#it is a open bid for further communication

[monster-noises]

It is time to be true and honest

In the taaaaaags~

[percheduphere]

LET'S TALK ABOUT LOKI'S SHOES (ACTUALLY, HIS WHOLE WARDROBE)

Production costs aside, clothes tell the audience about how characters think of themselves.

Loki's shoes in the S2 finale raised a lot eyebrows, but I find them quite fitting: they are comfortable, practical, and most importantly, they are humble. The camera brings this to our attention to communicate his evolution in character.

Loki has always dressed well, often times ostentatiously. Whether he is at war, passing as a Midgardian, or held captive as an Asgardian prisoner, Loki communicates his social class and sense of superiority through clothing. For him, clothing armors his fragile sense of self and against others' opinions of him. He intends to be perceived as deadly charming but ultimately unapproachable.

His attire in the first Thor movie is roughly equal parts green and gold, signifying his royal status. His style is dressed down for his brother's misadventures in Jotenheim, yet overall both silhouettes are lofty, princely, but not hardened or threatening.

In Avengers, Loki's look has more black and leather, with exaggerated emphasis on his shoulders meant to intimidate as he assumes the role of villain. The silhouette is very hard, heavy, and edgy. Gold detailing is prevalent as well. Combined with the goat's helm, this is Loki's most pretentious outfit, which speaks to an undercurrent of low self-esteem and a compulsive need to impress. There's no mistaking he is the main antagonist of the story.

In Thor 2, Loki's attire is similar to Avengers but the overcoat is exchanged for a less bulky version (perhaps conveying he is less guarded now that the effects of the Mind Stone are no longer influencing him). Loki's role likewise pivots from the harsh lines of a villain to the more flexible edges of a reluctant villain-turned-ally. This aligns with his character arc when he protects both Jane and Thor, seemingly sacrificing himself.

In Thor 3, Loki's silhouette is streamlined even further. The overcoat is done away with in favor of what appears to be a leather doublet, pauldrons, and vambraces. Gold accents are minimal. While stylish, Loki's attire is more practical than showy, and his helm serves the dual purpose of protection as well as weaponry. At this point in his arc, Loki has become a full antihero, joining his brother's side in rescuing as many Asgardians as possible, and eventually dying in a vain bid to protect Thor from Thanos.

The TVA does something very fun and interesting in taking away Loki's ability to dress himself. Since Loki cannot use his magic in the TVA, he is forced to wear the same clothing as his captor/advocate, who eventually becomes his best friend and peer.

Perhaps, on a subconscious level, this helped Loki to feel included. We know by his pwn admission that Loki fears being alone and desperately craves a sense of belonging. At the same time, he intentionally dresses to put people at a distance, thereby protecting himself from potential rejection at the cost of isolating himself further.

When Mobius gives him that TVA jacket for the first time, Loki seems uncharacteristically pleased. It is not an attractive jacket by any means, yet he neither scoffs at it nor refuses to wear it. Instead, Loki puts it on and is content when Mobius says it looks "smart" on him. He continues to dress like Mobius and, indeed, mimic some of his mannerisms such as placing his hands on his hips. Without clothing meant to push people away, Loki opens up, has more fun, and makes friends.

Loki's choice of attire as he assumes the mantle of God of Stories (and time) is fascinating. Setting aside the clear design inspiration from the comics, Loki's silhouette is soft, remarkably so. His colors are earthy hues of green, and the only bit of flare are the light gold trimming and crown. The look brings to mind the garb of sages and wise wizards rather than royalty or warriors. He's powerful yet approachable because there is humility in his bearing. And that humility springs from a well of healthy self-worth, self-love, and a deep love for others.

The shoes are not meant to be attractive. They are meant to help him ascend the throne, nothing more.

[snail-noodle]

Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader

Before he got corrupted, he was once called Light Milk Cookie (I'll change it once they reveal his true past name in canon)

I may have went a bit far with these.... enjoy 🤗

◇◇◇◇◇◇

💙 Before his corruption, he was known as Light Milk Cookie. You first met him when he stopped to rest at your village. You were absolutely mesmerized at his appearance, barely catching onto his question. "I've traveled quite a distance. Is there perhaps an inn around here that I could rest at?"

You stuttered as you offered him a room to stay in your home, informing him that your village had no inn, just a few shops. Hearing your offer, he gave you the most beautiful smile you have ever seen from a cookie, thanking you for your generosity.

💙 Light Milk Cookie had meant to stay in your village just for a day or two. In the end, he ended up staying for 3 whole weeks! Word had gotten out to the other villagers that one of the Five Great Cookies had arrived to their humble little town. Some believed he had stayed to show and tell the villagers of his knowledge that he had received throughout the years. In truth, he had stayed for you.

💙 During his stay, he spent most of his time with you. You would both talk about your favorite hobbies, your dreams, and the places you wish to see. Light Milk Cookie would listen to you with great interest, mentally keeping notes of what you like, what you didn't like, things you yearned for, and so much more.

💙 Your village is founded in the middle of a forest with a river nearby. You were a bit more adventurous than those in your village, so you would show him the many hidden spots that had the best sceneries in the forest. There was eventually a moment where the two of you had confessed your feelings for each other. The gentle sound of running water of the nearby river and the soft chirps from the birds among the trees only made the moment even more intimate and romantic.

The two of you practically spent the whole day in that quiet little spot. Hidden away from prying eyes, the two of lay close to each other, your hand entangled with his as you listened to his many stories of his past adventures with his friends.

💙 Before he left to continue his journey, he left you an enchanted scroll. He laughed softly at your confused face, "This scroll will allow us to communicate, even when we're far apart from each other." Reaching inside his backpack, he took out another scroll and a quill pen. He took a moment to write something, and once he finished and closed the scroll, the soft chime of a bell rang from the scroll you had been holding.

Opening the scroll, you blushed as you read what he had written for you. "This is.. this is amazing!" You gazed at the scroll with wonder and excitement. Light Milk Cookie's heart fluttered at your praise. The enchanted scroll had been a new idea that he came up with recently. To hear this from you filled his heart with so much joy!

💙 With an embrace and a loving kiss, you bid him a farewell. You stood at your front door, your gaze never leaving his form as he grew smaller the further he walked away. Only when he was completely out of sight did you finally return back to your home. He had left you the magic scroll, but he had also left you with a few items of his own. You reached for the scarf that he had gifted you, you giggled as you wrapped it around your neck, the sweet smell of blueberries enveloping your senses.

💙 As time went on, the two of you would exchange letters to each other at every moment. The sound of a bell ringing in your house almost every minute. Weeks would go by as he would tell you about every cookie and creature he would encounter in his path. Some good, some bad, and some downright strange. As the holder of Knowledge itself, you knew he was stronger than any other cookie in this world. Still, you can't help but worry whenever he mentioned having to fight a beast or some vile bandits.

💙 Just as he wrote you about his encounters, he wrote you many poems dedicated to you and your hometown. Some had you giggling, and some had you completely red in the face. His words were like honey; He yearned to have you by his side, to join him in his own kingdom. He made promises to take you to see the vast world that is Earthbread.

💙 Eventually, he had reached his destination and promised to send you a letter later that night. You waited a whole day, but then that day turned to weeks, and those weeks turned to months. Your mind and soul ached with worry for your lover. You would send him a letter once a day, hoping for any response. Your heart is aching for his comforting words.

Nothing.

💙 One morning, as you were preparing breakfast to start your day, you froze as the sound of a bell chimed across the house. Rushing to your room with tears in your eyes, you quickly grabbed the scroll from your desk, your hands shaking as you read what he wrote you.

I'm coming, my dearest.

A shriek of terror was heard outside the moment you finished reading the words. Your heart pounded with fear as you ran outside to see the commotion. You gasped at the sight before you. What once was a beautiful morning sky has now turned to complete darkness. Eyes... many blue blinking eyes, big and small, littered the dark abyss. All of them seemed to be looking straight at you.

💙 Laughter. The sound of laughter rang out throughout the sky. "At last, at last! I've returned to you, my love!" You gasped as a cookie suddenly appeared right in front of you, causing you to stumble back and fall. Before you could even hit the ground, the strange cookie caught you just in time.

"Be careful, my precious pearl! Wouldn't want you to crumble so soon!" His eyes twinkled at you mischievously, giving you the most biggest grin you've ever seen from a cookie. You looked at the strange cookie, no, the strange jester, with confusion. His voice, the hair, and those brilliant blue eyes. They reminded you so much of him. Surely it couldn't be...?

"Light Milk Cookie?"

[golden-ebony]

Man Eater (1) 𓆩♡𓆪

�� Series Masterlist ♡

♡ Pairing: Logan Howlett/Fem!Vigilante!Reader

♡ Word Count: 4.4k

♡ Rating: Mature (but any additional parts may be explicit)

♡ Warning/Tags: suggestions of child/adult abuse (no detail), mentions of violence (little detail), mutant/vigilante reader, suggestive language, Logan being a lil flirty menace (i love it)

♡ Summary: Leaving your past behind is never easy; teasing Logan makes it tolerable

♡ Note: reader has the same power as Diego from Umbrella Academy which I just summarized as projectile manipulation. also! this is a plotline i've fiddled with for years across different marvel characters and i finally found a way to make it work! i'd expect more parts because it'd looovvvve to tease Logan

Logan stood out of apartment 404 of a modern apartment building. Given the fact that Charles told him to come here to retrieve what he had described as a vigilante who could use some guidance. Yet, he was surprised to see such a dangerous person living in such a swanky place. It was none of his business, he thought.

He pounded on the door. No one answered. He groaned, pounding the door again, “Hey! Anyone home?” He heard the slightest of footsteps before hearing a voice.

“I’d be careful about pounding on a stranger's door,” you called back in a short tone. A woman, Logan thought.

“Oh, why’s that?” Logan scoffed, folding his arms over his chest.

You cocked your shotgun loudly enough for Logan to hear. You aimed it toward the door, “You never know where you might find trouble.”

Logan lowly chuckled to himself. He went to open the door; to his surprise, it was unlocked. He slowly pushed it open. There stood you, a double-barrel shotgun aimed toward Logan’s head. “Trouble, yeah?”

He glanced at you, not intimidated by the shotgun as he didn’t even attempt to move from the line of fire. You didn’t back down, still aiming the gun at his head, “Not scared of a little lead between your eyes?”

Logan closed the door, assuming you didn’t want your fancy neighbors seeing you about to gun down a man. Couldn’t bear to splatter his brains onto the community hallway. “Lead? Nah, I’ve dealt with a lot worse.” he smirked, casually leaning against the door.

Your eyes narrowed in his direction; no one came to your door. Ever. You took a deep breath, tilting your head in curiosity with the man in front of you. It was never your intention to know him, but you did. You slightly lowered the gun, “You're like me.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Depends. What’cha mean by that?”

“I mean what I mean.”

He sighed, his breath dripping with annoyance, “Kid, I don’t do riddles. Spit it out before you piss me off.”

“You, Logan, are a mutant,” you spat while completely lowering your gun further. You knew you didn’t have the firepower to take him down. “The Wolverine.” Your voice was song-like as you teased him with an eye roll.

He was surprised by your blunt answer; he was even more surprised by the fact that you knew what—who he was without any additional prompts. He chuckled in mild disbelief, “What? You a telepath or something?”

You chuckled, crossing your arms over your chest, “No…but Stryker used to talk about you allll the time,” you teased, striking a deep nerve in Logan.

His fists clenched as he stood up straighter. He appeared defensive as if this was all an elaborate set up by Stryker somehow. If it wasn’t Charles that had sent him, he would have let his mind go there. Yet, it didn’t feel like Charles sending him to this apartment was a coincidence either. Still, looking at you, you looked too young to be around when Stryker was at his peak.

“You know Stryker? How old are you?” By his demanding tone, you knew Logan wasn’t messing around anymore.

You leaned against the arm of the couch, “The only thing Stryker loved more than having mutants do his bidding was perfecting his soldiers,” you bit the inside of your cheek to maintain your composure, “but you? Ohh, you were his favorite. You broke the mold and all he wanted to do was put that perfect mold back together.” You spoke with a disdain that Logan couldn’t figure if it was directed towards Stryker or him. His gut was telling him both.

“I was only sixteen when Styker found me. He called me his best gun.”

That piqued his interest, “Why’s that?”

As Logan finished his sentence, you threw a spear point knife in Logan’s direction. Before he had a chance to react, the knife banked left into a wooden board hanging on the wall. Logan approached the small board, seeing the multiple knife marks wedged into it. It was out of place compared to the pricier art work that adorned the walls. He huffed turning back to you.

“You control metal, too?” he snarked, hoping Charles didn’t send him to find the second coming of Erik.

“Projectile manipulation—knives, bullets, really anything that’s airborne,” you explained. “But that isn’t enough for Stryker…I can’t explain how he did it, but he was hellbent on making me practically immortal…kinda like you. It took him a couple of years. The trials were…” your voice drifted off as the pang of dread filled your chest. 

Logan felt for you, imagining you at sixteen under the oppressive thumb of Stryker. Your eyes wavered from his for the first time. Although Logan was probably one of the few people left in the world that he had any clue what you had been through—the things you were probably made to do—you didn't appear to want his sympathy.

“But you’re out,” Logan stated, trying to offer some semblance of perspective, “Obviously doing your own thing—things Stryker never would have approved of.”

“That’s because I killed him when I escaped.”

Your words heavily weighed on him. He had been looking for Stryker on his own for a while. He raced down every lead on his own time—pulled every thread, turned over every stone. He just assumed that Stryker was alive somewhere underground.

Though shocked, he was impressed, “So you weren’t just a lab rat, you had some fire in you, huh?”

Slowly approaching Logan, your stare was intense. “Unlike you, I had the balls to do something about Stryker instead of just leaving,” you spat.

Logan’s jaw clenched. His patience became thin as he took a step toward you as well, making you well aware of your size difference. “You don’t know me, sweetheart. I don’t have to explain myself to you, so don’t you go around acting all holier than thou.” Truthfully, it did cross Logan’s mind. He hadn’t seen Stryker in decades. But if he had ended him when he had left, how many lives would be unchanged? Looking at you now hearing the hurt in your voice, he was face-to-face with his unconfirmed yet biggest regret. “You’ve got no goddamn idea what I’ve been through!”His tone was gruff and curt.

Like a slap, you chuckled at his remarks. “Right, sixteen year old female lab rat? Gotta be a walk in the park,” you muttered under your breath. Logan’s imagination didn’t have to stretch far to figure what you had gone through, not just in the field but in the lab, too. You roughly brushed past him and pulled your knife out of the wall, securing it in the sleeve, “But you didn’t pound on my door to talk about Stryker, did you?”

Logan dug his hands into his pockets as you walked back into his view, “I came to talk about what you did—what you do. Your little ‘heroics’ as a vigilante.”

You hummed, “And?”

“They’ve been noticed.” He took out a flask before taking a swig of it. He glanced back to you. “I’m here to assess whether you’re a threat or not.”

“And the verdict?”

His eyes narrowed, analyzing you from head to toe. You assumed he was analyzing how many weapons you had on you. He pulled out his phone, showing you an array of photos.

They were photos of you from various nights with different dates with a variety of men. The police called them victims. You had more…colorful language to describe these men. In some photos, your hair was brown and short, black and long and so on. 

“They aren’t dead, you know,” you feigned innocence with an insincere pout and wide eyes.

The level of violence would suggest otherwise. “No, just close.”

You hummed before taking Logan’s flask, taking a drink from it. He didn’t stop you. “Then I’m sure you know what they did to deserve this, Wolvie.” He knew the general idea, but he looked at you for an answer. You swiped through the photos. Some of them were surveillance, others were crime scene photos. “Phil Stanford: beat his wife so badly that she lost her baby in the second trimester. Jones Hill: almost drowned his girlfriend’s child just to teach her a lesson. And these guys? They passed around their intern to each other like she was a piece of meat.”

You showed Logan each crime scene photo. You remembered every single one like you got the assignment yesterday, remembered the satisfaction of leaving the hotel rooms that they paid for. Awaiting his reprimand, you took another swig before giving it back.

“Look, sweetheart, I get it,” Logan admitted. You raised your brows in surprise, but now, the reason for this visit felt clear. “The Man Eater; it’s fitting.”

“I didn’t give myself that name.”

“It sticked though.”

“Why are you really here? Did Charles send you?” Your question, again, surprised Logan. Was there anything you didn’t already know, Logan thought as he took another drink.

“You know Charles, too, huh? How long?”

You shrugged, “Like 20 something years. He’s always trying to sell me on the whole family and team shit. I never bought it; I’m better on my own. Still, Charles was always good to me when our paths crossed.”

Logan noticed your body tense when you mentioned family. He understood though. “I thought the same thing a few years ago before Charles found me. I was wrong,” Logan admitted. You could tell that it took at least a little bit out of him to admit that; vulnerability was clearly not his forte. Logan just thought you were lying to yourself.

“Charles and I had an agreement where he’d never get in my mind again. But instead, he sends a Stryker experiment, like myself, not only for him to determine if I’m a threat to what I can only assume is how the public views mutants but also to remind me that I shouldn’t be going through life alone, right?”

There wasn’t much for him to say; you had said it all. Instead, he offered you his flask. He only nodded at your statement as you took the flask. You couldn’t say that you were surprised that Charles used this specific tactic. He definitely didn’t have to get into your mind to play mind games.

You took a final swig from the container, taking the last drop of the liquor, “Did you also send you to bring me to the mansion?”

“Charles said that you may not come willingly; I told him that I’d do what I can. Even if that was just to extend the invite.”

You chuckled to yourself, “You never truly escape the grasp of Charles Xavier.” You pulled a coat off the hook near Logan. “But I guess we’re due for a reunion. I’ll go with you…peacefully even.”

Logan grunted slightly. He had no plans of forcing or fighting with you, even before he met you. Though, he was curious how you’d fare in a fight. The photos indicated you were brutal, having the ability to leave someone on the brink of death. Yet, Logan doubted that any of these men saw it coming. Getting a look at you today, he was sure the men were just excited to be in the company of a beautiful woman. Like a siren, he was sure he could be lured by you.

“Good,” he muttered, as he watched you open your apartment door, trotting out of it.

You followed Logan outside, immediately eyeing the bike he was approaching, “That bike yours?”

He nodded, looking at the bike. He had left it in a nearby parking lot. It was a black and silver Harley Davidson motorcycle and a damn expensive one. He turned to look at you, “Yeah, you ever been on a motorcycle?”

”I’ve had a few Harleys in my lifetime,” you mentioned, your hand slowly grazing over the bike and the leather of the seats. “Went to Milwaukee and got one off the line back in the 90s.”

He lifted an eyebrow, looking mildly surprised. He hadn’t expected that. He slowly walked over the bike, getting ready to mount it. He looked back at you with a smirk, “So, you’re a Harley girl?”

You mounted the back, testing out the suspension, “Show me any bike and I’ll show a Harley that does it better.”

He laughed as he watched you get comfortable on his bike, “You think Harley’s better than a Triumph? Hell, you think Harley’s are better than a Ducati?” He mounted the bike and pulled out his key.

“Nothing’s beating American-made, baby,” you shrugged with a smile. You could tell how amused Logan as he shook his head “That’s why I got one in the garage and two in storage. A Street 750, LiveWire, and a Fat Boy.”

He slowly looked over his shoulder again to look at you, obviously impressed. You had good taste. “And you can handle all that, princess?”

“You’d be surprised what I can handle, Wolvie,” you lowly spoke, maintaining eye contact until he went to turn the engine. 

“Then you know the drill.” The engine added a layer of low rumble to his voice. “Hold on, sweetheart.”

You did as you were told, wrapping your arms around his brown leather jacket to connect around his waist. With it being cold out, you almost audibly sighed when you felt the warmth radiating off of him. It was combined with the slight scent of mahogany, pine, and smoke.

Logan kicked the stand up before speeding off. You held on a little tighter as he sped up and weaved through traffic. Logan felt pleased with himself as he felt you gripping him tighter. He weaved through traffic, unconcerned with the angry car drivers he was surely pissing off. You couldn’t sit there and say you hadn’t done the same, but Logan had no reason to be in this much of a rush. You believed that he just liked being an asshole.

Once out of the city, the roads to the mansion began looking familiar. More into the countryside, traffic lessened and Logan’s speeds picked up. As you approached, you could begin to feel the raindrops begin to fall from the sky. You looked up to see the clouds threatening to release a storm. Luckily, Logan was quick to pull into the garage of the mansion before it began to downpour. Logan pulled up to the garage, parking the bike and killing the engine. 

“You ride like an asshole,” you spat as you dismounted off the bike. 

Logan was amused with you snapping at him, “And if I waited in traffic, we would’ve got caught in that rain and it would've drench that little white tee of yours.” He let down the kickstand. A smirk formed across Logan’s lips as he turned back to see you still standing by the bike. His eyes clearly raked your body, “Actually, maybe I should’ve waited.”

You scoffed as you watched him dismound. “I’m assuming Charles is still in the room at the end of the hall on the top floor to the left?” You opted to just change the subject.

“You know this place well, don’t you?” Logan asked as he walked you out of the garage to the inside of  the mansion. 

It was exactly how you remembered it, “Well enough. I met Charles back when he wanted to make this place a school. Make it a safe haven for children like us, he’d say.” You thought it was fun pipe-dream at the time, believing there couldn’t be a safe space for mutants. He was obviously more optimistic than you ever were. “Some things have changed here, but it’s practically timeless.

Logan led you up the stairs, “So, you keep coming back, but you never stay.” 

“Like I said, I’m better alone.”

“Sure you are,” he muttered under his breath. You could still pick up on the sass in his voice. You shot him a glare. “You’re better alone, yet you jump at the chance to see the man who has been pestering you for years? You like him checking up on you? Showing you he cares?”

You didn’t immediately respond as you two walked the hallways. The sound of the rain  colliding with the roof filled the space instead. There weren’t many contant people in your life. When you first met Charles, he could tell he genuinely cared. He wouldn’t keep checking in if he didn’t care. You just weren’t sure if you had the capacity to care in that same way. It felt easier not to.

“It’s complicated,” you sighed as you approached Charles’s room.

“Not that complicated,” Logan mumbled before knocking on the door and pushing it open.

Charles greeted you and Logan before the door was fully opened. You entered both annoyed and relieved to see your old friend. You hadn’t seen him in about 3 years

Logan entered behind you. He stepped quietly to avoid drawing attention to himself for the moment. Charles slowly looked up from the book he was reading and smiled softly. He looked happy to see you again.

“It’s nice to see you again, my dear. Come in, have a seat,” you offered, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk.

“I think I’ll stand,” you replied, still approaching him. “You sent one of your lackeys to come get me?” you asked as you pointed toward Logan.

Logan gave a huff of annoyance at the word lackey; it felt borderline disrespectful. Charles gave a heavy sigh, looking unbothered by your question.

“I did, but I believe I said that we’d speak again soon the last time we were together,” Charles reminded you. “I told you living alone was no way to live. The world is a dangerous place. Surely you know that, my dear. I just think it would be safer if you were here, with us, where you’re protected.”

“I don’t need protection,” you huffed.

“Not physically. You still need people—connection.” You felt like the conversation was a broken record, yet you always listened. “You have no one, my dear. No friends or loved ones—”

“Not true, we’ve been friends for over 20 years, and I’ll even consider making Logan a friend to mentally protect myself,” you cut him off, trying to humor the conversation. Charles was not amused. Logan was though.

Charles sighed. He could see that you were frustrated and being stubborn, masking it with humor. He knew you had always been a lone wolf. He had hoped that maybe time would change that, but obviously not.

“Is this truly how you want to live out your days? Alone?”

You glanced over to Logan who was also staring at you, “I already explained this to Wolvie. And thanks for sending him. I’m sure it was a meeting that Stryker would have loved seeing.”

Logan was listening to the interaction, though he was trying to keep his mouth shut. Charles could see that he was teeming with his own opinions, and decided to speak in his own defense.

“I thought Logan would be a good choice. He can deal with your stubbornness,” Charles admitted.

“You knew that I wouldn’t be able to kill him.”

Charles sighed again, knowing a part of that was true. You were more of a shoot first, ask questions later kind of girl. He wasn’t going to outright agree with your statement. He knew it would cause more conflict, but Logan spoke up, unable to stop himself.

“You didn’t even try, princess. Going soft?” he teased from the peanut gallery of the conversation.

Looking over your shoulder, you glared at him, “Fresh out of adamantium bullets; might need to invest now.”

Logan's chuckle at your response got lost in the rumble of the thunder. He was just enjoying this interaction between you and Charles. Getting a rise out of you was just a bonus.

You do protect others,” Charles interrupted. Knowing both you and Logan, he figured you two could bicker for hours if given the chance. “You can do that here.”

“I don’t think you want me running my work out of this place, right?”

“No,” he simply stated, “but our students—our future students—don’t always come from the best homes…you may not need us, but we need you, dear.” 

You hated to admit it, but that stuck with you. Your home life wasn’t good. Yet, it paled in comparison to your life with Stryker. You waited for help that never came. The number of unanswered prayers you had shot up always fell flat. Being the help for someone like you? It spoke to you.

You slightly paced, thinking while the storm outside roared, “I’m not a good team player, Charles. I’ve given it a try and it’s not my cup of tea. I appreciate the offer, but I think I oughta go home.” Near the end of your sentence, the loud rumble of the thunder made you jump.

Logan smirked slightly when he saw you jump. He took note of this, an idea forming in his mind. The storm was pretty intense outside, the rain pouring and thunder roaring. Logan spoke up, his tone slightly amused.

“You gonna run through that, princess?”

You huffed as, again, Logan had a point. You looked at the window, the wind whipping the rain in all directions. You groaned to yourself and paced back toward Charles.

“How about I stay the night and think about it?” you offered. For the first time in 20 years, you were on the fence instead of jetting home.

Charles had some gleam of hope. You were appearing to give this more consideration than you had in the past. “That’s a good idea, my dear. You can spend the night, think about it, and I’ll talk to you again in the morning. How does that sound?”

“Peachy,” your tone was short.

Charles chose not to comment on your attitude; you were here and that was a lot farther than he's ever gotten. “Very good…I expect we’ll be able to speak again in the morning. Logan, do you mind showing our guest her room for the night?”

You rolled your eyes before turning to look at the gruff man standing against the wall near the door. Logan chuckled slightly as you turned to look at him. He appreciated how cute you looked when you were upset. 

He pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against and walked over to you, that signature smirk on his face. “Well, come on, princess. I’ll show you to your room.”

You rolled your eyes as you allowed Logan to exit the room first. Logan led you down the hallway, passing rooms where students were staying. Some were roaming the hallways as well. There were a lot of them, all different ages and different powers, all just…happy. Logan glanced back at you, noticing how jarring the amount kids must be to you.

“Not used to being around this many kids, huh?” Logan asked.

You shook your head, “You just live with all these kids?

Logan chuckled, continuing to lead you down the hallway. He shrugged, “Eh, it ain’t too bad. It was a lot at first, but they’re good kids. And Charles is right, they need someone like you. Someone who’s skilled and gives a shit.”

You could see the sense of pride and protectiveness Logan had for the children just by the way he looked at them. For the first time in years, you felt your heart flutter. You didn’t even know your heart could do that anymore. The little smiles and greetings he got secretly warmed your heart. “And the kids seem to like you.”

He chuckled again, “You sound surprised.”

“Well, you just seem to have an asshole vibe rather than a nurturing one.”

Logan shrugged, “There are enough people here that baby them. I ain’t one of them. I imagine you being the same way, sweetheart.”

You passed a group of older female students, all of them saying hi to ‘Mr. Logan’ before erupting into fits of giggles. Logan didn’t pay it any mind. Glancing over your shoulder as they walked by, you could recognize the teasing of girls with crushes.

“Ohhh, I’m sure the girls love it,” you teased.

Logan lowly laughed at your little comment, “They have their little crushes. Not only do they love it, they also think I'm a pretty damn good looking guy too, princess.”

You felt like gagging at his response, “They’ll grow out of it,” you retorted as you approached the guest room.

Logan chuckled again. He was just enjoying your banter and entertained how you responded to him each time. He was amused by your scoffing and eye rolls. He opened the door to your room, watching you closely as you walked in.

“I doubt it, princess. Most women seem to love me damn well into adulthood.

“Oh yeah? You’re just too damn irresistible? They just can’t help themselves?” The layer of sarcasm on your words was thick.

Your words were only fueling his ego and that damn smirk on his face. He leaned against the door frame, shamelessly eyeing you. “Just ask all the women I’ve been with. Not a one that didn’t want more.”

As irritating as Logan was to you in this moment, it was something to do—someone to mess with. You approached him, your eyes gazing into his, until your hands were pressed against his chest. You felt his breath hitch against your palms. You leaned up to whisper into his ear, “You keep telling yourself that, Wolvie.”

Logan let out a bit of a grumble at your words, his hands gripping the doorframe to control himself. “You think I’m lying?”

You allowed your finger to dance across his chest, noticing the prominent definition of it, “I just think you overestimate your own…abilities…”

“Sweetheart, I think I can prove damn well that I don't have to overestimate anything…" His voice was low. His eyes wandered to your heaving chest, knowing he had an effect on you, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

Your eyes narrowed, “What are you? The mansion’s welcome wagon concubine?”

“It’s a new…package offered with the welcome wagon.”

You slyly smiled. With your hands on his chest, you pushed him with enough force to push him into the hallway, despite his grip on the frame. “Good night, Logan.” 

You closed the door in Logan’s face before he could make another snide remark. Finally letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you could hear the hearty yet low laugh from Logan on the other side of the door. 

You hated how fluttered Logan made, how he made your heart race. He was shameless with his flirtations. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of giving in, no matter how tempting it was. He needed to be knocked down a peg. Still, it was hard to ignore the heat between your legs.

Logan was still outside in the hallway, standing right outside your door and still chuckling to himself. He could feel the heat that formed when he was pressed so close to you; he hadn’t felt like that in a long time. He smirked and shook his head. He was going to have some damn fun with you…

note: I'd love to do a part 2! tell me your thoughts♡

𓆩♡𓆪 Next part

[naviavu]

Evergreen

PAIRINGS: yandere!alhaitham x reader

TAGS: mild compared to my other works <3, i guess, >:-), obsession, possessive sex, juicy smut, alhaitham is yandere YANDERE, he just wants reader back home :(, sumeru dream team, abuse of power, childhood friends to lovers, kinda, manipulation

WORDS: 4.4k // crossposted on ao3 // my masterlist

NOTES: hope everyone enjoys this dark twist of alhaitham! it's been so long since i wrote for genshin, and i'm not sure how much the tumblr community has changed. regardless, please don't hesitate to drop by my inbox to comment or request! i genuinely missed writing lol <3

You often think that you’re cursed with your work.

(Y/N) of the Akademiya. Graduated early from Vahumana, traveling all over the seven nations to be a teacher and provide impoverished kids with free education. This is the fourth year of your career, and you’re staying in Fontaine– everything is going great.  

Until one day, a messenger approached you.

“What do you mean the stakeholders are withholding funds indefinitely?” A chalk breaks under your grip, powder falling to your skirt. You glance quickly outside the tent, careful to not let your students hear you. “That doesn’t make any sense– the Yorun investors are literally from Sumeru! They’re wealthy enough to fund fancier Akademiya projects! ”

The messenger– Jesse, a gentle Fontainian girl much younger than you– avoids eye contact and fiddles with her sling bag. “They insisted that the abrupt change in the sages and Lesser Lord Kusanali’s rise to power caused their resources to become… limited.”

“Oh, that’s bullshit!” You shout. Jesse trembles. You sigh and pat her head. “Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Get home safe, alright?”

(She only nods and places the letter on your desk. Before leaving, she turns back and says, “I’m really sorry, Ma’am (Y/N). I also wish that you continue your work. You’ve done a great deal educating kids in this neighborhood… including my brother.”

You give her a sad smile.)

There was no choice. The next day, you taught one last lesson to your students (eleven children from the back alleys of Fontaine, all no older than twelve) and bid your final goodbyes. When they ask where you’re going, you tell them that you’re on for another long journey, and you don’t know when you’ll be back. They gather around and embrace you, small hands all over your body. One of the kids (Jules, one brilliant in maths but not so much in literature. You’ll miss his toothy smile the most) tell you that they will pray to Focalors for your safety. You pat Oli’s head one last time, telling him to be good for his sister Jesse. 

A carriage picks you up before sunrise. Your journey to Sumeru was uneventful, and every small bump and thud on the way aggravated you further. You settle for burning holes at the empty seat in front of you.

You enter the city with your head down, walking the familiar steps robotically. You think that you recognize the voices of your old acquaintances and neighbors chattering and laughing, but the haze from your mind (and heart) prevents you from doing the bare minimum of greeting them.

The first step to your wooden porch is a bittersweet homecoming. When you open your front door, the hinges still squeak the same tones before you left. 

Your evergreen shrubs haven't grown an inch, as if someone was maintaining them. (You brush off this strange detail.)

Mindlessly staring inside your unkempt house, you decide that if you want to continue your life’s work, you must continue earning money. 

(You failed to notice that your doorknob was dust-free.)

You sat down on your old desk and wrote a lengthy letter to the higher-ups for the cause of your arrival, the reason for the halt of your travels, and that you’re looking for a job. 

For the rest of the day, you unpack your bags, sweep the floor, and pace restlessly in your living room. It’s been many years since you were in contact with your superiors. The last time you saw them was at your graduation, where everyone expected you to stay in Sumeru and be one of the next candidates for the Sage of Vahumana. 

The grip in your broom tightens when you remember as clear as day your professors’ anger and judgment when you declined their offer. Entitled. Ungrateful.

Will they even accept you back? Will they cast you out?

To your surprise, a reply arrived on your doorstep not even a day later. A clean envelope embroidered with green and silver patterns.

You were offered to fill the vacant position of Scribe. 

You tell yourself that you’ll adjust eventually. 

Seeing the piles of papers and books in front of you, your hand aches a phantom throb. You wonder how your friend Lisa could survive this kind of monotony in Mondstadt. It pays better, sure, and your back and legs won’t hurt as much from traversing landscapes– but it’s still nothing compared to seeing the smile on children’s faces when they finally understand the concepts after a bone-deep, exhausting lesson.

As expected, the stick-thin pen felt too soft on your fingers after a few hours. You were more used to holding chalks or markers. Drafting ordinances and reading through academic policies was never your thing. 

Outside your study, you hear the light footsteps of scholars while noisily prattling about one of their newest inventions. You can’t help but compare the plain white-green palette of your office to the brightness and energetic vibrance of the local districts. 

Putting your hands on your head, you exhale deeply. “Fuck me!” 

“--(Y/N). I hope you’re doing well on your first day.” A voice –not too different from years ago, just deeper– enters the room.

Oh god. “Alhaitham!” The silver-haired man closes the door behind him. You didn’t even hear his footsteps outside your office. “Sorry, my… hand cramped from signing all these papers. You know how it is.” 

He raises his eyebrow. “Still not used to your tasks?” Seeing him out of his Haravatat uniform is a new sight. Even from a distance, his stature is much taller, no doubt towering over you.  

“Well, I can’t really complain,” His lack of greeting and deadpan expression doesn’t bother you. If anything, you’re glad that the Alhaitham you knew four years ago is not too different from Alhaitham now. “It’s better than not having a job. I didn’t expect them to accept me so fast, though. I thought they’d be more hung up with my rejection thing years ago. Old people and their grudges, y’know?”

Alhaitham doesn’t respond, used to your chattering. He meanders to the nearby bookshelf and brushes through. Your lips quirk into a small grin. “Thank the Archons that I have my very cute junior, who’s also the Acting Grand Sage and the previous Scribe, to help me adjust with my new work, huh?”

His fingers stop skimming. He glares over his shoulder. “Power tripping me on your first day? I’m calling human resources.”

Your shoulders shake when you laugh. His own kind of humor never ceases to amuse you. “Sorry. It’ll take some time… but I’ll get used to this. I promise.” 

A familiar and comfortable silence settles in the room. A few papers later, he finally picks the book he’s been looking for and turns to you. “Please do everyone a favor by going to Lambad’s Tavern tonight. Kaveh got into an altercation with another customer, and your presence would help tone down his temper. Tighnari and Cyno are also expecting you. Candace also mentioned that she hasn't gotten back to you since you last wrote to her, and she would love to catch up personally.”

Your lips smile at the mention of your old friends. Stretching your arms, you look out the window. The noise outside from Sumeru City barely hangs in the air with your office located so high up in the building. “News goes around real fast, doesn’t it? I’ve been keeping a low profile since last week and didn’t even tell anyone about my arrival. Not Kaveh. Not Cyno, not Tighnari, not Candace.” Your whisper, eyes downcast.

Alhaitham walks to the other side of your desk and crosses his arms. “The lack of funds for your organization wasn’t your fault, (Y/N). Whether it's because of the shift in power from the sages or not, incidents out of your control inevitably happen.”

You don’t ask why he knows the reason why you’re back here. Alhaitham always knew more than what he let on. “Don’t waste time being disappointed with yourself and focus on what you have now.”

You turn away, flustered from the sincere gaze of his bright virescent eyes. You take a sip of your warm coffee to hide your smile. “Thanks, Haitham. This is why you’re the best Acting Grand Sage.”

He rolls his eyes. The brewing tension disappears. “Make sure that I see you in the tavern no later than 10.”

The door softly closes when he leaves. For the first time in forever, this place starts to feel like home.

The lively, alcohol-drenched atmosphere in Lambad’s Tavern never changed. 

Years ago, you’d go day drinking whenever your assignments were returned for their fifth revision. If your whole class was lucky, most of your group mates and colleagues will be with you, equally drowning in their academic-induced sorrows.

The amber-brown colors of the sheets and the patrons who entered remained the same. Before you even reach the counter, someone already picks you up and spins you around in a hug. “Little one! I’ve heard from some patrons that you were back in town. It’s one of those rumors that I hoped to be true!” 

You giggle and embrace Lambad back, grateful for the older man’s warm welcome. 

“(Y/N)!” You’d recognize the forest ranger’s sweet voice anywhere. Tighnari jogs towards you and pulls you into a hug, tail wagging. You notice that he looks better compared to all those years ago when he was still in the Akademiya. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see you sooner. When Cyno told me there seemed to be an occupant in your house, I didn’t expect it to be you! ” 

Bitterness pangs in your heart. “I didn’t expect to be back either,” You say honestly. “Guess everyone needs a little break somehow.”

“Warn us next time, would you?” Cyno emerges behind his friend. “Be thankful that there was other urgent business to take care of. I was ready to… interrogate whoever was staying inside my friend’s house without their permission.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it, boss,” You shake your head and laugh. Three of you walk to a table near the windows. You’re happy to see everyone. And you’re glad to know that they’re also just as happy to see you. 

After a good hour of catching up, you feel your whole body relax and your jaw tense from laughing too hard at Tighnari’s anecdotes. Your emotions unwind like a fresh flower by the streams. 

“That blockhead doesn’t know what he’s talking about...  Where are they? The tavern is too crowded at this hour!” You turn to your left, looking for him. You wave excitedly when you see a tuft of blonde hair. 

His eyes widened. “(Y/N)?”

“Kaveh.”

“(Y/N)!”

“Kaveh!” The architect ran up and enveloped you in a hug. Since college, yours and Kaveh’s stupidity knew no bounds– it was always laughs and jokes between you. You stay in each other’s arms for a few moments, and the familiarity of his scent brings you relaxation. 

The night goes on as great as it started. 

“I can’t wait until I move out!” Kaveh exclaims. Two people from the other table look in his direction. Your other friends groan, used to his antics. 

You notice redness starting to come up on the blonde’s neck. “You’re being really loud for someone I thought didn’t want people knowing you live with him.” 

Cyno places down a card. Tighnari groans. “Don’t engage him. (Y/N). Or he won’t stop.”

“Yes! Yes,” Kaveh starts. All the other customers are busy with their own shouting and chattering. “Don’t get me wrong, I like the place. Alhaitham is a quiet roommate. I just can’t stand his attitude most of the time! If I wanted a lecture, I would’ve gone to the Akademiya and talked to my old professors.”

The blonde crosses his arms. “What about you, (Y/N)? I’m not going to lie, Alhaitham made a great recommendation of you being the Scribe. That’s the only thing I could commend him for this week, at least.” 

“What?” You weren’t aware of that. Your thumbs fiddle with your skirt. “Uh, yeah. I’ll make sure to thank him later.”

“Oh, sweet (Y/N), you’re to kiiiiiind,” He slurs. “I wish you were my roommate instead.”

Your best friend reaches to twirl your hair. In your drunken stupor, you giggle with a light blush painting your cheeks. 

A bottle clangs on the table. “Another one, please.”

A heavy presence sits beside you. You look, and Alhaitham was already downing a shot, throat bobbing. 

In the background, your friends laugh while Kaveh groans. 

Has Haitham always been this beautiful?

The silver-haired man looks at you. “Enjoying Kaveh’s tales?” 

“It’s always a fun story when you’re involved.” You giggle, flushing under his gaze. “Everything about you is so entertaining, Haitham.”

Your flushed face does something to his chest. He gives you another shot. “That’s why your colleagues used to look at you weird. Whenever Kaveh wasn’t around, you’d hang out with me, even when I clearly wanted to be alone,” He laments. 

“Says the one who used to follow me around like a puppy! We were mismatched weirdos,” You don’t notice the blush creep up on his cheeks. You smile at him earnestly, whispering. “I’m glad you didn’t change– oops!”

The chair creaks and you stumble into his arms. You look up, seeing his face and amber eyes close to yours. Heat emanates from the grip on your waist, and your hands feel hot on his chest. Sparks flew to your core. 

“Get a room! You know what, I’m staying in Cyno’s tonight. He never sleeps anyway,” Kaveh’s shouts break the stupor and you push Alhaitham away. He stumbled, and Cyno was on his side in an instant. “You heard him. Kaveh, it’s time for you to clock out. Tighnari, let’s continue this game next time.” 

The three of them exit the tavern. ‘Make Alhaitham pay the tab! He’s so unfair!’ Kaveh says, and Alhaitham begrudgingly does so when both of you have sobered enough to walk home. 

You don’t know if it’s the leftover alcohol in your system, but the night sky swirls above both of you. “Ah… I never knew… howmuchImissedbeinghere,” 

“Easy there,” He catches you again when you stumble. “Where are we going, Haitham?”

“To your place, of course. You’re exhausted from work. You need to rest.”

“What? But I thought…” Your mind goes blank. Alhaitham looks at you with hope in his eyes, but the light is gone in a split second. 

“You thought what?” When you don’t answer, he stops on his tracks. “You thought what, (Y/N)? Tell me.” 

“Nothing.” He looks away. You face him. “But… I think… my place is too far. Can we go to yours instead?” 

You seal your fate with those words.  

The heat from both of your bodies encapsulated the whole room. 

Alhaitham’s hands slowly grip your curves. Passion and lust melted into two souls that yearned for each other for so long. 

“Haitham…” You breathe out, shivering from his fingers ghosting on your skin. You feel like you’re on fire, and his warmth only served to fan your flames higher. 

“I wanted you for so long… you’re so beautiful…” He gasps, fumbling around your blouse buttons. Despite his rough kisses, he handles you gently– like porcelain glass, a gift getting unwrapped for the first time.  

When you finally undressed, Alhaitham almost couldn’t believe his eyes. 

The one woman he had been obsessed with, laid out before him. His for the taking. 

You shiver at his gaze. You hold out your hand, shaking from the cold. And arousal. “C-Come… Haitham… you can do whatever you want with me…”

And so he does. He climbs to your bed like a predator hunting the prey. You lie in wait as you let him take the lead. Kissing all over your breasts, suckling on your nipples, sending shivers to your core. You try to squeeze your legs for relief, but Haitham stops you by putting his knees in between your legs. 

He clicks his tongue. “You’ll only cum on my mouth, fingers, or cock tonight, baby.” 

You shudder at his words. Down he goes, settling himself between your soft thighs. You flush, your cunt surely eager and wet, aching for his touch. He licks a stripe in your pussy, and you moan. “H-haitham!”

He licks more eagerly, like a man starved. Never in a million years you’d ever thought that you would be this vulnerable and intimate. At the hands of your junior, no less. His face on your thighs and his mouth on your clit, sucking like you were his last meal. 

Your head was in the clouds. Your hands move to his head, tugging roughly. 

He growls. “You wanna play rough? I can play rough.”

You sigh. “Keep–going– Haitham…”

He spits on your cunt. He slurps on your mixed juices. “I-I’m close…” 

He stops and you whine. Your legs are pulled to the end of the couch, and you watch him as he fumbles with his clothes. When he finally emerges stark naked in front of you, you notice his large cock, angrily red at the tip. 

That won’t fit inside you. 

“Wait– Haitham!” He positions himself in front of your legs, rubbing his cock on your entrance. “Yes, baby?” 

“You– You might not fit inside me,” You flush deeper when he laughs. “I’m being serious!”

“We’ll never know if we don’t find out.” He enters you, and you moan. You try to cover your mouth from letting such embarrassing sounds come out, but he pins your arms above you. “I want to hear you.” 

He rocks into you, like two bodies connecting with each other have waited for a long time. 

Alhaitham observes your face, sketches it to his memory. The way your eyes glisten, and your mouth opens in pleasure. The curve of your hips and waist, the slope of your nose, the plush of your lips, and the tears in your eyes. You’ve grown into a fine young woman as he expected, and it was a blessing that you came home so unexpectedly. 

Your pussy is heavenly. All his teenage fantasies culminated to this one night– his childhood crush, sprawled out in his bed and legs open like a slut. He’ll make sure that your skin is marked all over. Let everyone know that you’re his, and no one else’s. 

“Haa… Feels so good…” You were equally drenched in sweat and your tears, pleasure overcoming your senses. You feel him suck your nipples again, sending you more pleasure to your core. 

“You’re so fucking tight– that’s it, baby, suck me in,” He groans, as you feel yourself tumbling over the edge. The coil in your stomach tightens and you moan, and it suddenly snaps– “Ah!” 

Your juices make a mess on his stomach, his thighs, and yours. You heave and gasp your breath, shivering. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m here, you’re safe,” Warm arms envelop you, and you close your eyes.

You sleep soundly in Alhaitham’s arms. 

Time goes on, and your passionate meetings with Alhaitham are repeated. 

You gave yourself to him again, and again, and again. At his house, when Kaveh is away with his clients. In his study, when he’s stressed. On his couch, when both of you are drunk and give in to lust before going to the bedroom. For the past month, you can’t count how many times you woke up seeing the lush green of his windows and his warm body curled up around yours. 

His visits became frequent on your own study. He brings you coffee. You spend the whole day drafting and writing, and he reads his book in the corner of your room like a loyal attendant. 

It’s domestic. Sometimes, you often wonder what life will be if you decide to stay. 

(Is there a future with Alhaitham? You ask yourself one afternoon when you see the man sleeping on your mini desk. His silver hair softly flutters in the wind, and on his hand is a document you handed him to put by one of the bookshelves.

It would be good if he could join me in traveling the world. You stamp your last document for the day. 

You walk and place a kiss on his forehead to wake him up. “Work’s done, sweetie.” 

You would miss him terribly.)

One morning, your jolly footsteps alert people in the street. “Haitham!”  You whisper excitedly. The door opens, and you enter before he can even offer for you to come inside. “I got it!” 

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what it is, but I’m proud of you.”

“I’m going back to Fontaine to teach! The stakeholders said there was an error in the calculations; they’re ready to fund my investment again!” You hug him tight. Joy pours out of your body. 

(You don’t notice him freeze.)

“I’m so happy… I honestly thought that this was the end of my life’s purpose…” You trail off. Alhaitham hugs you back. His grip tightens on your waist.

“I can finally come back to the kids in Fontaine…” You trail off when you see him looking far into the distance. 

You frown. You know better than most people that he’s not the most expressive person, but you thought that he would at least crack a smile for you. 

You hastily pull away from your hug. “I’m sorry for bothering you. I just wanted you to know first, since you’re… very special to me,” Your face was red from shame, and from not knowing how to describe your relationship with Alhaitham correctly. “I’ll go tell Tighnari and the others now.”

A beat passes. “(Y/N).” 

You turn around, hand clutching your bag. Alhaitham stands still on the doorway in the same position that you left him. 

Then, he smiles– crooked and ominous, like he was forcing himself.

Perhaps he is. 

A shiver goes down your spine. He speaks, confident and clear– like it wasn’t the most obvious lie. “I’m happy for you.” 

The door closes behind him. This time, your feet fight the urge to get out of this city as soon as possible.

 Your happiness ended as quickly as it came.

The newspaper plastered on the board of Port Ormos sits still despite the rough winds, like it knows how heavy the burden of the message it carries.

Yorun Investors dead on ambush

An Adventurer’s Guild member sighs, discouraged. A businessman– from Sneznhaya, you would assume from his attire– exclaims. “That would mean their investments are also cut off? Drat! Half of my businesses rely on their funding!”

People pile up to see the newsboard, collectively murmuring. You stand still, motionless. Bricks are piled on your hands and your feet. 

You can always find other investors, of course. Just like you did four years ago. 

How long would that take?

You walk home, absentminded. You pass by the Tavern, then the Akademiya. Walking by Alhaitham’s house doesn't even spark excitement inside you. Calling your other friends isn’t a choice, either.

You just want to wake up from this dream. 

When you arrived, Someone was waiting on your doorstep.

“Alhaitham?” Thesman stands up straight. How long was he waiting? “(Y/N), I apologize for how I acted yesterday. I hope you forgive me.” 

When you remain quiet, he continues. “I also heard about what happened. I don’t mean to mock you, (Y/N). I’m truly sorry to hear about it.” 

Tears start falling down your face, which turn into full, ugly sobs. He walks gently, as if you’ll break into pieces if he makes the wrong move. He holds up his arms. 

You bury your face in his chest and cry.

Living with Alhaitham was happier than you’d thought it would be. 

It’s been months since you took his embrace on your front porch. You spent sleepless nights with him, writing letters for every investor or kind soul who’s kind enough to fund your endeavors, even for a penny. 

You were desperate. If the higher ups knew the struggle you’re going through right now, you’re sure that they’re laughing at you. 

(Not that you cared. Alhaitham stayed up writing letters with you, and that’s all the support that you need.)

You waited, waited, and waited. Yet every reply was rejection. Your partner saw you break down, and he’s always there to pick you back up. 

His clothes are strewn all over your house, as if he lives there now. 

“Coffee?” He offers. You nod. A giggle comes out of your mouth when you see a purple hickey on his neck, barely covered by his shirt.

It’s been months since he heard your laugh. He stops stirring the cup he’s prepared for you. Alhaitham looks back, says sincerely, “I’m glad you stayed.” 

An uncomfortable feeling brews once again. You tell yourself that you’ll get used to it. 

You still have hope that one day, your feet will step out again to reach your dreams.

But for now, everything that you need in Sumeru City. The perfect partner, an authentic group of friends, a beautiful community, and a stable (but boring) job.

You’ll never have to venture out again. 

(The evergreen shrubs outside your house starts to grow.)

“She’s settling in well?” 

“Yes, she’s resting,” Alhaitham sits on the makeshift chair. Ghandarva Ville was far, but it’s where less people are around. Besides, no one would dare trespass in Tighnari’s personal home. 

“You owe me a favor,” Cyno crosses his arms. “Finding the investor’s carriage was not difficult. They’re pretty famous. But erasing traces is a piece of work. I’m lucky that no one was within the area. Not that they could catch me, anyway.”

The door opens. Tighnari brushes off dirt from his clothing, having come back from burning the investor’s bloodied clothes. He sees the grey-haired man relaxing by his couch. “Are you smiling? Don’t smile. You look weird. Also everything is done, reduced to ashes. What’s our payment, Acting Grand Sage?”

Alhaitham hums, and everything fades into the background. He thinks of you lounging in your home, watering your plants, and decorating your journal. Just like how it’s supposed to be, in the first place. He even cleaned some parts of your house so that you don’t exhaust yourself too much upon your first day.

Thank the Archons that he has the perfect partner, an authentic group of friends, a beautiful community, and a stable job. 

(Y/N) will never have to venture out again. 

Ever. 

[honeyhotteoks]

i NEED your thoughts on priest!yunho like.... please, all my mind does is wonder about yunho using his power to bring a girl under his powerful spell... I NEED HIM BIBLICALLY

idk if you remember me but ✨anon is back !!!

oh my gosh hi ✨ anon!! i def remember you, i hope you've been well!

okay so priest!yunho is actually so dear to me i cannot even articulate it i have like sixteen different ideas and i honestly think at some point it will develop into a full fic however.............. further thoughts under the cut

priest!yunho x married!reader drabble; 1.7K words warnings: lots of angst, pining, and blasphemy, questionable use of a confessional, oral (f receiving)

note: okay so here's the thing about priest!yunho, and yunho in general, while i think he deeply has the capacity for very real dom/sub dynamics etc., when it comes to the idea of him being catholic or him being a priest in the fic, i think of him less bringing a girl under his spell and more being brought under a spell and tempted away by reader. certainly that's not an original idea, that's very fleabag-esque and i've mentioned that headcanon before, but i do think that would be very true to him. so given that...................

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──────────────── ♡ ─────────────── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Yunho is new to the parish, and he's still somewhat new to this. A young priest in his early thirties moving to a new place to fill the role of someone who was once a big fixture in the community there. He's admittedly a bit nervous, and he's trying his hardest to get this right. He's had a long and complicated past coming to the vocation, and he feels like he's finally found his path, so he wants to do things the right way.

But despite all of that...... there's you. And you're married of course, you come to church with your husband, but you smile up at him during services and ask after him in quiet moments whenever you volunteer, and there's just something about the way you move in the world that makes him want to follow. But he doesn't, because you're married and for all intents and purposes so is he.

That is until things start to change. You start to miss Sunday services more often and when you are there you seem withdrawn. Your husband no longer sits snugly beside you with an arm around you shoulders, instead you sit side by side with six inches between you. Space that seems to be growing week after week, and Yunho can't help but notice. He can't help but wonder what it is that's troubling you so and driving a wedge deeply into your marriage, and it's not his place and he shouldn't ask..... but he does.

As you leave service one day, he slips a note into your palm, pressing your hand tightly closed so no one can see it and with a pleading expression he bids you not to open it until you're alone. He doesn't know what's happening at home, he can't be sure, but he's worried and if you're unsafe the last thing he's going to do is be the cause of more pain in your life.

It's simple though - a phone number scrawled out hastily next to a note. If you ever need a friend, you have one in me.

It takes you weeks to call, but it feels finally like someone's thrown you a lifeline and you grab onto it with both hands.

It starts simply enough, truly innocent when he offers you coffee and a safe place to sit by his side in the chapel. He's an ear at first, just listening and nothing more. You confess to him how hard things have been at home, how your relationship has grown strained, more like two passive strangers than a committed husband and wife. You admit you've thought about divorce, and you know deep down your husband has been cheating on you. You've seen enough little signs and found enough evidence, and it used to hurt but now it just feels empty, and you've never said that out loud to another person except to him.

He listens and he holds your hand, and he gives you a safe place every few days to just be. And all the while he tries desperately to convince himself that the growing love he feels for you isn't romantic love at all, it isn't deep and intrinsic and as essential to him as breathing.... it's friendship. And all the while you tell yourself that the feelings you have for this man aren't real, they're a product of kind attention, validation and support you're not getting at home.

Things change when the visits turn from morning coffees to a shared glass of something stronger in the evenings. Things change when he casually admits that of course he feels attraction for people, priests aren't blind, but they've committed themselves to a different kind of life. Things change when he holds you close one night, your chest wracked with tears after a particularly nasty fight with your husband, seeking Yunho's warmth and his calm.

When you finally decide to do the unthinkable, really and truly divorce your husband, the day happens around you like a whirlwind. You serve him the papers, and he replies with the most hurtful thing he ever could - an accusation that you and the parish priest have become a little too friendly. People have seen you around town, around the church, early mornings and late nights, and all the little whispers of gossip have made it so that despite having done nothing but yearn for each other, everyone has all but confirmed an affair.

The words exchanged are cruel, and you find yourself stumbling into the confessional with more anger than you've ever felt in your life. and Yunho doesn't understand why you even want to use the booth at first, you've never expressed any real interest in the more traditional aspects of the church, but you're here and your begging him and all he can do is agree.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned," You manage through hazy tears, "I can't tell you how long it's been since my last confession, I don't know, I don't remember,"

"y/n," Yunho's voice is so soft, so tender, approaching you like someone might approach a wounded animal, "you don't have to do this,"

"Stop it, stop it!" Your fists tighten, nails pressing into your palms, "Don't be nice to me right now, I can't... I don't deserve that,"

"You always deserve kindness," He says through the slats and you hear him shift in his seat.

"Not today," You scrub a hand over your face, clearing away tracks of wet tears.

"Please," He shifts again, and you can picture him clearly, leaning towards you with that gentle expression you love so much, "talk to me, I'm here,"

"I've sinned," You clench your hands tighter, sticking to the script that was drilled into you in childhood.

"y/n," He murmurs.

"Father," You cut his words off, "you're not my friend, you're my priest. Are you going to take my confession or not?"

He's silent, so silent you fear for a moment that he's gone, and then you hear a heavy sigh, "I'm listening."

Your hands relax a little, your eyes going unfocused as you try to find the words. You came here in a blaze of anger but here, next to him, in front of him, hearing his breath through the wall, you don't know how to articulate all the feelings roiling deep in your chest.

Your soon to be ex-husband's words loop in your ears - You're a disgrace. You could have fucked anyone like a normal person, but him?

Words tumble from your lips, "I'm a liar,"

Yunho stays quiet.

"I've been lying to... everyone. To him, to my friends, myself, I've been lying to you," Your breath feels thready.

"About what?" He prompts you, "I'm listening,"

You push past it, heat filling your cheeks again, anger curling in your gut, "I've coveted,"

He hums softly, acknowledging your words.

"I left him," You take a sharp inhale, a tight sob caught in your throat.

"What?" You hear him shift again on the other side of the thin wood wall.

"I got an apartment, I found a lawyer, I figured it all out and I... I gave him the papers," You can feel the way your husband pushed you back into your chair, his tone harsh and cutting, the way he told you he'd take you for everything you were worth not the other way around.

Yunho's silent still.

"I tried to leave," You sob, "I tried to be the adult and end it easily, I tried to do the right thing, he's the one who's been cheating, he's been lying. He's been... he's not a good husband, and I... I just..."

"Shh, shh," He shushes softly through the wall, and you can practically feel the tension from him even with the wall between you as he tries to parse through your words, "breathe,"

"He knows about us," The words keep coming now, and you hear his little intake of breath but there's nothing more as you let it all come, "he knows I come here, everyone knows. Everyone. He said it's obvious, that I'm the one who's been cheating, that I... I broke our vows in the w-worst way, that it's an open secret. Everyone thinks I got b-bored, that I seduced you,"

Your heart is pounding in your ears, "And it's a rumor, it's just a rumor, but the thing is,"

You hear him shift again in the confessional next to you, the only sign he's still here.

"I do want you," You drop your head into your hands, "I've lied to you since the start, I wanted a friend, but I've wanted you too,"

"y/n," He's so quiet you almost miss it.

"And if everyone thinks what they think," You're dizzy, blood rushing in your ears, "then it's true, only I never, we never... I've ruined your life and mine and I've never even gotten to really touch you, and it's wrong, I know it's wrong, but you're all I think about. It's killing me, this is killing me, and I can't,"

The door to the confessional is suddenly open, your words dying on your lips as the equilibrium of the little room changes. He's on you in a second, dropping to his knees before you, gathering you close in his arms and his lips on yours like he's done it a thousand times before. He presses up into your space, your legs parting open as wide as the narrow walls allow to slot his body perfectly between your thighs.

You suck in a harsh breath against his lips, tears still caught in your throat, and Yunho shakes his head, his forehead leaning against yours as he breaks the kiss, "Shh," he eases you, "I've got you,"

A sick, hot thrill rolls through you, "Yunho," his name a whine on your lips.

"I'm here," He whispers it like a promise, like he's yours, not God's.

His hands push at your skirt, rucking it up higher on your hips and maneuvering your body until you're slipping forward on the confessional seat with your hips tilted up.

"My sweet girl," He groans against your lips, fingers tugging your panties roughly to the side so he can slip the pad of his thumb over your swollen clit.

It's unholy, it's debauched, it's everything you dreamt up in your deepest fantasies when you touched yourself in bed, but if your life in this little town is really over you need it to have at least been real. You need him to have been real, even once. Just once.

"God," He chokes against your mouth as his fingers sink inside you, finding your slit slick and body trembling, "oh, God,"

It sounds so different on his lips, and you stifle a moan into his neck when he hits a particularly sensitive place inside you.

"Shh," He hushes you again, pressing one more kiss to your lips before he drops lower between your thighs and hitches your legs up and over his shoulders.

His tongue finds your core and you see colors. He kisses your cunt with a desperate, hungry need and you know with perfect clarity that it wasn't all in your mind. He's wanted too, he's needed you too.

His hands are hot on your hips, your fingers knotted in his hair, and you let him consume you, completely and wholly.

You come hard on his tongue, biting down on your lip enough to draw blood to stay quiet, and you think that nothing in the world would ever feel this good if it wasn't sacred.

It couldn't.

[phantomvegetable]

Trapper x Reader

twice saved, once trusted tw’s: typical dbd violence, strong language NOTE: made some edits :B

Kindness was something that did not exist in Evan’s world. Not anymore, anyway—not as long as the entity existed.

The closest thing to kindness to be found here was the sweet, merciful kiss of death after minutes of excruciating pain. To put one out of one’s misery… that is kindness.

So, when Evan—or “trapper,” as these feeble humans titled him in hushed whispers around the campfire—was shown kindness that resulted in being freed from pain without death to follow, he was at a loss for… well, anything.

You showed up without Evan being able to hear you over the blood rushing in his ears; timid and meek, like a rabbit first stepping out of the brush to check for predators. A bear trap—one of his very own—clamped painfully tight around his foreleg, crunching the bone and tearing ligaments at any tiny movement he made. Even worse, he was pinned beneath debris that fell atop the stun pallet that was thrown on him in a survivor’s attempt to flee. It was heavy enough to make him wheeze, lungs rattling with every slow inhale.

Irony was cruel like that—it didn’t care that he was the Trapper, caught by his own bidding. Evan sneered at the thought.

You must have heard his struggle—that, or you simply walked in on his unsightly hindrance and were curious—because you stepped out from the shadows and approached him, cautious.

“Are… you okay?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. The gentleness and concern make Evan’s ears itch. Did you not know he was the killer? Could you not see who he was?

Unable to see himself, Evan relied on his hearing to pinpoint your location, listening closely to your careful footfalls that edged closer and closer.

Either you didn’t see that he was the killer and the shock of the situation finally dawned on you, if your startled gasp was anything to go by, or you truly were rattled by the grisly sight of the bear trap and couldn’t help but express it outwardly. Evan waited for you to do something—to run away screaming, to laugh and mock him, to finally kill him for the atrocities he’s committed against you and your community of survivors—but the silence merely stretched on, causing his lips to pull into a tight frown. Maybe you had run away, and he just didn’t hear you leaving.

Evan tried shifting the weight on top of him, the muscles in his calf contracting and making the trap tighten its vengeful grip on him. He groaned, low and in pain. His leg was starting to go numb.

Suddenly, Evan feels hands working to free him, starting with the trap first. It gives one last painful squeeze before loosening, the jaws falling open and releasing his leg from its teeth. The blood that rushes out feels both warm and cold against his skin. The contrast makes him grimace.

Next, the debris pile is being lifted, and finally Evan can see your face. He recognizes you at once—a killer never forgets his victims. Your brows are pulled taught in effort to push the wood and rubble off of him, teeth gritted as you struggle. Sweat causes the hair around your face to stick to your temples, dirt coating your forehead and chin. To anyone else, you might look grimy. To Evan, you were a sheen of light splintering cracks in his darkness.

The pallet and the items it collected topple over, granting Evan air to breathe deeply. His body creaks as he sits up, grunting. He reaches for the bear trap still hanging around his ankle, raising his foot to toss the gear haphazardly to the side. Despite the constant throbbing his leg is giving him, Evan clambers to his feet with low groaning, rolling his wide shoulders. He towers above you, enveloping your trembling frame in his monstrous shadow. You make no moves to get away; instead, you seem to be rooted in place, watching him with wide eyes.

Before you’re able to say, or do, anything further, Evan simply staggers forward on his bad leg and limps away, leaving you to watch his retreating frame in wild confusion that he let you go.

He wasn’t quite sure why, either.

———

The next time it happens, Evan could not be more frustrated or in disbelief at the sheer embarrassment of being caught stuck in a window. The barbs and spikes that protrude from his skin hold him hostage against pinewood, having one leg strung over the sill while the other kept him upright from the outside. His left shoulder remains pinned against the wall, his right arm hanging out the other side lamely. The survivor—Ace, he recalls—stops a few feet ahead of him and turns once he realizes he’s not being followed, barking out an incredulous laugh at the sight.

“Ha! What, can’t get out, big buy?” He sneers. “Should fuckin’ teach ya.” Ace spits on the ground in a show of defiance, but at Evan’s animalistic growl and effort to swing at him, Ace yelps and jumps back, wasting no time to scramble away in a cloud of dust. Evan snorts, unimpressed.

For the next few minutes, he tries to push, to pull—only earning protesting groans from the wall that refused to let him go. He’s ready to start clubbing the building when he hears an all-too-familiar gasp come from behind him, causing his hackles to raise.

“Oh, dear…” You sigh, matching Evan’s bewilderment at the deja vu. You don’t say anything else and tip toe to where Evan is able to catch sight of you in his peripheral vision, revealing the same sweaty face that so sweetly stared up at him with doe-like eyes. You’re sporting a new hat today, one that compliments your features. He would like to admire it more, but he’s growing more agitated by the minute.

As you take in his situation, you chew your bottom lip apprehensively, eyes sweeping him up and down. “Okay… I’m going to touch you, okay?” You warn him, hands hovering just above his bicep, but not making contact. Evan waits, until he realizes that you’re waiting for his consent, piquing his curiosity further. Were you really not that scared of him? Or just stupid?

He mutters before giving an approving grunt, which you take as a sign to go ahead and start pushing. The feeling of your fingertips against his skin is alien—they’re not calloused or rough at all. Not entirely soft, yet not scarred like his. You’re also incredibly warmer than he is, something that Evan finds himself not disliking.

“You—ngh—going to help?” You huff, jostling Evan back into reality. He resumes his attempts, teeth grinding as he strains to pull himself free. There’s a crack, then another one, and at a particularly hard shove from your end the wood finally splinters and breaks. You give one final heave, hands now against Evan’s back, sending the him through the window. Pieces of wood fall to the ground like rain around him, an unshapely hole now cratered on the side of the cabin. Evan couldn’t care less, though.

He staggers to his feet, craning his head to look up at your face, which looks immensely pleased. Evan tries to find his voice to thank you when he realizes that he hasn’t used it in ages, creating a sense of insecurity within him. It’s bound to be an unpleasant sound. He also realizes he’s supposed to be killing you, not thanking you. What Evan failed to remember, the Entity would surely remind him of.

But as he stares up at you—you, whose expression had dropped at Evan’s intense silence; you, who had helped him for the second time in a row without hesitation—he feels angry. A familiar emotion, and an even more familiar recipient.

The Entity. The cause of his suffering. The dark ruler of this forsaken place.

Evan’s grip on his weapon tightens.

“Thank… you,” He manages to garble out, correct about his assumption that his voice would be rough on the ears. It makes his innards recoil.

But you don’t grimace, don’t draw back at the sound of it. Instead, your jaw hangs open in shock, and you almost seem to lean in.

“You… talk,” You spectate. Moonlight filters through the bare tree branches above, casting shadows that dance in the gap separating you and he. Something about it is mystifying.

“…Yes,” He grumbles hoarsely, shifting his weight uncomfortably underneath your awe-filled gaze.

“Do you have a name?” You prod figuratively. Evan’s nose wrinkles beneath his mask.

“Not.. important,” He gruffly rasps, “you.. have a name?” You tell him, and Evan breathes it in like oxygen. Your name is much sweeter than iron and tears.

At the sound of a generator imploding, your and Evan’s head turns, and you’re both reminded of your roles to play in this fiendish game.

“Please,” You plead, earning his sights back on you. “Please, will you let us escape just this once? No killing, no attacking.”

It wouldn’t be the first time that Evan has defied the Entity—the marks on his back were enough to prove that. But, something in the way you look at him has Evan itching to bend the rules again. Break them, even.

So, he nods.

You look like you’re about to cry—something Evan doesn’t particularly want to witness—so he turns to leave. “I knew it,” You whispered, loud enough for his ears only. “I knew there was a reason I was supposed to help you.”

He pauses, then, “…Evan.”

“Huh?”

He faces you, eyes gleaming from behind his mask. “My name.. Evan.”

You crack a smile. If he had it in him, Evan was sure he might return it.

[heavenboundhotel]

✨"NANCY"✨

Disclaimer: This character in particular covers a lot of heavy subject matter including eating disorders, severe mental illness, abuse, suicide, misogyny, and systemic racism. While other characters do and will have similar themes she's the one I'm most concerned about - everything about this rewrite is done in good faith and with understanding of some of the connotations of things Viv ignores in her writing, but if anyone finds this portrayal offensive genuinely please let me know and I will take it into account going forward.

Name: Aikawa Nami

Species/Origin: Sinner, Bug Demon

Gender/Pronouns: Female, She/Her

Sexuality: Unsure/Questioning

Year of Birth: 1933

Year of Death: 1957

Appearance:

Personality:

Nami is, at first glance, cheerful and friendly. She tends to try to tone herself down but does sometimes have difficulty controlling her energy and emotions - easily excited and easily overstimulated. She can be scatterbrained but does her best to appear put-together, a chronic people-pleaser with a fear of being seen as "too much". She has a deep discomfort and fear of uncleanliness, contamination OCD leading to extreme sanitation and avoidance behaviors and overwhelming anxiety. She soothes herself through things like collecting dolls, drawing, and singing to herself - compensating for a childhood she never got to experience. Because of ideals she was raised with, she holds a lot of internalized misogyny and a fixation on men due to the pressure to find a husband and be a proper housewife - easily opening herself up to mistreatment due to what she views as her "place" or role as a woman.

Backstory:

Nami Aikawa was born in 1933 in Los Angeles, California, to Japanese-American immigrants. From an early age, her boundless energy and vivid imagination set her apart, often frustrating her parents and teachers. Unbeknownst to her, these were early signs of ADHD—a condition poorly understood and heavily stigmatized in her community. Her struggles with focus and impulsivity frequently led to punishment at school and at home, reinforcing a growing belief that something was inherently wrong with her.

As World War II escalated, prejudice against Japanese-Americans intensified. At the age of nine, Nami and her family were forcibly relocated to a Japanese internment camp. The conditions were harsh: overcrowding, poor sanitation, and a constant atmosphere of fear and persecution. It was during this time that Nami developed severe contamination OCD, fixating on cleanliness as a way to assert control in an environment that felt overwhelmingly dirty and unsafe. Even after the war ended and her family was released, these compulsions lingered, shaping much of her daily life.

In the years that followed, Nami faced relentless societal pressure to conform to rigid gender roles, further compounded by her experience as a woman of color. To better assimilate into white American society, she began going by “Nancy,” distancing herself from her Japanese heritage in a desperate bid for acceptance. Embracing the ideals of 1950s domesticity, she became obsessed with the notion of being the perfect housewife, despite not yet being married. Nami meticulously maintained her appearance, convinced that beauty, thinness, and subservience were the only ways she could compensate for her perceived shortcomings. Her contamination OCD fueled a growing struggle with anorexia, as she began associating food with uncleanliness.

By her early twenties, Nami was deeply lonely and desperate for validation. She gravitated toward abusive men, mistaking their cruelty for love and believing it was her duty as a woman to endure it. One such relationship ultimately led to her demise. When her boyfriend fell ill, her contamination OCD spiraled out of control. Terrified of contracting his sickness, she began poisoning his food with cleaning products, convinced it would "cleanse" him. Overwhelmed by guilt and consumed by fear that she had also been infected, Nami ingested the same cleaning products in a desperate attempt to "purify" herself.

Nami’s arrival in Hell was marked by confusion and despair. Aimlessly wandering through Hell, she desperately tried to maintain her compulsive habits of order and cleanliness in a world that thrived on chaos.

It was during one of Alistair’s rare strolls outside his domain that he discovered her. Recognizing an opportunity, Alistair offered her a soul contract—promising her a semblance of purpose and security in exchange for managing parts of his operations.

Eager for stability and prone to interpreting male attention as romantic interest, Nami immediately misconstrued Alistair’s offer as an act of love. She agreed to the contract under the firm belief that he was infatuated with her, despite his repeated and dry assurances to the contrary. To this day, she playfully “rejects” his supposed advances, much to his bemusement, while remaining fiercely loyal to him. She often refers to him as her “dashing benefactor,” which he is somewhat charmed by. He holds affection towards her of his own, though purely platonic and somewhat condescending.

[silurisanguine]

13. "I would believe that you're fine, but you have a goddamn knife sticking out of your leg, so." Lucanis/rook? maybe a Spite reaction to for fun XD for the dialogue prompts for ~injury~

thanks for the prompt!!! (changed the wording a little to fit)

Set after end game. Teleri, Lucanis and Neve assist the Viper in tracking down a dangerous relic. ----

Yet another Venatori ambush in the ruins of Midtown had waylaid the trio as they tried to track down the dangerous relic that the Viper had told them about. According to him, the assholes were going to use it to enact what he called a scorched earth policy - taking out as many people as they could in a bid to flee the city and the combined allies wrath.

Even though the vast bulk of them in the city had been killed in the final battle, there were enough of them to still cause serious problems that Minrathous didn't need in it's recovery. So Teleri had promised to do what ever she could to help, with Lucanis offering his personal speciality to assist her as well as be by her side. Neve wanted vengeance so there was no stopping her coming along either, even though she had only just recovered from the Blight infection that had miraculously gone from her system after Elgar'nan's death.

Taking out the ambush hadn't been that hard, though fighting in the tight alleys between the old Slaver's market had been tricky, with all of them having to defend as much as attack. Eventually though only bloody Venatori bodies remained and the three of them continued to follow the evidence of the relic to the next source, climbing up a haphazardly placed ladder to reach a higher level, since the steps leading up had been destroyed by a now removed Blight growth.

Neve went up first, her hands glistening with ice magic, ready to freeze any possible ambusher on the rooftops, but it was clear and she crested over the top, looking back as Teleri followed her with Lucanis bringing up the rear.

It was only when he finally pulled himself onto the upper level that both women saw the freshly blooming bloodstain on his leg and the ever so slight wince from him as he lifted his leg over the edge and stood up.

Teleri sighed hard, rolling her eyes and gesturing silently for Lucanis to go over to a pile of bundled together planks - directing him to sit on them with a jabbed finger, and Neve watched curiously at their silent communication that she noted must be some sort of Crow sign language as Lucanis immediately opened up his emergency kit on his belt and pulled out a tool she didn't recognise.

That's when she saw the shining piece of metal sticking out of his thigh, centred right in the middle of the blooming bloodstain.

"I'm fine mi cielo, I can manage." Lucanis rolled his eyes with affection as Teleri held out her hand with a stern look but gave her the instrument without further question. She quickly took it and knelt by his thigh examining the metal.

"I would believe that you're fine, if you didn't have a damn Venatori knife blade sticking out of your leg, so how about you hold still whilst I see about removing it without causing more damage."

Neve chuckled quietly to herself at the interaction, watching fascinated as the two Crow lovebirds worked - Teleri humming to herself as she pressed against the flesh around the metal to check it was just in his muscle, noticing both the way the blood oozed out and the utter lack of pain response from Lucanis, apart from a flicker in his eyes.

There was a flash of dark purple energy next to Teleri that Lucanis looked towards, seeing Spite crouch next to her, his eyes shooting to Lucanis with a stern look. "Hold Still! Rook Helps Us."

"I know Spite, let her work..." Lucanis responded blithely to his demon that watched fascinated as she pressed the forceps against the little sliver of metal still protruding from his thigh and carefully started to pull the blade out. He didn't need Spite to tell him to keep still, he'd been stabbed and treated enough times to know to be a decent enough patient to prevent further damage from movement. The fact Teleri was the one doing the procedure was not lost on him, the way she bit her bottom lip in concentration, her eyebrows knitted together so that the Dalish tattoo on her forehead delightfully contorted like writhing snakes helped him focus away from the burning sharp pain.

Maker, she was delightful he thought to himself as she lifted the offending blade out by the forceps, checking it quickly to see if it was coated or enchanted, before picking some bandages resting on her own thigh - that he didn't remember her preparing and binding the freshly bleeding wound.

Spite was in agreement with his appraisal, the unnatural grin on his face as he watched her work.

"You Should Thank Her!"

That he could also agree on as she wiped the blood off the forceps and handed them back to him, letting him stand up and check the bandages were on secure enough to continue.

"Thank you, I appreciate it."

"Not Like That! With Your Mouth. Like Last Night! Do That!"

Lucanis felt the blush flush across his cheeks as Spite reminded him of them together last night and glanced down quickly at the bandages to hide it. But he heard the little snicker from Neve who'd been watching silently and glanced up at Teleri who was pursing her lips together to prevent herself chuckling.

Mierda, he'd told the demon about oversharing in public before. But now that he'd been reminded of last night, some of it was a fine way to thank the woman he loved.

He stepped closer, bringing his hands to Teleri's face and kissing her with a passionate intensity that had her grip his arms to steady herself. When he stopped for breath, he smiled warmly into her pale green eyes, his own flashing with Spite's who'd retreated back inside him to enjoy this kiss too, the contented rumble inside from his demon a sign he was very happy with the response.

"Thank you Eli. Spite says thank you too."

Letting his arms drop, he saw Teleri chuckle softly to herself as she gazed right back into his eyes with affectionate mirth.

"You are welcome mir vhenans." She glanced past Neve to the pathway leading towards the ruins of Vivazzi Plaza. "But we still have that relic to find and city to save again. We'll continue this later. Can you walk alright on that?" She pointed to his thigh, the smirk still on her face.

"I'll manage." He put his weight onto the injured leg, doing his best to ignore the burning sensation that shot up the muscle. He'd had worse in his time, like when he'd been stabbed with literal spears made of hair, so one wound wouldn't slow him down. But that didn't seem to convince the other member of their party.

"Oh for love of...here." Neve flicked her hand at Lucanis's thigh and a wisp of cooling magic aura surrounded it. "As much as I'd love to stay and watch you lovebirds, we do need to keep moving and I need you able to do all those acrobatics you do so well."

He felt his eyeball's tingle at the same time as the burning ache in his thigh abated and looked at the Tevene mage with surprised gratitude.

"Gracias Neve, I aim to please. Now let's all go find us some more Venatori to kill."

[sailtomarina]

I don’t regret it

cw: smut, feels

She watched the sliver of light arcing across the bedspread and his white blond hair. The curtains didn’t completely block out the sunlight. Hermione could reach for her wand to spell them shut if she knew where it was; at some point she’d lost it the previous night amidst the frantic fumbling. It was probably somewhere on the floor along with the rest of their clothing.

Even in sleep, he was breathtaking. His face glowed with a translucence that defied the lines of stress he wore when awake. The lips that scowled more than smiled these days were parted as he breathed deeply, pale pink and inviting. She shivered as she recalled the way they’d felt against her own, how they’d glided down her torso and discovered every sensitive point of her body. Silver grey eyes had glinted upward, frequently checking in on her every reaction as he wrung pleasure out of Hermione.

They hadn’t spoken a word since the kiss that started it all. They hadn’t needed to, their bodies communicating what their tongues could not. Draco, yes, “Draco”, not “Malfoy” anymore, seemed to need her more than life itself that night, and Hermione was compelled to respond in kind. She was a volatile potion of emotions just waiting to explode given the chance, and shatter she did in the arms of a young man she’d fallen deeply, passionately, irrevocably for over the course of the past few months.

Like the barely-there kiss, her feelings started small.

No. That wasn’t correct.

Her feelings for Draco had always been large; volatile, really. She’d hated everything he represented, the way he’d treated and looked at her, the years of animosity that they shared. But, she also pitied him. That pity, as threaded through with distrust as it had been, had transformed into begrudging respect.

He’d apologised to her. It hadn’t been overly passionate nor verbose. He’d found her alone and offered his remorse. He’d even go so far as to clearly state that forgiveness was not expected; he didn’t think he deserved it. Then, he’d gone his way and Hermione was left with an inner turmoil that struggled in search of an outlet.

She’d always known he was clever, and now with nothing but his studies to focus on, Draco finally showed what too much pressure and pride had stifled: a hungry mind that took mistakes in stride and used them as stepping stones to higher knowledge. For once, Hermione had a worthy rival.

And now, she was in his bed.

He sighed, then grumbled as the shaft of light hit his eyes. He turned further towards her, hands reaching out to tug her close. She allowed herself to be tucked against his chest, naked skin to naked skin. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her splayed hand. Circe, she loved breathing him in, a combination of body soap, woodsy cologne, and his own masculine scent. Slightly salty, probably from their exertions as he brought her to orgasm not once, not twice, but three times, once with his hands, then with his mouth, and finally on his cock as he folded her nearly in half to press in almost painfully deep. She’d relished the ache then, just as she delighted in the way her muscles smarted even now. They were reminders of their time together. If this turned out to be a one-time thing, then at least she’d always have that.

She sensed the moment he woke up, his steady inhales stuttering and turning into shorter intervals. Perhaps if she kept silent, she could hold on to this moment just a little bit longer. With their legs tangled together and his arms wrapped around her, Hermione could pretend that she was his and he was hers.

She bid her breathing to remain slow and measured. Kept her body relaxed. When his hand drifted down her back to cup one buttcheek, she fought to stay still. Then he tightened his hold and pressed his hips to hers and she felt him, hot and hard and wanting.

She could keep pretending to be asleep, but she wanted him inside of her more. It was time to open her eyes.

When she did so, tilting her head upward in the process, it was to find Draco already looking down at her. Eyes half-lidded, lips parted and descending. She met him part way. Any sour breath they might have had was overpowered by the sweetness of this kiss. It was soft, lingering, his tongue lightly rubbing against her own as he rotated his length against her in an unspoken question to which she arched in acceptance.

He rolled them so hovered above her, limbs caging her in, his soft hair hanging down into his eyes, which closed as he leaned forward to press his forehead to hers.

“Do you regret it?”

The first words since yesterday, and this was what he asked?

She realised that, like her, Draco was just as uncertain about the future. They’d never clearly stated their feelings about one another; they’d just gone with the flow and she’d assumed his heart was more fortified than her own.

“I wouldn’t be here if I did,” she replied. She opened her eyes to stare up at him, willing Draco to see the truth for himself. She wanted to be here, wanted him now and for as long as time allowed.

“Good, because I’m yours now.”

Her heart hammered at the declaration. The tightening of his jaw and his intent stare underlined the statement. She felt overwhelmed, tears of relief and desire threatening to spill. She could only nod, afraid she’d burst into ugly sobs and ruin the moment. That seemed to be enough for him.

He captured her lips, fitting the broad head of his cock to her opening at the same time and slowly pressing forward. It was tight, but she was wet with want and had been almost from the moment she’d woken up. She spread her legs to make more room for him, and he took advantage, thrusting to the hilt and groaning into the kiss as he did so. She felt impossibly full, even though she knew she’d taken him even deeper before. Even if she hadn’t, she could no longer deny him anything.

He brought a hand back down to tilt her hips at just the right angle for his pelvis to grind against her clit with every unrelenting drive of his cock. Along with the slide of his swollen shaft within her throbbing walls and the way his other hand plucked at her nipples, Hermione found herself right back at the precipice of her apogee. It was agonisingly close, yet still she withheld herself from the plummet, wanting him right there alongside her.

Draco picked up on her whining pants. She clawed at his muscled back and shoulders, and still he forged onward, pulling back nearly to the tip only to press right back into her depths, his balls slapping against her arse. Hermione might have blushed at the sound if she had the presence of mind to think of anything outside of him inside of her, but that was as likely as her ever letting go of him. She was beyond embarrassment or reproach.

He sounded pained as he moaned, low and deep, and Hermione could feel the way he thickened within her just before he froze, the tendons of his neck taut as he threw his head back. As the first spurts of his spend spilled into her, she finally let go, crying out her own release that seemed to go on and on as her body milked him of every last drop.

He caught himself on his forearms before falling on top of her, but Hermione wasn’t having any of that. She wrapped her arms around his neck and yanked him down. His weight was a comfort she could never find overbearing.

“Stay?” she murmured. She swept her hands up and down the warm planes of his back, then hugged him to her, holding tight to the shoulders that carried so much. Too much.

He chuckled, the puff of air tickling the crook of her neck where he rested.

“Always.”

1367 WC

2.25.24 Twitter prompt from DramionePrompts “I don’t regret it”

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3 (eventually)

I originally meant to write this as straight up unapologetic smut, but then couldn’t resist a bit of backstory. Ahhhhh! Why does the story always have to sneak in there somehow?

[the-trinket-witch]

The City of Altus

(Lore post! YAY!)

In the Age of the Gods, there were tales of a city -a civilization- of people who had harnessed and controlled a mineral that emitted its own magic. They used these crystals to build machines and vehicles beyond the scope of their peers. It was said, as well, that their discovery and advancement was an affront to the gods. For it, they were banished to the bottom of the sea.

Altus is a coastal island sitting not far East of Pyroxene. Most that live on the mainland tout that the island just 'sprang up' out of the sea about 300 years ago. The island itself consisted of packed spires and temples, along with tiered swaths of land once the ocean fell away. Along with them, the inhabitants of the island had brought impressive technology saved from a bygone era. It was noted that the resource powering their machines was finite; their exile below the waves seemed to make the new neighbors keen to how their influence might affect the world at large.

The leaders of this island, a native royal and scholar supposedly from the Queendom of Roses, still wanted to share their knowledge with the world. So in a bid to open commerce, they began to build. They built boats to fish, homes to house, and opened their arms to the rest of the world. Altus, as it began to call itself, thanked the Queendom of Roses for their outreach and assistance as they gathered materials to make good on their promises.

News of mechanical testing intrigued minds across Twisted Wonderland. Many flocked both to observe the pristine time capsule of an island, with just as many finding themselves rising to the challenge of reverse-engineering this crystalline technology. What Twisted Wonderland's greatest minds found most effective was wind and steam power.

Surrounded by ocean, they had an endless supply of pressure. Salt accumulated from machine filters would go back into the economy or an early form of Reverse Electrodialysis, and steam would continue the water cycle. As for the heat to build said steam: algae biofuel and hiring fire fairies. The fire fairies are compensated appropriately, and the algae is almost never outpaced in its growth vs harvest. And with how blustery the island could get, wind energy was never difficult to come by for more stationary purposes. This is all to say, Steam power and magic made this once ancient technology accessible to the rest of the world.

Modern Day Aspects of Altus:

The outermost ring consists of the train system, delivering people and cargo from one side of the island to the other. The circuit halos the ports, which frame the innermost residential and urban areas.

The largest building is actually the central hilltop that most Airborne Afternoon's festivities take place. It sits protected by the soil, and serves as a community center, city hall, and disaster shelter.

Flying above the urban areas is the one remaining dirigible of Altus' early air fleet: the S.A.S Admiral. It currently serves as the city museum, accepting and letting loose tourists with each lap around the island. You'll hear locals call it 'Old Admiral Boom', namely for the decommissioned front cannons still mounted on it.

The further towards the east end of the island -facing out to open sea- houses a large population of merfolk. Altus hosts one of the few 'Land Camps' offered across the world for mero to integrate towards land living. Schools, in turn, offer language classes in the more common forms of the mero language. (This is how Albert learned Azul had asked the Twins to keep an eye on him)

Whatever forces of nature allow it, Altus finds itself with an almost consistent schedule of their most windy day. That couple of days has so far been predicted with accuracy, so scheduling Airborne Afternoon has not ever been very short notice. Many theorize that its the literal Winds of Change blowing summer away to usher in autumn.

TAGLIST:

@ceruleancattail @squidwen @thecosmicjackalope @vaporvipermedia@writing-heiress

@oya-oya-okay @k-looking-glass-house @thehollowwriter @rainesol @cyn-write

@heartscrypt @honey-milk-depresso @br3adtoasty @jackiecronefield @ruggiethethuggie

@hoboyherewego @achy-boo @oreoskys @oseathepebble @oathofoaks

@tunabesimpin @hamstergal @fumikomiyasaki@valse-a-mille-temps

@hallowed-delights @kimikitti @plutos-hell @thetwstwildcard @atwstedstory

@comingyourlugubriousness @ice-cweam-sod4 @twst-the-night-away @nammanarin @scint1llat3

[dr-futbol-blog]

Michael, Pt. 8

They bring Michael to the Alpha Site unconscious, he wakes up bound to a bed and with restraints on his hands and feet with Teyla sitting by his bed waiting for him to wake up, probably not unlike McKay had been sitting by Sheppard's bedside during the end of Conversion (S02E08) that we never got to see. One thing leads to another and Michael escapes, taking Teyla hostage with him, and we join Sheppard and Ronon in pursuit of them. Note that although Sheppard's entire team is on the Alpha Site -- this is a team mission -- McKay is not there, and we still get no explanation as to his absence, not even a throw-away line. Beyond the reference to blue jello being off the menu for reasons unknown, the absence of McKay is not excused in any way, and the viewers are left filling in the blanks themselves. We are left a negative space with no guide-posts to explain it away. What is more, it is not just Sheppard's whole team that is on the planet but also McKay's best friend and other members of the science corps, as seen in the background here, which just serves to underscore the fact of his absence.

Beckett: Colonel! Sheppard: What happened? Beckett: Don't quite know. He somehow managed to get free of his restraints and take Teyla hostage. He forced a security detail outside the Infirmary to drop their weapons or he'd kill her. Sheppard: Where'd they go? Beckett: Up the ridge. Bravo team's on their way.

We do not know where Ronon and Sheppard had been before this moment or what they had been doing while Teyla was sitting down with Michael and then feeding him inside one of the makeshift bunkers, but they have now been alerted to Michael's escape with Teyla. We see that Sheppard is adjusting his thigh holster as he is picking up the pace which suggests that he had not been in his full tactical gear until now, perhaps not even fully dressed. His ass knife is likewise hanging to the side, indicating that he had geared up in a hurry. It does not necessarily indicate anything, perhaps he had been dozing off for a moment because it seems like he had been keeping such a keen eye on Michael that he had barely slept any more than Beckett in recent days (but of course there is space there if one wants to read some kind of a "team building exercise" having taken place between Sheppard and Ronon, or letting off steam with some other solider). Sheppard and Ronon take after Michael at a run, and Sheppard manages to keep pace with Ronon possibly owing to the two of them having been running together for recreation.

What is interesting is how Michael manages to escape. While they had been talking about his wraith compulsions returning, what surfaces while he is conversation with Teyla are his psychic powers. Perhaps owing to their origin as a communal insect species, the wraith have a psychic network that we have seen Teyla tapping into during The Gift (S01E18), and she has further had the ability of sensing when the wraith are near ever since she was a child, owing to the wraith DNA that had been spliced into her ancestors by way of experimentation. It seems to leave her vulnerable to Michael's psychic powers, and he is able to tap into her mind, to push her into doing his bidding. Michael tells her:

You're different from the others. I noticed it the first time I saw you. You're the only person willing to understand. The only one with a truly open mind {mind} {mind}. The only one willing to show compassion {compassion} {compassion} {compassion}.

Michael is a narrative mirror for Sheppard, and what makes this curious is that Sheppard seems to have some kind of a latent ability to push people into doing what he wants them to do owing to his Ancient DNA (and there is an argument to be made that his father and possibly also his brother had the same ability to influence people, to get people to go their way). McKay, on the other hand, seems to have some kind of latent telepathy, the ability to read minds, that we see manifesting into full-blown telepathy in Tao of Rodney (S03E14) when his full genetic potential is unleashed, and he actually has to block people from his mind because it becomes too much to hear everyone's thoughts all the time. That is the manifestation of the ATA gene in him in its active form, whereas for Sheppard and his family the gene seems to have given the ability to influence others, to get people to do what they want, to push them into doing what they like. Sheppard himself, because he is an officer in the military where people have to obey him due to his station and because he had lived under his father's thumb most of his life, he may be completely unaware of having such an ability, however weak a form it comes in.

What is important here -- highlighted by Michael saying that Teyla is the only person with a mind that is truly open to him -- is that Sheppard and McKay's abilities have not just facilitated this understanding between them, this ability to read each other's thoughts in a way that they cannot do with other people, with McKay especially able to read Sheppard's thoughts like no one else ever has. It has also made McKay completely susceptible to Sheppard's will. We have seen McKay willing to do anything that Sheppard desires without him even needing to ask, wanting to fulfill his every need. We have also seen that Sheppard is reluctant to give orders to McKay, tries to keep from telling him what to do. Whether or not Sheppard realizes that he has this augmented ability to get people to see things his way and to want to do what he wants them to do, he knows that just through being an officer he has power over people, he has the authority to compel them to do things. And it is for this reason that he is very careful in not using this power on McKay because he does not want them to be in a relationship of subordinate and commander, of leader and team member, of existing in a hierarchical relationship to one another. He wants them to be partners, to be equal, to serve one another and things of that nature. All well and good.

What is real curious is that a few episodes hence in The Long Goodbye (S02E16), there were strong hints of both McKay being able to hear Sheppard "screaming inside his mind" and of Sheppard being able to push McKay into using his gun on the alien possessing him because although McKay had shot him, he seemed to have no idea why he had shot at Sheppard with a real gun, with live ammo. And this would track with their respective manifestation of the ATA gene, of their individual abilities creating an environment where McKay is uniquely susceptible to Sheppard's wiles like Teyla is to Michael here, and where Sheppard, whether or not he understands that he has this power over McKay, tries not to use it on him. It could very well be that neither of them fully understands what this even is, or that it has a genetic component to it. In effect it has resulted in Sheppard being unable to hide who he is from McKay, who is able to read him like an open book, and McKay being fully and entirely defenseless against Sheppard's will. By forming a feedback loop they have unwittingly created a symbiotic organism where their abilities even seem to increase in times of stress.

Michael mentions that he had recognized that Teyla was different from the others the first time that he had seen her but for McKay and Sheppard it had not been their first meeting, although Sheppard in the control chair and McKay telling him to think of their place in the solar system had been an important moment. Because McKay had received the gene therapy that activated his ATA gene only when they were already on Atlantis, it could be that this moment of Sheppard recognizing something in McKay had happened during Hide and Seek (S01E03), after he received the therapy and before Sheppard threw him over the railing. And if Michael's scene with McKay earlier in the episode was indicative of something that had happened in the mess hall between Sheppard and McKay that we never got to see, it is possible this is in reference to that.

McKay had offered his hand for Sheppard to shake and the two of them had skin contact for the first time, McKay's mind open for Sheppard and his thoughts apparent to McKay, McKay having been the only one willing to show compassion to the Major who was in pain over what he had to do during their first mission in this galaxy and trying hard to not let anyone see it, but suddenly unable to hide it from this man. The two of them very much seem to have an instant connection, a ready-made rapport -- in Hide and Seek, but not before that. And if this connection had been augmented by Beckett's gene therapy, it seems like not one of them is the wiser that this had happened. This is absolutely fascinating, and Michael's scene with Teyla seems to reference this dynamic between Sheppard and McKay.

Dex: He's changing directions. The tracks are difficult to follow. He's good. Sheppard: But you can follow them, right? I mean, that's your thing. Among many other things. Dex: This way.

Ronon is tracking Michael and comes to a halt at a place where it seems like Michael has tried to lose them, has tried leading them astray. This tells us something that we noted already when he was stealing the videos from Beckett and watching them at a dead angle in his quarters, which is that Michael seems to be very intelligent, and later turns out to be some kind of a wraith scientist. Even Ronon, who had been on the run from the wraith for seven years and hence knows what kind of traces they leave in the environment has to admit that Michael is crafty. Ronon may hate him but he can recognize skill. But it is Sheppard's comment to Ronon here that is really interesting.

Because they are pressed for time, Sheppard has no time to couch what he is saying in pleasantries -- and we have seen him do the same thing McKay does, which is to forego courtesy and come across as somewhat rude when he is in a hurry -- and so he suggests that Ronon should be able to track them since he is a tracker. Ronon's ability to effectively track things had been one of the things that Sheppard had wanted him in his team for. By calling it Ronon's "thing," he seems to be reducing Ronon's contribution into this, as though it were the only attribute worth mentioning. While Ronon gives Sheppard a look, it does not mean that he was necessarily offended by what Sheppard said -- it is possible that his look was mere frustration at being unable to find the trace he was looking for. But Sheppard interprets Ronon's look as taking offence at what he had just said which makes him back-peddle, to try to assure Ronon of the fact that he does not think that of him, that he is a valuable member of his team with many exemplary attributes and a fully rounded person to boot.

And it is the fact that Sheppard feels the need to assure Ronon of this that is interesting because he seems to be telling it to himself more than to convince Ronon. Now, Sheppard may well think people have "things," he may generally see people through their skill sets -- Beckett is a doctor, Teyla is a tough cookie, Heightyemeyer is a shrink -- and it does not mean that he does not see all of them as people, only that he mentally labels people like this in his mind. But let us note that he does not seem to think of McKay in this way. He had told Ford on The Lost Boys (S02E10) that he had taken McKay into his team to open doors and hack computers, and for sure Sheppard has seen McKay do both of these things, but he never saw McKay through the things that he could do. McKay had been surprising him from the beginning, undercutting any assumptions he might have had about him, and if he were to be asked what McKay's "thing" is, Sheppard might not be able to say because McKay is too many things, he is different things at different times. McKay is McKay to him. McKay's thing is being McKay.

Sheppard: These are the SOs guarding the gate. Damn it!

But even if Michael is crafty and good at hiding his tracks, Ronon is better and is able to find them anyway. And when they find the soldiers guarding the gate either dead or knocked out -- we never find out which -- they can be fairly certain that Michael is headed for the gate. Ronon and Sheppard take after them at a run but just miss them, Michael taking Teyla to a planet that he was instinctively drawn to, not even knowing why he was being drawn to it. We are again reminded of like calling unto like. Sheppard does not fire his P-90 at them because he does not want Teyla to catch stray bullets but it is unclear whether Ronon has his blaster set on stun or on kill here. He naturally does not want anything to befall Teyla but he also very much wants to take Michael out, and it could be that his in his rage he does not have time to think about that. Which ever the case, they are too late.

Sheppard: We need to figure out the last address dialled, if that's even possible. We need to get McKay out here. Dex: No we don't. Sheppard: Trust me, he's the only one who can figure this stuff out. Dex: Look!

Again we get an interesting line from Sheppard. We have noted before how he feels the need to talk about McKay when ever he is not with McKay, he cannot keep McKay's name out of this mouth. This time he has a reason to think about McKay and to mention him, thinking that McKay is the only one who will be able to figure out where Michael had taken Teyla. Note that this is the opposite of what he had just said to Ronon -- this is not McKay's "thing," he has never actually seen McKay do this, Sheppard just happens to think that McKay will be able to figure it out because he can figure out anything. Sheppard believes that McKay can do anything. And while it is clear that he does not want McKay on this planet -- and we get somewhat of a confirmation here that he has kept McKay away from this on purpose -- he thinks that it is their only option, it is their last resort to call McKay in, so he will allow McKay to come to the Alpha Site for this, although he was never going to take him with to where ever Michael had taken Teyla. He says that they need to "get McKay out here" which implies that he had been keeping McKay "in there."

While we have not seen McKay unscramble gate addresses stored in the buffer of the DHD, figuring out an address used by the wraith had been one of the very first thing Sheppard had asked McKay to do in Rising (S01E02). Zelenka had been sent to the planet where Sheppard and his team had been kidnapped by Ford and his men in The Lost Boys (S02E10) to figure out the last dialled address from the planet so that they might be able to follow them, and Zelenka had found it extremely difficult to do:

Zelenka: These things are not designed to store gate addresses. Lorne: What can you give us? Zelenka: Well, every time the gate is dialed, a slight residual imprint is left on the control crystals. Lorne: Which means? Zelenka: Well, I've managed to mine about fifty addresses, but, no idea if they're correct or what order they were dialed in. Lorne: Fifty? That's a lot of planets to check. Zelenka: Yes, and that's assuming that they're correct. Lorne: OK, so long story short? Zelenka: It's going to be next to impossible to find Colonel Sheppard and his team based on what I can get from this DHD.

We do not know whether Sheppard (or McKay) had heard about this later on in debriefing or read in mission reports, but regardless of whether Sheppard is aware of how difficult it is, he believes in McKay. He believes that McKay can figure it out, and he believes that McKay is the only one that can figure it out. He does not want to bring McKay anywhere near Michael but he does want McKay by his side, he wants McKay on missions with him, he wants McKay to be there to tell him what is possible and what is not. Also note that when Ronon finds Teyla's scribbled gate symbols and tries to tell Sheppard that it won't be necessary to bring McKay on, Sheppard immediately jumps to McKay's defence. McKay is not here, Sheppard is essentially talking about McKay behind his back, and what he is saying when McKay is not around to hear it is that he trusts McKay to be able to do anything. But alas, they do not need him after all because Teyla had been able to leave them a message.

Sheppard: Fall back!

And so Ronon and Sheppard are able to rescue Teyla, leaving Michael stunned among his own kind. Something interesting takes place before this, however. For one, Michael starts reverting back to his wraith form and gets his feeding hand back. There is a tense moment when Teyla asks whether Michael is going to feed on her and he tells her "I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the urge. And now that I'm truly able to feed again… I feel it even more." He raises his hand and holds it before her but then seems to come to a decision not to feed on her. instead, he lifts his hand as if to strike Teyla, probably intending to knock her unconscious again, but he is stopped by Ronon who manages to stun him before he has the chance of doing anything to Teyla. But it is left ambiguous what was going to happen, whether Michael was going to feed on her or whether he had some lingering feelings of friendship for Teyla that made him come to a decision to spare her.

Given his use as a narrative mirror for Sheppard, it is interesting that Michael was, according to his own words "drawn" to the other wraith and that he was returning to "what I was, what I am." The lesson is that it is impossible to change innate characteristics and drives, and even if they are suppressed and repressed using therapies and injections, a man's nature will break through sooner or later. A man can pretend to be something he is not for a time -- even get married, join the most homophobic branch of the military to keep himself from acting on his impulses -- but nature will find a way. That is how it is supposed to be. Of course we later find out that the wraith had rejected Michael because he was no longer one of them, now forever stuck somewhere between wraith and man and belonging to neither -- in effect being bispecial -- but that does not change the lesson that this episode was building toward.

Weir: He had completely transformed back into a wraith? Sheppard: Not completely, but well on his way. Beckett: His reversion occurred at a much more accelerated rate than we anticipated. Teyla: Unfortunately, his memory of what we did to him remained intact. Dex: I should have killed him when I had the chance. McKay: He's right. We are totally screwed. Not only has our dear lieutenant rejoined the wraith...

The team and Beckett have returned to Atlantis and we find all of them in the meeting room again. What is curious is that now we find McKay among them, now his presence seems to be required for the meeting. Now that Michael is no longer in Atlantis, McKay suddenly is a part of the conversation, this meeting being very much a debriefing for Project Michael. We may note that Sheppard is extremely wired up, he is pacing in the room again, unable to even stand still, let alone to sit down. He is nervous and agitated and seems to be breathing heavily. He only pauses his pacing when McKay is talking, stopping to listen to him. He can hear the agitation in McKay's voice, and McKay is looking straight at Sheppard as he starts going on about how screwed they all are, doing the thing where he is using his mouth and not his brain. McKay is not blaming Sheppard for what had happened, he is looking for Sheppard to tell them that they are going to be alright, to somehow make him feel better about this when Sheppard is coming up empty.

McKay: ...but he's taken with him the knowledge that Atlantis still exists. Sheppard: God knows what type of intel he was able to pick up during his stay. Teyla: They will send another wave of hive ships. Dex: Probably already on their way. McKay: And this time, I'm guessing they're not gonna fall for the whole invisibility trick. Weir: We need to come up with a new defence plan. Sheppard: We're gonna need more fire power.

Sheppard starts moving again and we may note that McKay keeps following him with his gaze, he is directing his words to Sheppard. He is talking to Sheppard here, the other people just happen to be present. Note that Sheppard takes a step closer to McKay, and he keeps looking right at him as we fade to black -- in fact, in most fade-to-black endings of episodes Sheppard is looking at McKay. The look that Sheppard gives McKay is a long one, we do not even get to see the end of it, and this may well be a case of some information flowing between the two of them even when they are not talking.

Sheppard mentions their need for more firepower and both of them know that at the end of the day, it will be McKay who has to deliver them this. And Sheppard hates having to put pressure on McKay's shoulders, especially since he was innocent to everything that had gone on here that had led to Michael escaping and the wraith learning about their survival. But note that Sheppard uses the word "we" here. He fully intends on helping McKay with this what ever way he can. This ending is reminiscent of the ending of The Brotherhood (S01E16) when they had learned that the wraith hives were on their way to Atlantis. Then too we saw Sheppard and McKay exchange a very long look that is obscured by the camera work. Here, it is somewhat less obscured -- you only need to remember where McKay is stationed to be able to tell that Sheppard is looking at him and not to the person who last spoke, Weir. In fact, throughout this entire scene, Sheppard is only looking at McKay. They both remember what had happened the last time. Sheppard was not going to allow there to be a repeat of that if there was anything he could do about it, that was for damn sure.

So, why is the episode called Michael? Obviously it is the name of the character that is central to the story but the titles usually have some bearing on our main characters. Michael is named by Sheppard after "Mike," someone that Sheppard had presumably known, someone from his past who had been named Michael, and the title is likely a reference to this person from Sheppard's past. The intention is to show how his past encounter with this Michael had shaped him, how this past acquaintance was still influencing this disposition and decisions during this ordeal, how finding out about Michael teaches us things about Sheppard that we had not known previously.

It is also rather obvious that Michael the wraith in the episode is a narrative mirror for Sheppard himself. Michael is dressed like him, is handsome in a boyish way like him, and seems to have more than a little in common with him. And it is because Michael is a narrative mirror for Sheppard that we actually encounter "Mike," this person from Sheppard's past, in Teyla. Teyla is a narrative mirror for someone from Sheppard's past, someone who had influenced him in big way when he had been an adolescent -- someone who had hurt him and betrayed him when he had thought that this person had been his friend. We have seen that Sheppard has a lot of trust issues, he has a fundamental difficulty in trusting anyone and that this inability to trust is what has grown into a wall between him and the man that he loves. Sheppard is unable to open up, and through this window into Sheppard's past we are meant to gain some insight into how he came to be this way.

The episode very obviously also plays around with the idea of gay conversion therapy. This is the third episode this season that touches on the thematic, the implication being that Sheppard has had experiences of it in his youth. Given what we later learn of his social background, his family, his strained relationship with his father who he believes had cast him out, it does track with his character. And while it would be easy to paint his father as some kind of a monster, it is also important to remember that this would have taken place in the 1980s, the height of the AIDS epidemic and Angels in America America, so it is entirely possible that it had been done out of concern. Teyla tells Michael: "I am sorry for what you have been put through. But, in time, I think you may come to see this as… You may not understand this now but making you human, I believe this could make your life better." This may easily have been the rationale used by Sheppard's father in trying to "cure" him, fearing for the life of his son with the kind of public discourse there was on the "gay plague" during the Reagan years, and as damaging as the experience seems to have been for him, it may have come from a place of love.

We should also note that it seems like the therapy had worked -- for a time. Sheppard had tried to live a normal life, had tried "not being wraith." He had married a woman that his father had approved of and he had joined the military where homosexual and bisexual men were not allowed to serve, where one was expected to perform heterosexuality. And what is more, he had chosen the branch of the military that was known to be the most against gay people with the Southern Baptist leadership of the USAF. Sheppard had certainly tried his best to ascertain that he would live a normal life, that he would not have any temptations, that he would stay on the straight and narrow -- literally. Only things had not worked out like that. Like Michael, he had urges that he was not able to control. He had instincts that would not be suppressed forever. And the irony is that it was never that Sheppard was not interested in women but that he was also interested in men, and it seems like this forced therapy irreparably damaged his relationship with women. It did change the course of his life.

Michael is of course the name of an archangel, an angelic warrior often depicted with a sword battling a dragon, hence the Michael from his past having been an "angel in America". It is also ironic that they named the wraith Michael because he becomes the Big Bad of the show, the arch nemesis, and they have only themselves to blame for it. Our heroes are hoisted by their own petard, they end up creating the thing that attempts to destroy them. In this sense, Michael is like the other famous archangel, Lucifer. The fallen angel has the name of a light-bearer, shares the domain of Aurora as the goddess of the Dawn, because according to some legends he had been God's favourite before his fall from grace. Michael has the name of an angel and he starts off with having the face of one too, but we see the angel stripped away to show the devil underneath. This is the origin story of the villain, and most of our heroes had their hands in creating him.

Michael (1996) is also the title of a film about an angel that has come to Earth for the purpose of mending broken hearts, a romantic dramedy that attempts to deconstruct popular beliefs on angels. The journalist and angel expert that come to investigate stories of this angel living in a small town in Iowa are the ones he has been sent down to heal. Michael's mission on Earth is to help Frank, the jaded journalist, rediscover his heart with Dorothy, who has been hurt in love before, having divorced three times. There might be in this attempt at healing the brokenhearted the flimsiest connection to the episode but it is unlikely to have been the inspiration for the title. What is interesting however is that there is an older film called Michael from 1924 that is one of the first films about gay people, a landmark in gay silent cinema.

The film is based on a book of the same name by the homosexual author Herman Bang who based it on the life of the sculptor Auguste Rodin. While the film's title is Michael, it is not really about Michael, the muse of the artist, "The Master," but is about what Michael symbolizes to him, about his obsession. The artist called Zoret is obsessed with his young model and through his own jealousy and possessiveness ends up driving him away, and Michael becomes corrupted, it is through Zoret's own actions that Michael becomes his antagonist -- which is relevant to the episode.

And there is by his side also a man who has always loved Zoret and stayed by him, a journalist writing his biography, and it is only at the end of his life that the artist comes to understand what true love is -- the same as what Sheppard is looking for -- as being someone that stays by your side through thick and thin, for better and worse, speaking the words that had also started the film, "Now I can die in peace for I have known a great love." Now, this film was one of the first mainstream films to depict homosexual and bisexual relationships. Also relevant for the show is that they depicted these relationships through innuendo and subtext, through camera work and having to read between the lines, but nobody had trouble recognizing the story for what it was. They never outright say it but it is clear to everyone what is going on.

Who ever "Mike" had been to Sheppard in his youth, no matter how much he thought that his betrayal had broken his heart, it had been an experience that had ultimately led him here, to Atlantis, where he had found his home, and to McKay, in whom he had found real love. It was only after meeting McKay that he would have been able to speak the words "Now I can die in peace for I have known a great love." Only, he does not want to die. Sheppard is ready and willing to lay down his life for this great love of his but it is not what he wants. What he had learned from the last time the wraith were coming for them, their love was worth fighting for.

[tiedyeflannels]

Yours

Jin x reader

Word count: 4.4k

Blind Date(s): Intro

Main Masterlist

A/N: What up! Jin is the first one up for my Blind Date(s) mini series! This fic is a LOT of dialog because there's really not much to cooking so... Btw if you're curious about how Jin's ziti would taste, it's like Olive Garden's baked ziti, but WAY better because it's Kim Seokjin. Also thanks to @maple-leaves-in-the-wind for helping me come up with the overall plot of this fic! Anyway... I hope you enjoy!

While we were bickering about the topic, the sound of the doorbell stopped us dead in our tracks. I looked at her and then at the door and back at her before I huffed, standing up to open the door.

“We are not done with this conversation,” I told her once I reached the door.

Still a bit upset with Hari, I might have opened the door a little too aggressively, actively scaring the person on the other side who happened to be none other than the person we were just discussing about.

I was taken aback by his presence, but that didn’t last long as I felt a hand land on my shoulder.

“Oh, I think we’re done with this conversation,” Hari whispered in my ear.

I looked over at her angrily and was about to tell her off when Jin spoke.

“Is this a bad time, because I can come back later if you want?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Hari and I spoke at the same time.

“Would you give us a minute,” Hari asked while she shut the door before he could give his answer.

“Why is he here,” I whisper shouted, not wanting him to hear the mess that was going on on this side of the door.

“He’s here for your date,” she whispered back.

I shook my head, “No. No! Tell him to reschedule or you go on the date because I’m not doing it.”

“Can’t. This was the only day that worked for him and it’s also under your name so…”

I sighed as I started to walk away.

“Y/n, where are you going?”

“To my room. Tell him that I suddenly felt unwell or something,” I waved her off.

She took my wrist in her hand and spun me around before I could walk any further into the house.

“Y/n/n, I would be damned if I let you walk away from this fine looking man.”

She tugged on my arm making me move in front of the door as she placed her hands on my shoulders.

“Dude, nobody is expecting anything to come out of this. This isn’t even a real, high-stakes, date, okay? This is just you hanging out with a really good looking guy,” she insisted.

“Yeah, good looking and famous,” I muttered under my breath.

She smiled.

“Exactly! So just hang out with him for the day and you won’t have to do this ever again, okay?”

I nodded and sighed out a tiny breath.

“Fine. So, what are we doing today,” I asked, finally curious on what she planned.

“You both are going to have dinner here.”

“WHAT?!”

She manically laughed as she opened the door and shouted “Have fun” as she all but ran down the hall.

“Hari! Hari, come back here,” I shouted after her, but they fell on deaf ears as she continued to run away.

I huffed as I watched her round the corner and away from my line of sight.

“I’m guessing she sprung this on you, huh?”

I turned my head to find Jin still standing in front of my door. I rolled my eyes at Hari’s antics.

“I should be used to this with how often she does it, but nope. How long have you known about this anyway,” I asked, vaguely gesturing to the date.

He hummed in thought.

“Well, we were told about the winning bid a few days after the auction was over and we’ve been communicating with your friend, Hari, for a while… so I’ll say about a month, at least.”

“Of course…”

Hari was always the person you could count on for surprises. Which were usually a good thing if you wanted a surprise birthday or some other special occasion, but other times when she decided to leave details until the very last minute, like right now, they were a little less of a good thing.

While lost in thought I saw that he was holding a bag which brought me back to reality.

“Oh, I totally forgot my manners! Please come in,” I said, gesturing for him to come inside.

He gave me a polite smile and a small bow before walking inside.

“You can set your bag on the kitchen island,” I pointed.

“You can put your coat anywhere you’d like. And you’ll have to excuse the mess, I was just told about this date, like 25 minutes ago.”

He chuckled as I started to dart around in order to quickly tidy up a little bit.

“No worries! Your place is still cleaner than mine, so I don’t mind it being a little “messy”.”

I gave him a grateful smile as I slowed down on tidying up. I went to the kitchen when I remembered what Hari told me.

“Oh right! Hari said that we’re supposed to have dinner here, but I don’t have anything prepared, so are you okay with takeout,” I asked, picking up the glasses Hari and I had left on the table when Jin showed up.

He shook his head as he started to dig around in his bag, “Don’t worry about that. I’ll be making dinner.”

“Huh?”

Did I hear him right? Kim Seokjin is going to make dinner?

“Mhmm,” he nodded.

That didn’t answer anything as I was still confused and by the way he chuckled when he looked at me, I knew that my face was showing it.

"Your friend, Hari, right?”

I hummed in confirmation.

“Had donated a lot of money for this date and because of that, she was allowed to pick what the activity was for the date.”

I nodded along as I took in the information he was telling me while taking ingredients out of the bag.

He continued, “Of course it had to be within certain guidelines, but when she suggested eating out as a date I was quick to start asking questions.”

“What kind of questions? Were you skeptical or something,” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled, “No, nothing like that. More along the lines of if she had any allergies and what her preferred meal was, stuff like that.”

“Makes sense,” I shrugged, “some people have texture things or things they don’t like.”

“Right. So she said that Italian was the best bet when it came to a meal and also that you would prefer a home cooked meal.”

I hummed.

“That’s true, mainly because there aren’t that many Italian restaurants in a decent radius so I prefer to make it at home.”

Then a question popped in my head, “Wait, you said that she told you that I like home cooked meals.”

He nodded.

“Didn’t you think it was weird that she was planning this date for someone else?”

He hummed in thought before answering, “Originally, yes. A lot of people wouldn’t give up the chance to go on a date with us, right? So, I was surprised that she was giving it up for you, but I still went along with what she said because of how much she donated. Plus I think I’m a pretty good cook and I haven’t had much time to brush up on my skills, so when she suggested cooking, it was a no-brainer.”

I smiled and gave him a curt nod.

Having set out all of the ingredients while he was speaking, I started looking for some pans that he could use.

“What are we making,’ I asked as I placed some pots and pans on the counter for him to choose between.

He walked up to the counter and started to choose.

“Well, I’m making baked ziti,” he said, taking a pot and adding water in it before placing it on the stove to bring it to a boil.

“Baked ziti?! I haven’t had that in forever,” I exclaimed.

He looked at me and chuckled.

“Well then I made a good choice then, huh?”

I happily nodded as I looked at him. We looked at each other for a moment before I cleared my throat.

“Well, I guess I should start on the food,” he said, grabbing some of the vegetables and placing them next to the cutting board I had set out before I started looking for pans.

I moved over to the island and sat down on one of the stools.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help because I feel kind of guilty letting you do all of the work.”

“Yeah, I’m fine with doing all the work. Plus you might end up messing with my flow,” he teased.

“You have a flow?”

He shrugged and smiled, “Yeah, don’t all the best cooks have a flow?”

I shrugged, “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had many dinner dates with the “best” cooks.”

We looked at each other before bursting out into laughter. He turned around and started to wash the vegetables while chuckling.

“I really don’t have a problem with doing all the work, but if you want to help…”

He stopped washing the vegetables and turned to me with his hand on his chin as he hummed in thought.

“You can be my official taste tester!”

“Ooh~ I love that job,” I smiled.

~

Jin started making the sauce after cutting the vegetables and putting in the noodles to boil. It was basically a waiting game until the noodles softened, so we started some light banter. At some point, light banter had turned into an endless game of 20 questions to get to know more about each other.

We were having so much fun listening to each other’s stories, Jin forgot to turn down the heat for the sauce so when it started to bubble it was splashing everywhere.

As he was trying to turn down the heat on the stove some of it splashed on his arm which made him dramatically hold his arm and look between me and the sauce.

I couldn’t contain my laughter and burst into a fit of giggles at his overreaction.

“Are you laughing at my pain,” he dramatically gasped.

“No…” I said between giggles.

“I think you are!”

I calmed down, wiping the tears that escaped from my eyes while sighing.

“It’s not my fault that you dramatically got hurt.”

He huffed.

“I wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you put out a lid to use,” he looked at me accusingly.

“I did. It’s right there,” I said, pointing to the lid sitting to the left of the stove, next to the pan.

He followed where I was pointing and stared at the lid for a moment before uttering a small “oh”.

I broke out into another fit of giggles as he continued to look at the lid.

Once he broke out of his reverie, he checked the noodles and carefully drained the water. He gathered the baking pan along with all the remaining ingredients that were on the island and lined them up before assembling everything in the pan.

“Y/n, is the ricotta over there,” Jin asked, looking over his shoulder at me.

I looked around the table for a package that says “ricotta”, but ultimately found nothing.

“Not on the table. Maybe in your bag,” I suggested.

He nodded to let me know that it was okay to dig through his bag and when I did…

“Nothing.”

He sighed as I looked at him. He turned around to face me.

“You wouldn’t have any ricotta by any chance, would you?”

I shook my head.

“Nope, ricotta cheese is not something I put in my everyday diet.”

He sighed as he thought.

“Okay, well then I’ll head over to the store to get some.”

“No, I can go,” I said, getting up from my seat.

“No, I’ll go. You wouldn’t know which kind I need.”

I crossed my arms, “And you wouldn’t know where the only store that sells ricotta is.”

He mirrored me by crossing his arms and sighed before a smile grew on his lips.

“Sounds like we need each other, so let’s go together.”

I smiled and nodded, “Sounds good! You cover all of that up for when we come back, I’ll grab my jacket and bag, and then we can head out.”

He nodded as I went to get my jacket and bag from the hook next to the door and put them on as he walked over, already in his jacket and scarf.

“Ready?”

He nodded.

I grabbed the keys from my bag and opened the door.

“Alright, let’s go!”

~

“Ta-da,” I cheered as we stepped inside the store.

It was a little grocery store that was tucked away in a downhill alley. Not many people came to this store seeing as it was hidden away and people had to walk for a while to get to it, but what made it interesting was that it sold a lot of items that you usually couldn’t find in a regular convenience store.

I came here once as a last resort for a specific ingredient and lo and behold, they had it so I always made sure to come here first for anything I needed which in time made me a regular to…

“Y/n? Is that you?”

Mrs. Cho, a 76 year old woman who might seem intimidating at first, but is the sweetest lady I’ve ever met.

I smiled as she rounded the corner.

“Mrs. Cho, how have you been,” I asked as she pulled me in for a hug.

“It’s been too long, my dear,” she said as she pulled back and smiled at me.

Then her gaze shifted from me to Jin.

She smirked, “And who is this tall and handsome young man?!”

He chuckled and bowed, “My name is Kim Seokjin, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you.”

Her smile got wider as she looked back at me.

“Handsome AND respectful! You really know how to pick them.”

I blushed as I rolled my eyes and lightly shook my head, “We’re not dating, we’re just here to get something. Speaking of, do you have any ricotta cheese?”

“Ricotta cheese,” she asked as I nodded.

“It should be in fridges at the back, second one from the right.”

She pointed in that direction. I asked Jin if he could go get one, to which he nodded and left. Mrs. Cho pulled me over to the register, where, once behind it, pulled up a chair while I leaned on the counter.

“So… when did this happen?”

“What? Me and Jin,” I asked as I pointed behind me in his general direction.

She nodded.

“It’s a long story, but I promise we are not dating. We literally met today.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Well something must have happened because there’s something special in the way he looks at you.”

I lightly scoffed, “There’s no way you’re seeing it right and don’t forget that I said that we just met today."

She leaned her elbows on the counter.

“Listen, I may be old, but I’m not blind… yet and I can see that you two have something. Don’t forget of a little thing called “love at first sight”, maybe you two have it,” she smiled.

I was about to argue with the notion, but was stopped short as Jin stopped at the counter, placing the ricotta on the counter. “

Thank you for getting that,” I said.

He nodded.

“Did we need anything else or did you want to get something,” I asked.

He shook his head, “Nope, I think I’m good. Did you want something, though?”

I hummed as I looked around the store finding where my snacks sit, but ultimately decided against it as I shook my head, “Nope, I’ll be okay.”

I pushed the cheese forward on the counter and Mrs. Cho rang it up as I pulled out my wallet. I paid as she put the cheese in a small bag before we started to make our way out. I was about to say bye when something caught my eye.

“I didn’t know you sold flowers,” I said, turning to Mrs. Cho.

She smiled, “I just ordered them. I thought they would brighten up the place.”

I smiled as I looked at them, “They look lovely. Anyway, we’ll be heading out now. Bye, I’ll see you soon!”

I waved at her as she did the same.

“Take care, dear.”

I nodded before Jin and I headed out.

We had walked for a few minutes when Jin suddenly stopped. I continued to walk until I realized that he was no longer by my side, so I stopped and turned around.

“What wrong,” I questioned.

“I forgot to get something. Is it okay if I go back for it?”

I nodded, “Of course! Do you want me to go with you?”

He shook his head while taking a few slow steps back.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be right back,” he said as he jogged in the direction we just came from.

I sighed as I looked around for a place to sit while I waited for Jin to come back. My eyes landed on a bench a little bit away, near some trees and I decided to walk over to it. I dusted off the thin layer of snow that had collected on the bench before sitting down.

It was lightly snowing and luckily there wasn’t any wind so I wasn’t completely freezing my butt off, and although sitting out in the snow wasn’t exactly ideal, it was peaceful. It was quiet except for the occasional crunch of snow from passersby or children laughing off in the distance.

It wasn’t too long, though, before I saw Jin jog by. I chuckled as I watched him stop abruptly and look around. I stood up and walked over to him.

“I thought I lost you,” he sighed in relief.

I lightly shook my head with a smile, “Nope, still here.”

I looked at the bag in his hands. “What did you get?”

He muttered a small ‘right’ as he reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle.

“I saw this wine as I was walking through the store while you were talking with Mrs. Cho and I thought it sounded good and would pair nicely with what we’re having, so I went back to get it.”

I hummed as I looked at the label, Chianti, a rustic Italian red wine.

“You’re quite the wine connoisseur, huh?”

He proudly nodded, “I might have some knowledge.”

I smiled as I looked at the bag and then back at Jin.

“Did you get anything else,” I asked as he put the wine back in the bag and some crunching could be heard.

“I may have also got a few snacks for myself,” he smiled as he avoided eye contact.

I laughed at his silliness. “Okay, let’s get going, Mr. Wine Connoisseur.”

He chuckled as we started to walk back to the apartment.

The only way I could describe the time we spent walking so far would be, peaceful. We weren’t talking, but there was never an uncomfortable air that surrounded us that made us want to break it. It felt nice walking with Jin.

Peaceful.

While walking, I was looking around at the scenery when my gaze fell upon a few kids having fun, making a snowman. I smiled at the sight.

Jin must’ve followed what I was looking at because he stopped and spoke up.

“Y/n.”

I hummed and stopped walking to look at him.

“Where does a snowman get the weather report?”

I closed my eyes and sighed.

“Oh no…”

“The winternet!”

I facepalmed at the joke while he started laughing. I shook my head as I started to walk off.

“Dad jokes? Really.” He nodded while he caught up to me.

“Yep, it’s my speciality!”

I glanced at him, “You seem to have a lot of specialities.”

He shrugged, “What can I say, there’s a lot of things I’m good at.”

I playfully scoffed as he smiled at me.

“Okay, what do you call it when a snowman ignores you?” I just looked at him, waiting for the answer.

“The cold shoulder!”

I slightly chuckled as I rolled my eyes, “Oh my gosh, I’m going to give you the cold shoulder!”

“Hey, but that one got a laugh out of you!”

“It was more of a scoff because it was ridiculous!”

He smiled and hurried to stand in front of me, effectively stopping me from walking further.

“Okay okay okay! Last one I swear!”

I nodded for him to continue. “Okay. What can you catch in winter, even with your eyes closed?”

I stared at him for a moment before I gave in. “What?”

He smirked and before I knew what was happening he had draped a scarf behind my neck and stepped closer to me so that we were inches apart.

“A cold,” he said as he brought his face closer to mine.

I felt a flare of heat rise to cheeks at Jin’s proximity and when I backed up to put some distance between us, but I must’ve stepped on some ice because I felt myself starting to fall backwards. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for when I hit the ground, but it never happened.

Instead, I felt a tight grip around my torso and when I opened my eyes, Jin’s face was centimeters away from mine.

His eyes held concern as he looked me over.

“Are you okay?” I stared at him for a moment, a little shaken up, but nodded anyway when he looked at me again. He let out a sigh of relief as he helped me stand up.

I coughed slightly, “Um, we should probably be getting back.”

He let the arm that was wrapped around my torso drop to his side as he nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, let’s get going,” he said as he started walking.

~

Once we got home, Jin set his bag down and got to work on preheating the oven and assembling the ingredients. I started setting up the table by grabbing plates and utensils and laying them opposite of each other.

It wasn’t a big table since it was only really only me- and sometimes Hari- who ate here so I didn’t feel the need to buy a big dining table when I moved in.

As I was almost done setting the table a question popped into my head. “Jin, did you want to eat here or on the island?”

He looked over his shoulder as he was putting the ziti in the oven.

“Over there is perfect,” he said before closing the oven door and setting the timer.

When I went to sit down to wait for the food to be done, I finally realized what I was wearing.

Sweats.

Debating on whether I should change into something nicer, I looked at Jin. He was wearing a simple cream button up with jeans and even though it was casual, it was still better than the sweats I was wearing.

Deciding that I should, at least, look a bit nicer for dinner and got up to head to my room.

“I’m gonna go change real quick before the food’s ready,” I said.

He nodded, “Take your time! The food will be done when you come back.”

And with that, I walked over to my room. I didn’t want to look overly fancy, so I ended up deciding on a nice, dark green crew neck shirt and some light wash jeans. Casual, but still nice.

As for everything else, I just kept it the same. Hair in a low ponytail and little to no makeup. I didn’t want to put in too much work for something that wouldn’t go anywhere after today.

So, with one final once over in the mirror, I headed back to the kitchen. When I was coming up to the kitchen, there was a visible difference from how it was when I left.

The lights were dimmed and when I rounded the corner there was another surprise waiting. Jin. Holding a rose. In the candle light. I smiled and furrowed my eyebrows.

“Okay… When did this happen,” I questioned, pointing at everything on the table.

He walked closer and handed me the rose with a small smile.

“Right when you left.”

I muttered a small “ah” as I took the rose from him and walked over to the table. Just as I was about to pull out my seat, Jin had beat me to it and gestured for me to sit down while pushing in my seat.

“Ever the gentleman, Jin,” I said.

He chuckled. “I would hope so! We are on a date,” he said while bringing the finished pasta to the table.

That’s when I noticed the bouquet of roses.

“You got a bouquet of roses? Did you get these back at the convenience store when you went to get that wine?”

“Smart girl, though the wine was more of a cover for the flowers,” he said as he took a seat across from me.

“And the tealight candles?”

He nodded.

“Did you even get snacks,” I asked.

He furrowed his brow in confusion, “You’re worried about the snacks?!”

“Yes, I got snacks.”

“Yes! Snacks are important to me!”

He scoffed and shook his head in disbelief.

I sighed in relief before he continued, “Your favorite, actually.”

It was now my time to be confused.

“Mrs. Cho told me what you liked.”

I lightly shook as I tried to understand what was going on.

“Why did you go to such great lengths for me? With the roses and the candles and the snacks? I mean, we’re not on a real date,” I questioned.

He softly sighed.

“Because maybe I wanted it to be real. Because maybe I’ve really come to like this girl, whose friend set her up with a date she won at an auction. Who's really easy to talk to and is someone I want to go on more dates with so I can get to know her more.”

I couldn’t believe what I heard.

Jin liked me?

He continued, “And maybe I want to keep cooking with her and have random trips to the convenience store because I forgot something and tell her my bad jokes that she rarely laughs at, but I know that she secretly enjoys them.”

I snorted, “I only laughed at one!”

“You still laughed,” he pointed out. I sighed.

“So?”

“So… she sounds like quite the girl.”

He smiled, “Oh, she is.”

I smiled back at him. “So, I’m sure that she would love to keep cooking with you, though I hear that she’s a pretty good cook herself so I’m sure she would love to return the favor by cooking a dish at yours.”

“It’s a date then?”

I nodded.

“But let’s finish this one first, I’m DYING to try this baked ziti,” I exclaimed before he started dishing it out.

“Well then, bon appetite!”

[toesucker416]

Dear Mr. T. S. 416

I am writing, because I have been intruiged by your works on Dracflowology. Several months ago, you published your peer review of Estrogenesis Flow, conducting such praise as "The best representation of the Dracula Flow style."

So, as the foremost expert in the field, I would petition your assessment of Cherry Sepphie Flow, as your peer review could lead to great growth in the field and great analysis of the work itself. I anticipate your response with great excitement, and hopes for further advancement and discussion in the field of Dracflowology.

Respectful Regards, Ms. P. S. Heather

Ms. P. S. Heather,

Sincerest apologies for the delay, but the life of a fry cook is a busy one, and occasionally posting on Tumblr must take a backseat to playing Hitman. In fact, since I have already sent you my review, I will now begin to talk about Hitman. You can't stop me, it's my post.

A common problem in open world games is on-boarding: you've designed a cool, intricate map full of things to discover, now how do you communicate this to the player? Hitman's tools for this are, on their surface, pedestrian, and perhaps even a little clumsy. The most common tool in IO's toolkit are Mission Stories, linear sets of instructions to isolate your targets for easy Silent Assassin kills. And yet, the ways these are used effectively tutorialize the player, both on the options available to them, and their targets' schedules.

Hitman essentially has three tutorials: Guided Training against "Calvin Ritter", The Final Test against "Jasper Knight", and The Showstopper, against Viktor Novikov and Dalia Margolis. It is that last one that most effectively functions as a tutorial, because it doesn't tell you it's a tutorial. And yet, each Mission Story functions as a guide for how Mission Stories will work, running you through a different assassination method, and what to expect from them. Both targets will, at some point, choose to have a drink you've had an opportunity to tamper with, but each time the game gives you a different poison: emetic for Viktor, lethal for Dalia. And because it's no longer a tutorial, you're paying that much more attention to their behavior, and what the different types of poison do and how you might want to use them in the future. It goes this way for other kills in Paris, too: dropping the light fixture on Viktor Novikov, securing a private audience with Dahlia Margolis by bidding in the auction, leading Viktor to the pavilion - if Guided Training is the game saying "here's how to play," and The Final Test is the game saying "here's how story missions work," then The Showstopper is the game saying "check out all this cool shit you can do," and you take that forwards. The game doesn't have to prompt you, in the future, to drop heavy objects on your targets, or push them from high drops, because it's already taught you that gravity is your friend, and taught you to seek out those opportunities. The game doesn't need to give you a waypoint to the nearest poison, because it's taught you that rat poison is in basements, and it isolates whoever consumes it.

But knowing your tools is only half the battle. It doesn't help a thing to know to poison a target's drink if you don't know what drink is theirs, and it doesn't help to know to drop heavy objects on your target if you don't know which heavy objects they'll walk under. This is the other helpful part of Mission Stories: familiarity with your target and their schedule. Each Mission Story will take you through one part of your target's schedule, and this is a part that will happen without 47's intervention. Not only that, it will give you a chance to survey a target's habitat, giving you a good look at any opportunities for mischief that may arise. This doesn't help you on a first playthrough, but the Level Mastery system gives you a strong gameplay incentive to return at least once, and the challenge board offers a tempting treat for completionists.

This is why Hitman 3's levels have felt largely empty to me: the standard for that game is three mission stories, while the standard for prior games was at least three per target, outside of the likes of Colorado. This apparent lack of business makes the likes of Marcus Stuyvesant and Imogen Royce feel less like parts of the world than even ostensibly reclusive targets like Janus and Silvio Caruso, and makes these gorgeous levels feel that much less alive.

Anyways, that's part of why Hitman is such a time sink. Sincerely, Mr. T. S. 416

P.S. - Though my role as a scholar obliged me to speak candidly of its flaws, Cherry Sepphie Flow was a real treat made by a rare genius. I look forward to hearing your next bars.

[alittlegayhistoria]

Zoe Leonard - 'I Want a President' (1992)

“I want a dyke for president…” form the opening lines for the battalion of critical incisiveness and queer radical spirit that is Zoe Leonard’s 1992 piece ‘I Want a President’. Surging forth into the American public realm following the fatal negligence of Reagan’s administration during the AIDS epidemic and the next presidential election run-up, ‘I Want A President’ dared to interrogate the fundamental denial of marginalised bodies, minds and experiences in the political arena. Constituting a poignant position in the broader visual languages of AIDS activism and queer resistance, ‘I Want A President’ broke ground in inspiring and furthering a critical modality of hope. Its impassioned sentences at once demand empathy and humanity from authoritative figures. Leonard’s statements queer the metrics of power that vehemently deny those outside of cis-heteropatriarchal society by providing currency in promoting otherwise silenced voices, and reestablishing their lived experiences as ethically fundamental in the articulation and implementation of policies that account for real citizens.

Functioning as a key catalyst for ‘I Want A President’, Leonard was inspired by the dynamism of fellow lesbian poet and artist Eileen Myles’ presidential bid in the 1991-1992 presidential election, alongside Bill Clinton, George W. Bush and Ross Perot. Myles herself charged up by Bush’s lamentations of “the politically correct” (which implied an intended diminution of the voices of women, people of colour and LGBTQ+ critiquing hegemonic political assertions) in his commencement address galvanised an intellectual juncture that scrutinised the supposed impossibility of an openly female, openly queer president in the mainstream American consciousness. Acting in symbiosis to Myles’ work and presidential candidacy, Leonard was (and remains) a prominent and active member of queer activist collectives like Fierce Pussy, and her political praxis and astute artistic sensibilities informed the dissemination and distribution of ‘I Want A President’. Formerly intended to be a statement for an underground LGBTQ+ publication, the piece was printed as a Xerox document and circulated amongst Leonard’s friends, wider queer social circles and activist cohorts. It rapidly rumbled outwards into the wider public space, levying a challenge to the unfeeling political elite through progressive prose that illuminated the standpoints of those most denigrated in American ideology and dogma.

Spanning experiences of targeted violence, poverty, and disenfranchisement, the rhythmic structure of ‘I Want A President’ is arresting in its unflinching engagement with state-enabled trauma interwoven with empathic sentences expressing solidarity with those who continue to survive despite the odds. Grappling with legacies of lethal indifference in institutional engagement with the AIDS crisis, environmental damage bolstered by social inequalities, and sustained acts of gender-motivated attacks, Leonard’s calls and aspirations for a feeling, loving and reflexive leader remain tantamount in the contemporary era. The concluding lines “Always a boss and never a worker, always a liar, always a thief and never caught” is deeply evocative as a searing indictment against acts of blatant corruption and incitement of destructive community tensions by political elites able to evade culpability through immense social privileges. ‘I Want A President’ and its power lies in its calibration of empathy as a lightning rod for action, to make the yearning for difference not a mawkish instinct, but a place of generative resistance against political systems that seek to elicit apathy from sustained deprecation of those who fall outside of the power lines on the basis of race, gender, sexuality, class, ability and beyond.

‘I Want A President’ continues to have vibrant reverberations in contemporary political and queer counterculture. In 2016, it was erected under Manhattan’s High Line, a New York park built upon a disused elevated railway, proclaiming its moving and robust prose to a new public audience in the run-up to the 2016 election which devastatingly saw in the presidency of Donald Trump, reminding us all too much of what ‘I Want A President’ advocates against. Leonard’s powerful work continues to garner creative inspiration amongst queer artists, notably being read by queer rapper and artist Mykki Blanco, directed as part of a film by Adinah Dancyger in 2016, providing a reading that was passionate, imbued with immense political frustration that made its words all the more visceral in the face of Trump’s eventual inauguration. In 2018, the piece was reprinted with 100 copies and distributed in aid of the Treatment Action Group, a community-based think tank producing bold, advancing research into AIDS/HIV and other conditions in the pursuit of LGBTQ+, gender and racial liberation. The timelessness and transience of ‘I Want A President’ is made clear in its sustained relevance in the fluctuations in the national political milieu, demonstrating its significance as a queer cultural artefact that inspires fights for justice across multiple social intersections.

Leonard continues to enjoy a lustrous artistic career, and is now represented by the Hauser & Wirth gallery, where ‘I Want A President’ was celebrated and honoured for its cultural impact and staying power. Translating the piece’s deep insights and challenges against discriminatory political dominance in the British context, one can foster ‘I Want A President’ in expressing their disavowal of political acts devoid of empathy and basic human respect. Namely the state hatred of trans and genderqueer people in the name of political point-scoring, the loathsome class stigmatisation of current prime minister Rishi Sunak in his boasting of defunding what he deemed ‘deprived’ urban areas and the skyrocketing levels of financial precarity and homelessness under a fractious economic system. Leonard’s ruminations and desires in ‘I Want A President’ remain emblematic of the potency of queer activism and eternally vital, in demanding better representation, for politicians that care, that feel, that emote, that dare to think holistically beyond the sinister motivator of unbridled capitalistic power.

[mike-wachowski]

Wait i have another question....so who killed travis...like who sent the postcard to nat?? Was it really suicide??

another great question for the mike recap ! everything surrounding travis's death is a little confusing to keep up with, because they spread it out all the way to season 2 because of lottie's involvement in it. so lets kind of break it down, timeline wise:

Nat and Misty go to investigate Travis's home because they've both received the postcard, hoping to see if travis knows anything about it. when they arrive at travis's house, they find he's mostly been living like a hermit, all boarded up windows, but what they do find interesting is a bottle of "200 dollar whiskey", despite travis making minimum wage at his ranch job.

(this is insane foreshadowing for a reveal we dont even get until season 2, in which we learn that lottie had been in communicado with travis and had visited him what may be the NIGHT before misty and nat arrived, after he told lottie he was seeing things and communicating with the wilderness.)

Travis drives to the ranch while lottie is asleep, and lottie finds instructions on how to access his bank account as well as the note he leaves for nat:

but lottie follows him to the ranch, where he's reconstructed the symbol of the wilderness with candles. travis says that the only way to communicate with the wilderness is to get as close to death as you can, so travis rigs a noose with a crane so he can pass out and try and talk to the wilderness.

he asks lottie to help at first, and she refuses, but when travis begins by himself, lottie caves and tells she'll lower him down the moment he goes unconscious.

Then.

Lottie tells nat that the reason travis dies is that the buttons get stuck, so she isn't able to lower him in time, "a horrendous accident". What she doesn't tell Nat is that while Travis is unconscious, Lottie has a vision of Laura Lee and the wilderness, and as that happens we see travis raising further and further into the air. when lottie comes to, Travis is about 20 feet in the air, hung by the crane, and any hope of him surviving is gone. Lottie tries to clean everything up, taking some of the candles with her, but leaves travis suspended.

which is how nat finds travis shortly after:

the police arrive as Nat and Misty find the body, something that i believe was initiated by lottie, calling in the cops to find travis and take his body down.

So. as far as we, the audience can deduce, whether travis killed himself, lottie killed him, or whether it was all an accident is kind of up to you to decide. Did the button to lower travis actually get stuck? how much can we trust lottie's recount of the event? it's up to you!

to answer the other half of your question, who sent the postcard to nat, and the rest of the yj by default, the narrative leaves it kind of open to interpretation. the 2 main suspects are either jeff, as part of his blackmailing scheme to get the furniture store out of debt, or Jessica Roberts, and by extension Taissa, as part of her plot to see if any of yellowjackets would talk and ruin her bid for senator. another thing thats up to you to decide!