's just an awful tangle of misogyny and homophobia and racism. "Let's cast them as opposites" tends to overlap a little with this approach (so then you also get Joe = big, dominant, masculine, aggressive/ Nicky = small, submissive, feminine, meek) and that just makes me even more suspicious of the whole thing.

So... yeah. Those are my thoughts. I will say we've gotten some lovely fan art out of it.

[spaceferren-comics]

heyyyyyy i have many questions about your project because it’s awesome 😎

what IS Typhon? how did he come to be?

how did everyone meet?

who is considered the most powerful of all the characters?

love these characters so much i’ll consume y’all’s art

Tysm!! For Typhon, since he’s got so many different alternate versions (Typhon Valac aka Horror Typhon, Snatched/Main Universe Typhon, Mooties Typhon, etc) Im gonna assume you’re referring to Typhon Valac since that’s who ya made fanart of! :33 I’ll have his long ass story down below cuz even the basic synopsis is long lmfao

Irl we all met over roblox rp servers LMFAO, but in universe we met mostly through various comical means

Of all our OCs the most powerful is like Toy-Maker, who’s basically an unknowable force of unbridled chaos. He’s sorta like if you mixed Bill Cipher, Jevil, Dimention, Klefka, Marx etc. into one horrific mix lmfao

(Long story ahead for Typhon Valac, prepare thyselves)

Typhon Valac

Horror Typhon (also known as 'Typhon V' for 'Typhon Valac') is a humanoid yet monstrous wendigo-esque rabbit creature. This demonic beast appears very much like a skinny, starved, yet muscular ghoul- with torn and tethered rotting skin that loosely clings to the muscular frame of the creature. However, he strangely wears a pair of almost cartoonish white gloves, not much different from say Mickey Mouse or the likes, likely tied to his past as a Disney Employee/Animator.

Typhon V is the twisted spirit of Cecil Cuminotto, an Italian immigrant who worked as an animator at Walt Disney studios in the mid 1980s (during most of Disneys layoffs, and while the company was in a massive slump). in Burbank, California. Cecils' life could best be described by two words: Constant Work. Indeed Cecil worked day and night, doing above and beyond what should have been necessary- always under the threat of fire from the uptight and rigorous company. However it was his passion, so for the most part, he didn't mind- and in his spare time, he even liked to make sketches and rough animations of Oswald the Lucky Rabbit (though he hid this from the company, as he didn't belong to Disney at the time) to entertain himself or his fiancé.

This would all change tragically however as come 1984, said fiancé, Katherine Gell, who died tragically in a horrific car accident with a young and inebriated Nicholas Martin- tragically, on the day of their honeymoon no less. Distraught at his loss, Cecil asked for a few months off to process his grief- and was denied, and was thus not even allowed to attend his own SO's funeral. This sent Cecil into a massive downward spiral of depression in and out of the workplace, his own mental instability making him begin to see her everywhere he looked- like a phantom haunting him. His guilt ate him alive- and in a desperate bid to reprieve himself, he reached out to friends and family alike- neither able to help him.

Distraught and mentally ill, Cecil did everything he could to make the constant pain and misery end- such as drowning himself in a waterfall of drugs and alcohol. Noticing his changed demeanor at work, he was investigated- and dozens of anti-depressants and liquor bottles were found hidden in his desk. Immediately fired, the now purposeless addict only continued his spiral by subjecting himself to more and more dangerous concoctions of drugs, alcohol, and anything that could make him simply stop thinking anymore. After taking a particularly lethal (and large) dose of Heroin, Ecstasy, and Hard Vodka, Cecil died alone and painfully in a dark alleyway, forgotten and left to rot. His intense rage, guilt, pain, and overall suffering made his spirit linger- refusing to move on, and thus: a voice called out to him.

A sultry and booming voice, one compiled of millions of collective voices, actually. An entity that simply called itself 'The Darkness' reached out to the distraught spirit- offering Cecil power, resolve, and the ability to get revenge against everyone who made his life so miserable. Unsure at first, the all-powerful eldritch god promised Cecil everlasting splendors, and that getting revenge/inflicting suffering on everyone who ever wronged him would bring him peace. And with peace, maybe, just maybe, a chance to see his fiancé. Cecil leapt at the chance, agreeing to bring forth as much pain and misery as humanly possible into the world of the living.

And thus Typhon V was born, his spirit possessing his still rotting corpse- and his darkness tainting and corrupting the already rotting body into something no longer human. Now having a rabbit-skull-like face to cover his own rotting face below it, long and gangly ears, and generally disproportionate features for a human. Ironically, he got to keep the gloves he once drew nonstop- now forever a piece of him and his attire.

Typhon V is no longer Cecil- even if he may have remnants of who he once was. Only hate and a desire to bring forth suffering upon his victims remain. Like a Shakespearean, he was reborn from the tortured soul of Cecil, a tragic figure whose life was marred by despair and addiction. Typhon V's genesis was thus marked by a harrowing demise—a consequence of the vices and suffering that ultimately consumed him. Bound by his insatiable thirst for retribution against the people he views failed him, he emerged from the depths of the beyond, like a plague soon to be unleashed, twisted, and malformed. He first targeted his family, slowly but surely picking off all the Cuminottos, often the cause of death being deduced as a 'Suicide'. However, even after their demise came no salvation- as Typhon kept them in a personal hellscape of his own design- a horrific personal little world where the souls of his victims reside. This black-and-white world, not too different from an old-school Disney cartoon, is where the demon regularly plays Cat and Mouse with unfortunate victims' souls who've been caught.

[semisgroupie]

dirty old man

kishibe x fem. reader

wc: 3.2k

warnings: mafia au!, age gap (reader is in her 20s and kishibe is in his 50s), knife play, clothes cutting, reader is spoiled by kishibe, death threats (not to reader but to a minor character), balcony sex, degradation, unprotected sex, facial, creampie, oral sex (m!receiving), recording (consensual), kishibe is obsessed with you, mentions of past recording, dumbification, dacryphilia, spanking, he calls reader mean names but he means it lovingly <3

synopsis: a slutty old man deserves an equally slutty young girlfriend

a/n: this is for @pcwer for the gift exchange in snow’s server!!! i was stuck between kishibe and aki but i wanted to gift you your slutty old man

Kishibe

The name alone strikes fear into many hearts and makes people flinch. His looks alone was intimidating but when it’s paired with his reputation, then he immediately became the most feared man alive. A career criminal at the head of the most dangerous mafia circuit, his callousness and stoicism combined with his immense strength and skill easily helped him rise to the top and helped him stay there.

The amount of skeletons in his closet could fill a mansion and despite being in his 50s, that would never change.

His bloodlust has satiated a bit over the years but that didn’t mean his life became boring. It was actually livelier now, than when he was in his 20s. That could be attributed to you, the pretty eye candy he loved to show off.

It was quite the cliche for him to say that you made him feel younger but you did. He was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with you when he first met you but now there were times he wondered if you could keep up with him. Oftentimes when he was in his meetings, while everyone was discussing any hits they had to put out, all he could think about was how you looked on top of him, bouncing on his cock until he decided to fuck you senseless.

It was also safe to say that he was quite obsessed with you. It was obvious to anyone around and it was even more obvious when his men saw the scratch marks that littered his back along with his scars, and if they were ever lucky enough to sneak a peek at his phone, they would see his lockscreen was your face, messy with his cum. He had a multitude of photos and videos of you, it was his not-so-little collection that he loved to scan through while he was alone.

But he wasn’t far from you often, if he wasn’t spoiling you endless with vacations and shopping sprees then he was with you in his office in one of the most expensive buildings in the city. Sometimes he would do both in one day, which was exactly what he was doing today.

He let you drag him from store to store, ignoring some of the glances that were spared at him for being with you. He couldn’t blame them, a man with a girl half his age, but he didn’t care. They could look and stare all they wanted, even call him names like a ‘dirty old man’, he would just wear the title with pride.

You two were in a lingerie shop and it took everything in him to not drag you to the nearest fitting room and fuck you until your legs shook. It wasn’t like he hasn’t done it before. But, today was your day and he didn’t want to disrupt anything simply because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.

Everything was going by smoothly, no disruptions, that was until his phone started going off.

He quickly excused himself and walked over to the entrance of the shop to take the call. You collected some more fabrics and glanced over at him from time to time, barely picking up on what was being said but by the way he gripped his phone, you knew it wasn’t good news. You stood by near one of the shelves of matching bra and panty sets until he made his way over to you, clearly annoyed by what took place.

“Sorry sweetheart, we need to cut this trip short, go on the line and I’ll pay for what you got.” He offered you a small smile, the scar that decorated the left side of his face slightly moving as the corners of his lips rose and fell.

You shook your head and walked over to a worker, curtly apologizing as you asked them to put everything back. You hooked your arms around one of his and looked up at your much older boyfriend, “let’s just go. They have better sets online anyway.” You pulled him close to press a kiss to his cheek and let him lead the way back to his car. He put all your shopping bags in the trunk then held the passenger's side door open for you as you slid in. He then got in the driver’s seat and started driving.

He moved one hand over to your thigh and gently squeezed it, “I’m sorry the day had to be cut short. I didn’t want to end things so early.” You placed his hand over his and gently squeezed it, “there’s no need to apologize. I’m just glad I get to spend the day with you.” You leaned over and pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek before resting back against your seat. He grazed your soft thigh with his thumb as he drove, something he always did when you sat in the passenger’s seat when he drove. He loved to keep his hands on you. You were silk, you were satin, you were every soft material he could think of and he needed to keep touching you.

The drive was relatively short and before you knew it you two were in the parking lot of the large building. He helped you out of the car then held your hand as you two made your way to the elevator. The elevator ride was short and you noticed how tense Kishibe grew. You gently squeezed his hand for comfort as the elevator stopped on the designated floor and he turned to give you a small smile. “Thank you.” His voice was low as you two walked out of the elevator and saw his men sorting drugs and counting cash. It was a sight you’ve grown used to since you started dating Kishibe. It was the lifestyle he lived and a lifestyle you lived as well.

He led you over to one of the areas where you could sit but still keep an eye on him while he handled business then turned to face you, taking your chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Okay doll, I just need you to sit here and look pretty while I handle business. You can do that for me right?” You nodded and tilted your head down a bit to press a kiss to his thumb. “Of course I can, now hurry back.”

He tilted your head back up and kissed you softly before leaving you to deal with whoever was incompetent. You went on your phone to look at some things you might want to add to your shopping cart and you could faintly hear your boyfriend. After 15 minutes he came back, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his knuckles were slightly bloody which meant that he had to get a little physical to get his point across, his eyebrows were knitted together, and his hand went into his pocket to grab his silver flask. After he took a swig he reached over for your hand and pulled you back to the elevator.

“Bastard was lucky I didn’t cut his fingers off and serve it to him on a fucking platter. Hell, he was lucky I was in a good mood or else he would’ve been sent to his parents in a box. Little shit crashed a truck with a million dollars worth of product.” He continued muttering all the things he would’ve done to make the guy pay for losing so much money and product. As the elevator reached the top floor you never thought there could be so many methods of violence that could work as repayment.

“We just need to go to my office so I can figure out how to make up for the loss and then we can go home, okay pretty girl?” He squeezed your hand as you nodded. “But first I need to clean your hands.” He chuckled and looked down at his hands, “haven’t used these to send a message in a while, thought I might’ve been a little rusty but I broke the guy’s nose on the first hit.”

He led you into his office and went to sit down behind his computer while you went to the attached bathroom to grab the first aid kit. You retrieved it then sat atop his desk in front of him, placing his hands on your lap while you took out everything you needed to clean them off. He watched you with a fond smile and caressed your thighs with whatever hand you weren’t cleaning. “Hm. I think I could find a better use of my time instead of trying to clean up this fuck up. Once you’re done cleaning my hands I want you on your knees, you always look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

You cleaned his hands a little quicker, making him chuckle. “Easy there, you’ll still get my cock. You need to do a good job cleaning my hands, then you can be my eager cockslut.” You slowed down your movements until his hands were completely cleaned off then settled between his legs. “Go on, take it out.” You sat up on your knees and undid his pants, pulling his half hard cock out.

“Go on, put that pretty mouth to good use. Maybe if you do good, I’ll fuck you on the balcony. Let everyone see how much of a whore you are.” Heat rose to your cheeks and a rush of arousal pooled at the pit of your stomach at his words. You gripped his cock in one hand while you leaned in and peppered open mouthed kisses along the length until it fully hardened. “Go on, you were eager before, get to it.”

He rested back against his chair watching as you took his hardened cock in your mouth. He let out low groans as you bobbed your head up and down, rolling your tongue along the underside of his length. He grabbed his phone and turned the camera on, pressing the red button on the bottom of the screen to start recording you. “Eyes up here, I want to record how messy you get when I fuck your face.”

He grabbed a handful of your hair and held you in place as he started thrusting up into your mouth. Your gags echoed through his office making him laugh. “You’ve taken my cock so much and yet you’re still gagging, how pathetic.” You whined around his cock at his words but they made even more arousal pool in the pit of your stomach. “My pathetic little cocksleeve, can’t even take my cock down her throat but still wants it in her messy cunt. I don’t think you even deserve it.”

He loved to tease you like this, it’ll always make you work just a little harder. But you both knew he couldn’t deny you, he wouldn’t be able to deny himself either. “Come on, cry for me. Let me see how messy you can get.” He started moving your head to meet his thrusts, your face quickly grew messy with tears and saliva running down your chin. “Fuck, look at you.” He brought the camera closer to your face, moving it in all directions so it could take in all your angles. The sight of you like this was enough to tip him over the edge, he pulled you off his cock and let go of your hair to start stroking his cock while he kept filming.

“Stick your tongue out.” Was all he could get out before ropes of cum started decorating your face. Only a little got on your tongue but it just made everything even hotter. He hissed and brought his cock to your face to smear the cum around then brought the camera closer to your face, “smile for the camera, come on, show how happy you are my little cum slut.” And you did exactly that, smiled brightly for him with cum all over your face. He stopped the recording and reached over to grab some tissues to clean you off. He cupped your chin and turned your head up to him as he wiped all the cum off. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips then pulled back, “now get up, I’m not done with you.”

He helped you to your feet and let you head out to the balcony first while he went through his drawer to pull out the pocket knife you gifted him for his birthday. “Now I can put this to good use.” He walked over to you and gently pushed you closer to the railing, “hold on and bend over.” You did as he said, biting your lip in anticipation of his next move. The next thing you heard was a click which made you grow even more curious.

“Babe? What was that?” You turned slightly to look back at him and saw the sunlight reflect off the blade. “I’m making use of my birthday gift, now stay still. I don’t want to cut you.” He flipped your skirt up and traced the blade along the seam of your panties, tracing your cunt through the now see through fabric. A breath hitched in your throat but your cunt throbbed as he continued dragging the blade along your slit. You didn't have any worry about him cutting you, you’ve seen how skilled he is with a blade of any size.

“Please, please fuck me. I need your cock so badly.” Your tone came out more desperate than you wanted it to be but maybe it would convince him to give you what you needed. “Fine, since you’re so impatient.” He hooked his finger under the fabric to pull it away from your cunt and in one swift move he cut it open. Now, your pussy was on full display for him, he could see how you were practically dripping for him. “Fuck, even messier than I thought you would be. You really are a fiend for my cock.”

He chuckled and gripped his cock with his free hand while he placed the blade on a nearby chair. He then gripped your hip and slammed his cock into you, not even giving you a second to adjust before he started pounding into you at a brutal pace. His eyes widened a bit at how loud you were crying out for him, “wow, seems like you really want to get caught. Maybe I should just fuck you in front of my men since you want an audience.” He spanked you roughly and kept pounding into you.

“J-just want you! O-only want you!” He laughed and spanked you again before roughly gripping the flesh in his calloused hand. “I’ll believe you once you can form a coherent sentence. My dumb cock slut, the second my cock goes inside this tight cunt all your brain cells just leak out of you. But you don’t really need to think, do you? I just need to do all the thinking don't I?”

Your cunt gripped his cock tighter and tighter as the venom dripped from his tongue, turning you on more and more as each word reached your ears. You had a white knuckle grip on the railing while your legs trembled and shook like a newborn deer’s. Your mouth fell open, moans of his name was the only thing you could form coherently as he just continued to pound into you. Deep down you loved it when his men would fuck up, he would always fuck you rougher and you loved every single second of it.

“Just a little cum dump for me to use and make a mess of. I know that’s all you think about, when am I going to give you my cum next. Where my load will go when I do finally give it to you. That’s all that swirls around in that empty head, just my cock and my cum. Just cum for me and I’ll cover this perfect ass with my load.” Your eyes widened slightly, you didn’t want him to waste another load on you when it could just be inside you. You needed his cum inside you, you had to have it.

You shook your head and he raised an eyebrow. He let go of your hip and gripped another handful of your hair to pull your head back, “what is it? Why are you shaking your head?” He knew the answer, he knew what you wanted but he needed to hear it from you. He didn’t stop thrusting, why would he? He wasn’t going to make it easy for you to come up with a coherent answer. “Come on doll, I need an answer in a full sentence, I’m sure there’s one working brain cell left in there.”

Your mind was spinning due to the immense pleasure. You honestly couldn’t think about anything but what he was doing to you but you had to come up with something. You took a few breaths and tilted your head back a bit to try to meet his eyes. “Please cum inside me. Please, I want it inside.” You sounded so sweet, so desperate for him. You did what you wanted him to do so the least he could do was reward you. “Alright, go on and cum for me and I’ll fill you up, make this cunt even messier than what it is.” He let go of your hair and brought his hand to your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves in tight circles. All it took was a few flicks of his hand and you were crumbling in his hands, crying out his name as you milked his cock for the cum that was about to fill you up.

“There we go, keep cumming for me.” He continued rubbing your clit while he thrusted a few more times. He slammed his hips against yours and filled you with his cum, he hunched over you a bit and pressed a few kisses along your clothed spine. You both panted while riding out your orgasms and he lifted himself up first. He waited for you to compose yourself then slowly pulled out of you. He tucked himself back in his pants and flipped your skirt back down since your panties were torn then moved next to you.

He pulled you in his arms and pressed a few kisses along your forehead until you lifted your head so he could properly kiss you. The stubble on his face poked your skin but you loved the feeling. He slowly pulled away and caressed your cheek. “Are you okay?” You wrapped your arms around his middle and smiled up at him, “I’m perfect.”

He chuckled and kissed you again. “Good, now let’s go home. I’ll have someone else handle this business, I still have some more frustration to release and my balls aren’t empty yet.” Your cheeks burned as you playfully smacked his chest. “You’re so dirty!” You teased and he chuckled as he held you close to him while walking back inside his office.

“They don’t call me a dirty old man for nothing. Now let’s go home.”

[persephones-wren]

Hello! may i request a c!revivebur who’s walking around the server and sees his (now ex) partner for the first time since he died and he apologizes to them for how he treated them in pogtopia and they just like walk around and catch up please? love your writing!! don’t worry if this gets rejected or you don’t feel inspired i know how it feels!

Hope (c!Revivedbur x Reader)

apologies if it's a bit out of character, it's been a while since I've written anything for the DSMP :) but thank you for my first request from there! I hope you liked how it turned out!

Warnings: none? all lore is pretty outdated I think

Genre: fluff-ish

Word Count: 1220

Dawn breaks.

He stands there, watching the sunrise. His trench-coat feels heavy. The gloves on his hands feel scratchy, and he knows he keeps tightening them; a nervous habit. He’s going to betray them all. Whether they win or lose the final war, L’Manberg is going to go up in flames.

He’s not going to be there to see it all.

“You alright, Will?”

You stand beside him, on the cliff, and he knows that Tommy and Tubbo are probably somewhere behind him, watching over you both. He didn’t have his sanity anymore, but he was still in control enough to think of them and Niki, fighting for a false cause, watching over him, worried.

“Of course, love. Why wouldn’t I be?”

His voice is an odd, jubilant tone. It’s one he’s had for a while, the one he had when Tommy and Techno spared and he pushed them both, the one he had when referring to Dream.

You don’t know whether it’s happiness or madness.

“Wilbur Soot.”

“Y/N, I’m alright,” he sighs. He puts his arm around you. “We’re going to win L’Manberg back,” Lie. “and we’ll be able to have everything we once did.” Lie. “I’ll run the country again as it’s rightful leader,” Lie. “and it’ll be the place to build our future.” Lie.

“I don’t care about L’Manberg as much as I care about you,” you state. “Wilbur Soot, I love you. No matter what happens today,” you whisper, “That won’t change.”

How foolish you had been.

Philza had murdered him, a diamond sword straight through his chest, and the only thing that reassured you that it was what he wanted was the smile on his face. Your word never faltered, though. No matter what happens, you’d still love him.

You’re considering changing that sentiment as you go to visit the same cliff, and see someone already there. Occasionally, it’d be Niki there, or Tommy and Tubbo, sometimes even Ranboo. You’d talk to them, reminisce, or tell them bits of history. It always hurts your heart, but that’s what kept the dead alive, their stories.

It’s not any of them this time, though.

You scan the figure ahead of you. Tall, wearing a jacket, gauze and blood wrapped around his right arm. The height tells you it’s Ghostbur, but the dressing and the vibrant color in his hair tells you it’s his living counterpart.

It’s Wilbur. It’s Wilbur Soot, not Ghostbur.

You pinch at your wrist, but the slight sting tells you that it’s no dream.

Wilbur Soot stands a couple meters in front of you, alive. You want to run, away or toward him, you can’t be sure, but you’re rooted in place. He’s alive. The realization fills your heart with love, with fear- which era of Wilbur has he returned as? Is he the musician who made you swoon? Is he the revolutionary, the gentle and kind leader? Is he the man who spiraled into insanity, who blew up L’Manburg?

“Beautiful sunset, isn’t it?”

He knows there’s someone there. Who, he isn’t sure, but whoever it was, whether it was someone new or someone he had to make amends to- starting a conversation was the best way to find a window to apologize. Personal gains aside, there were a lot of people who deserved apologies from him.

Especially his love.

“It’s nice,” you say, cautious. “I haven’t really taken the time to look at another one since Doomsday.”

He turns toward you, shock in his expression and a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. Your hand rests on the hilt of your sword, and he frowns at that.

Did you think- didn’t you still have two lives? He’s not the man he was when he was last alive.

“Love-”

“Please don’t call me that,” you whisper.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not the person who blew up L’Manberg.” He takes note of the way your expression softens slightly, but your hand doesn’t move. “Darling, I’m unarmed. Why are you- how many lives are you on?”

“One.”

“One? I thought- What happened?”

“The L’Manberg explosion took my second one.”

He notices the way you say L’Manberg and not Doomsday. It was his doing.

He decides that he’s never going to forgive himself for it. Even if you do, he’s going to spend the rest of his life making it up to you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, and strides towards you, throwing his arms around you. “I’m so sorry.”

There’s a small silence, before you speak. “I’m getting over it,” you mutter into his shoulder. “All I have to do is avoid conflict. It can’t be the hardest thing in the world.”

“It’s difficult here.” His concern makes you feel warm. Maybe death has changed him. You hope death has changed him.

“I know,” you respond quietly. Avoiding problems never was the strong suit of anyone on the SMP.

“I’ll find a way to beat death for you.”

You laugh a little, and reach your hand up to ruffle his hair. “Of course you’d find a way. You’re always pushing for change.”

“Especially if it helps the people I love.”

You don’t get a moment to reflect on his words before he’s reaching for your hand, interlocking it with his. You both walk, side by side, throughout the SMP.

“A lot has changed,” he remarks.

“Yeah. A lot has.”

Care to tell me what’s been happening around here?”

“Do you have any memories from Ghostbur?”

“Oh, him,” Wilbur frowns at that. His ghost had been way too positive, quite odd, to be honest. Perhaps he felt the tiniest bit guilty that Ghostbur was stuck in the personal hell that was Jubilee Line, but if it meant he got to live, he would make the same decision again, to board the train Dream had sent out for him.

You’re still staring at him, and he gives you an apologetic smile. “Sorry, zoned out there. I don’t exactly have many memories, but they’re coming back to me, little by little.”

“We rebuilt L’Manberg, before Tommy was exiled. You left with him, as Ghostbur. I don’t exactly know what happened there, but-” you sigh. “It must have been hell. Tommy never really recovered, I don’t think. Tubbo forbade any of us to visit, he said it was too dangerous to confront Dream head on.”

“I remember that,” Wilbur says quietly. “If I were to see Dream again, I’d strike him down where he stood.”

“He’s in prison now, thankfully. I’d say he’s getting what he deserves.”

He decides not to mention how Dream was the one who brought him to life.

You both finally stop at the ruins of L’Manberg, staring down into the glass-covered crater. It’s a swirl of memories, a tangle of old times, a harsh reminder of the past.

“We should look towards the future,” Wilbur speaks. His eyes are focused on the bright of the moon, and the glimmer of the stars above both of you. “A future together,” he adds. He kisses the top of your head and puts his hand around your waist, cautious, but you make no move to stop him. Even if he’s not the same, he’s close to the man you once knew.

You find the constellation he’s looking at, and smile slightly.

Canis Major.

A future together.

Hope.

[nejibaby]

Afterglow

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Y/N

Summary: Without Ace, your nights are back to being long, dark, and empty. But when you finally reunite, Ace refuses to just be your Daylight.

Daylight - Part 1 | Afterglow - Part 2

Word Count: 4.3k (my hands slipped, I’m so sorry)

Loosely based on: Taylor Swift’s Lover album (but mostly about the songs Daylight and Afterglow)

A/N: I really think Whitebeard is a great father, yk? So I see him as someone who you can always seek and rely on. He looks tough (and he’s actually tough), but he’s soft too! And Ace too, in that respect is similar to WB. I really believe he’ll be such a good boyfriend 🥺 Anyway, I really enjoyed writing this so much! Thank you to everyone who read this, I love yall 🥰

<Teach doesn’t exist to me, I hate him, so I guess this is noncanon? Also, there’s this tiny spoiler, just a warning.>

Sailing by yourself in a boat for one reminds you how vast the sea actually is. With the rowdy Whitebeard pirates, sometimes the sea, no, the world, seems a lot smaller, a lot more manageable, but alone, it feels so massive it’s almost frightening.

It’s easy to get lost, except there’s no such concept like that for someone like you who doesn’t have a destination to go to in mind. Quite simply, you’re wandering, but not lost.

You drift from one island to another. Your initial intention is to get as far away as possible from the crew. Now that that’s achieved, you’re unsure of what to do next.

You allow yourself to observe and to experience some sort of normalcy at the islands you dock at. It’s a good thing that you don’t really stand out so no one suspects you’re a wanted pirate.

Walking down the streets of random towns, you’re reminded of how lonely being a Celestial Dragon was. No one wants to interact with a World Noble, afraid of the consequences if they’re angered. Things changed drastically when you became a pirate though. People don’t shy away that much with pirates in certain places. They interact with you, albeit hesitantly sometimes. Nevertheless, you felt so free and happy.

Now, you’re still a pirate, as marked by Whitebeard’s infamous tattoo. But with the unsuspecting townspeople and the lack of the presence of a crew, you don’t feel like one. Somehow it makes you feel empty.

The void is immeasurable. Despite it being unbounded, you’re sure that a single person can fill that emptiness: Portgas D. Ace.

But there are oceans separating you from Ace— a distance that you put. With the space between you, there’s silence in your voyage, however, it’s quite mystifying how every island you reach seems to scream his name.

There’s an island where you’ve docked at that’s snowing all year long. It brought back memories of when you were fairly new to the Whitebeard Pirates and had landed on a similar island. Back then you’ve worn a coat as you disembarked Moby Dick, however, the cold continued to seep through your layers of clothing. You couldn’t handle extreme temperatures that well but you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it so you continued to walk alongside the crew to scout the area. The thing was you may have been terrible at hiding it because Ace noticed the way your body was shivering and your teeth chattering. You were only acquaintances back then but he went to your side and striked a conversation with you. You didn’t understand why you became comfortable when he approached you all of a sudden, but then later that night you realized that he used his devil fruit abilities to warm you up.

At one island with a bustling town, there’s this restaurant that serves a variety of meat. You’re reminded of Ace and his bottomless pit of a stomach, and of his narcoleptic episodes while eating. He has a tendency of eating and then running, and the first few times he did it with you had you reeling. When you’ve finally realized that he’s never going to change, you start to keep a pouch of gold coins with you, reserved for paying for the food he eats. You leave it on the table just as Ace pulls you to run, and he has no idea about it. Owners or servers at the restaurants would still follow you out, but not to berate the both of you for not paying but to return the extra gold coins because you pay too much. Like usual though, Ace pretends not to hear them and they never got to catch up with you and Ace.

On another island, there’s a huge wild boar thrice the size of a human. It reminded you of the time you got so excited to explore an island that you speedily ran towards the forest alone, only to be met by a wild boar. The size of the boar stunned you and its glare kept you frozen in fear. A loud scream escaped your lips when it lunged at you, except the impact never came. When you’ve gathered your bearings, the wild boar was dead and… cooked, courtesy of Ace’s devil fruit abilities. He saved you, but he played it off as if he had his eyes on the wild boar since the beginning “to hunt it down.”

The current island you’re at is in famine. As soon as you docked at their port, a group of men has drawn their swords at you. For a moment, you thought they were bounty hunters so you grabbed your daggers and took a defensive stance. However, from the way they keep looking back and forth to you and your boat, and from hearing the faint sound of their stomach grumbling, you can tell they aren’t. Behind some trees, you can see the heads of some children peeking with worried yet hopeful looks on their faces.

Slowly, you raise your hands up in surrender, dropping your daggers in the process. You can’t turn your back on them — figuratively and literally — so you walk backwards towards your boat. The men look at you curiously but they don’t ever lower their swords.

In a quick motion, you grab a bag containing all of your food supply and throw it at them. One of the men catches it. “You can have them. It isn’t much, but that’s all I have.”

The man who was able to catch the bag carefully opens it and sees food. He almost cries at the sight of it. The rest of the men lowers the sword after you offer no sign of aggression. They start calling the other citizens of the area afterwards.

The children are the first to come running towards the men — all of them conveying excitement. You couldn’t tell how long they haven’t eaten but judging from how thin they are, it has got to be quite some time.

A small girl stumbles and falls near you and you quickly come to her aid. There isn’t much damage, just a scraped knee so you carefully patched her up.

“Thank you,” she gives you a toothy smile and then starts heading to the men who are distributing the food.

She comes back a moment later, arms outstretched to hand an apple to you. “For you,” she says.

Something blossoms in your heart because of her sweetness. “Thank you, but it’s fine, you can have it,”

She doesn’t object but then she hugs you tightly. “Thank you so much.”

Surprisingly, even on an island like this, you’re reminded of Ace. You remember his story about coming to Wano and meeting a child named “Tama” who seemed to be as charming as the child you helped and is under the same fortune.

Now that your mind has drifted to thoughts of Ace, you didn’t want to think of anything else. Even as the people gather around you to offer their thanks, and even as they usher you to a bonfire to celebrate for the food to eat, the thoughts of him linger in your head.

And just like in all the previous islands you came to, you wish he’s here with you too.

There’s longing in your heart, but there’s also something else— something pleasant that you can’t quite describe— and you attribute it to the gratitude of the people.

The mother of the child you helped, Sito, offers their spare room for you to take and you graciously accept. Soft snores almost immediately fill your ears after a few minutes of them bidding you good night.

The longer you stay awake, however, the pleasant feeling you felt a while ago starts to leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

You’ve always criticized yourself for not being able to do more when you were still a Celestial Dragon but now that you did something good, you start to feel selfish for doing it because it makes you feel better about yourself.

It’s at times like this that you seek Pops. There’s a sudden urge to hear his voice and his thoughts. So you grab your Den Den Mushi, but you hesitate.

You’ve lost track of the days since you left Moby Dick. And in that time frame, you never once called Pops. Although you didn’t really promise to call, maybe he was expecting you to, especially since you know he wouldn’t do it first.

You sigh. Maybe this call is long overdue after all.

You step outside the house and start to contact Pops using the Den Den Mushi. It only rings once and then it’s answered, almost as if Pops was waiting by the Den Den Mushi. The thought brings a smile to your face. “Pops—”

“Why on earth are you only calling now?!” His angry tone welcomes you.

“I’m so—”

“Is that Y/N?!” Marco interrupts. Ah, how could you have forgotten? It’s at this time that Marco reports to Pops. “We’re so worried about you -yoi!”

You can hear sounds of struggling on the line and then there’s a loud smack followed by an even louder crash. There’s a moment of silence which makes you wonder what’s going on in the ship.

“Why didn’t you call earlier?!” Pops’ voice booms. “If you’re going to leave a Den Den Mushi, I’m going to expect your reports but I received none of that.”

“I’m sorry Pops. I have no excuse,” you sheepishly say.

“Everyone’s worried about you,” he pauses but then his voice rings louder once again, “Some are even outside my room trying to listen in on our conversation. But if they know better, they should leave us alone.” The sound of rushing footsteps could be heard in the background as Pops finishes his sentence.

You chuckle, imagining the crew eavesdropping. “How are you Pops?”

“I’m doing fine.”

“How’s everyone? How’s… uhm… Ace?”

“Everyone’s just missing you. You didn’t say goodbye after all,” he says. “I put Ace on a mission because he won’t stop pestering me about you. He won’t come back in a couple of days.”

“Oh.”

“He misses you a lot,” he sighs. “He strides to me everyday to demand your whereabouts. Each time I wouldn’t tell him but he never learns. Vista says he’s on his 56th attempt the other day.”

The brief image of Ace that your mind comes up with brings a small smile to your face.

“When are you coming back?” Whitebeard breaks your reverie.

“Ah, I’m not sure yet… It might take a while.”

He hums. “So how are you? Have you been eating well?”

“I’m doing fine, Pops. No one’s been coming after me yet so everything’s going well,” you respond. “But… Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“There’s this island with people who haven’t eaten in so long so I gave them everything I have.” There’s a loud growl coming from Pops so you immediately continue your speech before he could scold you for doing such a thing. “I feel really good about what I did as they thanked me. But then the longer I thought about it, I started feeling ashamed because... wasn’t it selfish since I did it to make me feel better about myself? Then I started to wonder if it was wrong to do good things just because I wanted to be absolved of my parents’ sins. Was I wrong in doing this, Pops?”

“No, you did the right thing.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you’re not an inherently bad person for getting paid in gratitude.”

“But…”

“Making yourself happy by making other people happy is how it’s meant to work. If one of your key motives to doing good things is to feel good, then you’re still doing something good and there’s nothing shameful about that.”

Hearing his words puts you at ease. You’re glad you called him. “Thank you, Pops. I’m sorry for worrying everyone there and for disrupting Marco’s report. I promise I’ll call more often from now on.”

“It’s fine. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself too. Where will you be headed next?”

“I’m not sure. I’m just going where the sea leads me.”

“Be careful.”

“You too, Pops,” and with that, you bid your goodbye and hang up.

By morning, you start preparing your things to leave. You didn’t want to stay for too long because you didn’t want to consume even a portion of the small amount of food they have.

Sito offers you to stay another night, worried that it would be uncomfortable to sleep on a boat. “You can stay one more day. There’s still enough food for us to share.”

“Oh no, I don’t want to impose,” you decline. “But do you mind if I ask what happened here?”

There’s sadness in her eyes, it was easy to tell the memory pained her, but she tells you everything anyway. “This island is one of the few lawless areas in the world, hence, it’s a place where pirates would dock at. A group of men once docked here and kidnapped the leaders of our town. They were sold off to be slaves, because apparently the Nobles like to enslave people of power…” Her words start to fade on you upon the mention of the World Nobles.

Anger flares up in your system immediately. How low can the Celestial Dragons go? It’s sickening to think that you share the same blood as them. It’s because of this revelation that something becomes clear in your mind.

Ever since leaving Moby Dick, you’re just wandering aimlessly. But after hearing Sito talk about this island, you’re finally sure of what your destination should be.

Sabaody Archipelago.

Specifically, the Human Auctioning House.

From the sudden fury that overwhelms you, not even the fear of being within arm’s reach of the Marines, and possibly dying, could stop you from going there.

It’s reckless and foolish, but isn’t this the reason you left Moby Dick that night— to face your nightmares instead of running away from them?

You listen politely as Sito explains everything else but her words enter and leave your ears without you having to comprehend them. Fortunately, she doesn’t notice your inattentiveness, probably because she wants to pour her frustrations out to a stranger.

You offer your sympathies to her and promise her you’d come back with your crew and help them some more. It’s a simple promise yet for someone who hasn’t been offered help for so long, it means a lot, enough to even bring tears to her eyes. And just like that, you leave.

There are two more islands to stop at before you reach Sabaody Archipelago. You gather provisions on one island and buy explosives on the other.

The only thing you’re sure you can actually do alone is to blow up the Human Auctioning House. Facing the World Nobles is for another time, unfortunately. As for the Marines, well… You’d worry about that if they indeed come. You know you’d be able to handle them as long as they don’t send an Admiral after you.

The thing that worries you the most, however, is Pops’ reaction once you let him know of your plan. While you can always just not tell him, it feels wrong, and you promised you’d report to him, after all. And it’s hard for you to admit, but you secretly want to be saved in case your plan goes askew. That, and well, you still want to make up with Ace, may it be just strictly as friends, but preferably as lovers.

You decide to call once you’re about to set sail towards Sabaody Archipelago. You’re sitting in the middle of your boat, still anchored at the port when you told Pops your plan. And as expected, he’s mad.

He demands you to go back to the crew immediately. “Captain’s orders,” he says. But after a few moments, he retracts his words and says, “Your father’s orders.” You feel the weight of his words when he said that and you almost concede. But the faces of the slaves your family had flashes into your mind and it solidifies your decision.

Interestingly, despite the weeks you have spent away from the crew, their ship is nearer to you than anticipated. As confirmed by Pops himself when he angrily said, “Enough! I’m sending Ace to get you! Two or three days is enough for him to catch up with you.”

But quite frankly, that’s also enough time to execute your plan. And if the odds are in your favor, then Ace might just come in time for your escape.

Arriving at Sabaody Archipelago, you keep your face hidden underneath the hood of your cloak. It’s normal for pirates to walk around the place without having to hide their identities, but it’s a luxury you can’t afford. If someone catches wind that you’re here and reports it, the Cipher Pol just might come and capture you before you can even execute your plan. That just won’t do. So on the first day of your arrival, you only scout the area of the Human Auctioning House and retreat back to the inn you stay at.

You carry out your plan on the next day. You place a bomb where the side of the stage is supposed to be. It’s a distraction so people inside would leave the premises. The plan is to find the keys and free the slaves while the people are panicking from the explosion. Then eliminate the head of the place, Mr. Disco, and finally blow the place apart. It sounds simple but with you having to do all the work, you know it isn’t.

Now that you’re here, your nerves are spiking up. Arriving at the entrance of the building, you take a deep breath, your hand automatically reaching for the bracelet that Ace made you. It instantly calms you down.

It baffles you how fate works because on the very day you decide to free the slaves that are being sold off at the Human Auctioning House, Ace’s brother, Luffy — along with his crew — is at the same place to rescue their friend who was kidnapped.

Somehow even on a dangerous mission like this, there’s still something or someone who’d remind you of Ace. It makes you wonder: has he really embedded himself too deep into your life that there’s no escaping the thoughts of him? Not that you mind; the thoughts of him bring you peace, after all. But still, it’s fascinating that even in both mundane and dangerous settings, he makes himself known to you.

Upon entering the Human Auctioning House, everything happens so fast and unexpected. And quite frankly, a lot happened that wasn’t part of the plan.

Aside from finding the Straw Hat Pirates, you got yourself injured when you used your body to shield their fish man friend, Hatchi, from Saint Charlos’ gunshot. Then you confronted Saint Shalria personally despite you not planning to get involved with the Celestial Dragons. As for the slaves, it was the Dark King, Silvers Rayleigh, who actually freed them. The only things that you personally executed from your plan were Mr. Disco’s elimination and the bombing of the Human Auctioning House.

Escape is easy once the building starts to explode because the Marines would have to lessen the forces who're chasing after the pirates in order for them to successfully put out the fire. Without any Admiral on the scene yet, it’s not hard to slip away from them and/or fight them.

Even with the gunshot wound on your arm, you’re able to take down each and every one of the Marines who are chasing you. But halfway through your journey back to the grove where you left your boat at, you lose your adrenaline.

You start to feel the sharp and stinging sensation on your arm once again, yet, you couldn’t help but smile. You have gotten out alive. The slaves have been freed. With both Mr. Disco and the building gone, the Human Auctioning House will no longer be operational, or at least not yet until someone steps up. But that won’t be after a long time.

It’s a wonderful day.

You look up at the afterglow of the sunset with a serene smile. You have a feeling your nights are going to feel shorter now and less frightening than they were before.

Your peaceful moment is cut off by someone rather abruptly. You jump in surprise as someone wraps their arms around you from behind all of a sudden. “I finally caught up with you.”

Your breath hitches at the sound of the voice. “Ace? What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer your question, but he mumbles, “I’m sorry if I only came now. Pops wouldn’t tell me where you were, but I came as soon as I could.” Then he tightens his hug. “I was so scared, I thought I’d lose you…”

“Ace, I’m sorry about—”

“Hey, it’s on me, okay?” He interrupts. “I blew things out of proportion, and now you’re blue.”

You pull away from his hug to face him.

“Y-your arm! You’re bl-bleeding,” he stutters after seeing your injury.

But you pay no mind to that. “Ace… I’m really sorry about us—”

“Ssshhh, baby…” he rubs his hand on your back.

He looks at your figure carefully, focused on looking for any more bruises or wounds. When he doesn’t find anything more, he gently holds you by your waist. “Don’t blame yourself, I’m the one who burned us down, but… it’s not what I meant.

“It was all in my head, okay? It’s just that the Celestial Dragons are all grouped in my head as scums and that they’re inexcusable because… my brother was killed by a Celestial Dragon.”

A wave of guilt flows through your body, enough to weaken your knees. Before you could fall, however, Ace catches you and brings you to his chest. But this doesn’t stop you from sobbing on his chest. “I didn’t know, Ace. I’m so sorry.”

“No, that’s the thing, baby. It isn’t your fault. It wasn’t you who pulled the trigger. And… I have to admit I failed to see that at first,” he says as he hugs you tighter. “I shouldn’t have stood there frozen after you told me your story. I’m supposed to be the one who understands you...

“I’m not trying to make excuses and I’m not trying to make this about me but it’s just that… for so long I thought that I inherited the bad blood of my father, and I spent my lifetime failing to see that his sins aren’t my sins,” his voice cracks as he cries. “So when I found out about you… My mind automatically held you liable for the sins of the Nobles…

“But I talked to Pops and he straightened me up. I understand now. Our parents’ sins aren’t ours. It never was ours to begin with. So I’m sorry for blaming you for something you didn’t do…”

Ace stares at your crying form. He cups your face and sincerely says, “It’s so excruciating to see you low,” as he wipes the tears on your eyes. “I’m sorry if I hurt you…”

“It’s fine Ace, I forgive you. But…” You look directly into his eyes. “I’m at fault too,” you confess. “I was the one who left... I was so used to living like an island and isolating myself that it didn’t occur to me that I was punishing you with silence… I should’ve waited patiently for you but I ran away…”

Ace rubs your back gently and presses his forehead against yours, “I forgive you too.”

You smile in relief.

After a couple of minutes in silence, Ace tilts his head. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Remember when you said that you saw daylight after sleeping in a long, dark night?”

You give him a curious look but nodded anyway.

“Beside wishing that I was there for you sooner, it had me thinking...”

“What?”

“Uhm… The world is terrible and cruel, and no one can ever really stop the dark nights from coming.”

You frown. You don’t really understand what Ace is trying to say.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is,” he rubs his neck while his cheeks starts to blush, “if you ever have to go through those dark nights, I wouldn’t want you to wait for daylight.

“I want to be there with you on those nights until they’re over. I don’t want to leave you when things get rough and only show up when you’re better. I know you see me as your daylight but I don’t want to be just that.”

His words warm your heart, and makes it skip a beat. “You know, Ace, there are remnants of light that linger in the sky even when the sun has long gone down and the night starts. It’s the afterglow,” you mumble.

“Yeah, but that goes away too after a while,” he frowns.

“Well, lucky for you the moon reflects the sun’s light during the night, huh?”

He grins. “Yeah, yeah. I like that. I want to be your source of light, may it be the daylight, moonlight, or the afterglow.”

A moment of silence engulfs the both of you. Under the soft afterglow of the sunset with your arms wrapped around each other, you feel at peace.

Once upon a time, you used to believe love is black and white— that it’s straightforward. It was either you love Ace or you don’t, there were no gray areas. No matter what he feels, says, or does, your love for him never ceases.

But then some other days you believed that love is burning red— that it’s full of passion, lust, and romance, much like the nights you spent entangled in the sheets with Ace.

However, right now in Ace’s arms, all you could ever think about is that love is golden. It was warmth and comfort, like what daylight brings. It was contentment and serenity too, much like the feeling of lightness one gets when seeing the afterglow of the sunset. Either way, it’s Ace who makes you feel those.

No matter what color love actually is though, for you it’s always embodied by Ace.

[notathingjustthere]

Not This Time

A/N: Honestly this feels incomplete and dry but I got frustrated arguing with myself lol. I wanted to post something today, because if I keep pushing it off I will never post anything so here it is. I’m trying.  

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Word Count: 3525

Summary: Ransom oversteps a boundary and cannot seem to accept the consequence of you ignoring him permanently.

The rude interruption that graced your morning, would leave drained for the rest of your day. Your blurred eyes slowly zeroed in on the small scraps of confetti that would eventually cover the floors of your bedroom. The popping sound had woken you up in alarm, and the frown that graced your face said enough. 

The evil faces that turned up in your bedroom were painted in glee, whiles they wished you a happy birthday in unison. “And who’s cleaning that up?” you groaned, naturally reaching for the phone on your bedside table and squinting when the brightness assaults your eyes.

It was only 9:23 in the morning, the alarm was usually set for 11:30 on your weekdays, but you tended to snooze till 12:15. You weren't a morning person and your friend Lizzie knew this when she pleaded on your behalf, arguing that 10:00 was a far more reasonable time to wake you up. Mila, your other friend had disregarded the input of course. 

As of late your weekends were more often than not reserved for sleep, this one being no different. Monday would be a holiday so the next 72 hours were intended to be spent alone in your house, at least that had been the plan. You had been feeling more dull than usual, and even your restocked liquor cabinet failed to excite you. 

The brunch set up in your backyard was very much up to par with your tastes.  It felt pointless to change so you still wore your pajamas, after washing your face and complaining about the time. Your friends had gone all out for the small gathering, hiring quite the eye candy of servers. Each one waited at the table, ready to help you girls to your seats. 

Your eyes lingered on one of the men a bit longer than intended, and the unexpected wink sent your way forced your eyes to look elsewhere. Mila jerked at your elbow, before wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at you. You had rolled your eyes before bursting out in laughter, enjoying the rest of your late morning meal with your two best girlies. It had been a while since you saw your friends, so you were glad, to say the least

Unlike you, Lizzie and Mila grew up accustomed to a lifestyle that only old money could provide. They didn't work as often as you did, which made it harder to fit into each other's schedules during the week. You did not grow up poor per se, but when compared to your friends, you could have been perceived that way. Your mother was a professor at Brown University, a fairly successful woman you thought. 

You had found your own definition for success, living comfortably and content with yourself,  as you often described it. Working in a high-level position for a growing green energy company, you took pride in your resilience. Many of your years were filled with uncertainties but finally, you had made something of yourself. The full ride to Harvard was where you met Lizzie and Mila, never expecting to develop a long-lasting relationship.

The cell you kept for personal use remained ignored after Lizzie dragged you out of bed that morning. The ringer was often placed on silent, resulting in poor communication habits with your friends. It was noon before you thought to check your device, the notification centre being flooded with messages and alerts. 

Most you assumed were birthday wishes from people you hardly talked to anymore and some that you were only associated with because of status. They meant very little to you, but the sham thankful replies you sent were only to keep face. 

A particular contact had occupied your thoughts for the past two weeks. The spam of messages you left open yet unread grew steadily. You were intent on ignoring him for as long as you felt necessary. He was not important enough to ruin your mood this weekend, or so you thought.

The last bits of sparkling wine settled nicely in your stomach, your chest feeling warm and tingly. You appreciated the quality time spent with your friends but it was time to resume back to your initial plan for the weekend. Lizzie and Mila had their own plans and intended to make your day as lively as possible. On any other day, you’d be down for a good time, but as of late you felt out the mix.

For gifts, Mila had opted for this beautiful emerald green bag from Bulgar. The serpent’s head-shaped clasp suited your corporate persona, which she admired. Lizzie gifted you a pair of Prada boots that she felt were suitable to your tastes. 

It was 6 pm when the two informed you of the private room they reserved at a club. Lizzie’s boyfriend would attend, including two other guests, you were well acquainted with. You weren’t interested at first but eventually caved in at the last minute thought of letting loose and having some fun. 

Your ringer silenced another phone call, it was his 86th one since last Friday. You were impressed with his persistence, figuring he would have given up by now. Newer messages had poured in, none of which you spared a glance until the last message he sent in.

“Fine, if this is how you wanna play it” you read. 

The spat you had gotten into with Ransom, had been your last straw. He was quite the specimen, but a prick at that. The trust fund baby had been spoiled his whole life, and couldn’t seem to handle not having his way for once. 

The relationship that brewed between you both could only be described as complicated. It had taken a lot to manage and handle the baggage he brought with him, but you both had balanced each other for a period of time. Now, you were bent on moving on, trying to convince yourself that you were over him, as he also tried to.

It was at Mila’s charity event that you would officially meet the douche, having only heard of him before. The free champagne helped soothe your nerves that night, as you often would be riddled in anxiety. It was an art exhibition, and you’d gotten roped into a conversation with the famous Harlan Thrombey, discussing a painting you knew a thing or two about. 

That was when Ransom had walked in, interrupting the conversation. You had turned away, fiddling with your glass as you patiently waited for them to finish whatever it was they were briefly discussing. Harlan turned to you, and introduced Ransom, before announcing that he would have to leave you shortly to give a speech. 

At the time Ransom didn't really catch your eye, you avoided making eye contact as you usually would with new people and had missed the way he looked at you. He wanted you in his bed for the night, and you had indulged him likewise. You were gone by morning that day, never being one to wait for the usual awkward boot out. 

Maybe you didn't notice it at first, but his face had begun popping up at your usual spots more and more. You’d run into him at a coffee shop where you often scheduled meetings with prospective clients. There were a couple more hookups here and there before he asked you out to dinner five months down the line. That was almost three years ago. 

Neither one of you talked about making the relationship official until you initiated the conversation. You had been on multiple dates, including the occasional family dinners his family hosted. You never did like attending them, but Ransom had wanted you at his side. You both spent a lot of time at each other's homes, and soon enough it wasn't just for the sex. 

He’d thought of you as his home and maybe you did too. On most days you preferred to have your space, but as of late you missed his not-so-subtle touches whenever he���d pass by you in the kitchen. 

That didn't seem to matter now, because you would never admit it out loud or to yourself. Ransom on the other hand loved being in close contact most of the time. As much as he denied the fact, you’d let him pretend the cuddling sessions during movie nights were due to the lack of space on the couch. 

You never got accustomed to Ransom’s lavish tastes. He’d been quite the spender on gifts and more times than not you insisted that he return most of his purchases. You could appreciate expensive things, but much rather make those purchases yourself. 

He only ever did demand that you keep a particular gift, one you’d almost given back after learning of its monetary value. The personalised bracelet with his and your initials on it had been your favourite. Not once did you ever take it off, and even now you still wore it after two weeks of ignoring him. 

It all started when your boss confronted you about an offer he didn’t expect you to decline so quickly. He insisted that you take your time to reconsider, and you had been confused, having never heard anything about it. You were suspicious of Ransom, almost immediately, but thought to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

At times he could be controlling, something you’d catch once in a while when you paid attention. There would be discussions about it, but oftentimes things got brushed aside as petty jealousy or mindless over-protectiveness. This time, you couldn’t and wouldn't let it slide. 

It was at dinner time when you decided to break out your thoughts and bring something up. You wanted to avoid confrontation, knowing he’d probably try to lie to your face or react in a way you were not ready to handle. He asked about your day as he usually would, and you took the chance to talk about what your boss mentioned, unaccusing of course. 

He played along with your confusion for a while, looking unimpressed as you went on. The contract would require your stay in China for two years, assisting in project management at the company’s main plant. Two years seemed long, and you could understand why the news was not exactly exciting. You had merely mentioned that you were considering the offer when he cut you off.  

“Well that's stupid, is this some kind of joke?” Ransom's response was expected but you had hoped he would show remorse more if anything. You frowned, arms folded when asking him to elaborate on how he was feeling

“I mean, you're gonna leave me for two years? What am I supposed to do, just wait for you?” 

“I would hope so, considering all that we have been through to make this work?”

“Come on, really?” he chuckled darkly, “You think I would wait?” 

“Why are you acting like this? I thought at the very least you'd pretend to be happy for me before reacting this way” you moved your hands in a way that emphasised your point. 

“Oh like you don't know that I declined the offer.”

The sigh you let out was deep. There it was, the confession you wanted out of him. You hated being lied to more than anything and were very disappointed he played along with your little act for even just a little bit. 

“I mean, but what did you expect? That I wouldn't find out about something as important to me as this?” 

“So what, I’m not as important?” he tried changing the topic.

“You know that's not what I mean, and you don't get to play the victim here. I-i don't get it with you, I’m always understanding, so why can't you return the favour”

He turned silent, which you thought was disappointing considering he had so much to say before. The anger you were trying so hard to settle down began to rear its ugly head.  It was a couple more minutes of silence before he opened his mouth to say something.

“You didn't think I’d find it suspicious that your boss was transferring with you?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion at that. Jonathan had not mentioned anything like that and you knew Ransom didn't like him, especially after a particular encounter at your office. 

He had shown up at your job unannounced a year ago to surprise you for your birthday when he saw the arrangements of flowers that decorated your office. Ransom did not look impressed at the scene, and knowing he would never partake in such a gesture you ruled him out. It wasn't until you noticed the card attached to one of the flowers that read out your boss's name.

“Great Job closing that deal, and a happy birthday! - Jonathan.”  

As if on queue the head of the department walked in with smiles, asking if you enjoyed his gifts. He rambled on about not knowing what you would like, so figured he’d get a little bit of everything.  

“She hates flowers,” Ransom had cut in without hesitation, your eyes widening at his remark. Leave it to him to make the inappropriate gesture from your boss even more awkward. 

“He’s not wrong, but I really do appreciate the sentiment. Thank you” you had given him a kind smile, trying to save face. You couldn't remember what happened after that except Jonathan leaving and your boyfriend silently fuming as he walked over to your window. 

You turned your attention to him, raising an eyebrow as if to question his behaviour. You were not angry with him, this was a rare moment where you actually appreciated his blunt tongue. Hopefully, your boss would now relent in his not-so-subtle advances. 

But that was a long time ago, and frankly, it didn't matter because he was focused on the wrong thing at hand. He had invaded your privacy then lied about it by not saying anything. 

“First of all I got this promotion because I worked my fucking ass off, I don't know what Johnathan has to do with anything.” you decided to defend yourself. Whatever it was that he was insinuating didn't matter because you weren't having it.

“Yeah, you fucking worked your ass off alright. You've got him so whipped that he even gets you flowers” 

You gasped, and it wasn't so much that the words hurt you, but rather the fact that he’d been clearly harbouring this since that day. There was not much you could do about unsolicited gifts that you never accepted in the first place. Besides, after Ransom’s visit, your boss had ceased all efforts. 

“Do you actually hear how insane that sounds? What the fuck was I supposed to do about that?” You reasoned, the calmness in your voice was long gone. 

“Quit” he was so arrogant and entitled. 

You scoffed,  “Well I’m sorry, but some of us actually have to work, to earn a living” the tone you took to, spoke well for you.

“I can take care of you, you know that” 

“That sounds nice and all, but I can’t depend on a man who’s never worked a day in his life.” There it was again, the silence.  

“You don't even seem sorry, and you've yet to apologize” the disappointment was evident on your face. 

He rubbed his hands over his face, his nose flaring up in annoyance, “I did what was best for us”  

“No, you did what was best for you” you started but had lost your train of thought. 

“You still don't fucking get it, do you? It's one thing to not want me to leave, but it's completely different when you think that you get to make decisions for me.” the words spewed out. 

“I'm tired of trying to reason with you Ransom, okay? We are done”

It wasn't even a second after, before he grabbed your arm, tightening his hold on you and yanking you towards him. “We are not done until I say we are” 

For a moment there he scared you, he had never put his hands on you like that, at least not outside the bedroom. Your stance did not falter when you yanked your arm away from him “Don't you ever put your hands on me again.”  

The initial shock had long subsided when you decided to speak for the last time. “Let me remind you, that you're that one that begs me back every single time! But not this time, I'm tired of you. T-tired of your shit, the jealousy, childishness, everything!” Those were your last words before your tearducts gave up. 

It was the first time he had ever seen you actually cry. Occasionally he would witness you shed a tear or two, like when you’d receive a wrong order of what you wanted, or something equally as petty.

 He tried to come closer in an attempt to comfort you, but you pushed him aside then turned away. He decided to walk out then and there, leaving you to deal with your own sorrows. 

You remember that day so vividly, and each time the memory replayed you did something to distract yourself. Much like you were doing right now at the club with your friends. The boost that alcohol gave you, left you chatty but numb. 

The buzz had you going for a while, completely indulged in a game of pool with Mila who was effortlessly schooling you. She could not let you win, not even on your birthday. It was the commotion at the door that drew your attention to Ransom arguing with the security guard and Lizzie's boyfriend, Dan. 

“Look dude, she doesn't want you here. Come on don't make this difficult” you didn't realise it but you had made your way towards Dan’s voice, not really processing what was going on. It was the sound of Ransom's knuckles punching Dan in his nose that woke you up from your little daze.  

“I said get out of my way” Ransom tried to push his way through.

“Ransom” you yelled out.

His head turned towards you rushing to Dan who held his nose up in pain. You apologised profusely as you checked his injury, thankful that nothing was broken or bleeding. You turned to your ex-boyfriend annoyed, ready to talk his ear off until you remembered you didn't care anymore.

“If you think this is how to get me to talk to you in good grace, then I don't know what to tell you,” you said, pointing behind you at Dan and Lizzie.

“What do you want? ”You sighed frustrated, after signalling the security guard off. He really wasn't making this easy for you. His hands had twitched before when you held Dan’s face to inspect his nose. He knew better than to make things any worse than it already was. 

“Look, so maybe, I have stuff to work on, and maybe we can both work on this”

“Mmm, you think so?” you asked rhetorically. It took him two weeks to come to this conclusion, and you noted how he did not start with apologies. He wanted to skip out on the guilt, but you wouldn't let him.

He tried to get closer to you, wanting to feel you against him and to reminisce in the sweet warmth he missed so much. You allowed him to, and for a moment you revelled in his familiar body heat as well, ignoring everything else around you. You let go of him after a while, distancing yourself to make it easier on you.

It took a lot to keep your composure, a part of you wanting him back but knew much wouldn’t change if you did. You took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself to relay whatever decision you had made. You were right about one thing, Ransom would always beg you back. Never-ending the cycle of broken boundaries, possessiveness, and jealousy. 

“Look Ransom, I couldn’t give you another chance even if I wanted to” you sighed loudly. “I-it goes against my principles, and that's all I have right now. So please, just leave.” you pleaded.

Ransom’s eyes hardened, he wouldn’t back down. This time you noticed the speck of regret in his eyes, but to damn with his jealousy. He didn't want this to end, and he hadn’t meant for it to. 

“Come on, don't be so stubborn, Y/N. I love you, is that what you want me to say? I’ll do anything just say the word” 

You smiled with hurt in your eyes as you looked at him. The words didn't mean much to you when his actions suggested otherwise. It was the insincere note in his tone that made it easier, but maybe he had meant it. His eyes were much more expressive than his words could be, not that it changed anything.

You simply shook your head no, looking down at your hands and playing with your fingers. 

“No, you don't” 

The cheap trick at making amends, would not coax your forgiveness, not this time.

Thank you for reading :) 

A/N: My  sister requested that I put her in the credits for her lil two cents in some of the dialogue, so here she goes. 

[tommytranselo]

henry definitely strikes me as the type to have a reputation for being a nice guy–like yeah he’s a stone cold gangster when he needs to be, but he’s polite to servers and he tips well and he knows everyone’s name in clemente’s organization (something the higher ups often can’t be bothered with) and he asks you how things are with your wife and the kids and did your sister get out of the hospital okay, he’s so sorry to hear she broke her arm...so like, he’s generally decently well liked or at least no one really has any particular grudges against him (and i think he works hard to maintain that as a response to a lot of clemente’s guys resenting him when he was younger, bc his dad was important and a friend of the don’s so they think he’s getting special treatment), he’s quiet and minds his business and gets work done and doesn’t stir up trouble.

but the man has no friends.  he keeps up with other people’s affairs just enough to stay well liked and seem considerate, but other people know next to nothing about him besides his name–no one really knows what he does in his spare time, his family life, even his birthday.  he never talks about himself; any questions are met with an “ah, well, you know,” and a shrug, and then he changes the subject.  and sure, he hangs around the bar, and he goes out for drinks/dinner with the crew when the occasion comes, and he has people he does trust in a business sense, but he’s not close to anyone emotionally and he goes for years at a time without anyone he would actually call a genuine friend.  liked by all, loved by none.

and then, i think, he meets joe, and the enthusiasm almost spooks him a little at first but the guy seems decent enough and he knows some people henry knows so he gives him a small job just to test him.  it goes well, and joe comes back to settle up, and they end up just chatting for a while over a couple drinks, and joe’s so warm and outgoing and easy to talk to that before he knows it, henry finds himself relaxing and actually talking about himself, and it’s nothing very personal but it’s still stuff he doesn’t usually tell people.  and joe keeps talking about this best friend of his, and there’s so much adoration in his voice and something about it makes henry’s chest ache with longing.

[almondmilks-posts]

Schlatt- executed pt2

*I am so proud of part 1

pls go show some love

Maybe a SERIES?? Maybe pt3??? Maybe some more angst?? Maybe some cute fluff with glatt?? Maybe idk if you would like to see more uwu

This took so long omg... I'm sorry

Context: in part 1 you became ghost!y/n much like Ghostbur  you forgot most of your memories including your death...

Life after death was weird. You had very vague memories of each member of the sever but other than that you completely forgot about your past life including how you died. You never expected that you would become a sentiant ghost on the server after death you also never expected Wilbur to become one either so here we are. You took a great liking to Ghostbur as he did to you, you both hanging out became a regular occurrence on the SMP you mainly liked hanging around quackity he had these homely vibes to him that made you want to be around him but you were not quite sure why although he had been seeing you less and less and when you did meet he seemed on edge always looking behind him, shaking his head off to the distance when you turn around, nothing.

You didn't know why Ghostbusr was obsessed with the colour blue, always handing out lapis lazuli to saddened goes by with a "here have some blue" but he always did. You guys can't mine down in the caves something about bedrock pressure?  but he always had stacks of blue on him at all times.

You- hey bur where do you get the blue from?

Ghostbur- oh uhhh umm I just have it sometimes I get it from Phill

You- oh cool. I want something I'm not sure I've decided on what...

Ghostbur- hmmmmm y/n how about

You- I know red mushrooms because they look so cool like lil toadstools.

Ghostbur- yes that's such a good idea

You- I need to ask Phil to see if he has any spare mushrooms adiós bur I'll see you later.

You began to float your way over the the snowy tundra that Phil resides in. You passed many different landmarks on your way only knowing by the names you and ghostbur had given them. Home home also known as the community House although in ruins after it was exploded by puffy. You did try to stop her however your attempts were unsuccessful. 

You- omg I'm so sorry I wasn't looking where I was going here look I have some seeds take this as a sorry

You were in your thoughts so much that you had phased into a body. As a ghost you are able to phase through people However you phased into the body meaning whoever you walked into was not alive. You reached your arms into your pockets to see what you have as a sorry before the mushrooms which you still haven't been managed to find any. Thecno needing them for potions ofc knowing the butcher army was coming for him he planicked stealing so many resources including some of blue from Wilbur accidentally. You found three seeds in your pockets your had picked up from when you were hanging around Callahan (he's my fav on the SMP omg) and punz this one time just giving while punz went on a nether mission for ghast tears. You extended your arm out to the person, lifting your head up to look the person in the eyes.

Glatt- y/n?

He had Horns. Deep black horns protruding out the side of his head. His skin a pale grey ash colour, contrasting his flaming red eyeballs which looked down upon you due to the height difference. His suit a very dark grey almost black but not quite,  You looked at him than back at the seeds. He seemed like he didn't take any interest in taking the seeds from you as a sorry, you furrowed your eye brows at his sort of question? You really didn't remember your past life, thecno told you that most ghosts don't when they die the ones that do are 'poor damned souls of wrong doers' comforting you that you did some good when you were living.

You- uhh sorry I don't know a y/n?? Im ghosty/n! Well it would make sense that I'm y/n well was y/n hahahaha I don't remember much from my past life unfortunately

Glatt- you don't- you don't remember how you died do you?

You- uhhh no? Should I? I ask quackity you know quackity right? Small guy, blue beanie anyway he wouldn't tell me how I died he said it was a too long to explain anyway I gotta go bye uhhhh...

Glatt- oh it's glatt

You- well nice to meet you glatt if you see Phill tell him I need some red mushrooms

And with that you floated off on your mission to find some red mushrooms. Glatt stood there face slashed red. He felt embarrassed? Sick to his stomach? He wasn't quite sure what he felt, quackity had told him of your ghost life when he was pestering quackity this one time however he was scared. He was once a ruthless tryrant president drinking all day and all night because he couldn't handle the power and disappointment of his peers knowing he was struggling being president so he turned to alcohol. He was so plastered when he stabbed you he didn't even know what he did until quackity and Niki Walked out on him with some fruitful words.

Schlatt thought back to when quackity had confronted him, carrying your enchanted diamond boots Phil brought on your wedding day and never took them off since. Quackity looked so hopeless his eyes filled with tears, trembling hands as he screamed at schlatt so hard his vocal cords never recovered even after all this time and everything he's been through. Despite this he carried on trying to ruin quackity's life. Even after death the fucker never lost his need for power and bullying quackity is all he knew how. The issue was he could not find the small mexican, he floated all through what manburg was, he floated past the church, the target, the community house but no sign of quackity. He was searching through the community house for anything he could steal just because 'he was glatt he could do what he wants'; as a ghost he really didn't change. A fit of giggles rung through his ears, he hadn't heard that noise in years. Glatt knew that it was you of course you were married for several years before the incident. He caught himself smiling as he once did to see your face (which could easily fit between his larger hands.) He floated across towards where the noise would come from. To see you, a blue sheep with a wonkey eye and Wilbur? He felt anxious, his ghost heart started beating faster, if he wasn't dead he would be having another heart attack right now that would actually kill him. He wasn't sure of it was because you look so happy contracting the last time him saw your glum face as the XP dropped or knowing Wilbur might still be bitter about the election or what happened as a result of it.

You toyed with the blue sheep known as friend. Friend was the first thing ghostbur saw when he woke up as a ghost so there was a major bond between the two,.you would argue it was a closer bond than what tied you with Wilbur but nothing could compare to that. You both had years and years of history some even before Tommy was born but you both just didn't know that. (maybe pt3 y/n becomes human??) Friend was very entertaining for a blue sheep fried could make you and ghostbur cry with laughter but just standing there. ( Ok this is my HC so it's not cannon but I think it should be) The blue sheep had a lazy eye, so for long enough if the sheep did nothing the eyes would travel opposite directions as per usual you and ghostbur were dying over this. You bent down to pick at a blade if grass to feed to friend when a glum feeling came over you. Were you being watched? You wanted to cry, so you turned your head to Look at the assailant to see glatt standing there just looking at you or through you it was unclear.

You-oh hey uhhh glatt? Ah yes I'm right would you like to come hang out with friend, ghostbur and I would love it if you joined us and I'm sure friend doesn't mind you do you? No you don't because you are a cute sheep boopboop

Glatt- I'm not so sure

You- oh come on don't be such a killer it would be fun friend is very well friendly haha come on.

You grasped his cold wrist with your much warmer hands. The size difference between the two contrasted immensely. You blushed, a warm feeling coming over you almost as if you had known him for years. Which y/n did but you didn't know that.  Schlatt frowned at you calling him a killer, did you know? Did Wilbur tell you? A lot happened to manburg after you had died, stuff you missed that you could and would have stopped. You dragged schlatt closer to where friend was excited Wilbur could meet your 'new' friend glatt.

You- hahah bur meet glatt

Ghostbur- oh uh hey glatt nice to meet you, your a friend of n/n's huh?

Glatt- uhh yea something like that

Ghostbur- oh crap! I have to meet with Callahan (he's my fave member) I'm helping him build a forest, well you guys have fun with friend. And glatt? Its nice to see you again.

And with that he floated away from the pair riend looked at schlatt than back at you, than back at schlatt. Its pink tounge slipping out of its mouth. Glatt looked down at you sitting cross legged on the grass petting friend. He thought you looked beautiful with the sun on your ghostlike form, he felt shame wash over him he really ruined you.

You- sit next to me glatt, the sun isn't that bright down here

Glatt- no I don't want to get my suit dirty!

You sighed, why was he so cold? Was it that he didn't like you, was it the fact that he didn't like friend no that's not true everyone loves friend. You frowned over thinking lots of things glatt noticed your frown after he yelled at you; he felt worse that he yelled. Many nights after your death did he think about you and his actions. He numbed the feeling penultimately resulting in further alcoholism and finally his death. He kept your diamond boots in his desk draw so they could be next to him at all times he even picked up some of your XP but that stuff didn't matter to him. Nothing mattered to him. Expect you. He never was good at expressing his feelings to you, and you never pushed him to do that.

Glatt- do you seriously not remember your past life?

You- hmmmm not much

Glatt- what do you know tell me?

You- well, I don't really remember memories it's more feelings and smells towards something? Like Niki I feel very calm and peaceful around her she smells like bread, Wilbur it's like he feels like a brother to me and he smells like gunpowder almost, ummmm who else? Oh Tecno smells like potatoes I'll tell you about that some other time

Glatt- what about me? What do I smell like ( Father Fragrance??)

You- ummmmm it's a weird metallic smell? At first I was like iron smell but I'm not so sure. I was super anxious when I first saw you almost hmmm anger? Fear? But I also wanted to give you a hug it's weird what about me... Your a ghost I'm sure it's the same for you it is for wilbur... What do I smell like glatt?

Glatt- uhh well, it's metallic aswell

You-oh heyy look it's ranboo, Ran heyy look down here? Ranboo? Oh no he's enderwalking again ok well this conversation isn't over glatt

You followed the half enderman who appears to be on his enderwalking state. You don't say much to him as you know he won't hear or respond to you. You follow him past twitch prime, past the portal near to the prison? Confused you stood behind him a little, why was he going to the prison? To see Sam you hope...

But no. He didn't.

[zeta-in-de-walls]

Tommy’s attachments

You know, Tommy’s character really does get so very, very attached to things so easily! They bring him a lot of happiness. And a lot of pain too. I wanted to make a list of some of the many things on the server Tommy values, and why. I’m not including the people, but many of the things are precious purely because of the people and memories they evoke. 

-His music discs, Cat, Mellohi and also Blocks. He likes them because of their sentimentality, how they were the first discs he owned and listened to. (And blocks the one he listened to with Jschlatt.) They have no value to anyone else. The only reason anyone would want them is to use them against Tommy! And he has to keep them locked away in his ender chest at all times, but brings them out as much as he can to listen to them!

-His bench, where he listens to music + the sunset. Where he goes at the end of every war. Once Tommy spent a whole stream just clearing the view with Fundy. Towards the end, they got an ask, suggesting they just move the bench a bit - as that’d be easier. No! The spot’s just as important. It’s home to so many memories and its got a lovely view of the sunset by a cliff edge. It’s a travesty that things get built there purely to block Tommy’s view, spoiling it. 

-Ninja’s house. It’s a pretty ugly building, complete with ill-fitting doors and yet Tommy is very defensive of it and he does repair it. Usually Tommy hates ugly buildings on his land as he likes to keep it a nice open space with lots of flowers. This building is an exception as its a memory of a really fun stream and one of Tommy’s coolest collabs. Ninja’s gone but his memory lives on in that house. (That’s also why Tommy offering it to Connor to live in was such a nice gesture.)

-The cuck shed. Tommy loved the stream he did with Jschlatt, who was his idol. This was even more special than ninja’s house, especially as jschlatt got banned from the server, seemingly forever. When Dream blew up Tommy’s base in the L’Manburg war, Tommy just requested they leave the cuck shed alone. He wanted it to remain undamaged. The rest of the damage? Upsetting but whatever. The cuck shed? That was precious and he was hurt that they’d do it even after he’d asked them to spare it. 

-The L’Mantree. When war was kicking off and Tommy was supposed to prepare, you know what the biggest thing he did was? Get obsidian to place around the L’Mantree to keep it safe no matter what happened. It was a symbol of the beginning, of the one tree that stood from the beginning of the SMP even after all their wars and how much everything had changed. After L’Manburg was blown up, he asked everyone to meet him there, to rally around it as a symbol of hope. That some things can remain pure and untouched. 

-Henry. His cow. This cow wouldn’t leave him alone as he first built his holiday home which was meant to be a good, more peaceful spot. He ended up basically building his house around Henry and quickly grew attached to the friendly cow. I think Henry got kidnapped about 3 times, by Quackity, by Dream and then by Sapnap, who accidentally killed him after Henry had been around for like 2 months. Tommy was devastated, building a grave for him and naming his holiday home after Henry the cow. Did you know? A few days after Henry died, Tommy walked into his base to find a cow called Ghost Henry (Tommy was upset by it and quickly killed it). The other server members just loved to remind him of his loss... 

-Mushroom Henry. Tommy had conflicted feelings of a cow named after Henry but he recognised it was a really nice gesture and soon grew fond of it and how it as a good source of food in exile. When Dream blew up Logstedshire, he made a special effort to kill Mushroom Henry in front of Tommy, right after Tommy had been laughing at it cutely spinning in a corner. 

-Juorse. Another pet. Tommy missed having a pet and went to find another. He soon discovered this horse and was thrilled at its awesome jumping ability. Upon discovering it was very slow, Tommy decided that didn’t matter at all - this wasn’t a war horse, it was a friend horse, great for walking down the prime path. Tommy even chose Jourse its own theme music. Guess how long it took for the horse to get kidnapped? Like a day or two... Sapnap soon killed it when Tommy refused to trade him back Mars, Sapnap’s fish. 

-Definitely Not Penis. Dream’s Crossbow. The legacy to Not Penis which was lost when Dream fell in lava. Tommy had been on the wrong side of these weapons many a time. In the railway war, Tommy stole this weapon off dream, along with his armour and sword. He tried to convince Dream to trade the stuff back in return for a music disc. Tommy considered the crossbow as the item of the most value with its distinct name, feeling like it had history. In the end he traded the stuff back for Spirit, the remains of Dream’s very first pet. After Tommy got banished, Dream gifted his crossbow to Tommy, who was extremely touched by the gesture - more fond of the crossbow than that the netherite armour and stack of gapples that Dream had also gifted him - the crossbow was special and he tried to show it off to Wilbur repeatedly. Dream, finally his friend and on his side! It’s not often he’s given presents of such value. Tommy lost it in the war, but Tubbo had secretly picked it up and gave it to Tommy before they confronted Dream in the disc saga finale, and Tommy was overjoyed. (He died and lost it a few days ago sadly.) 

-The axe of peace. Techno’s axe. Tommy really looked up to Techno and one of the first things they did on the server was take Antfrost hostage for fun. Techno used the axe of peace, saying a hit from it could cause memory loss. It’s Techno’s oldest weapon. While staying at Techno’s house, Tommy helped him get it back from Tubbo and Ranboo. A day later, Techno gifted it to him to Tommy’s pleasure - he was very in awe of the weapon. Tommy holds onto to it when he switches sides. Tommy loves wielding it, even making a point to kill Dream with it before locking him in prison.

-The drug van. One of his happiest memories on the server was making drugs with Wilbur. This van soon became the centre of L’Manburg. The actual van got blown up many times but the simple memory of it stood strong. That’s why the night before confronting Dream, he remade a version of it inside his house, the part with the tables and the brewing stands. Tommy and Wilbur, the good ol days before things went bad.

-’Your Tubbo’ compass. Ghostbur gave it to him. It pointed to Tubbo and Tommy never wanted to forget how much Tubbo meant to him as he dearly missed him in Exile. Tommy carried it with him into Doomsday, where it got lost, but it didn’t matter so much as he had Tubbo back for real.

-Chirp, Wait, Stal and Pigstep. While they’re not as special as his main music discs, Tommy loves all music discs (except 11 and 13). Chirp in particular is the first music disc anyone ever gave Tommy. (It only took them 5 months xD) Tommy was very grateful to Bad for this, saying he now considered the two of them friends and he played Chirp a lot throughout his exile, finally playing it once more in the aftermath of Doomsday. Wait was gifted by Techno and it’s CC!Tommy’s favourite C418 disc. Tommy loves Pigstep too as its rare and was also gifted to him and he likes trying to rap to it. Tubbo let him keep Stal, supposedly the first one on the server which they found on the stream with Lani, Tubbo’s sister. 

-Tommy’s base. No matter how full of holes and how much everyone else moves out, Tommy loves his house. It’s so very his. It’s been pranked and griefed many times but Tommy doesn’t care. He always repairs it and even became nostalgic for it in the old days when it was made mostly out of dirt rather than smooth stone. He never wants to move out. And his value of it makes it really feel like the centre of the server. 

-The prime path. He loves walking down it, ideally without armour on. He frequently repairs it and tends to it. (In exile he also became very attached to his prime log). 

-The Dream SMP as a whole. This is an interesting one but Tommy has recently just been absolutely appreciating the server. He frequently brings up how it looks, and how much he cares about it. He’s so very attached to it, loves living in it - especially after being exiled more than once and always wants it to be a great place. That’s part of why he’s so concerned with the egg. And he claimed he wanted his hotel to be a new landmark after how buildings like the community house got destroyed. 

[utterlyinevitable]

The Conference (Part 9)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 3.7k Rating: T+ Warning: Some cursing Summary: It’s the evening after the keynote and they go out for a civil dinner date.

A/N: shout out to ruby @starrystarrytrouble for reminding me people actually like reading this mess 💕

________________________________________

After we finished up the panel I stuck around the conference hall to network whilst Ethan had ditched the crowd at the first opportunity he got, heading back to our hotel room and venturing away from the pecking vultures. To be honest, I didn’t really blame him. Everyone wanted a piece of the poor, well-endowed man. 

A couple hours later, I shuffled back into our apartment. My aching feet somehow prevailed without causing me to collapse on the odd geometric carpet floor, or ditching my heels along the way and walking barefoot like some uncultured frosh stumbling home at 3AM. Once through the heavy metal plated door, I headed straight to my room, not throwing a single pleasantry towards Ethan in the seating area. From what I could tell he was typing furiously on his laptop after nursing a scotch - the empty crystal tumbler on the table was a dead giveaway. 

The anxiety and delirium inducing stress of the day lifted the second my kinda-sweaty body collapsed onto the private armchair in my room, clutching its aqua-colored arms and sinking into the velvet cushion. Staring out at the familiar skyline my mind started to replay the happenings of the day; every little thing that happened - from the confidence I felt during our speech, to the way that asshole called me out, and how Ethan stood up for me every step of the way. How proud he was even if he relayed the sentiment in such small words. 

We survived today. We haven’t strangled each other nor suffered any little deaths. All that’s left for this trip is the tour we have tomorrow morning, and then we’ll be on our way back to Edenbrook. Back to the way things were… 

Somehow my tired and self destructive brain decided it wanted to revel in the memories of the last few days. Thinking about all the non-work things that happened this trip. Thinking of all the words shared, and the blast from the past. And the revelation that little adventure birthed. 

Fuck me...

Things are weird. Like, so weird. I don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m even thinking this… but I miss him. Today showed me how great we are together! Professionally and as friends. We’re the dynamic duo: Ramsey and his Rookie. His. I - 

I need to stop thinking that. 

I belong to myself. I do what I want when I want and with whom I want. 

And so does he. And that’s why I walked away. I’m- 

I’m still getting over him. 

While simultaneously trying to get under him… 

Thoughts wandered back to Ryan and how long it took me to get over the detrimental ‘what if’s of him. If I held on tighter and longer and didn’t get in the way of myself back then - if one thing was different - everything could be different. 

A small, revelatory gasp escaped me. 

I didn’t want things to be different. 

After eight fucking years I finally understood. 

If I didn’t love and lose Ryan I never would have found my way to Boston. To Ethan. And here - knowing what I do and having all the experiences of the last few months - I couldn’t continue a life without knowing Ethan Ramsey. 

I’m going to do whatever I can to repair our friendship. 

I changed my clothes into something not requiring heels - black skinny jeans, a blouse and my trusty Chelsea boots - and my hair pulled back into a bun. Simple, sleek, and completely me. No pomp and circumstance, or hiding behind anything. Just me, making an effort.  

With all the determination I could muster I sauntered into the living room where I assumed Ethan would still be. 

I was right; he hadn’t changed positions at all. Sitting there on the couch, his feet up on the gaudy footstool with his laptop perched on his lap, tortoise-patterned glasses framing his face, and furiously typing on the keyboard. 

“So...” I trailed awkwardly to break the tension surrounding him, leaning against the wall with my hands stuffed in my armpits. “What do you want to do for dinner?” 

“Oh,” He planted his feet on the floor and turned to face me fully, moving his laptop off of him and folding his arms in his lap. “Uh, well-”

Quickly I added, “If you’d rather eat alone it’s fine by me. I was thinking of grabbing pizza at John’s.” 

Ethan nodded in response, saying, “Sounds good.”

“Cool,” I nodded back. “You ready or…?”

“Let me grab my things,” he stood, collected his things and headed to his room.

Less than two minutes later we headed out of the apartment together, walking side by side. Though this time wasn’t like earlier. There wasn’t the blind determination and need to impress like this morning. Right now we were two people who used to know one another going out to dinner in a spectacular converted synagogue.  

***

For anyone who doesn’t know John’s, it’s a local family-style pizza joint. There’s three restaurants around the city and the Times Square location is by far the best. Every time I have a hot minute to spare I try to go - the stained glass and craftsmanship of the building is everything! But you don’t want to hear about that… and neither did Ethan when I tried to fill the silence during our walk with all the reasons to love this place. For some reason he preferred to barge and weave in silence. 

Whatever. 

Lucky enough he was more chatty once we were seated. 

Our table was in the mezzanine with not much of a view besides the stone staircase in the corner and the large dome towering above. The dim lighting complimented the deep wooden table and beige upholstered seating. 

We ordered. And without the menu to keep our attention, I tried my hand at conversation once more.  

“Be honest, how did we do?”

Looking me in the eyes, ones that mirrored mine, showed such confidence and pride as he said his next words;

“You handled it well, Becca.” There was a tug at the corners of his mouth that pulled at my own. I was about to get a rare Ramsey smile - one I’ve been devoid of for far too long. 

“Dare I even say, like a natural.” 

I got to revel in the small compliment for a few moments as the server brought over our food - garlic knots, small veggie pizza, and a chef’s side salad. 

“I didn’t stutter too much or come off too young?” I couldn’t help but ask when it was just us two again. His opinion matters more than anyone else’s when it comes to my career. 

“You did.” 

“But you -” 

He cut me off, a slight shake of his big head, “You are young and this was your first keynote.” he clarified. And once more he said pridefully, “You did well.” 

After what felt like ages we shared a private smile. How he was able to bring me back into myself with a few words and stop fussing over imposter syndrome is a wonder.  

“Now eat some pizza and be happy.” 

My smile grew to a goofy one by the way he was looking at me, bemused. I refrained from sticking my tongue out and dug into a little slice of heaven. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

We dug in. Letting the flavors dance over my taste buds and make me only as happy as a New York slice could make me. No amount of fantastic sex could compare to pizza. Everything kind of disappeared - time stopped while the first bites settled in my tummy. Even Ethan looked to be enjoying it even though it’s not fancy smancy and artery clogging. 

Eventually I broke our companioned silence;

“How was lunch with Chief Fredericks?” I asked as I reached for a scrumptious ball of garlicy dough. 

The response left his lips so swiftly he didn’t even bother to look up from his plate; 

“Informative.”

I scoffed at the non-answer answer. 

My little grumble pulled him out of his bubble and he looked over at me - those damn baby blues challenging my thoughtfully indecent outburst. I just gave him a look right back. 

Ethan rolled his eyes and reached for another slice. Cutting it up with a fork and knife like an absolute weirdo.  

“He heard about the state budget cuts. Wanted to know what I think and if I’d be open to consult every so often.” 

“And?” I probed. 

“And what? You know how I feel about the future of Edenbrook.” 

“Yes. But if it goes under, what do you think you’ll do? I mean, everyone’s going to be throwing themselves at you.” 

I shoved some greenery in my gob to keep from adding the jarring truth. 

Everyone throws themselves at you. 

But who he gives his attention to is another story.  

Ethan shrugged ever so nonchalantly, “I haven’t thought about it.” 

The cavalier way he was speaking of his life after Edenbrook had thrown me off. Ethan was never this laid-back. It just wasn’t in his nature. There’s always something for this man to stress over. And Edenbrook’s closing should be his anxiety numero uno. 

But here he was, ever so calm. 

Hmm... 

“Are you in denial?” I said through a bite, fully anticipating another non-answer.  

“Maybe.” 

The way he said it took me aback. It was inherently honest and soft. All of his jagged features were rounded and there was a dulled little twinkle in his eye. 

Yeah, something’s going on here he’s not telling me.  

“Ethan -” 

And of course he deflects by turning the conversation on me; “What are you going to do?” 

Keeping from rolling my eyes at his obvious deflection from roaming into his feelings deeper, I replied, “Transfer my residency.” 

“Where?” 

“I…” - dammit - “don’t know.”

I haven’t really dwelled on what happens when the hospital closes. Obviously I need to finish residency if I want to be an actual practicing doctor. But the matching process can go screw itself. I don’t never ever want to do that again - all I cared about was matching with the best. And I did. So who’s the second best now? 

Is it wherever he goes?  

There’s just so much to think about, and I’d really rather not. Not until the last few nails are lined up against the coffin. 

“See,” he said with a hint of a lopsided grin, “Neither of us are ready to leave Edenbrook behind.” 

He was right. Of course he’s right. You didn’t need to be a diagnostician or even a doctor to see that we’re holding out hope of a buyout. 

I’ve just gotten to Edenbrook - only a few months into my dream career with my dream boss - and now, what? It’s all over before it even really began? No. I can’t accept that. 

There was a beat of silence as we both reached for the salad tongs, our hands brushing on accident. Both our eyes shot to bear witness to the contact, pulling us out of whatever ran wild through our thoughts and into this new, secluded moment. Everything around us dulled in the distance; the sounds swirling in the air muted and like a faint breeze. The warm lighting dimmed further, yet there was a spotlight on the salad bowl. The greens and reds and purples of the ruffage illuminated like it was the only thing that mattered. Like right now the earth was spinning just for this moment of closeness. 

Surprisingly, neither of us made a motion to move. His large hand overlapping my dainty fingers, the metal underneath the pads of my fingers warming up instantly. Electricity still coursed through me like the very first time. Except now it carried the memories of all the other times and places he set me aflame. 

I had to be the one to pull back. 

Almost, like it needed time to comprehend why the moment was intentionally ruined, the atmosphere around us began to revert back slightly. I could hear the idle chatter of those around us now. I could see the full picture of Ethan sitting across from me and all the individuals pattering around behind him. What couldn’t pretend to go back and hung off kilter was the beating in my chest - I could feel the electricity coursing through my veins and putting my heart through the ringer. 

Ethan made up for it by serving me. 

Does he know he still has such an effect on me?  

Quick! I needed to divert my thoughts off of the creeping flush and want from taking hold. So I went back to talking about work, our safe topic. 

“If you could work anywhere else in the world where would it be?” I asked.  

Ethan took a moment to think as he served himself some salad. He looked like he was actually thinking of an answer, maybe, for the first time he’s digested the hospital’s fate. 

“I think the next logical step would be the Mayo Clinic. They’re the best diagnostics in the world.” His eyes diverted back down to his plate and, after a beat, he added, “I also wouldn’t mind spending more time on missions with The WHO.”

My eyes searched his as they looked anywhere but where I was seated across from him, trying to find any sort of fault in his features. Something, anything, that I could hold onto. Nothing. Just stupid sincerity. The first fucking time in weeks he actually lets us talk about his time in the Amazon I can’t be mad at him.  

“You really enjoyed your time there, huh?” 

“It…” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. 

We’ve wandered into emotional territory and we both needed to tread carefully. I need to remember that he was never mine, as much as I felt like his from our first kiss. Need to recall that back then everything was drawn out in plain sight. Our end was always just that - an end. I Need to forgive. And try to remember that at one point he did try to fight for me, in his round-a-bout noncommittal way, and I was the one to end things officially. 

We both need to forgive. Especially if these are the last few months we have working together. 

“Was important work and I got to make a difference in the lives of thousands of indigenous people.” Ethan took another small pause for breath. When he continued, his deep baritone voice was lower, “Even if my intentions for going were skewed, it was an opportunity of a lifetime.” 

The simplest thing to do would be to nod, or eat - distract myself - or even change the subject. To try not to dwell on the implications of the statement. But I couldn’t. My body tensed and the warmth from moments before fled completely. 

We were silent. The brutal truth of why he left stinging just as much as it did the day I found out. 

Minutes, many many minutes passed with me finding solace in sweet savory carbs and Ethan pushing things around on his plate. 

Eager to change the subject there was one other topic of the day I was endlessly curious to know more about; 

“So, what’s the deal with Dr. Schwab?” 

“Don’t.” He dismissed, his authoritative voice seeping through just a tad. Though I’d like to think he’s smart enough not to use it with me outside of Edenbrook.  

“If you don’t tell me I’ll be forced to fabricate my own. I’m feeling a one-night stand gone wrong.” 

He looked back down at his food. 

“Oh my god, I’m right.” The smile that erupted literally took over my entire face. I could not hide it even if I tried.  

“Rebecca,” he tried to scold. 

“Now you have to tell me.” 

Just like earlier he turned the conversation back on me; “What’s with the frat boy?” 

“Ryan was never in a fraternity,” I responded, not hiding the grin that formed by putting Ethan in his place. “He’s a jock though.” 

He expelled a dry laugh, “I don’t think that’s any better.” He took a bite of his salad. Something radiated off of Ethan I couldn’t quite place. 

“We were close in high school,” I added for reasons I’m not quite sure why. Like that explained who Ryan was and why he came back into my life now, of all times.  

Ethan made a condescending, “mhm”. 

I rolled my eyes; “We had a thing for a while, okay.” I conceded. “We grew apart senior year, and then I went off to college. Last night was the first time we’ve spoken in, like, eight years.” 

Ethan made absolutely no reactions to the statement. Not even a stupid wiggle of his dumb perfect eyebrow. 

Is he even paying attention? 

“Now tell me about Schwab - sorry, Hilary,” I coaxed.  

Ethan’s hand flew to the bridge of his nose and up to carefully rub his eyes. 

This has gotta be good. 

I waited patiently and eagerly for this story. She couldn’t have been Ethan’s type and yet… What happened!? 

Eyes still shut tight, he grumbled, “What’s there to tell?” 

“Obviously something happened,” I couldn’t help but mock, “You slept together!” 

“Yes, and it’s something I do not like to dwell on.” 

“Sorry, buddy, but it looks like she does.” 

He groaned. Then shifted in his chair. Ethan took a long drag of his drink. And just when I figured he was going to wait this out until one of us changed the subject, he spoke; 

“A moment of weakness a few years back. And she was…” 

Ah! It’s actually happening! Ethan’s telling a salacious story! 

Shifting in my seat and placing my head in my hands to give him my full attention; My brows and smile grew as I finished the sentence for him, “Eager?” 

He scowled. 

“Jesus Christ, Ethan, just tell me what happened!” 

“I will not go into details.” 

“Fine.” I made a motion with my hand for him to continue without the juicy details. 

“Harper and I had just ended things for good not long before…” 

We ended up going back and forth for a while - Ethan not wanting to give anything up and me pulling as much as I could out of him. Long story short, Ethan was in a weird mental state after breaking up with Harper for the hundredth and final time in their six year relationship. He took up a conference opportunity to get away for two nights. Knowing how much he loves people, Ethan spent most of his time drowning his senses at the hotel bar. And low and behold, enter Hillary. 

From the sounds of it she was agreeable and very very forward. And Ethan was so lost in liquor that her voice didn’t irritate him as much as it did the next morning, and every single time they were in close proximity thereafter. Hillary had been going through a separation with her husband and needed a distraction just as bad. Really, who could blame her? Toting Ethan around would be the best revenge. 

The first night of his stay was fine - apparently the sex was satisfactory and she didn’t do anything remarkably memorable. Or so he says. I still think she looks like a squawker. He didn’t linger around long after before retreating to his hotel room. Then the next afternoon he was bored and weak and agreed to lunch. And lunch turned into drinks which turned into round two. In his room. And she didn’t leave. She wasn’t leaving. So Ethan bought an earlier plane ticket, and shook her awake before checking out. 

And every conference since she seems to want to entertain a rematch. 

“Oh my god, you’re horrible!” I exclaimed ever delightfully. This was hilarious! 

“I shouldn’t really be surprised. You flew to another continent after we slept together.” Shaking my head, a stupid little smirk on my lips I asked, “Have you ever had a one night stand before?” 

“Wha - of course I have!” 

“One’s that didn’t end up with you getting on a plane?” 

He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “If you must know, I’ve had my fair share in undergrad.” 

Now it was my turn to send a condescending “mhm” his way. 

We spoke longer and polished off our plates - not a single crumb remained. This was nice. Really nice getting to be close to him again and just being friends. Telling stories and exchanging playful jabs here and there. It’s how I fell for the idiot in the first place. 

Baby steps.     

-

Two hours after we arrived the server came over with the bill. 

She was friendly and lovely the whole meal. The best part about her style of service is that she let us just exist and didn’t check up all that often. When she did I could tell she overheard someone of the crap Ethan and I were spewing. She had one of those knowing smiles, like she was in on our jokes the entire time. 

“Can I just say, you guys are adorable,” she relayed with the brightest of smiles after setting the padfolio on the table, her hands clapping together excitedly. She looked like a child who had just met Santa Claus for the first time. 

L O L she thinks we’re together.  

At that I actually laughed out loud before informing, “We’re colleagues. In town for a conference.” 

The horror on the girl's face said it all. 

“Oh! My mistake, sorry. I can split the bill for you.” She reached for the pad where it sat in front of Ethan. 

He grabbed the black leather at the same time I spoke;  

"Nope, dinner’s on him.” I cupped a hand over my mouth and pointed a not-at-all discreet thumb towards him, “He'll get reimbursed," I laughed more to myself than anything. 

She smiles, a little relieved by my warmth, then turns to look at Ethan - silently asking permission or if it’s okay that he pays. Generally looking for some sort of direction from the old man.    

He shoots the server a look. Then forks over his credit card. 

As she saunters off, I smile at him sweetly, “Thank you.” 

Of course he rolls his eyes. But that rise in the corners of his mouth says so much more. 

________________________________________

A/N: sorry it’s shit. thank you for sticking with this series 💕 we’ve just got one chapter left! 

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[amoc94]

INFATUATION

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Pairing : Seokjin x OC (from reader's POV)

Genre : Yandere.

Warning : Nothing for this part.

Wordcount : 1.8K

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Full Masterlist and elaborate warning please read here.

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List of Chapters here.

Part 3 - DEVISED

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She changed her number.

He had expected her to call him, considering how generous he was. There was no way she would whoring to other men. He knew the lesson he taught her the other night would leave a deep impression inside her pretty head. Unless, of course, if he predicted wrong, that meant she would need a harsher lesson.

Seokjin didn't try to call her until eight days later after that night. He wanted to know if she would be the one to initiate the contact with him. When one week had passed, he asked his private investigator to get her number from Kevin. He certainly couldn't let his club manager to know if he had the slightest interest with one of the servers.

All his life, Seokjin never beg or chase a woman, he never had to.

Before his adolescence phase, he didn't really have any interest in relationship. His life was too busy between school, friends, and video games. Then puberty hit him hard, and he grew into a man with appearance and strong appeal to the opposite sex, and whenever he wanted a woman, he would get her with little effort.

His family was established, had been loaded for a long time that could be traced back to the first generation of Kim family. With proprietary of several banks that had been run for more than two decades, Seokjin learned well from his father about management, investment, and risk taking.

He just had to play his cards right, highly educated himself on many necessary aspects, and made a timely good decisions, everything would fall into place.

Until he met her.

Sometimes anomaly happened.

Even a good speculator like him made mistakes, and it was unfortunate that she had to involve in that kind of situation with him.

He wasn't one that could admit defeat. He liked to play game, and he loved to plan his strategy, savoring the feeling everytime it came into fruition.

How stupid she could be, to switch phone number while still working in his night club. If she thought by changing her number she could avoid him altogether, she would have another thing coming for her. It would be just a matter of time before she come to him, he would make sure of that.

It was almost six p.m. when he sat on his chair in his office, facing his private investigator in front of him.

Yun Fa was a chinese, Seokjin met the guy three years ago in Macau, and spared him from being killed by the loan shark. The timid guy was drowned too deep in debt as a result of his addiction in gambling. Who could resist the temptation of easy money when living in a city of gaming?

When Seokjin knew his past experience in China as a police officer, he took the guy with him to South Korea, and arranged him to be his assistant initially. His skill in investigation came to light when he often acquainted Seokjin about many affairs that were hidden or happened behind his back within his companies.

Hence his career transition as his private investigator.

"So..tell me about her illness." He leaned back on his chair with elbows on the armrest, gazing out to the view outside the window wall from the twenty eighth level of his office building.

"It's Crohn disease, it's a chronic inflammatory bowel disease that affects the lining of the digestive tract..-"

"Yun Fa, I did my research, I know what it is. Go straight to her problem."

The guy cleared his throat and looking at his stack of files nervously. His boss was intimidating to say the least, always emanated a "do it right or you can go fuck yourself" kind of aura, and it showed in him with such grace that made people thought he was probably born with it.

"Right...em..Joo Lisa, the younger sister apparently has severe case of the disease. She's been going back and forth of hospital for the past year. I talked to the doctor, and he said she might need surgery to remove the offending part of her intestines. But as long as they can control the symptoms with medication, it will work temporarily."

"Why don't they just proceed with the surgery?"

"Em...the older sister is the sole breadwinner of the family. I guess they just survive for the time being. She basically living from paycheck to paycheck, and I managed to get her credit record, it's not good. She had several outstanding loan."

Seokjin mused upon the information. He had to admit he was impressed with her mental strength. She didn't call him despite her obvious impending financial doom. Her situation explained her current condition, her body looked too fragile and unhealthy. Maybe she couldn't even afford regular decent meal.

"How about her landlord?" Seokjin glanced at the view of the sky outside, pretty orange hue lined over the horizon. It was almost sunset, and his head started to hurt.

Today his mind was full of thinking about her, distracting him from his work, and he despised himself because of that. He was no a weakling, especially when it came to women.

"The building owned by an elder couple living in Yongsan - Gu. They have a son who lived in San Fransisco, working in Silicon Valley. My guess is, they just hold the building as a side income, they don't really need the money, most of their earning come from time deposit. I personally think, once they passed away, their son will probably just sell out the building."

Seokjin nodded, absorbing the information.

"Their house in Daegu? Did you check on it?" He took some papers from the stack in front of Yun Fa.

"They were three months behind on the rent of their banjiha. The medical cost really drained their finances, not that there are really any source to speak of, they rely on Joo Aerin's salary every month."

He read the papers at a glance before shoved it back to Yun Fa.

"Last hospital stay had been settled, am I right? Has the girl been discharged yet?"

"Yes, she has been discharged two days ago. But the doctor scheduled another check up in two weeks." Yun Fa closed the file folder with a soft snap, he didn't have further information about the girl.

"I want you to ask the doctor to meet me here in two days. Pick him up or arrange a car, I don't care. Ask Soo Yeon to help you." He took his phone from the table.

"What should I tell him about the purpose of this meeting?" Yun Fa looked at his boss and mentally admired his elegant visage. Were he was a gay, he would have drooled over the man.

"Career advancement. Oh, and get the contact number of the landlord. " He waved his hand to dismiss the guy while put the phone on his ear.

Yun Fa had a lot of question inside his head about this latest mission, of why his boss set his eyes on an ordinary girl. He saw Seokjin in several occasions with model-like women, this girl wasn't his usual type. Although, Yun Fa had to admit, she was pretty if only she had some curves around her scrawny figure. But he definitely couldn't afford to be nosy.

He loved his job, and pissing off his boss wasn't something favorable for his career. Besides, he indebted to the man for his life. So he silently made his way out of the room.

Seokjin leaned back on his chair closing his eyes, while waiting for the person on the other line to pick up the call.

"Jung Hoseok."

"Hoseok..are you free to talk?"

"I'm on my way to Yoongi's. Something happened Hyung?"

"Do you have any opening in your hospital in Busan or Daejeon? Anywhere but Seoul or Daegu. Senior level, surgeon specialist or equal preferably."

"What specialties?"

"Digestive or Colon and Rectal surgery."

"I think I can work on it. Let me get back to you tomorrow."

Seokjin heard him talking to someone next to him.

"Are you with Namjoon?"

"No, I'm with Jimin. Yoongi summoned us. There is a problem with Yuri, I think."

"I see. Please call me when you have the news."

He hung up the call, and stared at dark sky outside.

Yoongi had changed recently. He was too occupied with that woman, and Seokjin didn't like it. A few years back when Yoongi had a dispute with Hoseok over a woman, he almost got killed by her. If not for Seokjin's consideration over Hoseok's feeling to her, he would already had sent a hitman to finish her. That woman was bad news.

Among the six other boys in their group, Yoongi and Jimin were the ones with similar character with him. Cunning, calculative and ruthless whenever necessary.

Jimin was the most impressive one. One would never know how cold-blooded he could be when it came to finish his opponent, literally or figuratively, he wouldn't even blink. A perfect character for the world they live in. Only his youth being a hindrance, but it just needed a little bit polishing and few years of growing up, he would be the perfect leader for the group.

Yoongi was another example of stealth demon in disguise. He was like a chameleon, less talking, but could adjust and perceive to almost any situation. A master in reading people, an expert in numbers, and skillfull with his gun.

Hoseok was also good, he had skills in between slashing the enemy and exceptional managerial skill. If not for his biggest weakness towards his feeling over his woman was the ultimate obstacle to make him a powerful leader.

Namjoon, Jungkook and Taehyung were the good boys of the group. They needed the kind of characters to put a stop whenever their inhumanity went out of hand.

They had each other's back, one wasn't capable enough, the other would take over. That was how they had been all these years.

Everybody had their own weakness, even Seokjin himself. In his case, his other six brothers were his ultimate vulnerability. They were unrelated by blood, but Seokjin felt the invisible string between them. More than one occasions he had to go all the way of saving their asses, but not once he felt compelled about it.

It was strange.

Just as odd as his feeling towards her. He couldn't quite call it love. It was a foreign feeling for him.

Because as much as he wanted to save her, he also wanted to punish her, to hurt her.

You don't hurt the person you love, surely.

Maybe it was obsession.

It that was what it was, it would be easier to handle. Seokjin had never let his feeling dictate his brain. He was the oldest of the group, he had to keep his composure and rationality, and not letting a woman to become a distraction.

So instead of forcing her, he would lure her. He just couldn't wait the day she would come back to him willingly.

.

Part 4 - Overturn