#like everything is either weak to it and/or the purple one

[linogram]

no clue who to try for this banner (if i even get either), but im leaning towards ruan mei so she and serval can be a band together

[cinnamonmilf]

⋅˚₊‧ ୨bound୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

summary: your girlfriend thinks you are gonna be the one wearing the handcuffs…uhhhhh

cw: sub!vi, smut with no plot, established rs

It’s been a long day. Completely uneventful and full of missing your girlfriend. You finally hear the rattle of your girlfriend’s pair of keys opening the door. Music to your ears.

You had sent her a text earlier telling her you had a little surprise for her when she got home. She, too, had spent those hours thinking about you, anxiously wondering what you had planned. Knowing you, it was either really good or really bad.

“Babe?”

“I’m in the room!” You respond and your sweet voice already has her feeling a little weak in the knees. After all, she hadn’t heard it in so long (eight hours).

She makes her way on the bed next to you and kisses you with a grin on her face. You indulge in the kiss, deepening it and bringing her closer to you. Feeling your plump lips against hers, your soft tongue inside her mouth and your soft hair through her fingers while she holds the back of your head was everything she needed.

You break the kiss and look at her with starry eyes and right then and there she thinks she could die from how much she adores you.

“You remember the surprise?” You break her trance.

“Hm?” She asks already love drunk and barely processing your words.

You bite your lip with a smile and pull a pair of handcuffs from under your pillow, letting them hang in front of her face.

She raises her eyebrow and a smirk forms on her face. “Where’d you even get those?”

“Online.” You shrug.

She swiftly takes them off your hand, examining them before cockily motioning for you to turn around. You laugh and take them back from her. Jesus, she can be naive.

“I’m not the one wearing them,” you tell her, now being the one smirking.

After (barely any) protesting, you slowly undress your girlfriend down to her briefs and wife-lover. Kissing every inch of her face, neck, shoulders. Vi loves your touch and you are aware of how weak it makes her; it gets her going.

“Turn around for me,” you ask softly. She complies, obediently putting her hands behind her. You are gonna have so much for for her.

You turn her back around and lie her down in her back. She’s completely at your disposal. And there’s something about seeing your ridiculously strong girlfriend this vulnerable for you that goes straight to your cunt and damps your lacy panties.

You take your time. Trailing her body with kisses. Kissing, sucking and biting on the inside of her strong thighs and relishing on the way she bites her lip trying to hide her not-so-subtle pants and whines every time your mouth even grazes her skin. You can tell her underwear has a [growing] wet spot by now, but you can’t help but torturing a little bit more.

Red and purple marks start appearing all over her body. Each of them a reminder that she is all yours. Only you could ever have her like this.

She has a growing wet spot on her briefs by now. You probably should’ve given her what she wanted by now, be nice. But how could you help yourself when she looks so pretty all desperate for you, though?

“Please,” she finally says. Her brows are furrowed and her lip is nearly bleeding from how much she’s been biting into it.

“Hm? What do you want?”

She whines. She’s can’t take it anymore and all she can think of is your tongue inside her finally relieving her from the all-consuming ache she is feeling right now. She needs you so fucking bad.

“Please, baby. Please, I need your mouth.” God, she’s pathetic.

“Here?” You ask before licking a stripe over her soaking cunt through her underwear.

She moans, loud. “Fuck, yes! Please.”

Honestly, how could you say no to those glossy puppy eyes?

You finally discard her briefs and give her what she so desperately craves. You wrap your arms around her legs and lap at her pussy. She’s so fucking sweet. The way she further soaks your face only encourages you to keep going.

You look up to see her and all you can think of is how beautiful she looks like this: so whiny and sweaty and completely fucked out.

You shift one of your hands from the back of her legs to the hem of her shirt, lifting it up to get access to her perky tits. She’s so sensitive, the moment you squeeze one of them and begin playing with it, little “Fuck, so good”’s and “Just like that”’s pour out of her.

She can’t even touch you. Her cheeks are fully flushed and she can’t stop herself from saying your name over and over, it’s all she can manage to say at this point.

Her legs begin shaking, closing around your head. “Fuck, babe, s’too much.”

You chuckle. “Can’t take it? Hm?” You mock. And she hates to admit it, but it only turns her on more.

She pleads for you to slow down, but you aren’t having any of it. You keep working your mouth on her, putting two fingers inside her. She fucking loses it.

One thing about Vi: she’s loud. You have her moaning and begging and, quite frankly, on the verge of tears. It’s nothing short of adorable.

You can feel her getting close. Her walls beginning to clench around your fingers, her eyes fully rolled back, her mouth muttering nonsense.

“I need to cum. Please.” Oh, you know.

“Come for me, beautiful. Want you to come in my mouth.”

That’s all she needed. She lets out a pornographic moan, wanting nothing more than to tug at your hair and push you impossibly closer to her. All she can do is be a good girl for you and take it.

She completely lets go, welcoming her climax in the safety of your touch. You don’t think you’ve ever seen such a pretty sight. If you could fuck her all day long, you truly would.

Once you let her ride out her orgasm on your face and fingers, you take them out of her to taste her one last time before kissing her. Softly cupping her face and letting her melt into you.

You kiss her cheek and she opens her eyes to see you…and the grin you are already trying to hide from her.

“Can you give me one more?”

-

a/n: hello :3 i’m so sorry this is bad, i am rusty AS FUCK. i haven’t written anything in like eight months but i swear i’ll get my talent back as i keep practicing lmfao. i’ll keep writing for ellie (obvi) and also caitlyn but yeah this is my first time writing for vi so i hope it doesn’t flop too much. anyway love u !

tagging my bae @sunflowerwinds

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Bullied Yandere x Reader (Prologue)

Wyatt stared down at the shattered remains of his glasses, the lenses fractured into near dust. His throat tightened as he bit his lower lip, slowly lifting his eyes to meet the figure looming over him. Oliver. The guy who had made his life miserable every day since freshman year. Wyatt never understood why. Sure, he was quiet, a bit nerdy — but plenty of other kids were too.

Oliver's hand shot forward, yanking a fistful of Wyatt's dark hair. A cruel grin spread across his face.

"And here I thought your face couldn’t get any uglier."

Wyatt flinched at the jab, pain throbbing in his swollen black eye and split lip.

Wyatt barely had time to process the sting of Oliver’s words before a fist collided with his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs. He crumpled to the ground, gasping, his arms curling around his midsection. Oliver laughed — sharp and cruel — before turning on his heel and walking away.

You saw everything.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you stood frozen behind the corner of the old brick building. Wyatt's broken glasses glinted in the afternoon sun, shards catching the light like tiny stars scattered on the pavement. He coughed, a wet, painful sound, and tried to push himself up on shaking arms.

You wanted to move. To say something. But your throat felt like it was wrapped in barbed wire.

Wyatt slumped back down, his breathing shallow. His head tilted just enough for his eyes to meet yours. You take a breath and force your legs to move. Gravel crunches underfoot as you step out from behind the corner. Wyatt’s eyes widen for a second before he looks away, his face twisting with embarrassment.

“You okay?” you ask, even though the answer is painfully obvious.

Wyatt laughs, but it’s a hollow, broken sound. “What do you think?” He winces as he shifts, one arm wrapping around his ribs.

You hesitate for only a moment before crouching down beside him. "C’mon," you say, softer this time. "Let’s get you cleaned up."

He doesn’t argue. Maybe he’s too tired. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore. Either way, he lets you hook an arm under his and help him to his feet. He sways dangerously, and you instinctively tighten your grip to keep him steady. He’s a lot lighter than you expected.

The two of you make it to the edge of the school’s sports field, where an old, rarely-used water fountain sits. You ease him down onto the low concrete ledge beside it and push the button. The water spurts out unevenly, splashing over your hand. It’s cold, at least.

“Hold still.” You take the sleeve of your hoodie and wet it under the stream.

Wyatt watches you, wary and quiet, as you dab carefully at the blood on his lip. He flinches, but doesn’t pull away. His black eye looks worse up close — dark purple blooming angrily beneath his pale skin. His glasses are a lost cause, the broken remains still sitting back by the fountain. You don’t mention them.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he murmurs after a moment, voice low.

“Yeah, well…” You pause, unsure what to say. Because I couldn’t just leave you there feels a little too cliche. Instead, you shake your head. “It’s whatever. You didn’t deserve that.”

Wyatt huffs out a tired breath — not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Tell that to Oliver.”

You frown, rolling your soaked sleeve up. The silence stretches between you, awkward but not uncomfortable.

“Thanks,” Wyatt says eventually, his voice so quiet you almost miss it. His eyes— the one that isn’t swollen shut — meet yours again.

“You gonna tell anyone?” Wyatt asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He looks away again, his jaw tightening. “About what happened?”

You hesitate. There’s an unspoken plea in his voice, though he doesn’t say it outright. He’s afraid. Not of Oliver — not really — but of what happens after. The whispers. The pitying looks. Being the victim, the weak kid everyone talks about but no one helps.

“No,” you say softly. “Not unless you want me to.”

Wyatt’s shoulders sag with relief. He nods once, quick and small.

For a while, neither of you speaks. The late afternoon sun starts to dip lower, casting long shadows across the field. You wonder if someone’s noticed you’re both missing. If Oliver’s still skulking around somewhere. If this will all start again tomorrow.

Probably.

You glance at Wyatt, who’s staring at the ground, his expression unreadable. His hair falls in his face, messy and damp from sweat.

“Do you… want me to walk you home or something?” you ask, voice careful. Wyatt looks over, surprised. His one good eye blinks slowly, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re serious.

“You don’t have to,” he says, but his voice sounds less sure than before.

“Yeah, I know,” you say. “But do you want me to?”

There’s a pause and then he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

You help him up again, slower this time, and he leans on you more than he did before. His ribs must really hurt, but he doesn’t complain. You both walk in silence at first, feet crunching over gravel and then shifting to the uneven sidewalk that leads away from school.

The streets feel quieter than usual, like the whole neighborhood is holding its breath. The warm hum of a distant lawnmower drones somewhere far off, blending with the faint sound of a radio playing Nirvana from an open garage down the block. The air smells like asphalt and summer dust, even though it’s barely spring.

Your shoes scuff against the sidewalk, and Wyatt stumbles once, catching himself with a muffled grunt. You slow your pace to match his, pretending not to notice.

The sun dips lower, turning the sky shades of burnt orange and dusty purple. Neither of you talks much — the silence isn’t awkward anymore. It’s just… there.

When you finally reach his house, it’s smaller than you imagined. A squat, one-story home with chipping blue paint and a rusted-out bike leaned against the front steps. The porch light flickers, buzzing faintly. Wyatt hesitates at the bottom of the steps, shifting his weight to one foot like he’s not sure he wants to go inside.

“You… wanna come in?” he asks suddenly, his voice quieter than before. He sounds surprised at his own words, like he didn’t mean to say them out loud.

You blink, caught off guard. “Sure”

The inside smells like old carpet and something vaguely sweet — cinnamon, maybe. The living room is a cluttered mess of VHS tapes stacked by the TV and a half-finished puzzle spread across the coffee table. A faded poster of 'The X-Files' hangs crookedly on the wall, and there’s a worn bean bag chair shoved into the corner next to a stack of comic books. It’s exactly the kind of place you’d expect Wyatt to live. Somehow, that makes you smile.

“Uh… my room’s back here,” Wyatt mumbles, leading you down a narrow hallway. The carpet squishes weirdly under your shoes. A closed door on the left has a crooked sign on it — 'Keep Out' written in what looks like red marker. It’s smudged, like he tried to make it look like blood but gave up halfway through.

Wyatt pushes the door open, and his room is exactly what you imagined, too. Posters of 'Star Wars' and 'Indiana Jones' cover the walls. There’s a battered bookshelf overflowing with graphic novels, action figures, and a boxy old computer humming faintly in the corner. A baseball cap hangs from the bedpost, and his desk is buried under a chaotic pile of homework, D&D rulebooks, and floppy disks.

“Sorry it’s a mess,” Wyatt mutters, his ears turning red. He limps over to his bed and sinks down with a quiet groan. “I wasn’t really expecting company.”

“It’s cool,” you say honestly. You wander over to the bookshelf, tilting your head at the rows of comics. 'X-Men,' 'Spider-Man,' even a few older 'Fantastic Four' issues. “You’ve got a serious collection.”

Wyatt gives a tired half-smile. “Yeah. My uncle gives me his old ones when he’s done with them. He used to work at a comic shop.”

You nod, impressed. You spot a well-worn 'Dungeons & Dragons' Player’s Handbook on the shelf, the spine barely holding together. “You play?”

Wyatt’s face brightens a little. “Yeah. Well, I DM. Or I did. My group kinda… stopped showing up.”

You don’t have to ask why. You can guess. Oliver’s probably got something to do with that, too.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The hum of the computer and the distant sound of a TV in another room fills the quiet. Then Wyatt looks over at you, his voice quieter than before.

“Thanks for helping me. Back there.” His fingers pick at a loose thread on his blanket. “Most people just… watch.”

You shrug, but the weight of his words sticks with you. “I'm sure you'd do the same for me.”

Wyatt gives you a look like he’s not sure if you’re serious, but then he nods. A small, almost hopeful smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

The quiet stretches for a moment before Wyatt shifts on his bed. Then, with a slight groan, he pushes himself upright, glancing toward the small TV in the corner of the room. His fingers brush the remote on the nightstand, and he grabs it, flicking it on.

"Hey," he says, his voice light. "Wanna watch a movie or something?"

"Sure," you say, glancing at the old TV screen. "What've you got?"

Wyatt scrolls through the VHS tapes piled on the shelf beneath the TV. His fingers move through them methodically, pausing occasionally to read the titles, his brow furrowed in concentration. Finally, he pulls out a worn copy of Jurassic Park, the case battered and faded but still recognizable.

"How about this one?" he asks, raising an eyebrow as he holds it up.

You grin, unable to help it. "Hell yeah!"

Wyatt chuckles softly. He slides the VHS into the player with a satisfying click, and the TV buzzes to life with that grainy, old-school static.

The opening credits roll, the familiar music filling the room. You settle back against the wall, arms crossed, and watch as Wyatt leans back in bed, his eyes a little unfocused. He winces every so often when he moves, but it’s clear he’s trying to keep his attention on the movie. Every now and then, he lets out a quiet sigh, but this time, it’s not from pain. It’s more like he’s trying to let himself enjoy something for once.

The familiar sounds of the movie fills the space between you. For a moment, it’s like everything else melts away. You look over at Wyatt, and despite everything, you notice the way his eyes flicker with genuine interest as the T-Rex roars on screen. His face softens, his hands gripping the edges of his blanket as if trying to hold on to the moment.

Maybe it’s silly, but you start to wonder how many times he’s watched this movie.

"Hey," you say after a moment, breaking the quiet. "How many times have you seen this?"

Wyatt doesn’t look at you immediately, but his lips twitch upward in the faintest of smiles. "Oh, I lost count." He hesitates, his gaze flickering over to you. "I used to watch it alone in my room. Pretend I was, like, part of the team trying to survive. Kinda stupid, huh?"

You shake your head, smiling at him. “Nah, not stupid. I think it’s kind of... nice.”

Wyatt’s eyes flicker toward you, and for a split second, you think he might say something else. Instead, he just shrugs.

You glance at the clock. It’s getting late.

“I should probably call my parents,” you say. “Let them know I’m gonna be late getting back.”

Wyatt nods but doesn’t say anything. He seems content to let you handle it, lost in his thoughts as he watches the movie.

You step out of the room and make the quick call, your voice soft as you tell your parents you’re going to be a bit longer. The conversation is brief, and after hanging up, you return to Wyatt’s room. The soft hum of the movie and the occasional rattle of the VHS tape are the only sounds filling the space.

Just then, you hear a car door slam outside, followed by the sound of footsteps on the porch.

“Shit,” Wyatt mutters under his breath, and his hand shoots out to pause the movie. His eyes widen slightly, and you can tell he’s not ready for whoever’s coming through that door.

The front door creaks open, and you hear a familiar voice call out. “Wyatt? You home?”

It’s a woman’s voice. You can tell from the tone she’s probably had a long shift at work. Wyatt sighs softly, and you can see his shoulders tense.

“She’s home early,” he mutters, more to himself than you.

You stand still for a moment, unsure if you should leave, but Wyatt doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to kick you out. Instead, he pulls the blanket up higher around his shoulders, clearly trying to hide himself.

The door to his room opens slowly, and standing in the doorway is a woman in her late forties. She looks tired, her hair pulled back in a messy bun and her clothes a bit wrinkled from a long day’s work. Her eyes soften when she spots Wyatt, and for a moment, she’s just watching him.

“Wyatt,” she says, her voice gentler now. “You okay?”

Wyatt doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, he just shrugs, face tilted away from her. You notice her gaze flick to you for the first time, and she offers a tired, polite smile. It’s obvious she didn’t expect anyone else to be there.

"Uh, yeah. Just hanging out," you say, feeling a little awkward under her gaze. "I didn’t mean to... intrude."

She shakes her head, stepping into the room. “No, no. It’s fine. It’s good for him to have someone over. It’s been... quiet around here.”

Wyatt doesn’t meet her eyes.

His mom’s eyes linger on him for a moment, before she nods toward the TV. "Jurassic Park, huh? You two like that one?"

You grin. “It’s a classic.”

Wyatt snorts softly, a laugh that’s more of a resigned exhale.

His mom chuckles, though there’s something soft and tired about it. "You and your movies, Wyatt. Just like your dad used to."

At the mention of his dad, Wyatt stiffens, and for a moment, the room feels like it’s holding its breath again. His mom doesn’t seem to notice the shift, busy unpacking her purse. You glance at Wyatt, but he’s looking at the TV now, his hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. It’s clear that conversation is over for now.

“Well,” his mom says after a moment, “I’m gonna get cleaned up. You two... just hang out. I’ll make something for dinner in a bit, if you’re staying."

Wyatt nods absently, but she pauses at the door, glancing back at him one last time, as if checking if he’s really alright.

"Alright," she says softly. "I’ll be in the kitchen. Just let me know if you need anything."

She leaves the room, and the door closes behind her, leaving just you and Wyatt again. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Wyatt picks up the remote again and presses play, the familiar sounds of 'Jurassic Park' filling the room once more.

“Sorry about that,” he says quietly, not looking at you.

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

Masterlist

[igorluvr]

Can you do some with nam gyu?

‘HERE WITH ME | nam-gyu x reader

PAIRING: nam-gyu x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: when you enter the Squid Games, you encounter a particular group of people, and to your surprise, one of them takes a special liking to you.

CONTENT: heavyyyy fluff, he’s a big softie for u, reader replaces gyeong su oops, love at first sight aww, shy!reader, both fall in love too fast

AUTHORS NOTE: first fic !! i didn’t know what to write abt so i came up with my own plot i hope u enjoyyy !!

word count: [1k]

AFTER the first game, you lost all motivation to keep going. Hours felt like days, eating felt like a chore, and you felt horrible for leaving your little sister alone in the world. You told her it would be just a couple days, that “big sis would be back soon,” but now you knew that you might never reunite—at least not in this lifetime.

Everything felt disgusting. You ran to the bathroom and cried for what felt like hours, feeling like vomiting as you scrubbed the blood and guts off your skin, washing so hard you swore some of the blood was yours. The walk back to your room felt like a death sentence as the smell of bodies grew stronger.

Sitting on your bed, you stared into space, trying to distract your mind from all the carnage. It felt as if the world outside was dead silent, with nothing happening beyond your little bubble. Hunger stabbed at your stomach as everyone else lay asleep. Using the dark, quiet room as an escape, you imagined floating in space, where nothing could hurt you, finally alone with your thoughts and soul.

That peace was abruptly shattered when the lights suddenly blared on, like a siren reminding you of where you were. “Damn,” you thought, “I stayed up the whole night?” The pink-suited guards lined everyone up and loaded them into the colorful hallway, leading to the next game. You weren’t sure if it was due to hunger, lack of sleep, or pure terror, but you felt weak as you walked up the steps, each stomp taking a toll on your body.

You heard from the previous winner that you would be playing dalgona, but when you entered the next room, you were met with two circular rainbows and six lanes. The announcer instructed everyone to form groups of five. Even though you hadn't played many games as a child, it was common sense to know dalgona was not a team game. Had the man lied? Was this really it? You glanced at him, noticing a look of dismay on his face. Maybe he didn’t know either.

As the timer began, everyone formed their groups, leaving you standing alone. The minutes ticked by, and your nervousness grew. You knew waiting for someone to pick you was wrong, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak up. Meeting new people had always been tough, and the pressure was tenfold now.

Just as you accepted your fate, a group of four approached you: a tall man with purple hair, a pretty boy with dark, long hair, a girl covered in piercings, and a boy who resembled a baby deer. The man with purple hair introduced himself as Thanos, but you zoned out, fixated on his friend. He stared deeply into your eyes as he fiddled with his rings. You tried to avoid eye contact, but every time you looked up, he was already watching you.

“Um, hellooooo? You deaf or somethin?” Thanos quipped. You snapped back to reality as he explained he wanted you on his team. You nodded, mainly out of necessity, but agreeing nonetheless.

The teams sat in neat rows, preparing for the games ahead. You overheard conversations about who would play which game, but your new team was strangely silent. Thanos and his friend chatted about a necklace, while the other two focused on the competitors. Your nerves ramped up, and you fidgeted with the sleeves of your jacket. The longer-haired boy suddenly tapped your shoulder.

“Hey, you okay?” he murmured. Usually, you would’ve said you were okay, but in this situation, what was the point of lying? You shook your head, and concern washed over his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly. All you could do was shrug. Suddenly, he took your hands and kissed them gently. The warmth spread across your face, leaving you feeling flushed and exposed. Did he know how his words affected you? Were you developing feelings in a place like this?

“It’s all gonna be okay, darling, I promise,” he reassured you. Just then, the girl beside you, Se-mi, interrupted.

“Hey, how about instead of drooling over her, we figure out our games?” she scoffed. You watched as Nam-gyu shot her a venomous glare, transforming his expression entirely.

“Nobody was talking to you, bitch,” he spat, his sudden coldness making your mind whirl. Why was he hostile with her yet soft with you?

As if nothing had happened, he turned back to you. “Which game are you best at, sweetheart?” You barely whispered your answer: “Um... gong-gi, I think.” He immediately understood, and soon after, your team’s games were decided.

Se-mi would play ddakji first, Min-su would follow with flying stone, you’d go next with gong-gi, Nam-gyu would play spinning top, and Thanos would go last with jegi.

When your team was called, fear washed over you. As your knees weakened, you felt Nam-gyu squeeze your shoulder. “Don’t worry, baby, you’re gonna do great.” His words bolstered your confidence more than you could admit.

Each game passed swiftly, and your team finished with eight seconds to spare. As you crossed the finish line, Nam-gyu launched himself at you, wrapping his arms around your waist, making you bounce with excitement. You were enveloped in his scent, overpowering the stench of blood around you. The touch of his hands melted away your worries, and for a moment, you felt truly safe.

As you walked back to the rooms, a smile formed on your lips. Was he genuinely interested in you?

When you settled into bed, a few moments of silence were interrupted by the sound of the bed creaking beside you.

"You did sooo good in gong-gi. Your hands were literally moving like a ninja" he praised, beaming with admiration. You giggled, "It was nothing, really."

He crawled closer, intertwining his fingers with yours, you loved this habit he’d picked up. “I’m so proud of you. You looked nervous, but you pushed through and helped us win,” Nam-gyu chuckled. You responded with nothing but a shy smile; words didn’t feel like enough. You turned your face the other way so he wouldn't see how much his words affected you

“Don’t hide your pretty face, you’re cute when you smile,” he said, fingers lifting your chin to meet his gaze. The compliment made you smile brightly.

“There she is—there’s my girl,” he added, inching closer until he was almost spooning you. You melted against him, relieved to have someone to stay beside in this chaos. As time passed, nothing else mattered. It was unlike how time slowed before, this time it was a comfortable passing. His hand played with your hair, scratching your scalp in a soothing rhythm. 

“You remember how nervous you were when you first went up to play?” he asked, his voice low and playful. “You were a disaster, but it was the most adorable disaster I’ve ever seen.”

You chuckled softly, warmth pooling in your chest and comfortability blooming. “You were just as bad, you dropped the spinning top across the floor”

“Well, I had to make sure you didn't feel alone in your clumsiness,” he teased, his breath tickling your ear. The closeness felt intoxicating, and you turned your head slightly to catch a glimpse of him. 

“You’d better not mess up like that again. You’re the only person here I actually like” you said, nudging him with your shoulder.

His gaze softened for a bit, like he was admiring you, then quickly flashed back. “Only if you promise to stay by my side forever,” he replied, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Always,” you whispered, feeling an undeniable connection grow between you.

As the laughter settled, the world around you faded into the background, like you were in your own little bubble. He leaned in closer, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead that sent a shiver down your spine.

“When we get out, I’m gonna take you to my club so we can have a proper party together, get you out of that shell” he suggested, a grin spreading across his face. “Yea?”

“Yea, I’d like that, just make sure those girls aren’t all over you” you replied, smiling against him playfully.

“Oh don’t worry, Imma show you all off. Everyone’s gonna know you’re mines.” He chuckled, proceeding to place a soft kiss on your cheek.

The more than friendly banter made your heart swell, and you cuddled into his side, feeling a fuzzy warmth. You could see a future painted vividly in your mind—one filled with laughter, love, and euphoria.

Soon, you both fell asleep in each other’s arms, wrapped in a sense of warmth and possibility. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, hope flickered in your heart, igniting the feeling that maybe, against all odds, you could find light in this dark world together. In that moment, everything felt right, and you couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else but here—with him.

[wonryllis]

ʬʬ. ! LAST FRIDAY NIGHT ﹙ THINK WE KISSED ﹚

𝒏o𝓉ℯs. park jongseong with fem!reader 𖥔 ݁ enemies but secretly in love and oblivious, fluff. LIB? word count `3377 warnings. lots of cursing! unedited.

JAY VER: mutual hate f2e JAKE VER. SUNGHOON VER.

"what the fuck, piggy!" you feel jay's feet against the side of the waist before his voice reaches your ears. kicked out of bed and rolled onto the floor, that's how your mornings with jay start.

"what the hell is this!" he shouts again and when you turn to look at him you find yourself questioning the same,"what the hell is that!" a litter of pretty lipstick marks all over him, collarbones to neck to jaw to face. and keyword: lips.

"you tell me! what the hell does it look like?" if it were some other time you'd have laughed your ass off at the horrified look on his face, but the very familiar shade of color on him, the one you always wear because you're quite literally obsessed with it has you horrified as well at the realization. there's no way you did that, with park jay? no no no.

"don't tell me we-"

"i have my boxers on and you're still in that ugly fucking dress so no we did not," his words are like a shower of relief to you. however to jay, it is also something else. sure he is glad you did not do anything but that dress you have on? it's not ugly, it is everything but ugly. you look so pretty in it, like a doll and he thinks it's probably the reason why he let you kiss him all up.

"you better have something to say because i don't understand how this happened," his hands rub over the marks he can see while you sit on the floor trying to remember last night. you went to a college party, and you met jay there, and having the same group of mutual friends you remember playing drinking games. a shot of tequila when you refused to kiss jay for a dare and that's where your memory fails you.

"i don't remember," you say simply, watching jay get of bed and into the bathroom.

"i don't either so let's just call it truce and forget,"

sighing in resignation, you take a look around the room, going over to the mirror to scan yourself. there under the shadow of your ear you spot something purple, a touch and it hurt. pushing your hair out of the way, you take a closer look at it. pupils dilating upon the realization that it's a hickey. with a mortified look in your eyes, you pull down at the collar of your dress to find more. a litter of it mirroring jay's kiss marks. and when you shift on your legs to inspect the other side of your neck, you feel a sting on the skin of your thighs. no way no way please no. you pray as you lift the skirt of your dress, but it's all in vain for you find bruises on the plush of your thighs, in the shapes of handprints, one on each.

you scream. you scream scream and jay is rushing out with a towel hanging low on his waist,"what! what happened!"

there's no time to feel the heat in your cheeks at sight of his naked figure, you are too traumatized by the possibilities of the events that could have happened between you two to even acknowledge the pounding of your heart on noticing the droplets of water cascading down the valley of his chest.

you show him what you had to see and in comes a scream from him.

"oh my god, fuck off before we find more things!"

"missy piggy is all dressed up," he looked you up once, coming to a halt just a step away from where you sat at the kitchen counter turned bar. he couldn't deny you looked good though, he almost lost his breath when he spotted you across the room. there were some loopholes in this weird relationship you had and he couldn't seem to accept it. he found you attractive and he was disgusted with himself for that. out of all the fishes in the sea it just had to be you. his little weakness, the pretty dress.

you wave your hand at his face,"whatever," jay doesn't like the way you just dismiss him, closing in on you blocking your view of whichever guy you were eyeing. whichever guy was hot enough to have your attention away from him.

"you wanna play some games?" his hand goes over to circle the top of your cup, noticing the orange juice in there.

"what game?"

"truth and dare, all our friends are gathering there to play," he wasn't interested to join earlier, but watching you fixated on some guys is itching him to take you away and get your ass busy.

hours later and he's in a circle, all drunk sitting right across you. 'kiss kiss kiss!" the chants go around with the bottle stopped right between your two. if he'd been sober, he would've left the second someone proposed for a kiss but with his mind all hazy right now, all he can think about is how your lips would feel on his. if the pretty shade on them would taste as sweet as they look.

to say he was disappointed when you chose to drink it out would be an understatement. jay felt no more purpose in the game, leaving as soon as you excused yourself. with your wobbly steps you sway your way to the dance floor, almost falling over yourself before jay has his hands around you, keeping you afloat.

"watch your step, pretty," he whispers into your ear.

"pretty? what happened to piggy?" there is a slight flinch in you when you whisper back, growing conscious of the proximity.

"piggies can be pretty sometimes," his hands move lower to your hips, gripping lightly as the music changes to one of sensual hues. body moving together to the sultry notes.

"we're dancing," turning to face the rather drunk boy, you trace a finger over the exposed skin of his chest. jay's sure you can feel the fast thumping of his heart under your pretty little soft tips but honestly he couldn't care less right now. the alcohol in his brain messing with his feelings. a mushy daze of everything he's ever felt for you, from middle school to college.

"together," you breathe out staring at the plump of his lips and jay feels this weird sparkling thing where his stomach twists and turns but in a good way,"apparently," all these people around, so many attractive faces he could have latched onto yet he can't imagine himself swaying away with anyone else, it just feels wrong for some reason.

"and we hate each other," the reminder is like a fresh breeze across his fuzzy mind, no matter where he looks he can't seem to feel the hatred right now,"mhm," jay reaches out with a delicate touch, watching your dazed eyes in a trance as you scan him, muzzling into his hand when he tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear in a faint caress. after that it's a silence between you two, not the one where you usually think of ripping each other's hair off but perhaps one where you're thinking to eating each other's face off. at least that's all jay can think about.

you were drunk and he should have seen it coming. at some point you leave him hanging in the middle of the floor only for him to find you amidst a crowd of screams, letting it all loose on an elevated platform with a pole, right towards the front. twerking your ass off and instead of being embarrassed out of his wits jay rather feels this warm fluffy feeling. a conjured up image of a sober him driving to bars and clubs to pick up a drunk you as you shout 'baby' while running into his arms.

no what the fuck, what am i thinking. he is baffled at his own imagination. enemies to lovers trope is so not his thing. it should never be his thing. right?

"come on you need some fresh air," spotting a few guys eyeing you in the wrong way, jay is quite literally picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder before walking out the house into the backyard.

"i was having so much fun there! why did you bring me out here!" you shout, still feeling the loud music ringing in your ears.

"you were having too much fun, you needed to touch some grass," he tries shushing you, flicking lightly at your forehead.

you ignore him, too tired and used to, to bicker back,"there's a pool here?" the excitement in your voice makes him laugh, y'all have probably been sitting here for five minutes, and you've only noticed the big ass pool now. but well, with the amount of alcohol you both have in your system right now it's a miracle you're still conscious and otherwise a little sane.

"why, you wanna skinny dip?" he knows that's exactly what you would want to do, if you could. he hasn't known you for ten years for just nothing. all those fights and bickerings and make ups, he's sure he knows you more than your friends and more than you know yourself. and he's always followed you whenever you weren't following him. doing everything you did just to get a chance at annoying you.

"can we go in there?" no.

tonight he'd like to stay dry and cozy.

"it's cold, i ain't doing this," he reprimands, squinting his eyes in the distance, a look away from you to tell you he's not having it.

however it's not like you listen anyway, at least not to him.

it's like second nature at this point, running after you. be it to get on your nerves or to secretly protect you,"piggy!" he snaps up at once at the sound of you skipping down the patio. albeit almost slipping and cracking your head open on the way. jay doesn't know if he should be worried more about ending up in the hospital or getting in there with you all wet and close.

he's been in the pool with girls before but he's not been in the pool with you since you were like eleven and friends and not hit by puberty yet, in your ugly loose swim shirts and pants, hair all over in a mess with no idea about romance.

"slow down will you, i can't be bothered to drive you to medics if you break a leg or something," he whines, feeling the water soaking up the clothes against his skin as he carefully walks down the stairs leading into the pool. two steps behind with his hand reaching out to steady you incase you decide to slip again.

"try to catch me!" you yell, putting in all efforts to move as far from him as you could.

"do i look like i need to try?" his hands loop around your wrists in a moment, pulling you against his chest is a low splash. arms going around the waist as he locks eyes with yours. the palm of your hands find refuge on his chest playing with the undone buttons when the hard pounding of his heart reverberates against your skin. you're nervous, he's nervous.

"why do you hate me?" he asks.

"because you do," you answer and jay's confused. what?

"why do you hate me?" you ask him. and as expected,"because you do,"

realizing it's all a big misunderstanding, jay can't help but feel his heart race faster if that is even possible,"i don't really hate you," the pout on your lips falters his gaze, looking down to avoid his breath stopping right there and then. "neither do i," a low whisper, softly adjusting the fallen strap of your dress. he scans you over once, his little weakness, the pretty dress. no, it's you, you always know what to wear have him weak in the knees.

"your lipstick is pretty-" you look so damn pretty he wants to say, brown orbs lingering on the shine radiating off your lips.

you're both drunk, and it's probably the only time he'll be able to say it. i can do it! jay swears.

however before he can even utter a syllable, the slippery gloss of your cherry lipstick slide against his lips. feeling the plush of your lips pressing onto his own, like a step into heaven. eyes open and motionless, taking a hard time to let it sink in while you're there moving your lips, catching his bottom lip between in a gentle bite.

"pi- piggy-" when you pull away for a split second only to jump onto him, his hands immediately grabbing the back of your thighs resting them around him, trembling at the tension he feels to dive right back in to a kiss.

"shut up," you begin leaving a trail of marks starting at his neck—

that's where you scream, pulling jay out of the flashbacks. he sits on his bed, tracing his lips in a trance after you've left. he had no idea how to face you after remembering all that while you still seemed to have no clue. how he knows your lipstick tastes sweet and bitter and how you don't know that he knows that.

he takes out his phone, a faint memory of a picture. searching through his gallery is not even necessary, on the top in a grand glory he finds the photo of you perched on his lap on his bed, head tucked into his neck where one can definitely catch glimpse of your fluttering kisses.

he can't seem to recall about the hickeys on your neck, and how you got to his room. but he's sure he will in a few days. hoping you'd too until then.

for now he'll post this. there's nothing better than getting under your skin. figuratively and literally.

taglist ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

~{Heyyyyy, So I was reminded This Posts existence so now I’m making everyone’s problem :)}~

•High Queen•

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~~•~

There was an emergency meeting called by John Constantine.

And as all in attendance arrived [Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, Green Arrow, Green Lantern, Aquaman, Martian Manhunter] but there was one very noticeable absence, The Flash but before the hero’s could start asking what this meeting is about and asking where The Flash is.

Constantine pulled out a scroll from his trenchcoat, The scroll looked to be very old and had a gold, purple green wax seal on it that is already broken and he starts read it out loud for the everyone in the room to hear.

“I, The Ancient Of Time will be imprisoning The Flash for his involvement of disturbing the timeline.”

And as the room starts ask questions like “Who is the Ancient of time?” And “How can we get him back?”. And Constantine starts talking and saying that the Ancients are the Gods of Gods and very powerful beings and gaining the attention of one is very bad news and unfortunately for Flash he gained the attention of one of the most powerful of these beings, The Ancient of Time or Clockwork or his first name Kronos (Wonder Woman sucks in a sharp breath at the name)

And the only way to get Flash back from The Ancient of time is to convince the other ancients who are

The Ancient Of Hope

The Ancient Of Healing

The Ancient Of Wishing

The Ancient Of Fear

And the two most powerful beings to ever exist and the hardest to convince

The High Queen and The Ghost King.

And with Clockwork doing whoever knows what to Flash, they need to do this fast and with the JLD out getting all of the materials needed for an audience with the Ancients all they could do know is wait and plan.

Let’s get to planning.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Background•

The G.I.W are either the dumbest or the most confident humans Pariah Dark has ever heard of.

They had taken the Cores of at least 20 of the ghost of the realm and put them all in a device called a “Nuke” and had fired it into the Zone in an attempt to destroy it but the Zone as it has done before it throw it back at the G.I.W and ended up destroying all that world in the process.

But young Danny, as he had been a halfa all the blast had done to him was Fully-End him and knocked him unconscious in a random area of the Zone, but luckily for him he was transported very close to Clockwork’s tower [Aka his lair] and Clockwork grabbed him and took him back to the Keep but as his job as the Ancient Of Time clockwork himself was unable to take care of Danny himself he needed someone who could.

And as clockwork had the right things to help undo the Madness of the king, he opened up the sarcophagus [Aka the Nap Time Box™️] fixed Pariah Dark mind and dragged him to the keep and told him to look after and care for Danny before going back to his tower and Pariah Dark did just that.

I mean what else was he to do when he was taken out of that box, had his mind fixed and told to care for a hurt ghostling that he had fought before.

During the time Pariah dark was taking care of him the first time Danny woke up he was very concerned about pariah dark being so close to him while he was weak but pariah just explained that he was just helping Danny and don’t he dare try anything.

And over this time Danny and Pariah Dark formed a Father-Child bond with each other and everything was fine.

Until the Observers started to lose their shit over having Pariah Dark as a king again and what to do with Danny and for the most part they wanted to put Danny in the nap time box but of course Pariah Dark said hell no to that and it was actually becoming a problem.

Until Clockwork gave a compromise that the Observers couldn’t disagree with, Make Danny the Queen and it solve all their problems. In private Clockwork explained that with Danny as the Queen the Observers couldn’t hurt him without the entirety of the Zone losing their shit over it and Danny would be safe as well as the Observers couldn’t be able to turn Pariah Dark into a puppet king for them to use and Pariah Dark and Danny both accepted this.

And now Danny is the queen.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Facts•

•Hope is pandora, Healing is frostbite, Wishing is Desiree, Fear is Fright Knight.

•Danny has attendances who are two twin girls named Haru and Mizuki, they died due to illness a few decades ago and have been taking care of the keep as they used to work for a lord so that’s what their used too. Pariah Dark gave them to Danny to help him as he is still not full healed yet and with hundreds of years of paperwork to get to he can’t take care of Danny 24/7 like he would like too but now he has to fight with Haru and Mizuki any time he wants to spend time with Danny and this mostly happens like this ⬇️

•Pariah Dark holding Danny in his arm while looking down on Haru and Mitzuki who are yelling at him to “PUT OUR LADY DOWN” and calling him an “ BARBARIAN” while hitting his legs.

•IF I SEE ANYONE SHIP DANNY AND PARIAH DARK I WILL BLOCK YOU AND YOUR SCREEN WILL NOT SAVE YOU, THAT IS A CHILD AND A HUNDRED YEAR OLD MAN.

•Danny finds the girls and Pariah Dark relationship very funny and will just watch from wherever he is flouting/siting [most likely in Pariah Darks arms].

•Pariah Dark likes to carry Danny around and when he’s not Danny is flouting.

•The girls like to dress Danny up.

•Danny looks to be 15-16, :) Dc X Dp fandom you know what to do

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearances•

Danny’s Appearance

Danny usually just wears this because still his injury’s don’t really like heavier clothes for long periods of time but if he needs to he wears this!

Just change the hair to white and the red to blue and that’s him!

Haru’s Appearance

•Haru is the more unhinged one, she absolutely hates anyone who isn’t Danny or her sister like she will throw a man if they get too close for her liking

•Haru has a knife hidden in her kimono and is more one on one fight

•Haru’s kimono is a very muted with blue silver accents 

Mitzuki’s Appearance

Mitzuki is as unhinged as her sister but she hides it a bit better, She also hates people but instead of threatening them like Haru is will give backhanded compliments.

•Mitzuki fights with poisons rather than weapons

•Mitzuki’s kimono is a very muted red with gold accents

~{And that’s it! Can you tell at the end of the background I got tired lol anyway hope you crows enjoy this until next time I decide to make my existence your problem, Byeeeeee}~

[letorip]

i heard your name [iii]

“your lips were divine and you said that you’d be mine, i was yours for a time, now everything is alright”

===+++===

pairing: cairo sweet x reader

summary: after finally opening yourself up to hope, everything comes crashing down in a fiery mess.

warnings: being used, references to sex, really really really bad emotional stuff and lots of conflicting emotions, GASLIGHTING*** so yikes

word count: 4.5k

A/N: i’ve altered the timeline a bit so that there’s more of a gap when miller and cairo kiss and when she cries about miller hating her story.

===+++===

===+++===

Even with your fingers sliding out of Cairo, placing her hot slick on your tongue like the sweetness it was and watching her shake, eyes rolled back to the ivory bed frame, you found yourself preoccupied with other thoughts.

From behind her, on the green of the walls as if there were an HD projector there, you caught a glimpse of the scene from a few days before, splashing with rain and the view you had from behind the bush, the greens bursting from the grey sky. Mr. Miller and Cairo. Cairo and Mr. Miller. Why was he driving to her house? What did he need late at night from his teenage student? Even in the rain, you definitely saw him, right?

“—Helllloooo?” came the voice from underneath you, jolting you from the waking nightmare. You looked down to where she was splayed out on the sheets.

Mascara blotted her cheeks from where the sweat had run, and Cairo shuddered, attempting to right herself. She sat up on her elbows, dark pupils blown out and staring at you in wonder. "Are you even on the planet anymore?" She asked, raising her eyebrows at you.

You managed a weak smile, guarding the real memory that was on your mind like clockwork again. Cairo's hands crept up to your unbuttoned shirt, grabbing each side and tugging you down on top of her, her hands threading themselves into the soft hair at your neck. She held you there, for a moment, resting her nose against the side of your face and nuzzling into you.

It was sweet and it was earnest, and had you not seen what you did, your heart would have done catapults in your chest and squeezed her right back. Instead, you wondered if your disgusting writing teacher had been here too. To what extent was Cairo breaking school policy? To what extent did she care? It was suddenly decidedly less sweet to be in her sheets.

"I should go," you muttered into the bed.

"Hm," hummed Cairo, but she didn't let you go, instead tightening her grip and holding you against her. "That was good," she whispered after a moment, right into your ear. You didn't reply, breathing in slowly and finding yourself consumed by the scent of her perfume. It smelled less like flowers.

Your hand went to the mattress, pushing yourself up and off of Cairo, rolling over. Outside the sky was fading to a languid purple colour, and you stared at it, frowning. From behind you, you could hear a rustling in the sheets.

"Is something wrong?" She asked. Her voice was a sickly sweet wave, stirring the pool of conflict in your gut. You swallowed, shaking your head. "Yeah, right. You're being quiet again," she said, scoffing.

"How are you so sure?" You asked. Your eyes flicked towards her and then back to the garden outside. Cairo was sitting up now, crisscrossed against one of the bedposts.

"Sure of what?"

"Sure you know me, or what I'm 'being.'" You looked back at her. "You talk to me sometimes like you do."

"Well...don't I know you?" She challenged, playing with intertwining her fingers. “What don’t I know?” You squinted a bit to see her dark eyes, in the dim lighting of Cairo's lamps and candles. She absolutely refused to use the bright ceiling fan light, and the shadows hid the shine of her dark brown eyes from where you could study them.

You shrugged, unwilling to answer. "I'm not sure either of us know each other, at this point."

She blinked at you, and then a smile crept out like she thought you were kidding. "Oh, are you mocking me now? Are we back to that pretentiousness thing you ramble about? The Mr. Miller and poetry speech?"

You stared at her, unable to reply. See, there was a certain part of you that hoped she was being taken advantage of— a very cruel part of you. And then there was the exceedingly real possibility that came from knowing Cairo Sweet. The that you couldn't help but give you pause.

The thought that she knew and was doing it on purpose. The thought that she was the one seducing him, and not the other way around. The thought that she was far from brainwashed, and was instead choosing the more insidious route. It was wrong, but it also wronged you, and the thought made you sick to your stomach.

Was that selfish? To want something so terrible for someone just to spare your own feelings? To want that for Cairo? Such thoughts had run through your mind several times for the past several hours, and each time you felt like a worse and worse person. Sometimes when you were with her you felt that way.

"You're being quiet again," She said. "Seriously, I'm going to start thinking you're sick if you don't tell me what's going on," she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

When you didn't reply to that either, she crawled towards you, laying her head on your chest and wrapping her arm around your torso. "I want you to tell me everything. We're close enough for that, right?” Above you in the ceiling, at the edge of the popcorn thread veins that weaved through the plaster like a map was some dark embossing that rich people had. You stared at it for a while.

"...I saw you and Mr. Miller," you said finally. The grief that came with it was unstoppable. It was quiet, but not quiet enough.

Cairo jolted up, yanking her head away from you and scooting a whole foot away as if a snake had bitten her. Eyes wide and wild, jaw slack, tears already starting to form. You watched her go.

"What did you say?" She asked, but not because she hadn't heard you. You repeated yourself anyways.

"I saw you two a few days ago. Together."

She nodded, but her cheeks were a flushed, angry and agitated red. "He dropped off my phone. I left it at sch—"

"—No, Cairo. I saw you guys kiss." She furrowed her eyebrows, looking...confused? This was when it was impossible to read her. Maybe she'd cry and tell you it was all in your head and you’d know your mom’s condition was genetic, or she'd punched him afterwards and she was going to the school board to raise hell and you could proudly stand behind her in support.

Instead, she simply said. "No?"

You stopped. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"We hugged," She replied, shrugging. "That was it. I don’t know what you thought—"

"—Cairo, I saw you."

"(Y/n), that’s illegal and disgusting. We hugged because of stuff with my parents I talked to him about."

"You guys were in the rain. Kissing."

She reached out a hand, putting it on your knee and staring right at you. “I promise. I don't know what you think you saw, but it was rainy and it was getting dark. All we did was hug.”

"I— I saw you. I saw you two," you shook your head, the disgust at the image starting to work its way into your voice. But when you looked up, Cairo was glaring, looking concerned for you and a bit angry at the same time. Maybe you were crazy, after all.

"We hugged. God, how could you even think I would do that??? Is this what you meant by ‘the knowing each other’ bullshit??”

“I saw him here after hours, Cairo. I really don't want to believe it, but I don’t know how to really trust you…”

“Well whose fault is that!? You’re the one who insisted on being a celibate fucking monk for weeks because you didn’t want any semblance of a string attached. So sorry, maybe you don’t know my childhood pet, but I would hope you’d know me well enough to not think I was sleeping with my teacher!”

You scowled right back at her feeling your previous sheepishness roll over into a boiling resentment within you. “You have a bad habit of jumping into the pants of people who you deem good at writing, y’know.”

Cairo’s eyes widened in surprise, and she scoffed at you like she couldn’t believe it. You couldn't believe it either. "Is that what this is? Do you feel inadequate?” She questioned. "You think I'm just going to run off and onto the next person when I'm done using them?"

“No!” you insisted, cheeks flushing. Cairo threw up her hands.

“I can’t believe I have to sit here and convince you to not be jealous of our fifty something writing teacher of all people. Are you seriously that insecure?”

“I’m not insecure!”

“And I’m not some manipulative mastermind!"

"Then why are you lying?"

"God, are you on something?" She snapped, rolling her eyes. She wandered on over to her underwear, pulling them up her legs in frustration. "Normal people don't just accuse someone of a literal crime, (Y/n)," she spat, but the edges of her eyes had begun to water again.

"I saw you!" But your tone was weaker.

"Bullshit! You didn't see anything!" Cairo yelled, crying now. Gentle tears had begun to wash down her cheeks, taking some of the already splotchy mascara with it. She still looked beautiful, crying like that. "You're trying to blow up whatever good this was with your stupid insecurity! Why can't you just let things be good for once?! I was finally starting to have things be good for once!”

You stopped, feeling her words connect with your chest and sink directly into your heart. That hurt more than you wanted to admit. Once more you were wondering if it had really all been in your head. Was this all self-destructive?

You had sworn at seven to never do some of the stuff your mom always did, but the longer you looked at Cairo's tear-streaked face and sad, brown eyes, you began to wonder if the cycle was repeating itself and it was out of your control.

"I-I need to go," you shook your head. Get away.

"Are you seriously leaving again??" She asked, sounding incredulous. You didn't even look at her, grabbing your jacket and your phone, right when it buzzed in your hand. You looked down, seeing there were over twelve missed texts from your mom.

You threw it in your pocket. Now the warning light in your head was really going off. "I really need to go."

"We're not even done here! What is going on with you, and why are you accusing me of bullshit!?”

"Later."

"No, no way."

"Yes. Goodbye Cairo," you ended, throwing it over your shoulder before you fled her bedroom and down the stairs. When you reached the foyer, you heard her yell from the landing, watching you go.

"For a writer you communicate like such a child!" And then she slammed her door.

===+++===

It was remarkable, just how dull the white walls of your room looked now. In the past several weeks of having lived there, you had barely noticed just how blank they were. All of your walls were like that, ever since you had started moving around. People didn't usually bother to paint the walls of newer modern houses after their construction.

The very reason you had this new outlook was hard to ignore, and every single time you replayed the memory of seeing her and your writing teacher together on the porch of her house, the image became less and less cemented in your mind.

There had been a few branches, and the rain was very thick, and her porch was kind of far away, and maybe it was the wrong angle. Maybe you had seen it wrong, and it was all innocent, and Cairo was just getting support from her teacher that she idolised. Maybe she was right: maybe you had just ruined everything.

Of course, then there was the possibility that it was for the best. The overwhelming reality that you would probably be whisked away again in a month, and it was the realisation that you had stopped thinking about it that made you realise you had lived and loved like you’d be staying with her forever. More specifically, you had been a fool again.

You stood up from the ersatz desk, fashioned with a few cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other, and headed down the stairs at the end of the hall. It had begun to get darker outside fast, and the sky was fading from a faint purple to the lighter black of the blanket of night.

On the couch, your mom had splayed herself out, legs thrown haphazardly over the armrest and hands dangling from the seat cushions. Against the far wall was your television, with the big old crack right down the middle from when your mom had accidentally thrown it the week you had first arrived in town.

She didn’t say anything when you walked right past her, and you knew better than to talk to her when she was in one of her moods. It wouldn’t make it any better, it would make her cry. If you just waited a few weeks she would get up from the couch and want to go outside again. You walked right past her instead, going into the old kitchen and rooting around to find something to eat.

“Hey, kiddo,” she called quietly, and you had to stick your head out the doorway to make sure she had even really made the noise.

“Yeah mom?” You asked, a bit hopeful. Talking again was a good sign.

“I’m sorry.”

You frowned. “Why are you sorry?” There was suddenly the very real possibility that she would announce right there and then you were leaving again, and you were still kind of mad at Cairo and at yourself, but you didn’t want to leave. It didn’t feel over. But then again it never did. “Are we going?”

“For all this bullshit I put you through.” She sat herself up on the cushion and you could see in the dim light of the TV she had been crying, eyes raw and red. “You deserve the world, and not someone who’s just…this.”

“Hey,” you said softly, coming up behind her. “That’s my mom you’re talking about.” She gave you a weak smile.

“Nah. Moms are supposed to be there,” she said, looking up at you. “You deserve to not be alone,” she said. You didn’t know what to say back.

It wasn’t a new line of thought for her. The mournful look she gave you and the saddened apologies for your lifestyle happened usually once a month, and whatever connection you thought you two had would be immediately forgotten by an immediate period of high energy, and your mom trying every hobby in existence.

When she got in her moods like this, you could do nothing but watch her rake herself over hot coals like she was the worst person in the world and not your mother, who you were proud of, and who you knew was trying.

But that thing she said, about being alone. It sunk deep into your chest. There was Cairo’s face, eyes streaked with tears that you had caused over something you hadn’t even been sure of.

Maybe you didn’t want to be alone more than you wanted to confront what was so clearly in front of you. The red flag had been given and you had the hard choice of wether you wanted to step right over it or not. You didn't know what to say to your mom, so you said nothing at all, grabbing your dinner and trotting back up the stairs to stare at the wall a little bit longer.

===+++===

"Okay," Winnie clapped her hands together, slamming them down on the end of your table and glaring right at you. "Tell me what the hell is going on."

"What do you mean?" You asked. She put her hands on her hips and looked quite cross.

"Nuh uh, none of that. You and Cairo. Now." You cringed.

It had been about three days since you and Cairo...fell out? It was strange to describe. Class was class and was just as boring and forgettable as it had been before you had heard Cairo's name and knew she existed. She seemed unaware you were even around, any sort of relationship you two had was just washed down the imaginary drain.

Winnie had been miffed beyond belief. One day her two friends were inseparable and then the next, they couldn't be further apart. You weren't especially surprised she had come demanding answers, but that meant Cairo probably wasn't talking to her about it.

"We just have different views," you shrugged. It wasn't technically a lie. Since you had less time to wonder about Cairo, it had become all the more clear how you were irrevocably fascinated and in love with her, and it only made your own fuck up a bit more painful when she walked past you but refused to meet your eyes.

"I'm calling bullshit, kid," said Winnie. She had her eyes narrowed at you, like she was trying to read your face.

"Kid?" you tried to joke. "I'm older than you." Winnie was having none of it, glaring dismissively.

"Then why are you both acting like children?"

You frowned. Would Winnie tell Cairo? Would Cairo even care? Part of you thought she might have been totally done with you. If it was really just a hookup, there was the underlying possibility she hadn't even really cared that you were no longer fucking. Maybe she had moved onto better things.

"Winnie, take your seat," Mr. Miller called, from across the classroom. Winnie spun back around, giving him her best smile before turning to you.

"Later," she insisted. From the front of the room Cairo was watching you both, her eyes focused and sharp.

===+++===

Being back at Cairo's house was definitely strange. The clouds had come back to sit over her roof, hiding it from the sun and the entirety of your walk, it had started to drizzle, soaking your hair and splattering onto your clothes.

You weren't entirely sure why it had to be that day, but Winnie had been less than helpful, and instead just looked at you like you were a kicked puppy, refusing to say more when you told her what was going on between you two.

"That makes sense," she had said, with a weird sheen of guilt. The whole conversation had felt weird, as if there was some unknown truth being held from you, that only managed to make you feel worse. Did she mean it made sense Cairo needed help with her parents? That was what you thought at least. It made the most sense, what with her needing comforting from Mr. Miller.

The whole ordeal had only managed to make you feel worse about confronting her about it and not leaving it up to Cairo to set her own boundaries. You decided right then and there that it meant you needed to apologize.

You weren't even sure she was home, now that you thought about it. The house looked a bit dark from down the green, but it was a rainstorm, so maybe that was normal for Tennessee.

You wandered right up to her door, dripping onto her porch with the expensive real wood and feeling a little bit bad about it. The lights were all out except for the one at the top of the stairs where you knew her room was. She was definitely there.

Your finger went to ring the bell when you stopped, noticing the crack in the door from the frame. It was propped open with a sandal from the nearby shoerack that sat in the mudroom and you frowned, feeling your mind jumping towards the worst possibilities. She seemed to leave the door unlocked all the time, but having it cracked it open was new.

There weren't any instructions for what to do in this kind of situation, and even if there had been, you had failed to ever come across a similar situation anyhow. You did the best thing you could think of, pushing the door open and calling out Cairo's name over the threshold.

No response. Fantastic. You shut your eyes and sighed deeply, before stepping inside. It was normal for the most part, but then your eyes saw the smashed plant pot right there on the table in the foyer, and you started to get worried again.

You raced up the stairs as fast as you could, stopping on the landing and bending over to catch your breath. That had been a terrible idea.

When you were finally no longer about to have a heart attack, you called out to her again.

"Cairo?" You said, loudly towards her shut door. From under the small gap between the door and the floor, the soft lighting from her bedside table lamp bled out into the hall. You lifted your hand, knocking.

"Who is it?" Came her voice, with a slight tremble to it. You frowned, pushing your ear against the door to hear.

"It's, uh— it's me. (Y/n)," you muttered.

"Go the hell away," she replied.

"Right, yeah, I was just gonna—"

"—Leave!" she cut you off. "Get the fuck out of my house. Why are you even here??"

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling awfully awkward. "I came to apologise about a few days ago...the door was just kind of open and I thought...well, I don't know what I thought."

"You know I leave it open," she said back, but with the same weird shake to her voice. You blinked. If you hadn't known any better, it sounded like she'd been...

"Cairo, have you been crying?" You asked, worry filling your voice and your mind, too. "Did something happen?"

"Why do you even care?" She asked. Her voice had even more of a quiver to it now. "You think I'm some weirdo." You winced, figuring you probably deserved that.

"Can I come in?" you titled your head to lay against the door.

"No," said Cairo, but it was closer this time, like she had wandered closer to it.

"Um, okay," you nodded, sinking to the floor outside instead. Even if she didn't especially want you back in her life whatsoever, you figured she could have probably used someone to just listen. Sometimes that's what your mom wanted when she was upset and locked herself away. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Why?" She mumbled, her voice a bit muffled. You shrugged.

"I want to make sure you're okay."

She didn't say anything for a moment, and you could feel her thinking it over. "I was...disregarded."

You frowned. "Is this about your parents?" When she didn't reply you continued. "It's just, I know you have a rocky relationship with them, so..."

"It's not a rocky relationship," said Cairo. She seemed to have stiffened at the subject, and you figured you had gotten it in one. "Leave it alone." You winced again. A period of silence fell over you both, and your eyes went around the landing, looking at the stacks of books, debating something within yourself.

You remembered her crying that one night, and you remembered pushing her away, and you remembered how painful that had been and how hypocritical it was now that you were bugging her to share. So you swallowed hard and did something you had never done before.

"Cairo," you said softly. "My mom is bipolar."

"What?" She asked. It was clear she was on the other side of the door now, like you were, probably sitting on the ground. Maybe not having her in front of you made it easier to talk.

"Yeah. It's part of why we move around so much. It's just been me and her for the longest time. She doesn't like the medication and stuff...says it makes her fuzzy and my dad was an asshole about it and she thinks one day he's gonna steal me for himself, so we just kinda go from place to place when she feels like it."

"Oh," she said.

"Some days she's invincible and wild, like a hero or something. And then other days she doesn't move off the couch, and sometimes I have to leave food out for her to make sure she eats. I don't know if it's going to be an up or a down day." The confession sat in the air between you for a moment, just out in the open, and it felt like a weight had been lifted right off your chest. The information now lived and died with Cairo Sweet.

"I don't even know where my parents are," Cairo said after a minute. "Somewhere probably in Europe, getting drunk and living life. I can't be mad at them, I'm afraid. I can't call them shitty parents when they're not around to be shitty."

You shook your head. "It doesn't matter how crappy of a parent they are. It still fucks you up when they're not around."

"Maybe," Cairo said softly. "At least they're having fun." It sounded bittersweet, and you wanted to reach through the door to place an arm around her or to stroke her cheek.

"So why were you crying?" you asked.

You heard a thud against the wood, and she must have leaned her head back. "I got a message...they're staying in Europe for a couple months. So they won't be at graduation." It was a clever lie, one that saddened you and filled your heart wit pity.

"Oh," you hummed. Neither would your mom, anyhow. You had glazed over it too, but probably neither would you. You had no idea what you would say if your mom decided to pack you up and move you again before the end of the year. Maybe this time you'd cling and stay. "Cairo?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I accused you of that with Mr. Miller."

She went silent but finally said, "I still don't know how the hell it could've looked like we were kissing."

"Yeah, I don't know.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, (Y/n).”

"I believe you."

"I know."

You two just sat there for a moment, separated by the door but together.

"I'm scared by all this."

"I know," she said.

"You keep saying that."

"I know," Cairo laughed. "You can open the door now, you know."

"Can I?"

"Mhm."

You clambered to your feet, reaching out to the railing to steady yourself. You opened the door and there she was. Against your better judgement and by the sheer sparkle of her warm honey eyes, you forgot every little comment from Winnie or question that was suspiciously dismissed.

And for what it was worth, Cairo looked at you— really looked at you, for the first time since you had met, and decided maybe she liked clinging to your chest.

===+++===

before anyone feels the need to say this, it'll probably be continued in a super messy fourth part that i'm already starting to work on. it may take a while to come out though. anyways thank you all so much for 300 followers and over 2.5k likes on my work. it means so much.

[suguru-getos]

-> happy birthday toru 💗

this is mostly a very personal concept to me but i just love the idea of this. happy birthday to the loml satoru <3 and to @literallythestrongestever my angel my baby 🥹🥹

this drabble contains violence, and abuse, and a lot of healing and comfort after. it takes you through a journey of the reader accidentally switching and shifting in realities from her toxic, abusive and psychotic husband gojo to the one she lives in currently.

the squelching sound of a stabbing wound, how it feels as if you were witnessing it first hand. as if you were in the depths of hell. a man you don’t know, gutted you. the pain— why isn’t it paining— is she already dead? why isn’t the ache registering into the marrow of her bones, the essence of her soul.

no— wait! it’s satoru— he looks different, wait— where is she again? the scenaries change faster than her mind can process. overwhelmed, brain begging for mercy. satoru— yes, her husband— yes— gojo satoru— why are there so many lights— focus, she needs to focus. it feels like death, it feels like drowning in an endless dark trench of nothing. a black hole sucking her life, scraping her marrow with a spoon as she watches from outside.

sounds— spoons tinkling, smell— the smell of kikufuku, the sound of nails against a board. make it stop— satoru?

satoru…

satoru gojo…

yes, yes, he will… he will ground her. he has to, he said he will. he’s going to no matter what. yes, she should-

satoru is sitting next to her, watching her keen eyed as she wakes up from a long, disturbing, forced slumber of mind amputation. humans shouldn’t be forced to the infinite void. he knows that. but she — she’s so fierce & she’s so strong she doesn’t bend to his will. and sometimes it’s better she just shuts up. for good… not with death though, he can’t see her die. he can’t see her live either…

there is a sickening guilt that eats away at his thumping heart, when her eyes meet his, the life beneath them needs searching. buried deep. and his icy blue eyes hate the sight. he hates what she makes him… “i am so sorry, babycakes… i didn’t mean to get mad.”

when people get mad, they yell, they scream, they— depict in ways which are human. how is an honoured one supposed to depict he’s angry, disappointed…. the consequences wouldn’t be so humanly either. she wonders why are there consequences even? isn’t love all about acceptance? isn’t that why she married him…

the next thing she remembers is something that makes her scream in agony, vocal chords strained from the trauma of it all. satoru couldn’t let her get away with trying to escape now. no one could help her. especially when he has ao, aka, kyoshki murasaki at disposal. or maybe he just needs to hold her tighter, watch the audacity crumble right with her bones. fragile & weak, human, delicate….

his eyes, always expressive, show no signs of remorse, or relent. “what? can’t face the consequences after what you do?” why does she dare to run— and challenge— and go against him, the god? gods don’t punish with a slap across the cheek now do they?

she knew, whatever their souls were made of, satoru’s soul didn’t belong to her. “i would be gouging your eye out, an eye for an eye. hmm? don’t you think it’s fitting since you want to hurt me by wanting to die?” the scene shifts, that’s all her life has become. a series of scenes… of shifts… until one day, she did choose death. chose to beat the hollow purple and the infinite void and everything else that comes with it if she were to escape.

watching the blood drain out of her body, with such an eager desperation & passion to lose herself. the sense of what made her alive. the heart. the stupid heart that fell for satoru gojo.

it felt like the sweetest slumber, the one that lulls you into silence when you sip on a little sangria, or when you eat something sweet. or when you live in a world without worries.

only… when she woke up, something had changed. she was in a different room. shit—

“hey- fuck she’s awake!” her heart sinks, the melted honey like voice was much too familar. she glanced over the man, who was grinning ear to ear. the deep, rubble akin chuckle escapes from his parted, beautiful lips. “champion really!”

satoru hates that this girl he doesn’t even know, but saved from a curse — looks so akin to wilted petals…. meanwhile, she doesn’t know where she is, this reality feels different, something intangible about it. to him, she looks around. pursing her lips, eyeing satoru’s fingers for the familiar marriage band, eyeing hers… she doesn’t have it either.

“my name is gojo satoru.” he spoke again, watching her flinch. yes, yes, she knows. she has brandings of satoru in several forms in her body, in her psyche. “i am… y/n.” she mumbles, she doesn’t know if this is just a plot by satoru to pretend that nothing happened.

“are you married?” the next question takes the man off guard. there was no sense of anticipation behind those eyes— just, dread. “jeez i know i’m pretty!” he giggled, headpatting her gently. “nope, single as a pringle. but don’t worry, we could go on a date once you get better pretty girl.” that was smooth, very unlike her satoru… there was no pressure she felt.

maybe she was choosing a familiar hell than an unfamiliar heaven all over again. maybe she’s dying and these are the last few memories in her head. her eyes are heavy again, this time satoru holds her hand. the touch so different, it’s satoru… but it’s different. “sshh~ it’s okay, go to sleep.” his voice balms.

and she’s awake again… definitely not dead… “i don’t know why i’m keeping a watch over you honestly.” he hums, the eyebags visible from strain. he doesn’t look like he has slept in days. “but i want to.” he expresses. and like it was second nature to her, a fool’s nature— the nature of a broken heart of being the more loving one, the words just come out in a silent plea. a desperate attempt of an abused child to apologize hoping there wouldn’t be any consequences. “sorry— m’ just a bother— toru.”

satoru has never heard anyone call him toru. the gentle tone, the submissive venom he wants to suck out of that. “hey— i’m not complaining.” he pouts, looking at her, easing into her frantics by a smile. “besides you’re just so pretty i couldn’t keep these eyes off ya!” he doesn’t know why he’s behaving like this, women… don’t really mean much to him. he has a job, a busy schedule. he doesn’t understand how this woman he found during a mission, enclosed in a curse’s womb, is making everything stagnant.

she blinks at him like a nervous cat this time, until her tummy decides to roar and make hungry noises. the holds onto it, pouting softly, a tender flush spreading across her cheeks like butter on warm toast. “heh, s’ okay little one. what would you want to eat mhm?” satoru asks, noting that her brain didn’t have the capacity to think. maybe being enclosed in a curse does that to you. “i think.” he clicks his fingers, “you’d loveee a nice nutritious sandwich.” he croons, leaning in. again, not missing the flinch.

he is quick to lean back, the flinching hurts. it hurts like his person was harmed. it hurts like he trusted his pet with someone and found them injured later. it hurts like battery acid in his throat. “yeah?” he smiles again, just wanting her to say something.

tears sprawl across her cheeks. “m’ sorry satoru. please don’t be mad.” she says it with such conviction & confidence that satoru is mad. he isn’t. he would never be… she says it like she knows him. “hey— sweetheart, what’s your name?” he knows it’s too much, too soon— but his hands feel like they’re corroding in acid and she’s the only thing that could stop it. he has to cup her cheeks softly, “i’m not mad at you, why’d i be mad at you?”

she doesn’t answer, heart racing, a bead of sweat forming at her forehead. “satoru please-“ she wants him to stop playing with her. lips wobbling at the grief, the fear and the crumbling anxiety rising with every moment. she leans in, like a toddler hugging their caregiver if they’re caught doing something naughty to escape the consequences. clutching at satoru, bawling, again — akin to a toddler. “please toru— didn’t think- much— please it wouldn’t happen again i’m sorry—“

satoru doesn’t understand anything, and also understands something. “do you know me?” he asks, voice low, calm, careful. strong arms caging her in a tight, yet kind hug. delicate…. she’s so… fragile and delicate, like a precious ornament.

“i don’t know what’s happening—“ she exclaims, tears irritating those beautiful eyes. reddening up. “it’s okay—“ satoru coaxes again, gently rubbing her back. “you’re okay, i’m not mad at you. i would never be mad at you.”

“….i promise y/n.” that is such a big promise to keep if he wants to actually see his entire life with her. something he just decides on immediately. no questions, or doubts… or discrepancies… he knows he would keep his promise. “even if you do hurt me, i wouldn’t be mad at you.” he says it with the matching conviction of her beliefs of satoru’s rage. it calms her down. and satoru has never felt happier. he has never felt this exhilarated…. not even when he won over special grades.

one thing about satoru gojo, he always walks the talk. he means it with the heart. even when he said he would keep her happy, even when he hugs her through nights she can’t sleep, even when she repeats endlessly about what happened to her, with her. with an alienic version of him from a different reality, even when she rejects him & he lets her exist while still flooding her life with unbounding love. even when he confessed about wanting to marry her, and wanting to love her to excruciating happiness.

what’s a man ready to move mountains against trauma? an unstoppable force.

“s’ less sweet!” her five year old daughter makes a face. she is the perfect dna copy of her father. gorgeous blue eyes, silky white hair. the same gentleness with the way she treats her mommy. it’s all learnt from daddy after all.

“oh honey is it?” she tastes the cake batter, shuddering. both her daughter and her now husband have such a sweet tooth. “daddy’s birthday needs to have sweeter cakes uh nu!” she chuckles, kissing her forehead and adding a generous amount of sugar. “daddy’s gonna be so happy mama!” she gleams again, at her mother. who was nodding happily, just remembering what life used to be and what life is, now.

she married satoru again, although this time it didn’t come with insanity and violence. satoru was patient, didn’t touch her for two years, just sweet lovesick kisses and nothing else. she knew he yearned but the smile on his face would almost make her think he’s happy with just what he gets…

her phone buzzes with a call, immediately rushing and picking it up. “toru!” the gleam of her voice and the intensity of her is back.

“princess!” he whines over the phone, “i miss you soooo much oh my god—“ he hums, chuckling when she giggles, “you are just out to get candies, not even five minutes are gone—“

“i missed you!” satoru repeats again, “take me seriously i am dying here!”

“happy birthday toru, come home so i could kiss you, then you’d decide if the candy’s sweeter or the cake.”

the moments these words parted from her throat, she feels a familiar gust of wind, satoru is impatient and would teleport sportingly over shorter distances. “mm~ my lady, m’ here for the kiss.”

his hand wraps around her waist, locking her body against his. delicate… his fragile little princess. she gets on her tippy toes, brushing her lips against his with a hum, whispering gratefully. “happy birthday toru.”

“thank you, my present.”

a familiar tiny foot stomping is heard, “where’s my kissies?” their daughter tugs at daddy’s pants. satoru picks her up as if she weighs nothing, (she does not) and peppers her entire face with kisses. the sound of child like giggles fill the room, followed by the soothing aroma of baking satoru’s favorite cake.

satoru.

satoru gojo.

yes, yes, he did… he did ground her. he had to, he said he will & he did it! he’s going to no matter what. yes, she should— she should just live now. she doesn’t need to survive anymore. <3

[rookinthecrownest]

Bedtime Stories For a Demon: The Day The World Disappeared, Part I (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

Rook is trapped in the Fade. Lucanis & Crew are determined to get her out.

Word Count: ~4500

Lucanis Dellamorte is a man with an excellent memory.

He can remember every part of his favourite childhood story, ‘The Joyful Wyvern’, with striking clarity. Reciting it in his head kept him sane in the Ossuary on some difficult nights.

He can remember the most minute details of a pages-long dossier for every job he has ever taken. It served him well to know every entrance, exit, chokepoint and weak point in case his plans went awry. Like that time he walked in on an orgy during a job in Minrathous, but remembered a note about a hidden servant’s entrance on the far side of the room he could sneak out of. Fail to prepare, and you prepare to fail, he would tell himself.

He can remember the meal preferences of every member of the Veilguard. It makes everyone’s life easier at dinner, even if it means he’s preparing up to three separate meals at times.

Yes, Lucanis Dellamorte has an excellent memory. And for much of his life, that memory was a gift.

Until the day Madeleina Mercar is sucked into the Fade, and he’s left with nothing but the image of her terrified face seconds before a Fade Rift swallows her whole, ripping her from the waking world with terrifying speed.

And he can’t forget.

He replays the moment in his mind on an endless loop.

Her green eyes – they only had a moment to widen before they’re gone from his sight. Her soft lips parted in confusion, then panic. No time to let out a cry for help. The ripples of raw magic as the Fade Rift collapsed in on itself sent everyone flying back, everyone but him. Spite’s wings unfurled and steadied them against the force. He braced himself, and walked forward, arm outstretched.

Only to pass through empty air.

First, came disbelief.

No, no, she’s not gone. She’ll pop back into existence in just a moment. She’s Rook, she always finds a way. But when the moments stretched on in deafening silence and Madeleina still hadn’t returned, white hot rage, fuelled by Spite’s power, quickly took the place of disbelief. The demon, who had become fond of Rook, barrelled forward and took over in a way he hadn’t done since Illario killed Zara in front of them.

NO. SMELL OF. LAVENDER AND ROSEWATER. NO THUNDERSTORMS OR SMOKE.

WHERE.! IS.! ROOK.! WANT.! ROOK.!

There is not much recollection beyond that. He thinks it took no small effort on Davrin and Bellara’s part to calm them down before they destroyed everything in sight. Zipping around the body of Ghilan’nain on purple-and-black wings as if he could whip the fallen God back to life and demand she bring Madeleina back. The Warden may have had to physically restrain them at some point – he doesn’t know. Doesn’t care, either.

Now, back in the Lighthouse, the void she left behind is palpable in every corner of this place.

He sees her reading on the couch in the library, long brown hair spilling over her shoulder, and brows drawn together in quiet contemplation. He sees her sneaking an extra dessert from the dining hall, one he made just for her because he knows she’ll want more. Chatting the hours away with Neve in her office, getting caught up on the latest comings and goings of Docktown – or, what’s left of it after the Venatori took over Minrathous. Excitedly debating magical theory with Emmrich and Bellara at dinner, or in the Professor’s study. She trips over herself when the topic shifts to something she has an interest in – her lips forming words faster than her brain can form them properly.

Then, the one that hurts the most.

Sitting across from him by the fireplace, telling a story. Face awash in soft blue light. Light green eyes sparkling with joy, crinkling because of her wide, warm smile. Her illusions dancing in the space between them. In his memories, she’s close enough to touch, instead of a world away. Close enough to kiss, if he had just leaned in closer. Lucanis tries not to remember the one time he did and pulled away at the last moment, crippled by his own fear and hesitation. The thought that he may never get to try again sinks his heart into his stomach, so he quickly turns to other memories.

And perhaps that’s why Lucanis has all but barricaded himself in her room for the past week. To surround himself with these reminders of her and take comfort in that because if he doesn’t, he’ll lose what little tether to sanity he has left.

He’s holding her gilded, silver hairbrush in his hand. It looks like the one from The Girl and the Glass Slipper. Something of hers to touch.

He lights the lavender-scented candles on the credenza. Something of hers to smell.

Casts his gaze over her room, eyeing her wardrobe – where a few pieces of clothing lie hanging on the open door. Then, to her magical contraption from her Circle days whirring and clicking autonomously on the round table by the window. Things of hers to see and hear.

Something, anything, to tie him to the remnants of Madeleina in this world. Proof that she was here, she was real. That he didn’t dream a saviour and a soulmate. Didn’t dream a love like the one in the romance novels he’s taken to reading with Bellara and Emmrich and Neve. A love like the ones in her fairy tales.

Lucanis can’t say how long he’s been holding onto her hair brush. Even at the best of times, telling the passage of the hours was tricky in the Lighthouse. Now, the days pass in a monotonous cycle, and there are no stories by the fire to measure the nights by. He grips the hairbrush’s handle tighter and exhales.

She’s here. Lost in the Fade, but not here. Not this part of the Fade.

Spite’s wrath crackles under his skin, begs and urges him to move. To fly off the edge of the Lighthouse and soar into the deepest recesses in the Fade to find her. The demon would take them to the edge of eternity to bring her back, and Lucanis would go to the edge of eternity for her. While he and the demon have struck an accord, in this moment in time, they are only unified by a singular thought:

We need to get her back.

Yet, where Spite demands action, Lucanis’ body doesn’t move. He has lain roots so deep in her chamber that even the strongest gale-force winds couldn’t dig them out. Lucanis feels the weight of her absence so deeply, it’s become an oppressive weight on his shoulders. It is a paralyzing loss – and inaction is something fundamentally contradictory to Spite’s nature. It doesn’t make for a quiet mind.

Lucanis Dellamorte is a man who has become entirely too accustomed to losing those he cares about.

His parents and aunts and uncles and cousins. For a time, his grandmother. His brother. Although Illario lives and walks free among the Crows (with every dagger at his back, albeit), he is lost to Lucanis until he is willing to face the uncomfortable concept of forgiving him. And that’s not something he knows he can even do, considering the magnitude of his betrayal.

Yes, he has lost much. Too much.

There is one thing that is not lost to him, however. It is the one thing of hers that he doesn’t yet have the strength to even look at.

Her father’s journal lays unopened, untouched on the table in front of the couch. Its faded leather is illuminated with flickering candlelight. Lucanis leans forward and steeples his fingers together. He stares at journal and releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

This journal was everything to her. He watched on so many nights as she handled it with the care one might use with a newborn babe. She held it so gently. Treated each page as if it were made of glass.   

Lucanis takes the journal in his hands. He’s afraid to open it, like some terrible thing will leap from its pages if he does. Some secret he shouldn’t know. His thumb passes over the rough cover, and lets it linger.

Smells like. Rain in Spring. And mothballs. Like her. Sometimes. But Sharper. Older.

Gently, he pries the journal open to the first page. On the back of the cover, there is an inscription, written in an elegant hand.

Bedtime Stories for My Little Love.

Orpheus Arcturion.

He takes a deep breath and begins to flip through its contents. Most of the pages have been blotted out with bloodstains. They’ve dried a dark maroon, almost black. As if someone spilled a bottle of ink on the journal. In a kinder world, that is how the story of her family would have gone, but he knows better.

As he goes, he sees scrawled notes for stories – some familiar, some not. All as dear to him as the person who spent her nights bringing them to life so he wouldn’t be alone.

The Toy Solider. The Sleeping Princess. The Girl & The Glass Slipper. Swan Lake. Le Petite Sirène. Mother Gothel & The Rampion Babe…

Every title is like a mortar to his chest. His breathing comes deeper and quicker, as he is nearing the end of the journal, making out what he can.

Lucanis comes nears the end of the journal, he stops in his tracks when a few sentences scribbled in Madeleina’s familiar handwriting catch his eye. His breath hitches in his throat as he reads on.

The Charming Rogue & The Hapless Hero.

I know how to tell a good story but go figure I have no idea how to write one.

Bellara’s tried to help, but I don’t know if I can incorporate all of her suggestions (seriously, where are we going to find an inn with only one bed in a story like this?).

It starts with a Charming Rogue being held captive by a terrible, evil bitch Witch in an underwater prison. The Hapless Hero needs his help to slay two terrible monsters plaguing the land – I don’t know, is that too vague?

Ugh. I can’t do this. This is stupid. I’m stupid. Writing fairytales is harder than I thought.

I don’t know how to put the words – how to phrase it properly -.

Maybe I could try winging it with an illusion instead? The silly little fairy tale ending I want so desperately?

I’d make figures of us standing in front of a small cottage on a hill, somewhere in the country side. It has a tiled roof. I’ve painted the walls some obscenely bright colours – I’m thinking pinks, yellows, greens. There’s flowers of every kind in the window box. It has huge windows, to let the sun in from every direction. A nice spot on the windowsill for a cat to lounge on. I’d steal one of the strays from the Treviso market (I like the orange tabby who hangs by the lady who sells flowers). Dried herbs hanging from the ceiling for Lucanis (he will obviously be doing all the cooking). A small library for me so I can read all the books I’ve been meaning to, lost in their pages, but never lost alone.

A home. A little corner of the world just for the two of us, when this is all over.

Perhaps my magic will tell him what my lips cannot. That I love him. I have loved him for some time now.

 I need to ask for Bellara’s help after all.

I don’t know what I’m doing. This would be so much easier if the world wasn’t ending. It would… right?

Maybe, just maybe he wants to share that dream together.

He is my happily ever after.

I hope I can be his.

M. Mercar

14 Ferventis, 9:52 Dragon

Lucanis grips the edge of the journal tight enough that the pages crinkle under his thumbs. He can feel tears welling up in his eyes, and bites down on his tongue to keep them from falling. He doesn’t want to ruin the pages, but he can’t help it.

A small part of him knew how she felt. He felt it too. That thing they were dancing around since that first outing at Café Pietra. The thing that neither of them had a name for until it was too late.

She loved him.

Loves him.

He loves her too, of course – hopes with every fiber of his being that she knows it wherever she is in the Fade but curses himself for never saying it aloud. If – when, he finds her again, he swears he’ll say it a thousand times over, until the words are burned into her very being, incapable of being forgotten.

Spite doesn’t understand love. But like any petulant child, he understands the sting of having something taken away from him that he holds dear, in his own strange Spite-like way. The demon bristles behind his eyes, stirring his thoughts again.

Smells like salt and coffee. Spite bellows, Time to Find! Lavender and Sweet Things Again! Find Rook.!!

“Lucanis?”

He snaps to attention at hearing his name. Lucanis hadn’t even realized someone had come in. Once again, he proves himself a poor assassin.

Bellara’s gentle and hesitant footsteps grow louder as she gradually makes her way towards the couch. She’s holding her hands together and looks like she’s almost afraid to approach him. A pang of guilt reverberates in his chest at seeing her like that.

“Bellara” He says, rubbing the backs of his eyes, pretending it’s sleep instead of tears he’s wiping away.

“Hey…” she whispers, coming around the couch to stand in front of him. She rubs her hands together and looks to the ground. “I’m … I’m sorry to bother you but – “

“Please, Bellara” Lucanis runs a hand down his face, “Don’t apologize. It’s no bother” He hates that he’s made her feel the need to apologize for coming to see him.

“I …” She starts but looks unsure of how she wants to proceed. Bellara takes a deep breath and steadies herself. “Emmrich and I think we may have a way to find Rook”

Lucanis’ eyes widen. He reflexively clutches the journal tightly in his hands. “Really?”

Bellara is quick to add, “We don’t know that it’ll work but … but we think it’s worth a shot”

Lucanis’ heart beats so quickly in his chest he thinks it’ll leap out and run away at a moment’s notice. He blinks away a few errant tears and sets the journal aside.

His Elven friend rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet nervously, “We’ll umm… we’ll be in the library when you’re ready. Make sure you bring the journal”

“The journal?” He repeats, tilting his head.

Bellara nods quickly. “It … it’ll make sense, I promise. Just come see us soon”

And with that, she’s practically jogging out the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts, and the key to Rook’s salvation beside him.

~*~

He finds the Veilguard gathered in the library, in the main building of the Lighthouse. Emmrich and Bellara are engaged in heated discussion. Manfred watches curiously. Taash is sitting on the couch, sharpening one of their axes. Davrin whittles a small figure of a griffon, and Assan lounges by his feet.

The room quiets when he enters, and you could hear a pin drop. They all turn to look at him as he slowly makes his way to the group.

Davrin clears his throat to break the tension, “Lucanis… you’re here”

He nods to Davrin but remains quiet as he stands beside Emmrich.

“Bellara tells me you may have a way to find Rook” He says. “Let’s hear it, Professor”

Manfred tilts his head at the mention of her name. “Rook” He hisses.

Assan perks up at her name and scans the room upon hearing it, one ear flopping wildly as he looks for her. Whines softly when he realizes she isn’t coming. Davrin gives the young griffon lying at his feet a soft, reassuring pat on the head.

“It’s alright boy, we’ll find her” The Warden smiles, and the Griffon settles again.

Emmrich’s expression softens at Manfred, before turning back to Lucanis.

“It’s… an idea.” He says, hesitantly. As if trying to measure his expectations, “We have no clue if it will actually work. And making it work will be exceedingly difficult”

“’Exceedingly difficult’ is becoming a specialty of ours” Davrin murmurs, as he blows some wood shavings onto the floor.

Bellara cuts in next, “We think we can temporarily weaken the Veil enough to pull her out” She pauses and runs behind the couch where Davrin and Taash are sitting. With some effort, she pulls out an Elven-looking contraption, with golden concentric rings and a blue crystal orb in the center. Bellara heaves it on the table in the middle of the room with a soft clank.

She wipes her forehead and lets out a breath, “This is a Resonance amplifier. We use them to stabilize weakened areas of the Veil in Arlathan forest”

Emmrich steps forward and points a finger, “Theoretically speaking, if Bellara can reverse the polarity of Resonance Amplifier’s magical effects, we can use it to weaken the Veil rather than strengthen it. We have a few of them, on loan courtesy of Strife and Irelin. Mages from the Veil Jumpers are on standby to help, but …”

Of course there’s a but.

“But?” Lucanis asks, folding his arms over his chest.

“She’s in the Fade. She could be anywhere” Taash frowns, pausing their work with the whetstone.

Emmrich nods, “Astutely observed, Taash. We can’t just go around weakening the Veil all over Northern Thedas. We could be searching for an eternity”

“How does the journal play into this?” Lucanis finally decides to ask the question that’s been burning in the back of his mind since he walked into the library.

At said question, both Bellara and Emmrich exchange nervous glances. It is Bellara who decides to speak next, after a tense moment of silence.

“We need something of hers that she has a strong connection with” Bellara explains, “The hope is that it would act as a beacon for her in the Fade and guide her home”

“Theoretically, of course” Emmrich adds quickly.

“Theory is better than nothing, Professor. If you think you can pull this off” Lucanis holds the journal out to Emmrich, “Do what you need to”

To his surprise, Emmrich gently pushes the journal back into his hands, “My dear Lucanis, it won’t be quite that easy”

Lucanis clutches the journal tightly to his chest and his brows draw together, “What do you mean?”

Emmrich hesitates for a moment and sighs.

“We are fortunate indeed to have a companion who hosts a being that can freely traverse the raw Fade”

Spite.

The demon feels like a bird fluffing its feathers in the back of his mind. Spite shakes his plumage loose, ready to take flight.

Find! ROOK! Me! YES!

Spite once pulled Rook into the Fade to help them. It’s only fitting he should pull her back out.

“That being said” Emmrich continues, his voice sombre. “It would require us to effectively destroy the journal in this world, that Spite might absorb its essence in the raw Fade and use it to find her. I know that journal means a great deal to her. I can only imagine the weight of its loss”

The pregnant pause after his explanation suggests he wants to add something else but thought better of it. The words left unsaid form in his thoughts.

I know it means a great deal to you as well.

He considers Emmrich’s words. Lucanis looks down at the journal. It was the only thing left tying her to her family. An entire lifetime before she was Madeleina Mercar. Before she was Rook. He grips the journal tightly and clicks his tongue.

“And you’re sure nothing else will do?” He asks quietly, but he already knows the answer.

Emmrich shakes his head. “It has to be something she has a deep, personal connection to. Something that…” He waves a ringed hand, and the soft clinking of his golden bangles fills the air, “Something that effectively embodies who Rook is – past and present. To find her in an endless, ever-changing landscape like the Fade, it has to be tied to her in a way no other object in her possession is”

Bellara’s voice is gentle, careful, as she adds, “Spirits … demons, are attracted to powerful emotions. For Spite to become an effective anchor and beacon, he needs to merge with something she’s going to react strongly to. If Spite has an attachment to the object too, we… well, we think it’ll work even better”

Lucanis runs his palm over the tattered, faded leather. This journal saw him and Madeleina through so many nights together. Memories come flooding of her as she flipped through its worn pages, bathed in the warm light of the fireplace. How her eyes lit up with mirth when she landed on the story of the night. The scent of lavender and rosewater. The warmth that settled in his chest. The comfort that she brought him. How he came to crave her company on the nights they couldn’t be together.

This journal was her story. Their story. To lose it forever…

Lucanis sighs.

If this journal is the key to bringing her home, to giving him another chance to say the words left unsaid – he has to try. He would take her anger and her tears at the loss of the journal. At least she would be around to be upset over it.

He looks back up at Emmrich, barely holding back tears.

“How do we do it?” He asks, voice hitching.

Emmrich puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder and gives him a warm smile. “All you have to do my friend, is go to sleep. Bellara and I will handle the rest. When you wake, Spite should have her location”

“This better work, Emmrich” Taash rises to their feet, axe in hand. “We lost too much already.” They didn’t have to elaborate. Taash had not taken losing Harding well. The team was afraid they might burn down the Lighthouse at one point. Eventually, they retreated to their room to work out, almost compulsively, as if they could punch the grief away. The fire-breathing Qunari made for the stairs to their room and was gone moments later.

“It’s a sound plan” Davrin added thoughtfully, nodding his head. “Let’s hope it pans out”

Assan gave an assenting squawk, before hopping up on all fours and bounding for the door.

“Hey!” Davrin calls after him, rising from his seat. Knife and wooden figurine in hand, he starts jogging after the Griffon trying to escape the Lighthouse. Manfred decides to give chase as well, because why not.

“Get back here, boy! It’s not dinner time yet!” Davrin cries, as the doors close behind him.

After Davrin and Taash make their unceremonious exits, the three of them left in the library start planning the ritual.

~*~

Spite Dellamorte has not been a demon for very long, and there are many things that are new to him. Chief among them, is his fascination with the young woman named Rook.

He has heard others call him Determination. He supposes he understands that well enough. One can be quite determined to be spiteful, after all. And he’s seen Rook possess determination in spades. The way she barrels through every obstacle in her path and relentlessly keeps going is something the demon thinks he could watch forever. Something he wants to watch forever.

Spite isn’t sure if living among the mortals of this world has changed him, but he is certain absorbing Rook’s journal did.

When he merged with her journal, he was bombarded with a flood of emotions and memories that were entirely foreign to him – because they were not him. They were hope, joy, love, compassion, sadness and so many more. But not Spite.

It was confusing and overwhelming. If he had a mortal body, he would have felt what Lucanis called ‘a massive headache’.

Spite Dellamorte stands in the Fade and begins his search for their Rook.

What he has heard the others refer to as The Black City hovers, much like the Archon’s floating palace, off in the distance. An imposing maw of sharp, jagged angles cutting the eerie green dreamscape of the Fade. No matter where he moves, he never gets closer or farther away.

He doesn’t linger on it, and instead, places a hand over his chest and feels for the piece of the journal resonating within his being. A faint blue light, mixing with his own purple glow, erupts outwards. Waves of resonating magical energy ripple out into some unknowable distance, and all Spite can do is wait until one of them comes back.

He stands in his lonely corner of the Fade. Emotions and memories that are not his own tumble back and forth in his thoughts, swimming around each other until they form new, unknown things he cannot understand.

Spite doesn’t know how long he’s been standing in his corner of the Fade, when he finally feels something pulling him in a certain direction. A ripple of that same magical energy, harmonizing with his own, drags his feet towards it. The demon does not have the patience to wait.

His wings unfurl and he flies, as fast as he can, towards that pull. He follows it through hordes of demons and spirits, with a fierce determination to find Rook. Spite is certain he’s never flown this fast in his short existence.

Time does not exist in the Fade, so he is unaware for exactly how long he has been flying. He follows the pull of the magical energy until he comes to a new landscape within the Fade. The Black City hovers in the distance as it always does.

There is a black void of nothingness vibrating in the middle of the landscape. That is where he feels the pull most strongly. He surmises that is where Solas has trapped Rook. Spite takes in his surroundings.

Tall, peaked mountains to one side. Bordered by a forest of high sycamore trees. Ruins of destroyed buildings. A lone house on the hill, decimated by demons. He’s seen this before. Lucanis has seen this before.

In one of her stories.

Arvanitum.

She’s back home.

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

Big thank you to @thewardenisonthecase and @teawithshakespeare for helping me with this chapter. Writing out the mechanics of how the team would actually find Rook in the Fade was tricky. Originally I wanted to write this all as one fic, but then I realized it would be like 20k words. Hopefully I'll get to the next part soon.

This is meant to be a bit of a standalone story within the larger 'Bedtime Stories for a Demon' series. I've intentionally left a lot of things vague because I technically haven't gotten to this part yet in the main fic. I might have to rework a few things depending on how things go.

As always, thank you for reading! I love seeing your comments, reblogs and tags <3 I appreciate every single one of you who has taken the time to do so!

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1433

Finale II - part 1/3 (Agatha X Reader X Rio ending):

Everything happened too fast for anyone to realize it, including you.

When you pushed Agatha out of the way, you were prepared to get harmed if it meant saving her but when you felt the blade digging itself into your skin; you could not help but look at Rio with a surprised look.

Your own momentum almost sent you to the ground, but you managed to remain on your weak legs, hands quickly moving to your chest as you felt the familiar handle of Rio's blade.

Thank your lucky stars, it was not deep enough to reach your hand but it was deep enough to draw blood; the dark blade alone working as a barrier and only allowed little bit of blood to escape with each passing second.

Your eyes grew wider, the feeling of your warm blood against your fingers and the fact that you had been stabbed; made your heart beat faster and your legs to give up.

Thankfully, Billy was quick to catch you and help you lean against him; his eyes filled with fear at the sight of the knife lodged into your chest.

"No, no, no..." he repeated in a low whisper, fearing he would lose you right there, and he was not ready for it.

Agatha had just recovered from the forceful push, only to see you almost collapsing; Rio's knife in your chest. She paled at the sight, almost losing the earth beneath her feet, and rushed to your side to check that you were alright.

She did not even care that she turned her back on Rio or that she could be attacked, her primary concern being you.

She didn't get attacked, for Rio also had to step back and process what was going on.

When she attacked Agatha's blind spot with the dagger, she never went with the intention of killing her. Harming her was her original plan, drawing some blood and firing Billy to surrender himself.

Then, she would heal her former lover and continue like normal.

So when you chose to play it as a hero and interfere, she did not expect it. She didn't manage to pull back her attack, and now her blade was stuck in you.

Rio tried to approach, for she was the only one that could heal you, and she was not going to let you die like this.

Her intentions were read wrong as both Billy and Agatha went into the defensive. Purple and blue magic glowed brightly as a warning that they would not hesitate to blast Rio if she dared to come closer.

"Stay away! You did this to her!" Billy shouted, anger rising within as tears threatened to escape.

Rio got annoyed and wounded by his words. She was trying to help to save you, and yet she was treated like the bad guy; again.

"I did nothing." She said, trying to salvage her pride and not show how she felt being treatead like the villain when she was anything but that. "She was never meant to be here,"

Billy looked at Rio, trying to understand her motives and if she was lying. "What are you talking about?" He questioned. "Her name was on the paper Lilia wrote!"

Rio felt amused by the naive nature of the teenager. "Did you see it? Are you so sure about it?" She asked, and Billy looked at Agatha, but she avoided his gaze; something she did when guilty. "She brought her into this, and it looks like what happened now!" Rio pointed a finger at Agatha.

If Agatha had just accepted the rule bending Rio did for her, if she had accepted Nicky's passing... all this wouldn't have happened.

If Agatha had not pulled you into this crazy road for a second time. If she had not stubbornly tried to keep you close when you were not meant to be present... you wouldn't be fighting for your life.

Agatha did not have the courage to look at anyone, especially you. She never told anyone that your name was not on the paper, and she was surprised Lilia didn't either.

But as she saw you on your knees, a knife in your chest... she felt guilty. And as she fought back this foul emotion... her mind brought back a certain memory of her haunted, painful past.

《《《《《《《《《《《《《《 Flashback 》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》

It was a sunny and warm day, early spring, but it did feel as if summer was far closer. Agatha liked this weather, not too cold or hot.

Nicky did, too, for he had the chance to run and roll and play amongst hundreds of flowers. Dandelions, though, were always his favourites.

That particular day, Agatha and Nicky were walking down a familiar path; travelling between towns. Nicky's little goat was tied and following close behind, trying to stop occasionally to eat some of the flowers and grass.

"Mamma," Nicky started and glanced at Agatha, who was once again busy reading. "Why doesn't Aunt Y/N join us on the travels?"

Agatha flipped a page on her little book but did steal a glance at her son. His bright, innocent eyes were so empathic and deep, capable of seeing through anyone's soul.

"Because her path is solitary. This is her choice."

Agatha couldn't really explain to her young son the complex relationships she had with you or what drove your decisions.

She couldn't really explain how you did not wish to kill other witches or just travel the world, faking one lie after the other to get the sympathy of fellow witches just to kill them.

And she sure couldn't explain how often you did this, choosing to stay back and suffice with simple short visits. But that satisfied you, it kept you alive and Agatha always had.someone she could turn to if she needed help.

"But she seemed so sad to let us go," Nicky commented, glancing forward and slightly down as he rememered the sad smile you gave him the day you both had to say goodbye; for now. "I wish she could join us, so we can be all three together."

Agatha did not comment, but her son's words did put her in deep thoughts. Truthfully, she had asked you to join her her a couple of times, even before little Nicky was born, but you bad politely refused.

She thought over the idea you, her, and Nicky could form a trio coven, even though her son had no magic.

《《《《《《《《《《《《《 Present Time 》》》》》》》》》》》》》

In the present, Agatha came to realize something important. Every time you had chosen not to join her, you had remained alive and safe.

Yet this one time you took the risk and joined her, You were so close to dying; and she would never admit it out loud, but she was at fault.

Rio's words, now, hurt more than ever, and she glared at her former lover.

Agatha might had persuaded you to try this plan of the Road but it was Rio's knife that was sticking out of your chest and it was her persistence to not let any of you go; that had led into this battle.

Of course, Rio wasn't faced by it, for this was such an Agatha thing.

Agatha liked to blame others when things didn't go her way, almost never accepting her part in things and never taking the responsibility she had to.

"You can't blame me for this, love. I am not the only one who causes death around her." Rio said, choosing to bring up the same words Agatha had so coldly told her after Lilia's trials.

Agatha, of course, was furious. "Shut up!"

Wasting no more time on talking and throwing the blame around, Agatha just blasted Rio with more force than before.

It did shock and threw Rio back, but the Green Witch was not one to let a single hit take her down. She returned the move, matching up the magic intensity.

Both had open wounds from one another. Both had pain and anger caused by one another.

Agatha wanted to just forget about her haunting past and pain, and Rio wanted to stop being blamed and used as an excuse.

Both wanted to put an end to this, both annoyed by the other that brought you into harms way.

As the battle continued, each sneaky attack became more and more personal.

Their magic caused wind, debri, and dirt to fly all around; easily causing you harm. Or they would have, if it wasn't for Billy using his magic to shield you both as the former lovers continued their fight.

Part 2/3

[ryomens-vixen]

Yandere!Gojo Satoru -Drabble?

❤️‍🩹 CW: Gojo is a Warning, Cheating, Slight NSFW, Yandere Tendencies, threats, dub/noncon?

❤️‍🩹 Word Count: 🤷🏾‍♀️girl idk...no wc today.

❤️‍🩹 Author's notes: This was COMPLETELY out of no where, I was bored and instead of finishing this Toji fic I randomly decided to write Yandere Gojo. So enjoy and don't ask me to write for Gojo 🙄 this is a one time thing...

I don't think y'all understand how TERRIFYING yandere Gojo could actually be- like I'm not a Gojo girlie, but I pay attention to him enough to know this nga is real deal terrifying. Like let's say you and him had a bad break up and he pops up at your house after you blocked him on everything, trying to explain himself and you close the door in his face. Now the RATIONAL thing to do would just be to leave. But Satoru? Chile his only rational thoughts are he either hollow purple the house or simply teleport inside and continue where he left off. Cause what the fuck does he look like letting you go?

Nah, he'll teleport in the house and of course scare tf outta you- and whatchu gone do about it? Nothing, you can't even touch this man. Like yeah you can scream, shout, throw shit at him all you want, but it's not like you can touch the nga. You gone hear him, you gone listen to every word he has to say and even if you do decide to reject his advances he WILL stay in your house, all up in your face, all up in your bed, eating your food, etc. He's gonna make you take him back whether you like him or not, but you not leaving him. Whatchu gone do? He's the strongest, nobody can step to him except Suguru, but where is he? Nobody knows. So really all you can do is deal with him being there, annoying you, trying to talk your panties off, the mood swings I mean really you have to watch what you say to him cause his cheerful mood can switch to unhinged so quick and you know exactly how bad he can get so it's better to just play along with him until you're no longer mad at him.

I mean just the other day he told you he loved you so much but you- you clearly forgot who you were dealing with and slipped up saying you didn't love him. Now why would you slip up and say that to him? Now he's all eerily quiet and you were standing there washing the dishes like you didn't just piss off a monster? Next thing you know he's got your head in the dish water and his dick buried in your pussy, His blindfold restricting your hands, every now in then he feels you pushing your head against his hand he pulls your head up from the water only to ask you in a serious tone of you love him or not. Now... There's a right answer for everything so even if you didn't love him it would be very.. Wise to say you do- unless you want this blue eyed, white haired demon to drown you?

Or the time he caught you swiping on tinder? Are you out of your mind? You have to be- ain't no way you forgot who's in your house. Gojo had half a mind to trap you in his infinite void for a second, but listen- he's trying, he's trying to not be so impulsive, trying to communicate better, trying to not show you how weak you are compared to him. He tried to communicate to you how much it hurts him to see you on tinder, and what did you say to him?

"We're not together so it doesn't matter, Satoru. "

It's something wrong witcho dumbass like do you just forget how much danger you're in fuckin around with Gojo? THEE strongest? The Six Eyes? Head of the Gojo Clan? Now you're sitting here wondering why you can't breathe and seeing stars. He literally took you're phone and shattered it, now he's knocking the Sonic Rings out your pussy. Do you still wanna keep playing with this man? Because after this you're sure as hell going to watch what you say or do around him now.

Only after you get done getting the Chaos Emeralds knocked out your pussy. I mean he is ruthless, turning your ever which way but loose, knees always behind your heads while he's quite literally bullying your cervix, but the way that you're a babbling mess underneath him turned him on even more, but I guess that's you're fault you should have watched what you said, and now here you are getting stuffed to the brim with his cum, those bright blue eyes, that crazied smile stretched across his face, forcing you to make eye contact with him. Gojo enjoyed seeing that expression you were making, he knows he's the only only who could ever fuck you like this, his dick is the best you've ever had nobody could compare to him no matter how mad you were.

"That's right baby, you're my girl, aren't 'cha? Mine, Mine, Mine. You.. Fuck.. You and this pussy mean so much to me!"

"Say it, Y/N, Say you love me baby, say it, say it, say it!"

"Fuck- This pussy s'good, s'good baby, just for me."

"You'll t-take me back, be a family again, you'd like that wouldn't you? Putting a fuckin baby in you- wouldn't you?!"

Out of everything he said that's the only thing that caught your attention, your panic? You were never ready for a baby- But what were you gonna do? Deny him? You've already fucked up denying him a relationship, Yeah he cheated, but in your current situation was it really ever that deep? He never showed his crazy until now and too be honest it was scary and arousing at the same time. But you had to come back to earth before he ACTUALLY baby traps you. Maybe tricking him into giving you a break? You had just the idea, asking him in strangled moans to let you ride it, damn near begging.

Surprisingly- it did work, you were engaging with him instead of fighting against him, Gojo thought to himself as he sat up pulling you on of him. His demeanor seemed a bit more cheerful than deranged like earlier. But now that you've come back to your senses and realized who you're fucking with.. It was time to play along, maybe even reason with him. Once you were on top of him finally able to catch your breath- your fingers interlaced with his, impatient as ever he bucked his hips up into you making you plead with him to wait a second.

*Pant* "Sa- Satoru wait, just a second lemme talk!"

He looked so annoyed, so irritated with you, but way not he'll bite.

"Fine, what more important than me putting this fat cock in your stomach?" Oh that devious look only his face.

"Satoru, you're right, I do wanna get back together, I was just being jealous, Toru- I wanna fix us before we ever consider having a baby, okay? Please?" God he loved the way you pleaded with him, even saying please? Man it made his dick jump, but it also mad him so happy, you wanted to be with him again.

You watched his facial expressions in worry since he hadn't said anything yet. That was until he bucked his hips into you again ... Repeatedly. But at least he had on his usual joyful expression- he seemed happy now. Nothing could ruin it just as long as you were cautious about the things you say or do. There's no use in being petty or angry with him because will always without missing beat show you his crazy.

But you should be glad you don't live in an apartment, because babeh.. The noise complaints y'all would be getting right now, I mean the headboard is literally banging against the wall. Your screams were nothing to talk about either you two were being so loud right now, you were his again and even though he didn't respond to your statement beforehand, his actions would surely speak for him. Like instead of his baby trapping you Gojo pulls out cumming all over your stomach and himself.

"My Girl.. Now how about we try for a baby when you move in with me tomorrow?" He said so cheerfully like it was nothing.

"HUH?!"

Yeah... Gojo Satoru was insane and you're the only person that has EVER seen this side of him. You're stuck with this monster now, but at least his dick is good, right?

Tags: no tags this time we'll see what the algorithm does with this and again do not bother asking me to write more Gojo I literally hate this dude. 💕

[helps-the-writing-brain-go]

Zombieworld AU (1)

A/N: As promised! I'm not sure how many people saw the original bit of the game, but shoutout to @monachosis who was the first on interacting with this post!

No one expected Billy to survive, is the thing.

As one of the smaller kids on the street and with little strength to speak of, he'd never gotten to keep the nicer hideaway spots in the city.

He hadn't been able to stay in homeless shelters much either; They'd always ask why he was alone or they'd try and call social services on him.

His odds had been stark, laid out plain like that - small and weak and with no way to find a reliable place to eat or sleep.

Billy wouldn't have bet on himself either when the first wave hit.

But he does.

Survive that is.

Squished under a small pocket in a demolished building, a little lean-to he'd dug out for himself with his ratty backpack hugged to his chest and just about all his clothes on for warmth, he'd been too deep down, too difficult to reach, too insignificant a target when the whole world went to hell.

Billy remembers that first night in flashes. Remembers waking from his uncomfortable dozing to screeching tires and screams.

The bits of the sky he'd seen through the gaps between crumbling concrete and rebar had glowed a dull red, and there'd been an awful, thick stench of burning petrol in the air.

A car accident. He'd thought so simply at first.

But it had kept happening. Louder and louder and all over the place.

Desperate screaming and things breaking and this raw, savage sound in the background accompanying everything - Billy remembers that he'd thought of the dog he'd seen once, with rabies.

All slavering and thoughtless and violent to anything and everything that came close.

Just like that, but everywhere and instead of the way the dog had let him be when Billy had gotten far enough, whatever it was, was attacking everything.

Billy remembers shaking, hands clasped around his nose and mouth, with shallow vents between his fingers for air, lungs heaving rapid and shallow.

Had it been instinct, then? Something prey-like in his hindbrain telling him not to make a sound.

His heart gone rabbit-quick, slamming against his ribcage.

More and more screaming, people begging and a wet tearing all overlayed by that awful, awful savage sound filtered down to Billy.

His mind had gone blank.

How long he'd stayed like that, Billy hadn't known, but eventually the sky brightened - dull red fading to black then purples and then lightening to blue sky and Billy had stayed like that until the bits of the sky through the gaps stung to look at and everything was getting uncomfortably warm.

Billy remembers thinking later or trying to think anyway that he'd made the right choice, so to speak.

Getting out would have taken precious minutes and would have left his back to open air as he leveraged himself out.

Plus, he'd had no idea what was out there. He wouldn't have been able to help anyone.

Hiding had been his best bet.

Like a coward.

Billy had dug himself out of the building's remains, telling himself that and stepped out into a world completely changed.

[dazedantics]

A flat sigh blew out as you deflated onto a secluded bench. The other students seemed to have forgotten the events already, buzzing about merrily away from you.

You kept your eyes on the colorful floor, carpeted like an older arcade or pizza plex would be. The lights were dim but cast a blue-ish glow around everything. People munched away at the crowded tables, some cheering for the person you had just fought as they disappeared back into the crowd.

You had been told off with a warning, thankfully that was it, and the directors left quickly after separating you two. They'd been working here too long to care much about what had happened.

You were glad.

It was better that way.

Still, you felt a pair of eyes on you from across the hall.

You looked up.

Shinso.

He sat at his table for a while before getting up and heading over to you. His eyes, a bright purple hue just as wild in his hair, stayed on yours as he walked.

You wondered if you should look down. But he kept getting closer, so you decided you might as well lock on strong.

When he sat, all the way at the opposite end of the bench, you both looked to the ground.

A second or two of silence. Pondering. Settling.

"I can still do something, you know." He stated.

He hunched over, hands knitted together over his knees. Blunt and tired as you knew him to be.

"I know," you replied, "I'm glad you didn't this time."

You scooted closer, hesitating before resting your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around one of his.

You could feel him tense, flinching for a moment, but he didn't push you.

"It's not right." He spoke again. "Sibling or not, they shouldn't be picking fights with you like that."

Shinso wasn't exactly a friend. Not much of an acquaintance either. You hardly spoke to each other really. Only when you were paired for projects in class, and even then you only spoke the minimal for what was required.

"I know," your voice was dejected. This was a cause you'd long resigned to lose. "But eventually they'll get what's coming to them. They'll feel bad about all this then."

He glanced at you, where he felt you slump further into his side. His frown narrowed further.

"They would've hurt you if the teachers didn't stop by this time."

Yeah, he had caught you in the middle of one of your fights before. Been nice enough to use his quirk to stop things from getting too bad. Your sibling slowed down a bit after that, taunting you for being so weak that you needed an outsiders help.

Shinso was kind.

But you asked him to not do it again.

He listened.

"They're older than you too, they shouldn't want to hurt you so badly."

You squeezed his arm lightly. "Can't help that. They've done worse. I know that's bad to say or whatever but ...," you trailed off, remembering what it'd been like growing up.

"I don't really care. Sure, I'm mad at them. But ultimately, I'm happy. That's more than they could ever say. I had a good life other than all this. What other kid could say they went to so many amusement parks and restaurants nearly every day? I like my life. Wouldn't change anything if I could. Even this."

Shinso paused. "It's still not okay." He looked back at the floor.

"I know."

You watched him for a moment.

What was his life like? You didn't even know if he had siblings.

"Thank you." You said at last. "For caring. And for listening to what I said last time."

He shrugged. "I can still do something about it."

"Please don't. They'll be gone next year anyway. Won't have to worry."

He looked at you again. "If I ever see a bruise, I don't care what you ask me. I'm going to deal with them."

You smiled, feeling warm inside.

But how could you smile right now? Was all he could think.

"I heal fast."

"That's not reassuring."

"They've started doing less." You looked up, finally scanning the crowd again. "I dont really know what's going on with them. We have the same caretakers now but, the first few years before we really grew up together, they were raised by people who didn't care about them or what they did. And I've never really felt pain that much so ... Maybe that's why they do it."

He looked at you, irises a melancholic purple. "That's still not an excuse. And it's frightening how much you don't seem to consider yourself in all this."

You smiled at him again, squeezing his arm. "I'm alright. Thank you, Shinso. For worrying about me."

"Someone has to."

You leaned into his side again, happily watching everyone pass by. You're not sure why he wants to help, but you know you'll always be greatful he had. Even if you guys just go on ignoring each other when these types of events aren't happening. He'd be someone you'd always be able to look back on fondly.

He let out a deep sigh, settling back into the wooden bench with you, eyes scanning the room absentmindedly. So many people, too worried about themselves to care what a random fight between family could mean.

He didn't fully know himself.

But the part in him that wanted to be a hero knew he had to try and step in.

And he'd keep on doing it. Until you figured out why you had to start doing it yourself.

"We could dance." He hummed, eyes drifting to the ceiling.

You chuckled. "You like to dance?"

"No. But I saw ya wandering around the dance floor before all this happened."

You laughed again before nuzzling yourself closer to his side. "No, it's alright. This is fine."

"Alright." He breathed out.

He rested his head back, tucking his hands into his pockets. His eyes shut, the soft purples hidden underneath long lashes.

"If anything happens, just squeeze me. I'll take care of it."

"Thank you, Shinso." You hummed.

He could feel it against his chest.

"Hitoshi."

"... Hitoshi ...." You corrected, smile melting onto your lips. "Thank you, Hitoshi."

[fen-luciel]

The mistakes of a Acolyte

4

Chapters

Summary: You are pregnant with Qimir's child and the universe is not big enough to hide you from him.

There was an embarrassed silence for a few minutes before Sol decided to clear his throat.

"I understand the fear, but this time we'll be more prepared, we won't let him even touch you" I looked at him unsure, I didn't know what was worse, if I brought them there and he was there... even hiding my belly, being seen with the Jedi would be a death sentence, or he could speak out of turn and get me arrested while he escaped, the possibilities were endless and each worse than the other.

"Excuse me, I need... to wash my face" my hands trembled as I tried to get up, Yord beside me stood up worried before offering me a hand which I quickly took, with a nod he pointed me to the bathroom and I hurried there.

The door opened automatically and I rushed inside, closing the door behind me, the sterile light illuminating the small room burned my eyes.

When I rubbed them, I realized the problem, unshed tears filled my lashes, the burning sensation I was starting to feel was the familiar one of crying.

I turned off the light and turned on the smaller, dimmer one above the mirror, in the dark I took a few deep breaths, hands resting on the rectangular sink before placing one on my belly and gently rubbing it.

The dark atmosphere calmed my nerves and fortunately, I managed to hold back the tears, turning on the water I washed my face with my still trembling hands, my shadowed reflection in the mirror was terrible, like the night before, it was written on all my features how bad I felt, the almost sickly purple bags under my eyes, the reddened irises, a disaster that seemed only to worsen.

As I took more breaths, I realized there was talking in the background happening a few meters from me, I could hear them discussing even with the door closed, especially Yord who seemed to have a particularly loud tone.

I pressed my ear to the door to better understand what they were talking about.

"I'm just saying we could try another way" the rhythmic sound I heard was probably his nervous footsteps, I could imagine him pacing back and forth nervously. "I don't like doing this either, but it's our best way," Jecki replied calmly. "We can get an approximate direction and go—" "With the risk of being discovered?" Sol interrupted her.

"And if he's really there? Maybe waiting for us. He'll assume we've rummaged through his things and found his partner" Jecki speculated. "Ex-partner" Yord immediately intervened afterward.

There was a few seconds of silence, I could imagine them looking at each other grimly. "He could be waiting for us with traps, or see us coming and escape while we search for the way, in the best-case scenario he'll be there to retrieve the last things before disappearing, we must seize the opportunity while it's available. He was injured the last time we clashed but I doubt it will slow him down, we must keep up" more muffled sounds followed, and some words I didn't quite catch as they continued to speak in a more controlled tone.

"We should at least give her time to process and understand if she wants to—" Yord's tone was irritated, you could hear it a mile away, but again Jecki intervened. "We must act now. We can help calm her nerves, but we need her and now."

I pressed my forehead against the metal door, weakly rubbing my eyes, I took a deep breath.

I had to think clearly, now more than ever I was caught between two fires ready to explode in my face, what was happening to me? What was I doing? How many times had I already said the wrong thing without even realizing it?

Was this farce I was carrying on the problem?

Had I become too weak?

Had these months of calm made me more docile or was it just me wanting to be? After all, it had already happened many years before.

Sure.

It had already happened.

When everything around you is a lie, you adapt to it, believe you are part of it, accept it, and carry on that fairytale.

I was doing it again, I had adapted to that desire that had started growing in my chest.

To be a normal person, a mother, a civilian like everyone else.

But I had never been that.

I had never been a victim.

Even what Qimir did to me. I let him do it, because deep down, it was what I wanted.

To feel loved regardless of the consequences, of how it would present itself and how I would live it.

I knew what I had to do.

I left the bathroom after washing my face again.

Immediately everyone turned to me, so I gave an encouraging smile. "Sorry, I needed a moment to think. I'll do it... I just ask that you keep me informed of the plan, if something goes wrong I want to understand it. Especially to escape the danger if it arises" I announced with a deep breath.

The reactions I received were different, it was obvious that Yord was not happy about it, Jecki nodded impassively, but Sol was clearly happy with my choice.

"Certainly, we'll organize the plan this afternoon and let you know when we've decided" Sol replied. I nodded before taking a few steps forward. "If it's not a problem, I'd like to go home, especially if we have to leave early, maybe put some clothes in a bag, or retrieve my old blaster." The three nodded. "If all goes well, you'll be away from home for a maximum of one day, but it's right to prevent, thank you again" Sol replied with a slight bow that I returned.

"Wait, I'll accompany you" Yord offered me an arm which I took with a smile. "Thank you"

We left the ship at a slower pace, the city was fully awake by now, the streets were full of busy civilians, but they seemed to easily step aside as we passed, whether to help a pregnant woman or for fear of the Jedi I couldn't tell.

"You're not obligated if you don't want to" Yord suddenly said, I looked at him with a small smile on my lips, he was deliberately avoiding my gaze, walking with a rigid posture, eyes fixed ahead of him.

"It's okay Yord. I want to end this story. Maybe for real this time" the only response I received was a snort from his nose, it was a rather amusing reaction despite everything, although I didn't understand the reason, sure Sol and Jecki were also worried, but he seemed on another planet.

"How sweet, you're worried" I intoned teasingly as I slightly squeezed his arm, the muscle contracting under my fingers.

"Of course I am. We are putting a pregnant woman in danger, I know you're not inexperienced, but we're Jedi, we should protect you, not ask you to be on the front line" I exhaled a snort of amusement. "Well, I have my Jedi knight to protect me, don't I?" I gave him a playful smile, but I could clearly see a slight dark blush on his cheeks.

When we reached my building he accompanied me to the door of my apartment where I let go of his arm.

"See you then?" he nodded before crossing his hands behind his back in a rigid posture. "We'll contact you as soon as we're organized, I'd tell you to bring something you need so maybe prepare a bag, but I don't think we'll contact you before evening. So rest" rummaging in his pockets he handed me a small comlink which I put in my pocket.

"See you later"

I closed the door behind me, the comlink left on the kitchen table as I quickly headed to the bedroom.

I had to do things right if I wanted to get out clean, to kriff with the Jedi, Qimir, and this shitty life I had tried to get into, peace had never existed, all the notions that had been taught to me were dictated by hypocrisy, but I had come out of it and I would come out of it this time too.

Rummaging through the closet, I took a loose shirt to put on, took off my shoes for comfort, and quickly tied my hair in a messy bun on my head.

Sure, if he didn't answer... but at that point, I didn't care, I would make another plan and another until I freed myself from the problem.

I sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, the shutters were still down leaving the room dimly lit, I took deep breaths before closing my eyes, hands resting on my legs.

Over the years Qimir and I had developed a direct bond in the force, which had helped us on many occasions, the more time passed the easier it was for us to use it and outside it was almost impossible to perceive us. In recent months Qimir had repeatedly tried to call me through the force, I had closed the bond as soon as I escaped into hyperspace, the first days were a nightmare, he tried to contact me in every way, dozens of times a day, forcefully. It was obvious he was furious, he immediately realized something was wrong, he was more the type to disappear without saying anything, I wasn't. I would have warned him, I would have told him what I had to do, when I would return, anything, I was paranoid by nature and Qimir was a companion, so it seemed logical to tell him everything.

Even when I had to keep a low profile, I found a way to warn him of the problem, that day 5 months earlier, however, was particularly calm, we weren't doing anything special, so when I took my things and left it took him less than 12 hours to realize something was wrong.

The first calls were calm but insistent, when he realized I didn't intend to answer him, he got furious.

It was absurd how, despite being equals, his presence made me uncomfortable. It was a change I hadn't perceived. It took me five months to realize that what was happening was wrong.

And now I had to reactivate the bond.

And talk to him.

The last time he thought it was a dream, and he still managed to hurt me. I couldn't let him terrify me.

I tried several times, taking deep breaths, trying to reach him through the Force, but between the back pain and the nerves, I could barely concentrate.

I needed to relax, to find his familiar signature.

I lay on my side and closed my eyes again. I had to find Qimir, I had to remember his presence. The night before, we had connected in a dream, more out of visceral instinct, probably. I had emptied my mind of him, had forced myself to forget him, but the arrival of the Jedi had awakened everything, and it would have been hypocritical to deny the truth.

I was worried about him.

Where he was, if he was hurt, if he felt lonely... because of me.

My heart tightened in my chest. A tear rolled down my cheek, but I wiped it away with my sleeve. I hugged one of the pillows to my chest, seeking comfort, rubbing my face against the soft fabric.

The truth was that I missed Qimir terribly.

No matter how much I lied to myself, there was a void in my heart that only he had filled. He would have been so happy to know about this child, would have been by my side, worried about my well-being, massaging my back, and cooking my favorite dishes every day.

I loved him.

And he loved me.

But... the dark side of him wasn't just due to what he had gone through. There was something more visceral, possessive, violent... something that he took out on me.

I thought we were on the same page, that we were equals. But he didn't see it the same way.

I tried again, my arms tightening around the pillow. I tried to imagine him there with me, his delicate yet strong scent, reminiscent of a rain-soaked forest, the warmth of his body, the defined muscles, the numerous scars felt under my fingertips, his soft lips on my forehead... and it was then that I felt him.

It was like seeing a house with an open door from afar. He hadn't noticed that I was searching for him, trying to reach him, but he had left the door open, waiting for me.

And that's how I reached him. The darkness behind my closed eyes was soon illuminated by a cold blue light. I rubbed my eyes from the discomfort before realizing I had made it. My physical form had projected through the Force near Qimir.

I immediately recognized the place, the one I had hinted at to the Jedi. I immediately knew I was right. He had returned here, perhaps for the map, perhaps just to hide.

Looking quickly around, I noticed nothing different from usual. In fact, nothing seemed to have changed at all. It was an old stone room we had turned into our bedroom, although at first glance, it looked more like a storage room. Scrolls, books, devices of all kinds were placed in every corner, on the floor, under or on top of furniture. The windows, usually covered with rudimentary curtains we had hung, were now open, showing the night sky outside.

Walking towards the back of the room, I noticed a backpack carelessly placed on the floor, his clothes haphazardly thrown nearby, and then I spotted some bloodstains but ignored them. I knew who he had fought with, and I remembered Sol and Yord talking about an injury.

And finally, there he was, lying on an old double mattress against the wall at the back, pillows and blankets messily strewn on top, surrounding his sleeping body. A small bandage wrapped around his arm, but apart from that, he seemed fine. He had his back to me, sleeping deeply, his hair tousled on the pillow. I wanted to approach him while he was still asleep, to watch him while he was still peaceful, but I couldn't risk it.

So I did what I had come for.

I approached the small table next to the bed where he kept a flask of some foul-smelling drink and began to hit the metal surface with an open hand, once, twice, three times until Qimir woke up, pulled the lightsaber to him, and ignited it in my direction, terribly confused even as he tried to stand.

"I leave you alone for a few months, and this is the result?" I started, approaching the bed with a flat tone.

I had to be confident. I had dressed specifically to hide the curves of my pregnancy. If I showed any hesitation, he would realize I was hiding much more than I was letting on.

The surprise on his face was almost endearing, his eyes wide and still a bit clouded by alcohol. It took him a few seconds of silence to fully register what was happening.

"Sabrina..." he began to get up from the bed, but I stopped him with a gesture of my hand.

"Let's skip the pleasantries. You're in deep shit" He slowly sat back down on the mattress before deactivating the lightsaber, suspicion clear in his gaze.

"What are you doing here? You disappear for months and then come back to do what exactly?" There was acidity in his tone. This wasn't the dream he thought he was having. He didn't know I was really pregnant, and he didn't see me crying or sad. This probably wasn't the kind of reunion he hoped for. It was just me, waking him rudely and treating him with indifference.

"I've come to warn you. The Jedi know where you're hiding and will be here soon" The surprise and then the confusion were clear in his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but I didn't let him start. "The idiot you were dragging along talked, but I guess you suspected that already. They found... our photo" I added the last part with a frustrated sigh.

"Wait, they found you? Were you captured?" He jumped up, reaching out a hand toward me, but I stepped back a few paces.

"No. I convinced them I was an unaware colleague of yours. But they knew too much, and I had to say some things"

The more details I added, the more confused he seemed. He tilted his head in that cute way I often teased him about, and I held back a smile. It wasn't the right time.

"I'll have to bring them here. We'll probably arrive in less than two days, maybe even sooner. So pack the most important things and hide them on the ship, especially all the Sith artifacts. I don't want those dogs touching or, worse, destroying everything we've recovered..." Without realizing it, I started pacing back and forth in front of him, lost in my thoughts. It was true that many of the things were scattered across the various hideouts we had, but what we wanted to study and analyze, we kept within reach.

Needless to say, between things to do, other... hobbies, and the undeniable laziness of both of us, a lot of things had accumulated here too.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when Qimir suddenly grabbed my wrist. I turned quickly, my heart pounding in my chest, mentally cursing myself for letting my guard down so easily. I shouldn't have let him get too close. Yet in his gaze, I read none of the emotions that made my knees tremble. He looked at me with an unreadable expression.

"Are you okay? How did you reach me without getting caught?" I exhaled deeply before yanking my wrist away from his warm hand. I was sure he noticed my accelerated heartbeat, but it wasn't unusual given the situation we were in.

"Yes. I'm... in a hotel I rented. They left me alone to decide a plan. I hoped to contact you after knowing it, but I doubt I'll have time. We need to think carefully about what to do next." I cleared my throat before sighing. "If you just want to leave before they arrive, I understand. But make sure not to leave any traces. I told that Jedi about our map. If they don't find it, you'll have time to hide and heal," I continued, nodding towards his arm. He shrugged in response, making an irritated grimace. "I'm fine. It's nothing."

"And you? They know about us now. Do you really think they'll let you go?" he continued. I gave him a half-arrogant smile. "I was very convincing in my story. They think I'm just a former colleague and lover. They actually want to protect me from you" I said mockingly, but instead of smiling as I hoped, he lost every ounce of lightness he had. The rigid posture of his back and the darkening gaze made my toes numb from how tightly I was keeping them to avoid stepping back.

"A hotel? Is that what you've been doing for five months? Wandering the galaxy doing what? You left without telling me anything, cutting me off from the bond, and now you reappear, warning me about the Jedi" he began to slowly step towards me with a gloomy look. The anxiety gnawed at my stomach, but I had to keep the façade.

Attack was the best defense, after all.

"And you? I leave for a while, and you find an acolyte, get caught by the Order, and then what?" He stopped mid-step, fists clenched at his sides. I could see how tightly he was keeping his arms contracted. It was obvious he was furious, but my words had hit him at least a little.

"I was looking for you. But I didn't want to let the Jedi go. At one point, I even thought they had taken you, that you had run away to keep me safe... but it seems I was wrong" the last sentence was almost growled, as I raised my arm towards him and instinctively grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards me. With my other hand, I grasped the t-shirt he used for sleeping, forcing him to bend down to my eye level.

The unexpected movement left him silent as he looked back at me, confused.

"I feel like I've always been honest with you all these years. I've always told you everything. I've included you in my personal and non-personal life. For once when I needed my own space, you're angry? And how should I feel?" Both of us were short of breath, our gazes hard, too many things left unsaid, or at least, I was hiding everything from him and continued to lie to his face, since we were friends, an unspoken rule was that I was always honest with him, not because he asked me or some code imposed it on me, but because if there was something my past experiences had taught me, keeping secrets only led to disasters.

But this was different. I had to lie.

I pushed him away from me and he didn't resist. "I'm trying to help you in case you hadn't noticed."

Qimir snorted before crossing his arms over his chest. The muscles in his arms bulged with the movement. Had he become even bigger while I was away? I mentally pinched myself at the thought. It was really the wrong time to fantasize about those arms.

"I have no intention of leaving you alone with the Jedi. Maybe you've tricked them for now, but it's obvious they won't let this go so easily. If they decide to report this to the higher-ups, sooner or later someone will recognize you. And you don't know when or how. I'm staying. And I'm taking you with me," I swore I heard his voice grow huskier towards the end, but I ignored the shiver down my spine and cleared my throat.

"I know. But we have to keep up this facade until the end. At least as an emergency plan"

The silence that followed was tense, almost suffocating. I rubbed my eyes tiredly, and swore I saw him lean towards me for a second before dropping his hands to his hips again, probably bitter and disheartened by how this conversation was going.

"I could pretend to kidnap you" he hypothesized. "You said you're playing the victim, right? Tell me what you told them and maybe I could-"

"No. We want them to leave us alone, not to pursue us more aggressively" it was obvious things would only get worse if we pretended a kidnapping. They were bringing me there, pregnant, by that time they would have felt responsible and there would have been chances that they would call the council. "We have to make sure you slip from under their noses. They mustn't realize you knew about their arrival. But... you could hurt me" an idea finally flashed through my mind. "Of course, they don't know about my Force abilities, you have to attack me-" I began to pace the room as a plan formed in my mind. "No, wait, I don't want to hurt you—" "—as if you could" I interrupted with a mocking tone.

Maybe it was the fact that we weren't really in the same room, maybe it was the months apart, but I felt much less uncomfortable now in his presence, and having the upper hand gave me more confidence. Sure, Qimir wasn't stupid, but I had the advantage. And I needed to get rid of him like the Jedi.

"I told them we were engaged and that I ran away when I realized you were dangerous—" he rolled his eyes before making an irritated grimace "—we can pretend I betrayed you, you attack us in anger, I slip inside and reach the ship we have down here. While you fight the Jedi, I'll activate the doors to buy you time. They'll think a droid helped you, and we can leave on two separate ships" I turned towards him with a satisfied expression.

"Sweetheart. I thought we agreed not to play the kidnapping card" he whispered with an ironic smile on his lips as he took a few steps closer. I ignored the affectionate name he called me, not letting him get into my head and distract me with less important things.

"And indeed, we'll take two separate paths. They'll be too worried about chasing you, and in the meantime, I'll cut off all communication. We'll both have time to disappear"

He looked at me irritably before walking away, throwing the lightsaber casually on the bed as he started taking off his shirt. "This plan sucks" he hissed through his teeth as he continued to undress, calling his usual tunic abandoned in a corner with the Force and starting to get dressed.

"Do you have a better idea? I don't think so. And anyway, for all we know, they could come in four or twenty" I snapped irritably, raising my voice. "Do you realize how many things could go to kriff?" he ran his hands through his hair, frustrated, and I sighed in response, irritated. "I know! We'll improvise, as we always do, but it's better than nothing... Where's Sam?" I asked suddenly, looking around.

"I deactivated him, he kept bugging me because you weren't here and was blaming me" I rubbed my eyes once again before turning towards him and pointing my finger at him. "Reactivate my droid, get help, and keep your eyes open. If everything goes well, we'll drop off their radar for a while, and maybe we can shake them off since you decided to get caught" I snapped irritably.

"Sorry, but can't we just ambush them?" he replied, frustrated.

I swallowed bitterly before answering more calmly, "I can't. Not now. We need to get rid of them calmly" I saw him make another grimace, ready to protest, but I interrupted him again.

"Shut up. You created this problem. That's why I'm the master between the two of us. Don't forget that. You have orders. Execute them." My tone was hard. Disappointed. I sounded convincing. Maybe I was venting a different kind of irritation at the moment, but he couldn't imagine that. Fortunately, I struggled to read him just as he struggled with me.

Ours was more of a dance, armed with sharp claws and lightsabers, ready to attack each other for sport or wound each other out of personal pride. I could suffer as much as I wanted for his actions, be afraid of him, but I had no doubt that deep down, Qimir had the same fear of me.

It was a race to see who would break first.

That's why I couldn't allow him to see my weakness.

"Don't get yourself killed."

And with that, I looked at him one last time before severing the bond. Darkness returned, and when I opened my eyes again, I was still in my bedroom, hugging the pillow, as that forest scent faded from my senses.

[mediumgayitalian]

“Hey. You.”

The most beat up pair of purple Chucks he’s ever seen enter his line of sight. Following them up the person they are attached to, he squints, trying to make out a face in the backdrop of the bright midday sun.

“What,” Nico says flatly.

Kayla is unbothered by his attitude. “I need your help.”

Now that is a sentence Nico does not often hear. He waits for a following because someone has died and I need you to handle it, or perhaps a more interesting because there is a ghost terrorizing camp that you need to take care of, but no explanation is forthcoming.

“Because…?” Nico prompts, eyebrows raising. Kayla huffs.

“My dumbass older brother has been working for seventy straight hours. Every time we try to drag him out he just — I dunno, talks around it. He’s fast and disorienting and none of us have managed, but if he doesn’t sleep soon he’s going to collapse. Again.”

Nico blinks. He’d wondered why he’d been having so much peace over the last couple days — there has not been, in hindsight, even one knock on his door at an obnoxious hour, nor has he been bagged about missing breakfast or lunch or dessert or whatever else. He has, for the most part, woken up well past noon and spent his time wandering the woods.

…Huh.

No wonder he’s been so bored.

“Don’t know how I’m supposed to help you with that,” he says shortly. “Knock him unconscious and drag his body back to bed.”

Kayla shakes her head. “Tried that. He has a very thick skull. Just made him mad.”

Nico was kidding, mostly, but the idea of Kayla tiptoeing behind a distracted Will and walloping him upside the head in the name of sisterly love makes him smile despite himself. Just as quickly, he twists it into a scowl, because he does not like the teasing expression that has wormed itself across the daughter of Apollo’s face.

“Well, then, pray, I guess.”

“Just talk to him,” she says, exasperated. “He listens to you.” She turns and strides off before Nico can say no, actually, Solace is a stubborn pain in the ass who delights particularly in ignoring everything I say, not sure where you got that from. And somehow, Nico feels like this is not something that’s just going to go away.

He groans, and curses at the heavens, and stomps towards the infirmary.

———

The infirmary is, when Nico walks in, surprisingly crowded.

It’s never really empty, not at camp, but it’d been a lot quieter the last time Nico had been dragged in (he got a papercut. Well, a sword gash to the artery, but nothing a square of ambrosia couldn’t fix, and definitely nothing worth a forty-straight-minute lecture from Will, that was for certain). Then, maybe a third of the cots had been occupied, and most patients where lucid enough to be complaining. Medics were either actively arguing with difficult campers, or chatting amongst themselves.

Now, not a single cot is free. The infirmary swells with pained groans and sounds of retching. Medics and medics-in-training rush from bed to bed; none of them as hurriedly as Will Solace, who might as well be a blur of movement.

“Woah,” Nico says, darting his arms out to catch the aforementioned blur of movement as he rapidly approaches the ground, having tripped on a supply cart. “Slow down, Solace, or you’re gonna end up on a cot.”

“Sounds good,” he mumbles. His eyes are bloodshot. “Gimme ten, and I’ll come check you out, okay? Unless you’re dying. Are you dying?” He frowns, concentrating. A familiar glow comes from his hands, but it’s — weak, almost. More of a flicker than anything. “No, you’re not dying. Good. Be back soon.”

Despite his parting words, he doesn’t move.

“Did my legs stop working?” he wonders, and promptly goes fully limp. Nico yelps, scrambling to keep from dropping him.

“Um, help?” he yells. “Medic down?”

“Cot!” someone yells back. “Be there soon-ish!”

Nico glances side to side, but, as he expected, everything is occupied, and every medic is busy. Several people, he is now noticing, are covered in the same, pulsating red welts, clutching bowls and buckets to their chests, faces green with nausea. Some kind of outbreak. Austin, Will’s brother, is sprinting from bed to bed, checking fevers, firing off hymns. Kayla ducks in from the back doors, throwing on a scrub shirt, and rushes to help. A few other people Nico recognises as regular volunteers are doing what they can to keep people upright and as comfortable as possible, until one of the healers can get to them.

Will is still unconscious.

Nico ducks into the nearest shadow, and disappears.

———

part two

[chibigingi]

My Issue with Solas

(To which I'm going to be berated, blocked, loathed, dismissed by his fans, and that's okay because it's their right, but I gotta get this out.)

First and foremost I will openly admit that I've played most of the Dragon Age games and their DLC (exception being one of the DLCs from Dragon Age 2 involving Corphyeus and the deets on Malcom Hawke, and any DLC in Inquisition), and my enjoyment of the series, up until Veilguard, is casual. I preferred the Mass Effect series and even then I can't say that I know all the lore to consider myself a super fan.

That being said, my issue with Solas (besides some of his crazier fans who genuinely can't acknowledge any flaws or unironically say that the Veil should've came down) is the fact that they wrote him to be too powerful, too clever, and thus wrote themselves (or the ones that ended up taking over as I'm told that the development for Dread Wolf and then eventually Veilguard was... uh... a mess xD) into a corner in regards to how they can realistically combat him by making him the antagonist of the fourth game.

Much of the criticism I see from the hardcore Solas/Dragon Age lore fans usually boil down to the fact that they (the writers) nerfed him so that the heroes of the Veilguard could have a fighting chance.

"Remember when he could turn people into stone without even looking at them?"

"He could've easily subdued Varric without killing him." (Something Neve points out as well if you take her with you to the final showdown in Minrathous)

"I can't believe he'd fall for a fake dagger, they had to BS some excuse that he's concussed or say it's his arrogance that blinded him, whatever, they made him look dumb!"

All reasonable criticisms, but I think the problem lies in the fact that the writers, either his original ones or the new ones, just did themselves an oopsie and powerscaled him to the point that ANY effort to overcome him will be dismissed as 'contrived', 'unrealistic', or that they had to nerf him in order to overcome him.

Which... not really?

Think of it like this. Rook is portrayed as the anti-Solas, regardless if you play them as Blue, Red, or Purple. Whereas Solas schemes, plots ahead, plays chess with others as pawns, willing to sacrifice said pawns when necessary, Rook is literally riding by the seat of their pants and making it up as they go. When your opponent is someone who thinks he has everything figured out, the best way to combat that is to be so wild, so unpredictable, that it throws them off balance, long enough to get a few licks in.

Solas's greatest weakness in regards to Rook is that he always, always, always underestimates Rook and that Rook always does the unexpected.

Whereas Solas knew Varric would try and talk him down, he could never predict that the wild card that Varric hired was stupid enough to drop a freakin' statue on him to stop a ritual (instead of doing something conventional, like, you know... shoot at him from afar or charge boldly at him, like an idiot). ((Though, if Solas had taken the time to know Rook, especially Warden Rook, he's have probably been a little less surprised... or not, because who'd drop a large construction ontop of someone else TWICE in the span of a few months? Seriously, who even does that once, much less twice?))

Whereas Solas expects Rook to be belligerent and distrustful throughout their shared sessions in the Meditation rooms, Rook surprises him by actually listening to his advice, despite their dislike/distrust of him.

Whereas Solas expects Rook to be trapped in the Fade prison, because if someone as smart and clever and powerful as he, the Elven god of lies, deception, rebellion, blah blah blah, then an idiot like Rook who Solas clearly thinks lacks insight and introspection (a far assumption, Rook dropping a statue on him and interrupting a Ritual was literally plan A) couldn't figure it out.

Even the three (technically Five I guess) endings, Rook defeats him by doing the unexpected.

Sacrifice, he never expects Rook to have what it takes to make the sacrifice. Sure, everyone SAYS they'll do whatever it takes to save the world, but how many are actually willing to do it when the gauntlet is thrown? How many have tried to stop Solas with the good ol' 'Whatever it takes' mentality and hadn't either been defeated or chickened out when the time came?

Fight, he expects that Rook would be stupid and fight him on their own, never expecting that his companions would be willing to risk life and limb to fight for Rook (hell, even Emmrich, Mr-Always-Suggests-The-Non-Violent-Option is ready to throw hands the moment Rook says it's Clobbering time).

Trick, this is self-explanatory in that he never expects Emmrich or anyone to have made a fake dagger, nor does he expect Rook to be brazen enough to even try pulling such a trick on him. This is a guy that thought dropping a statue on him was a good idea, after all, and Rook hadn't shown signs of such deviousness before, at least not against him. Who would dare try and outDread Wolf the Dread Wolf? Rook, that's who.

Both Redemption endings, he never expects Rook to actually talk to him in the final confrontation, especially after all that he put Rook through. He's expecting Rook to be so out for blood, so determined to see him as his enemy, so determined to stop him, that the idea that he'd go through the hassle of learning about all of his regrets or finding Mythal's fragment wouldn't have crossed Rook's mind. That Rook actually believed that he was worthy of redemption, after everything he's done, to Rook, to the Inquisitor, to Mythal, to literally all of Thedas... is unexpected.

Look, I get that the writing in Veilguard, especially compared to previous games, isn't all that great. Sometimes it's just bad. I think fans had expected Solas to continue to be this all-powerful being that was always being eluded to through in-game journals and codex entries (or these feats maybe were seen in Trespasser, I don't know because I haven't played it and at this point, I kind of don't want to). I think a lot of the issues arise with expectations, whether they're reasonable expectations or not.

People expected Solas to be bested by a character that could match his wit, but instead, they get a chaotic DnD player that is literally making shit up as they go. Which... if you're a fan of Solas and wanted to maybe see him have a better outcome even though you knew he'd have to lose at the end, I can get the disappointment. Or maybe you hate Solas but are still disappointed that you couldn't really do all the terrible things you wanted to do to him (like, me... sorry, but my Inquisitor would NOT have called him 'Friend'... don't give me the option to say 'I want to stop him' if you're just going to be lazy and have it the same as the 'I want to help him' but just a little less nice). Sorry y'all didn't get the game you wanted or the game you feel the series deserves... fate conspired against us players and the developers who tried despite being given an impossible task.

Maybe I'm pessimistic, and I'll admit I have some bias against Solas anyways as I never cared for him even BEFORE the reveal in Inquisition, but I just had a feeling that the decision to have the entire series revolve around him was going to eventually bite Bioware in the butt, because once the expectations was there, the chances of them living up to said expectations was slimmer than Emmrich's waistline. Maybe with more time and resources and not having EA constantly trying to make Dragon Age something it could never be, y'all have gotten the game y'all feel the series deserve.

Or maybe y'all be bitching because there'll be something else that y'all didn't like in how he was handled. I don't know, I'm like Rook in that I don't have time for that kind of insight. I enjoyed the game, for all of its many flaws... only other Dragon Age game I played more than once was 2, and that was because I screwed up with Isabela and I hate finishing a game without a full party available to me (if it is possible and not because of the developers forcing the players to make a choice to kill, or have a character leave no matter what you do).

Anyways, TL;DR version: Rook is my precious baby and we were never going to get a version of Veilguard that would've satisfied the fans nor EA's ridiculous expectations...