#which is part of how she is. related to him

[purple-baron64]

You already pointed out Toriel's drinking, and you covered Alphys in a lot of detail, but I like how we see stuff like this for Asgore and Undyne as well, since they look like they'll also figure into things pretty notably. Asgore in Undertale is ultimately in a super shit situation, King of the Monsters, desperate to protect his people but not wanting to hurt anyone, so he eventually settles on a half measure after an emotional declaration prevents him from meaningfully pulling back lest he risk despair settling over his people.

But in Deltarune, while there's undertones of a secret conflict he can't convince Toriel of (likely relating to the Dark Worlds and Dess' disappearance), the Asgore we primarily see is just utterly pathetic. He's nice and friendly to people, the big, loving, friendly dad figure, but he's completely aimless, losing sight of taking care of himself by giving away all his flowers rather than selling them, and is so utterly desperate for things to go back to the way they were that he's taken to stalking Toriel in a desperate bid to try to start a conversation of some kind, which of course only makes her more understandably upset with him. Kingship was a burden that made Asgore complicit in the slaughter of 6 children, but it also gave him a resolution that guided him toward a goal, horrible though it was. Without that, he seems to have essentially only whatever plan he's working on in the background to go with, and any free time we see him in he's just kind of pitiful.

And Undyne, while we didn't see too much of her, is similarly in an interesting situation because of the lack of a goal that she has. In Undertale, she's a hero to the people, fearsome and mighty and the one who will kill the humans and save the Underground. There's purpose and drive there that guides her toward a cause she truly believes in. But here, she's just kind of a nuisance because she still wants to be that superhero to the people, but she lives in a simple small town without much trouble, so she ends up either bored out of her skull or being a mild pain in the ass in various ways.

I'm super curious to see more of them, especially since Undyne is wrapped up in things now, and Asgore is clearly in some way connected to the big secret plan going on in the background. I'm happy Deltarune is focusing primarily on the newer cast members (I count Gerson in this, since he's basically just a lore character in Undertale, but here he's a huge part of Susie's arc in Chapter 4), but I'm definitely interested in seeing what role the old ones play.

I could NEVER be one of those ppl complaining about the classic undertale characters being “irrelevant” in deltarune. I find the way deltarune highlights each of their flaws through their much more mundane lives so fascinating

[cass-1]

౨ৎ —his little secret — ౨ৎ

You and Ghost had close relations, which he insisted on keeping private, no matter how much you asked to get serious.

He wouldn't let you flirt with other men, maybe he thought he owned you. He'd love you, open up to you, comfort you, let you comfort him, but once you weren't alone, he'd act like you were nothing. It was odd.

You were cuddling on his bed, his hand on your waist. but something bugged you. The way he wouldn't even consider a relationship with you.

You sighed softly, looking up at the man next to you. He glanced at you as soon as you let out the sigh, curious about what was on your mind.

Simon knew what was coming now, having expected you to bring it up again. He was quiet, keeping his hand on your side, waiting for you to speak.

“Simon, why do you not want a relationship with me.” You said looking up at him with those big doe eyes. He looked down at you, then away.

“What av I told yu about askin’ silly questions darlin.” He responded with an annoyed tone.

“Let me know— you always keep secrets from me.” You said as you sat up, your arm still against his chest. Looking straight at him.

“No, darlin’ the ansas no.” He groaned in annoyance, “ please, ghost! please..” you begged, not even giving him a chance to react.

“I don’t want a relationship with yu.” He hesitated before saying bluntly, throwing you off track. Your face looking at him with a confused look. This man has had you in every position, seen your weak spots— even at your most vulnerable times, this can’t be right.

“Is this a joke? It’s not funny, Simon—“

“No, is not. The truth is, i’m not interested in yu.” He shot back before giving you anytime to react

Saying such evil words broke her heart, she felt the waterworks flooding her eyes. You’d stare at him at your eyes went glossy with tears, he knew you were a sensitive person. He knew how overprotective of that v card you were, you didn’t wanna waste your one chance with a ‘man’ as a teenager.

You could hear him sigh when you put your hands over your face to try hide the tears, wiping them away urgently. Ghost tried taking a hand off of your face, trying to be all sympathetic. You pulled away, getting up off of the bed.

Regret filled your mind, wondering the worst of the worst scenarios you possibly could think of, even thought this wasn’t the worst thing however it meant the most to you. Just as you thought, he stayed sat on the bed, not budging a finger. Prick. You gathered your belongings, your clothes scattered on the floor and began to hurriedly put them on.

He flooded your phone after you left his house hurriedly put together, sending apology paragraphs, is this him making effort?

Bit different from the smut I’d post but feeling lowk emotional right now 💔

sorry I didn’t make one of these in like 3 weeks now 💔 I’ve been so busy but I’m back now.

Let me know if you want a part 2!

[lynxgriffin]

You know, in retrospect, the Cattenheimers possibly being important in the future would line up with how the significance of cat-related stuff has increased dramatically now.

Starting with Chapter 2 and the hiatus after it’s release, the Spamton Sweepstakes Q&A had Spamton bring up the elemental pairing of [Puppet/Cat] among other examples. This can be seen in the hidden elemental property system that is sometimes assigned to attacks and armors - which has been more clearly seen with the Shadow Mantle’s effects against attacks from the Titan and some of Gerson’s. In particular, some attacks from Spamton NEO, Tasque Manager, and Tasques all share the same element ID which most likely is [Puppet/Cat].

Alongside that, there is the enigmatic IMAGE_FRIEND/DEVICE_FRIEND:

It initially appeared in Queen’s Basement with a random chance of appearing where the teacups rise up to take you down to the barrier generator. Obviously, it contains the now recurring motif of pink and yellow, which back then we could only connect to Spamton’s glasses. But then in the second round of Spamton Sweepstakes ARG stuff back in May, “FRIEND” was confirmed to explicitly be a cat from the image files of the rarecats game page. And as you have seen, FRIEND became openly prominent in the game as the face of the Endogeny-shaped Darkner during Ralsei’s Ch 3 explanation about the Dark World, as well as the enemies ERAM summons against us during the Sword Route boss fight.

Interestingly, you can even see FRIEND during the first board of the Sword Route. With a maxed out sword, not only can you reach a hidden path to a room with ERAM in it, but you can also cut down the trees to the left and right of the pyramid to find two caves that each have a half of FRIEND’s face appear after moving long enough. And they appear as a pitch black silhouette in the 3rd Sanctuary room with a Waferguard in it, meaning they’re only visible via the sound waves.

The hidden Mike fight and minigames certainly have a lot of cats, with Battat’s minigames directly taking from rarecats and Pluey being based on the fan theory that FRIEND was Mike, but it’s a bit harder to gauge how important this in particular is.

Moving on from FRIEND, I’ve brought up the pink and white cats in the Sword Route, which brings the topic back to the Cattenheimers. And Chapter 4 has a bunch of really odd details surrounding them.

Their cat flap is noted to have a lock that “requires 3 codes” - the flavor text really does have this color - in a clear parallel to the shelter door, but is treated as a joke as ‘useless information.’ Sans’ teleporting shenanigans make an appearance for the first time with him going between his store and the Cattenheimers’ grill between screens. Not only that, he fixes/upgrades the grill to now be capable of also smelling of dogfood, not just catfood, and cooks his “hot dog/cattail” prank on it. And then there’s Catty being the one who is picked to give the sermon about the prophecy behind Deltarune.

A sermon that explicitly confirms one of the heroes to have horns and is he/him - which fits Ralsei AND probably Asriel given Toriel and Asgore’s dark world/prophecy crowns. A sermon that brings up Catti is currently still into summoning/communing with demons. And a sermon that has Catty keep the church guessing about whether or not she’s secretly “actually a Hero” (the capitalization is part of the quote) or that she’s been keeping a secret from everyone - which I presume is in general.

That’s not even bringing up how the dad calls Catty his “genius daughter” in yellow text, which in the church is otherwise reserved for referring to Alphys, Noelle, or Noelle being locked out. Catty acts like she misunderstood what Kris was talking about and points them to Noelle and indirectly to Alphys, but still.

Heck, during Catty’s sermon, it is the only place you can get the Ancient Sweet, which is a bizarre healing item worthy of its own tangent. Really, the most relevant part here is that if you fulfill the conditions required to get it, Kris’ interaction with Susie changes to her finding an undelivered letter in Asriel’s church clothes from Asriel to Catty about their upcoming junior dance together. The same dance that Catty brings up very fondly in Chapter 1 and calls Asriel a “cutie pie” for, not too dissimilar to how much she imagines the horned hero to be “SO cute” for reasons she says she doesn’t know.

Even the other option, the option to pay attention to service, has Susie provide a similar expansion upon another part of Catty’s sermon. Namely, bringing up how Catti and Kris are rumored to have tried to summon demons back when they were kids, which much more openly brings up that plot point about Kris and Catti’s history.

But yeah, there seems to be something really, really weird going down with cats in Deltarune. And more likely than not, the Cattenheimers or at least the sisters will be important to it.

(Not gonna lie, Sans’ modifications to their grill has me lowkey looking suspiciously at the explicitly cattish FRIEND being paired with an Endogeny-like body. That, and also at how it seems to establish some kind of close connection between Sans and the Cattenheimers in general. I mean, he just upgrades and starts using their grill while the family is away without any apparent permission. I hadn’t even realized that last part with the grill until the moment of writing this. )

I'm just gonna stick all of these asks together because...MMMFFGH. I feel like my brain is just absolutely overloaded on cats now and I don't quite know what to make of all of it!

I still don't know what to make of FRIEND, ultimately. The mentions of Friend in the Mike Room honestly almost seem to be teasing players about getting too Pepe Silvia-brained about Friend, but at the same time, there's all these weird little connections with ERAM and Spamton and man it's all a lot. Best I can work out is that, whatever Friend is supposed to be, they're adept at jumping between the layers of reality that the game presents (the game-within-games of the dark world, the dark world itself, the light world, the device layer, etc.)

Catti's got connections with Kris in regards to the demon summoning (which I still maintain could be US all along)

Catti has got serious tension with Susie over Noelle, who are supposed to go to the festival tomorrow together. "Raging inferno of jealousy" could apply to Catti as much as it does Asgore.

Catti's also got tension with an older sibling the same way Kris might have mixed feelings about Asriel. Asriel is likely coming home next chapter for the festival.

There's SOME kind of big cat fight we've got coming in the future but I'll be damned if I can figure out how it will happen or ultimately shake out.

The primary conclusion I draw from this: Undertale is the dog universe, and Deltarune is the cat universe. I don't know how on earth to explain what that means, but it's a conclusion I've got nonetheless.

[arrimorr]

Hello, sorry for the random question, but I’m wondering if тыква sounds alright as a name to a native Russian speaker? I’m working on a story and at one moment, a Russian character gets very attached to a magic pumpkin (she sees it as a son, it’s complicated) and I want her to give it a name but i have no idea where to start!

Hi! OH this is fun. Honestly, it really depends on the context. In English, pumpkin is a word often used as a term of endearment, while in Russian its rare to use an initial form of a noun to adress another living being without it sounding too rough or straight out dehumanizing (there are words that allow that, Sun, for example, but those are rare.) You need to add a special suffix to the words for it to work. For example, in the past it was really popular to name dogs "friend", but no one would say it like друг, it's always дружок, which is a softened form of the initial word. Like buddy in English.

In Russia it is also rare to name someone by their species title. Returning to dogs - it's like calling a dog...well...dog....funky stuff. You can endearingly use the softened version of the word when you feel mushy, like calling a dog doggy, but this doesnt work like a name and usually you would address someone going from some detail or association you have with them. For example - my dog is ginger so my mom calls him рыжик (which is a softened form of the word рыжий).

So, the word тыква (pumpkin) sounds too rough if the intent is not to insult the pumpkin character. It has a softened version - тыковка, BUT this stuff is too sappy to use all the time, and I would advise to leave it as a word of endearment, while, for an actual name think about some words you associate with pumpkin. Can be something related to shape, color, the way it grows, anything. Idk...Солнце (sun) because it's round and orange, Росток which is a little plant, stuff like that. There are a lot of words you can think of if you sit with it for a bit.

I know this stuff is difficult, especially suffix part of the whole idea, so if you want you can pitch me some of your name ideas so I would say if they need softening and what suffixes to use in this case, because, sadly, there is no singular grammar rule for these bastards

( also, as a small detour, you may find useful that this softening stuff also kinda applies to regular names, I don't know how you called your character, but in Russia most names have different forms, for example, Michael is only used in serious or impersonal conversations, softened version of it - Misha will be used with friends and family, a softened version of the softened version Mishen'ka will appear if you want to be very tender, and rudimentary form Miha can appear if someone wants to be very informal. What I mean is you may also want to look into that if you gave your chafacter a Russian name. This stuff often appears even in cases where other forms were never initially in the design. My name is Alice, but my family calls me Alya. I tense when I hear my full name in the family setting, because it signifies the serious tone of the conversation)

[deansimagination]

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Warning: NSFW, cunnilingus, somnophilia

Summary: reader has recently started training but has started to have some crazy dreams about Az. Unbeknownst to reader, she is pushing her dreams into Azriel’s because she’s his mate. He does not have self control to say the least to deny her what she wants.

~

Recently, you had been having very vivid dreams. Vivid in the sense that you had been waking up feeling disoriented and like everything that happened in your sleep had actually occurred in real life. Especially the sensations. You felt everything, smelled everything, tasted everything. It wasn’t that your dreams were particularly dull prior to this new development, but they had never made you feel such things.

It seemed to have started a couple weeks ago. You had been working with Rhysand and the inner circle as an emissary between the Night Courts and the other courts in Prythian for a few decades now. Although you had been living with them for quite some time, you had never quite taken to any sort of training. However, when Nesta approached you a few weeks ago and asked if you would like to join her and the other priestesses, you gave her a reluctant “Sure….”

You really liked Nesta, and wanted to support her in her pursuit of doing something meaningful for these women, and for herself. You could see that her plans were already having a positive effect on her experience here in the Night Court, and they were healing some part of herself that you knew needed attention. So, although you felt that training had absolutely no pertinence to your job, you wanted to support a friend.

Which brings you to the start of this whole mess.

~2 weeks ago~

You had arrived 20 minutes early to the training ground, mostly due to pure nerves. Nesta helped you obtain some Illyrian leathers, which she promised would be comfortable to train in. She lied, because although they kept you warm as you stood outside, they did feel a pretty tight.

You didn’t want to just stand around as you waited for everyone to arrive, so you just started stretching your muscles. It had been quite awhile since you invested any real time in developing your physique, but at least you knew to stretch before doing anything extraneous. You thought this training might be good, just in case one day push came to shove you could at least defend yourself. However, you hadn’t really exercised because you were busy with court relations and were always traveling, and you also happened to love your body…. A lot. If there was one think you knew, it was that you were always confident in yourself, mind and body, which helped in all your work endeavors.

Now you weren’t so sure. You felt completely out of your element. This isn’t something you could maneuver yourself out of with your quick wit or an intelligent argument. You had to face this head on. As your anxiety was getting ready to fester, you were pulled out of your thoughts by a cool dark wisp brushing your ankles and wrists, which you quickly recognized as Azriels shadows. You turned your body around to see where he was, only to find him watching you with his arms crossed.

“Nice of you to join us” he smirked at the end of his sentence, almost sounding amused. You and Azriel had a good relationship, although you didn’t get to spend much time with him due to your travels. You did like him though, you guys had a similar sense of humor, liked a lot of the same books, could have very interesting discussions, and you both seemed to have a similar competitive streak.

“I thought it was finally time that I learn how to kick your ass physically since I’m getting tired of cards” you said as you crossed your arm, giving him a little raise of your brow.

“I think you’re in for a rude awakening, Sweetheart. I’m not sure you’ll ever be able to kick my ass… Physically of course, ” Azriel smiled as he took a few steps closer to you “you’re here early.”

“I was eager to start learning” you lied. He did not need to know about your nerves, although you guessed that his shadows had already alerted him of your fast heart beat and sweat gathering in your palms. He was about to say something when you heard a group of voices approaching, thankfully saving you from whatever embarrassing thing he was about to say.

Cassian, Nesta, and a fairly big group of her new trainees came into view. You were excited for these women but scared for yourself, so you prayed to the Mother that you would give yourself the same encouragement you were inclined to give total strangers.

(A Few Hours Later)

You were panting and sweating like you had been running for years. You had not expected the intensity that the morning held. You started with some strength building exercises, then moved on to some simple fighting movements. Azriel and Cassian had decided to do a simple demonstration for the group. But, as the sun had risen, the temperature increased significantly, which led to Cassian and Azriel shedding their leathers. Although you were trying to focus on the hand and foot movements of the two males in front of you, your eyes kept drifting to the sculpted chest of Azriel. You had never looked at Az in that way, although you found him very attractive. But now you couldn’t help how your eyes hungrily trailed the sweat beading from his neck, down his chest, quickly falling down a sculpted v into his leathers. Your mouth had suddenly run dry, and you licked your lips, very distracted by the sight in front of you. And, your distraction was apparently very noticeable.

“Y/N, I’ve been saying your name for a few seconds now. Seems like something has gotten your attention” Nesta quirked her lips, amusement clear in her eyes.

“No no… I’m just focused on the, um, lesson” you could feel the blush heating your cheats. Great, even you didn’t believe that horseshit.

“Well, I’m sorry to distract you since the demonstration is over. I just wanted to ask how you’re liking the training” Nesta asked, thankfully letting your little ogle session go.

“I like it, and it seems like I need it. It’s very challenging, which I thought I would hate but I actually enjoy” you told her truthfully. She gave you a genuine smile and fully faced you.

“I’m so glad! So you’ll continue coming” she stated, not leaving room for argument. You just smiled and nodded, happy that she seemed happy. Nesta looked over your shoulder, smirking to herself and quickly told you she’d see you later. You were about to reach for her when you heard a very recognizable deep voice.

“So, are you ready to kick my ass?” Azriel mused, challenge dancing in his eyes. He was still shirtless, his tattoos proving to easily (very easily) distract you for a second. This didn’t go unnoticed, as you looked back into Azriels eyes, and found them zeroed in on you.

“One day Shadowsinger” you tried to remain cool, but again felt heat on your face. You quickly turned around and rushed away from the training ground.

~Present~

Which brings you to now, and your vivid dreams. After feeling some sort of way toward Azriel during training, you were having some intense dreams about him, which only seemed to get worse as you continued to go to training.

In the last two weeks, you went to training every single day. You continued getting stronger and developing your skill, but when you were training you always had lingering thoughts of Azriel. You could always feel his eyes burning into you as he watched your train, sometimes coming to correct your form and give you advice. When he did correct your form, he would place his hands on you, which would almost always cause you to take a sharp intake of breath. It was like he was sending electricity through your veins every time he did it. And why did he always have to be shirtless? You’re sure he knows what he’s doing, but you would never confront him about it.

Your attraction for him was growing more and more, which was causing your dreams to be relentless. The first few nights has been innocent enough. Kindof. You were dreaming of him training you, shirtless of course, one-on-one. He was always so close to you, you could feel the warmth of his skin as he demonstrated what to do. You could smell cedar and mist and salt as he would step into your space.

That was the innocent start.

When he had started to correct your form and breathe his suggestions far too close to your ear, the dreams took a turn. In the dreams, he was still training you, but now he was getting closer and more confident. When he would correct your form, he would come up behind you and change the position of your arms. His hands would linger, slowly drifting down your sides down to your hips, where he would tighten his grip, then let go. When he would give you advice, he would come up behind you, his lips brushing over your ear as he whispered to you, his hand resting on your torso just under your breasts, holding your body securely to his. Your breath would hitch and you would turn your face away from his voice, giving him access. He would dip his head and run his nose along the crane of your neck, surely smelling the not so subtle shift in your scent. He would begin peppering kisses to your sensitive skin as his hand would begin to travel south.

He would make quick work with the ties on your leathers, and his hands would drift into the fabric of your pants. He would push your panties to the side and feel exactly how excited he was making you feel.

“You’re so wet sweetheart.” He would state.

“Azriel please” you would breathe out, to which he always responded, “Tell me exactly what you want to me to do to you.”

But you always woke up after that.

Azriels POV

Y/N coming to training was proving to be an incredibly difficult feat. Although I enjoyed spending time with her when she was back home from her emissary trips, it made keeping my little secret hard.

In all honesty, the bond had snapped for me several months ago. Although I had always felt an attraction to her, I was shocked when the golden thread laced my soul to hers, but just because I didn’t feel like Id had enough time with her. We always enjoyed each others company; she made me laugh and always drove me crazy when we would get into little debates, card games, or anything that had to do with competition. She had a fire in her eyes that I’m sure mirrored my own, her competitive nature always drawing me in like a moth to a flame.

Now that she was training, my self control was beginning to become loose. I had to see her moving about the training ground in her tight leathers, which did everything for her figure. And when I saw she needed correction, I had to be the one to do the correcting. I could not bother to think about anyone else putting their hands on her body.

Seeing her at training, however, was not the most difficult part. It was her dreams. She had no idea of the bond that was connecting us to one another, so she had no idea that she was pushing her dreams into my own every night. I knew they weren’t my own, they were always from her point of view, and they started immediately after our first training when I had seen her hooded eyes after seeing Cassian and I demonstrate.

She made waking up extremely difficult, I never wanted to leave her dreams. Where I was confident and she wanted me openly. Especially hearing her call my name, feeling her skin beneath my fingers, the scent of her breaching my senses. She is so perfect, and I want her so badly. Although I struggle with letting her find this golden thread in her own time, I pray to the Mother that she never stops training. I only get to feel her when I sleep, but the temporary bliss is worth the disorientation when I wake up.

~

We had successfully gotten through another day of training, which had involved some one on on time with Y/N. I was teaching her new moves and sparring with her, but I noticed she was pulling her punches.

“Stop pulling your punches Y/N” I instructed. She scoffed and shook her head, but the next punch she threw was, again, pulled. I quickly grabbed both her wrists and pulled her swiftly into my space. She looked startled and placed her hands on my chest out of reflex. She was glaring into my eyes as I looked down at her, but I only smirked.

“If you want to kick my ass one day, I need you to put your strength into your swings.” Her chest was rising and falling rapidly as she looked from eyes to my lips and back up to my eyes. We were standing entirely too close for what I would consider appropriate when I train the priestesses. But I couldn’t help it, Y/N is my beautiful mate and it was my instinct to want her body as close to mine as possible.

“Okay” she whispered, and the rest of training she heeded my advice. Although I wish she hadn’t, just so could correct her and breathe her in just a few more minutes.

~

I had already fallen asleep after doing some paperwork for Rhysand and having dinner with the Inner Circle, which had involved a lot of catching lingering stares and averted gazes from Y/N. I was in the beginning of her dream when one of my shadows began tugging at my hand to wake me up.

“What?” I whisper-yelled, upset that they had interrupted this time with Y/N. They continued to tug on my hand, dragging me out of my bed.

Theh brought me straight to Y/N’s door, urging me to step inside. I knew she was asleep because I had my (her) dream interrupted by my shadows. I twisted the door handle softly, being careful not to make too much noise. I quickly found her form on her bed, her hands gripping the sheets. The shadows continued to guide me until was I standing over her bed. I raised my eyebrow at them to ask why they brought me here but they just whispered “Yours.” But i understood more after Y/N called, “Azriel!”

My heart leaped into my throat and I immediately felt myself stiffen. I felt so wrong standing over her in her bedroom without her knowing, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk away now that I was here. This woman really would be the death of my self control. As I was going through my moral dilemma, she gasped again “Az please,” lust evident in her voice. I reached my hand down and brushed my knuckles along her cheek, wanting to feel her skin. She lifted her chin as I ran my fingers along her jaw, entranced by her reaction. She whispered my name again, but I responded “Sweetheart” not exactly whispering. I could feel the timber in my voice as my own lust was consuming me. I could smell how aroused she was, and knew she wanted me, badly.

At the sound of my voice, her eyes barely fluttered open. She was not even half awake, she seemed to think she was still in her dream

She reached for my hand on her jaw, pulling me down to sit on the bed. Her pupils were so wide, almost black. I knew what she wanted and needed, but also knew she was still in her dreamland. She pulled my hand close to her mouth now that was sitting, using her fingers to bend mine so that my index and middle fingers were pointing out. She brought my fingers into her mouth and sucked them, her eyes drifting closed. I let out a sharp breath of air, watching her push my fingers to the back of her throat. I wasn’t sure what to do now, as she sucked, but she pulled my fingers out with a pop. She guided my hand down under her covers, and placed my hand over her pussy, her eyes still closed, as she whispered “Please Azriel.”

Although this seemed to be a bit of a gray area for us, Y/N being my mate (unknowingly), and her damn near asleep begging me to help her as she gripped my hand. But I just can’t help myself. With my other hand I lifted the covers and crawled in. I was already in my underwear having been woken up myself. I maneuvered myself so that I was completely under the covers, my shoulders slotted between her legs. I nudged her knees wide, so they would lie flat on the bed as she bared herself to me. She smelled so good, and she was already wearing no underwear, I had to lean forward and taste.

I ran a stripe up through her folds, already getting a tase of her wetness. She moaned loudly which only encouraged me. I began to circle her clit with my tongue when she shoved her hand into my hair. I started sucking, while entering my index finger into her pussy. I started moving in and out and she started rocking her hips into my mouth.

“Oh Az, I’m gonna cum” she moaned as she rocked her hips faster. I added another finger and started flicking my tongue faster. All I could do was moan back, vibrating her clit in my mouth.

Y/N pov

You came with a loud and crude moan, startling you out of the in between of your wet dream and real life. You had never cum so hard in all your life, but were shocked when you realized there was a head of hair gripped in your hand. You lifted the cover only to find your dream male (literally), eyes boring in yours, his chin glistening with the moonlight now hitting his face. You put your fingers under his chin, guiding him up to you. He followed, quickly settling his body over yours.

“Are you real?” You whispered. You didn’t know if this was real, it felt more real than any dream you had about him, and you were already previously dreaming.

“Yes, baby” he answered, looking to the side as if in shame. You brought his face back to yours, “why did you come here?”

“Because you called out to me” he breathed leaning his forehead on yours. You had never felt such intimacy, especially from someone you desired so desperately.

“How did you know?” You felt something glimmering in your chest, which you thought had something to do with an answer to that question.

“Y/N, your soul calls out to mine, your body calls out to mine, your desires call out to mine. Your dreams infiltrate my slumber Your thoughts fill my head. Your feelings have taken root in my heart” He searched your eyes frantically, looking for something. You felt your chest crack open, a golden thread weaving itself to male on top of you. You suddenly felt a wave of love, want, and need, all which didn’t belong to you. You gasped, eyes wide as you took in Azriel. You weaved your hand behind his head and brought his face down to yours, kissing him deeply. He kissed you hungrily, moving his lips against yours almost as competitively as you two played games. You didn’t want to fight for dominance, you were His and He was yours, equal in every way.

“Azriel” you gasped, tugging his hair back. He looked at you, seeming worried that he had crossed some line (that line has been crossed king).

“You’re my mate” you smiled so wide, tears springing from your eyes. He smiled down at you, relieved it was nothing bad. He nodded, kissing the tears that gathered on your face. You were filled with such joy, you and Azriel had always clicked so well, with undeniable chemistry. You trusted Him completely, he made you laugh, made you think, made you feel. You felt so blessed.

“How am I supposed to kick my mates ass in the ring for real?” You pushed his shoulder, and he let out a loud laugh, his face falling into your shoulder.

“I know other ways we can compete physically, but I’m not sure if there will be any losers” he winked and now it was your turn to laugh.

The end

[11queensupreme11]

3rd part! 👹

When I was sketching this part initially , I realized that I had to decide if i should keep the face claims’ clothes or just replace them cuz some of them just look out of place??? We just have percy with mf aiden from rekkyou sensen 😭 and axiandros’s faceclaim is pretty but i wanted him to be more similar to his daddy imo, like following in his footsteps kinda way. (i didnt want to hunt down more clothes in pinterest so i kept dory’s lol).

Also while i was checking luisne’s fc i was so shocked she looks so gentle 😭 now i gotta draw her sassy af 😭

yeah luisne's fc looks so gentle and sweet.... and then i decided to make luisne herself a fucking hellspawn 😭😭😭😭

BUT ANYWAY I LOVE THIS THANK YOU AGAIN, SPICYTUNAYUMMM YOU'VE LIT UP MY DAY (technically night rn) WITH YOUR WORKS 💖💖💖💖💖

cearbhall making himself useful for once and being a stepping stool for his little sister 🥺💖💖💖💖 we love a good big brother 🥺

and also luisne's very understandable and very relatable fear of beelzebub and poseidon 💀 pretty much the only beings in the entire multiverse that could put fear in this girl

luke being so tender and sweet with his mother 🥺 which is ironically, the EXACT opposite of his namesake who tried to kill her several times since she was twelve 😭

WAIT LMAO I LITERALLY JUST POSTED IRIYA'S PROFILE THING, AND YET THIS MATCHES SO WELL REGARDLESS 😂😂😂😂😂😂 poor iriya being undergoing another one of her dad's annoying ass schemes, someone save that girl 😭

AND IT'S GROVERRRRRR (the pjo one, i mean, sorry poki baby) 😭😭😭😭😭 i love your grover so much, what a sweet baby eating his lil tn cans 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 percy's so right, grover is true perfection (again, no offense to poki!grover, but full offense to loki lmao)

omg i love how you gave axiandros the titty window, he's dressed like a slut just like his daddy 😍😍😍😍 and i love how you made a meme about his not-so-lowkey mommy issues asjhfafhgvjebf

sweet lil clíona would absolute use the term 'dilf' without realizing what it actually means, she's been sheltered THAT much 💀

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 2x09, "deception"

it makes sense that house would be so averse to a munchausen's diagnosis.

the (first) foreman era has made landfall, and it's already spelling out chaos. it's been AGES since we've had a foreman-forward episode, too, and i think this one slots nicely in with 2x01. back when foreman was so troubled by the patient on death row, we learned about his crucial trait that sets him apart from house: his ability and willingness to reflect. 2x09 features that trait of his pushed to its limit (among what we've seen thus far).

my experience with foreman has been that, so far, he respects what house does but does not like him, but even this respect is floundering a bit in light of recent events, like the chase and house debacle of 2x08. foreman enters the Boss Man Role with a naive idea of cooperation - if he can find a way to control house (his words) without being so blatant, he can introduce proper hospital ethics and morals and guidelines while also keeping house at ease. it's a silly endeavor from the outset and predicated on foreman's refusal/inability to see any part of house in himself.

it's not just audiences who pinpoint this as a doomed endeavor - wilson calls bullshit immediately. :"can i talk to you about something in confidence?" "of course." "it's about house." "oh, then. no."

i mention this mostly because the conversation reads not like words of wisdom or chastisement from wilson to foreman, but more so wilson saing "only i can fuck with house like that." little protective moment that doesn't do too much to advance the plot, but it does confirm that foreman does not have an ally in wilson. and ofc wilson has to be all theater kid/greek tragedy about it, comparing the idea of "controlling" house to "usurping" caesar.

what 2x09 also highlights are the leadership qualities, or lack thereof, between the fellows. foreman tries his hand at diplomacy here, but at the cost of his usual brilliance. house (rightly) accuses him of taking the safe route when he folds to a combination of both his and cameron's diagnoses; the resulting ridicule, while most inspired by how angry house is that he's not in charge atm, also comes from disappointment. he knows foreman is more than this, and he, at some level, wants foreman to see what he's sacrificing by playing cuddy's game.

chase, meanwhile, isn't granted any opportunity to showcase his leadership skills - instead, he gets back to scheming. this is so fucking funny given that in 2x08 both house and chase's entire careers were threatened because of their combined devilry. but what i also like about this little alliance between them is so prophetic it is - chase, despite claiming otherwise, still thinks that house considered loyalty to be transactional. he still thinks that, by sticking at his side, he'll be rewarded in the end. and while this is technically true come season 8, house firing chase in season 3 is one of the most insane moments of the show for me.

chase does make the important realization that, "no matter what i do, you're still going to treat me like crap," to which house makes a threat: "crap is a relative term." so chase's decision to conspire house against foreman here is equal parts an internal and externally motivated choice. but it's not like we haven't seen chase relish in this sort of thing before.

cameron, meanwhile, looks for ways to improve her leadership skills by appealing to leadership. i love and relate to her lol. i think house being needlessly harsh to her is a symptom of his unwillingness to acknowledge the moral effect she has on him and the team at large; that's leadership, but at a deeply subconscious level. yet his invitation for her to take a ride on his motorcycle with him is a powerful statement of equality - house shares the embodiment of his freedom with someone who's nearly survived the gauntlet of Having A Thing For House lmfao.

she deserves this moment of favoritism lol. also it's crazy that we've had no mention of cameron and HIV yet.

amidst all of that, however, i think the root of this episode's tensions comes from a rock (foreman) and a hard place (house) trying to communicate. foreman, saddled with new authority that he instantly takes very seriously, makes futile attempts at getting house to budge without understanding why house is being particularly petulant about this case. the patient, anica, has munchausen's disease, but beneath that, she harbors a real and dangerous condition.

house, just like in 2x07, can relate to her, and this idea of nonexistent pain haunts house and the viewer from 1x21. house refuses to write off anica because a real problem may be lingering beneath her mental illness, and that mental illness doesn't negate the resulting pain. house's vicodin addiction does not negate his leg pain and disability.

i think this shot/scene is very effective in drawing this parallel. it definitely looks like he's helping someone shoot up. but he's right, to a point, and to the chagrin of the team. he doesn't undo their diagnosis of munchausen's (he can't deny his addiction), but he can see to the heart of the issue (they can't deny his leg pain).

that's why i found cameron and house's exchange at anica's house so captivating. she says, about munchausen's patients, that "attention is attention," and house gets immediately defensive. he understands that need for attention and the chaotic ways he's tempted to get it, without exposing himself as lonely. and admitting to cameron, of all people, that he's lonely would be worse than death for him lol.

later, foreman reiterates this house/patient parallel to anika after they confirm the aplastic anemia: "you jumped through a lot of hoops to be here." anika returns with: "i just want to be healthy." in house's shoes, people are loath to believe that house wants any help because he refuses to ask; he complicates his life and his health with his vicodin addiction, but he just wants that pain to go away. i'm pretty confident in this comparison since we have 2x13 waiting for us in the wings.

moving forward, i'm interested in keeping tabs on all the moments where house is especially sensitive to medical negligence...despute having nearly been charged with it in 2x08. i also consider this to me ground zero for the never-ending tension between foreman and house that carries us alllll the way to about 8x02.

[elxxor]

𝐇𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐀 𝐍𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐.

𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐥 𝐕𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐢𝐣𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✧ in which you have a fat crush on your brother's best friend, without getting much success.

Liverpool added to their story.

Your phone notified you, immediately dampening your mood. Everything was related to him.

It's been two months since Virgil shattered your heart after that nightmare of a night. The funny thing is that a part of you didn't hate him, a part of you that still loved him existed.

You had waited for him to text you to ask how you were and if you were free to hang out. And by the time you realized that he wasn't going to, it was too late... too awkward for you to ask as well. So, both of you had resorted to ignorance and hostility.

Life eventually went on, even though you had cut one of the most important people out of your life.

And you'd see yourself by night, in your dreams.

All these faces in the crowded city of Liverpool, and for some reason, you'd still try to find his. Virgil was no longer yours.

Although he never was.

The first time Virgil saw you after that night was a couple of months later, at a family lunch. The two families Van Dijks and yours-had united in your family's garden for a little lunch to catch up on life. You had turned twenty four and Lyon was old news.

But Virgil's eyes were stuck on your body as he watched you sit between his sister and your brother just before him. Sipping from a glass of wine that you most likely didn't like, he glanced at you.

Your brother had brought his new girlfriend with him and even though you were still as close as ever, his attention was on the pretty blonde talking to your nanny.

Virgil had spent so much of his life avoiding you, but after the night of the party, he just wanted to make sure you were okay. Although he just couldn't.

"Dear, will you serve me a little piece of that cake?" Your mother had her plate in her hand, waiting for Virgil to react. It took him about five seconds to come out of his trance and then he served her what she had ordered.

He was too busy thinking about you.

"So, Virgil... when is your next match? Your dad told me you were playing for the Netherland." Your mom tried to lighten up the mood since you were not bickering with Virgil as you were on other occasions.

Virgil smiled up while you looked at him and caught a glimpse of his beautiful Cheshire cat smile.

"I'm playing next week, on Sunday..." He looked around at everyone and proceeded. "You are all invited, of course."

After an hour or two, everyone stood up, scattering around the decorated garden. Virgil grabbed his phone from the table and headed to the kitchen in search of a beer.

In the background, the voices of the two families blurred together as you finished washing your plate. Both Virgil’s sisters were busy playing card games with their mother and your brother was having a talk about politics, which you were not at all interested in. You had no one to talk to.

Suddenly, you feel someone behind you trying to open the refrigerator. That bloody refrigerator, which, being so old, could not be opened correctly. You turned around, not expecting to see Virgil looking at you.

You headed to the refrigerator to open it, so the footballer moved from where he was previously standing, leaning on the kitchen counter. You gave the refrigerator a little kick and it opened.

"Thanks..." He said grabbing the beer, the tension being palpable in the air. After a long pause, you continued:

"How are you?" you asked, he could feel your eyes staring into his side profile, but he stared at the sun setting over the British landscape.

"I'm alright."

Scoring some scarce points with Liverpool has become almost impossible under a year ago now, and you really felt sorry for him, knowing everything he and his team put in.

"How are you holding up?" you stood next to him, nudging his shoulder with yours, before looking down at the floor. You felt the look of pity that Virgil was giving you, but you tried to ignore it.

"Thank you, really. Virg…"

He looked in your eyes this time, he looked so sad, so broken. So desperate for a hug. You didn't pressure him to answer your question, instead, you gently placed your head on his shoulder looking along the garden in silence.

"It will be alright, you know." He hummed, knowing you were still hurt because of what he had said.

"I know." You whispered back. "And don't worry much about scoring, in the least expected moments your shot is the one that serves the most."

He hated how much you believed him because at that moment he felt like the six-year-old boy with dreams bigger than the world itself, who thought everything was possible.

Virgil looked down at you, the smile on his lips was enough to melt your heart, and threw his head back in a laugh.

"I don't think I'm ever getting rid of you."

Now it was your turn to laugh. After all the laughing he noticed how your eyes shifted from his own to his lips, and then he remembered why he was avoiding you in the first place. He did a face.

"I know, I know." You said with a sad look on your face.

"You know l'm too old for you, right?" Virgil whispered as he leaned his forehead on yours.

"I'm in it for the long game, Van Dijk."

It felt like your heart was twisting and stuttering, sometimes beating too quickly that you were afraid it was going to push you over the edge. You wanted him to notice, to do something to fix it.

Time went on flying, the last few days being hectic. It was already Sunday and today Virgil was playing with the Netherlands and obviously, you were more than proud. He had invited your brother,his best friend, you and your family to watch him from the special box for family and friends.

The cold air hits your face as soon as you enter the box with your family. Excited, you see you’re neighbours siblings. You were so nervous that your hands were even sweating.

You sit next to Stacey, Virgil's older sister. She gives you a smile.

"Nervous about the game?" she asks.

"A bit, yes..." you say as you settle down, your eyes scanning the pitch, looking for him. For Virgil.

"This should be an easy game, the Netherlands has a better team."

"You never know." you reply. You were almost freezing, you only had the basic Netherlands t-shirt on.

Stacey noticed that you were shivering from the cold and decided to take off the sweatshirt she had tied around her shoulders. She put it on your lap and smiled.

"Put it on, otherwise, you'll freeze to death here." she said, laughing.

"I'm..." You said about to deny it. For a second, you thought about the cold that you would catch without the sweatshirt, so you decided to take it.

"Oh, never mind."

The sweatshirt was orange and had his number and surname printed on the front, in a blue font.

This made you remember the uncountable times when you stole Virgil's sweatshirts just to have his number on you.

Stacey, without you seeing, grabbed her phone and texted his brother: "Just wanted to say that she's here and she's got your name on her sweatshirt. Good luck! We're all rooting for you. And don't worry, she'll wait for you."

All of a sudden, Anna, Virgil's niece, came up to you asking if she could sit in your lap to have a better look at the pitch. It was no secret that Anna enjoyed seeing you, as she had grown up seeing your brother and you in the Van Dijk household.

"Look over there, Anna! There is your uncle." said Stacey, and both Anna and you looked over to where the players were entering the enormous pitch. There he was, beautiful as always.

The whistle was blown and the match started.

Everyone was immersed in the excitement of the box, watching the match carefully. The atmosphere was electric, and each second increased the tension.

"Yes!" You screamed when Virgil's friend, Denzel, scored the opening goal, feeling your heart beat against your chest rapidly. Anna looked up at you with wide eyes, before she started giggling. You smiled and leaned down to where she was and kissed her on the forehead.

The second half started and your eyes only followed Virgil running up and down the pitch.

Only one goal was scored in the whole 45 minutes of the first half, that being Denzel's goal.

Abruptly, Memphis stole the ball from a player on the opposing team. He ran alone, jumped over some defenders and, feinting, the ball passed to Gakpo on the right side. He analyzed the position of the players spread around the pitch before passing it to Frenkie, who was almost close to the goal.

He passed it to Virgil and he, avoiding the players, aimed and kicked with all his strength.

The world went silent for a moment. He had scored.

After realizing that he had scored a goal, Virgil ran to the end of the field, right where you were.

The atmosphere was pure shouting, people jumping and celebrating but you only had eyes for the footballer who just scored.

He looked towards the box looking for those who truly love him and just at that precise moment, you connected glances. With a shaky breath, you stood up from your seat and waved to him, also trying to hold Anna up with your other arm.

Virgil's heart melted when he saw that scene and many things went through his head: he couldn't believe he had scored a goal after so long and he also couldn't believe how beautiful you looked with his niece in your arms.

In celebration, he pointed to both of you and you could only sigh in love. The game ended with a great performance from Virgil and a win for the Nerherlands.

As soon as he stepped into the box, he scanned the room for you, but Anna caught him off guard.

"Uncle Virg!" she ran toward him and he picked her up, planting a kiss on her cheek while she wrapped her small arms around his neck.

"My favourite person! " His eyes fell on you and he didn't know if it was his imagination or the fact that he hadn't seen you in days, but you looked prettier than usual.

You were standing at the back, watching Virgil greet his family. You felt shy and awkward, which made you hate the feeling even more. All you wanted was love from him and for that, you haven't slept well in the days after the family lunch with the Van Dijk's.

"I played well, all thanks to you." He kissed her head and his niece giggled. The little girl ran toward her mother and then closed the door, leaving you and Virgil all alone. Your family had congratulated Virgil before and told you they were waiting outside.

"How have you been?" His voice was gentle like he was afraid to say something.

"Virgil!" you laughed. "You just scored a tremendous goal for the Netherlands and you ask me how am I? Sometimes I don't understand you."

"Alright, alright. You have a point!" he laughed, definitely not missing those nervous butterflies in his stomach. He felt like a little boy.

His gaze searched yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. He scratched the back of his neck and then looked at your sweatshirt with his surname and number.

His number looked very good on you, he thought.

He gazed at your lips and he came dangerously close to you. You stepped back, hitting the table.

Virgil was looking straight into your eyes when he suddenly grabbed you by the waist and sat you on the table. You let out a little squeal. The air was thick with tension, and all you craved was to pull him close and kiss him passionately.

"We-we should go." you said, clearing your throat. "Your family is waiting."

Quickly, Virgil grabbed your wrist.

"Virg... You don't have feelings. You don't have a heart."

Now he's frowning as he tries to unravel your words. His breath hitches.

"I feel things..." your heart twirls with the way his voice sounds. You had always loved his voice.

How croaky and deep it was. But you never imagined that it would turn your entire world upside down to hear him say that.

Pushing his hand down, you look back, weak and concerned. He worries you might have suddenly regretted all of this. That you would walk away and never want to talk to him ever again.

What he didn't know is that he's everything you were imagining those long nights... he had never kissed you, not even touched you.

"It's okay if you want to stop" he said, while you slid your hands under his t-shirt. Running up and down your hands through his lower torso, you felt his abs contract.

"Virg, I'm certain that I'm okay." you said, giggling.

He smirked. Your core grows tighter with his expressions, now holding onto his broad shoulders.

Unexpectedly, you both heard from behind the closed door someone shout: "Mate, are you there? The party starts at ten, hurry!"

Fuck. That was your brother.

Virgil had completely forgotten about the party in honour of their win. How the fuck was he getting out of that room with a hard-on? He had to calm himself.

You, on the other side, felt your heart falls into pieces. You thought about how long you had waited for this exact moment, every time you gave your endless hope all you ended up doing was bleeding. And this time, not only he was about to leave you alone but he was going to leave you turned on.

"I'm-I'm sorry..." he said, exiting quickly from the room.

After that match, you only heard from Virgil through your brother. He had told you that after the match, at the party, Virgil had rejected every girl who appeared to flirt with him.

Apparently, you've had an effect on him.

Virgil hated how his heartbeat boomed in his ear when he saw you standing in his parents' house, with a red Liverpool shirt that had printed out the number 4 on the back, hugging your figure.

You had blossomed into a beautiful young woman, you had for sure gone through puberty.

He didn't like to stare but he found it hard not to sometimes. Especially on family boat trips when you would wear a bikini in front of him.

"So, we're leaving after lunch. Do you want to meet at the stadium or at home?"

You took a minute to understand. "What?"

"The game, remember? We're having lunch here and then driving up to watch the game." Said your brother, while getting on the boat. About three weeks had passed since you almost kissed Virgil and now you were about to hop on the Van Dijk’s boat in Portsmouth.

You had completely forgotten about the game.

During your conversations with your brother, you could sense that Viegil hadn't mentioned anything about that night which was, in a way, kind of relieving.

Just like you, Virgil had also forgotten that your family was coming over. But when his sister sent him a text saying that your family would join him before his game, he was flabbergasted.

You both hadn't spoken since the night of the win, but you both were thinking about that interaction since then. To forget that incident, he had spoken to one of his best friends, Ben, in search of a solution.

"Mate, what you need is a good fling. Maybe you should invite someone next time you're going on a family boat day" said Ben, laughing because of what the footballer was asking him.

You got on Virgil’s boat, feeling heavy-hearted once again. After an hour, you were seated on the floor, helping Stacey with a puzzle, after your mom expelled you from the kitchen when trying to help her. Meanwhile, Virgil and his mother sat down on the couch.

"She has grown into a beautiful woman, don't you think?" His mom said teasingly, already knowing that you were not the only one fallen for someone.

"Yes, she has." He looked at you, seeing you laugh at something his sister had said. "Mom... l think I fucked up."

"If you had fucked up, she wouldn't be here."

"No mom, I really" Virgil got interrupted by the entrance of a tall, dark-eye, skinny blond, almost gotten out from a runway. She turned toward Virgil and presented herself as Daphne, a friend. Virgil’s mom now understood why her son said he had fucked up really bad.

Your brother, seeing Daphne the supposed fling of Virgil talking with him, turned to you.

"Forget your stuff, let's just get off this boat."

"Don't turn around okay?" his hands gripping strongly your shoulders. He knew how much you liked his best friend.

You laughed and followed your brother down the steps of the boat before stopping in your tracks.

"Since when have I ever listened to you? Dear God, i " Your mouth fell open as you turned around to be met with Virgil and his mother, and the presence of a girl that looked like an actual model.

She was leaning on him and he was laughing at whatever she had to say, while Virgil’s looked at you with pity. You felt like he had personally ripped your heart out, for a hundred times.

"You knew?"

Your brother sighed before running his hands through his hair: "She's only a side thing, a onetime fling. I mean she's not you, but he decided to find someone before Christmas." He shrugged his shoulders and you felt the rage creeping up your body.

"What about me? When will I be happy? " you said, crying.

That sentence broke your brother's heart.

19 years to be exact, that's the time you've been waiting for him.

✧.・。.・゜✧・.・✧・゜・。.✧

𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫😭

[lathalea]

Entangled ch 6: The Forge and The Smith

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit)

Rating: G (subject to change)

Warnings: ANGST, Thorin in the Forges 😏

Summary: Arranged marriages are common among the dwarven nobility. After reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, the Kingdom Under the Mountain needs to be rebuilt. Thorin agrees to marry a lady from the Blue Mountains, securing a mutually beneficial alliance with the Broadbeam Dwarves. Lady Mista is said to be a practical and hard-working dwarf-woman, willing to give him an heir who would secure the line of succession. A decent queen material, his advisors say. If only Thorin could let go of his past…

You can find this fic crossposted on AO3 (search for lathalea).

A/N: Thank you, my lovely readers, for your patience! I have finally managed to finish this rather lengthy chapter. I hope its contents will make up for my snail-paced writing. Special thanks to all who supported and motivated me in the recent months, and extra special THANK YOU with a cherry on top to the wonderful and diligent @legolasbadass for betaing this chapter and for all our Thorin-related discussions :) I wouldn't have made it so far without you! 💙💙💙

-*-*-*-

KHUZDUL:

Zabdûna undu ‘Urd - Queen Under the Mountain

‘Urdêk - local name of ‘the Lonely Mountain’ (referring to the dwarven Halls within the mountain), used by its inhabitants

Itkitî! - “Silence!” 

Zabdûna undu ‘Urd - Queen Under the Mountain

Kaminzabdûna - “Earth Queen”, Yavanna

Uzrak - Master, a honorary title given to revered masters of craft (miners, jewellers, smiths, and so on)

Azsâlul'abad - the Lonely Mountain (both the mountain and the dwarven kingdom known among Elves and Men as Erebor)

-*-*-*-

✨ Entangled Masterlist

Mista discreetly stifled a yawn. It was one bell before noon, and her eyes were already drooping. The last few weeks had been filled with intense work. Not only did she have to quickly learn and adjust to her duties as the new Zabdûna undu ‘Urd, but also her days were filled to the brim with countless tasks, each more important than the preceding one. Every morning before the seventh bell, she was already in the royal kitchens, then she would meet her advisors and various officials, then she would plough through the endless paperwork, and after that, a part of her day was spent on organising help for the newcomers. 

Several weeks had passed since they arrived in the Mountain, and some still lacked proper housing or means to fend for themselves. The Lonely Mountain was reclaimed almost a year ago, but the amount of work to make ‘Urdêk a thriving kingdom from the rubble the vile dragon left behind seemed to be gargantuan. Every day was a challenge; a housing quarter would be made livable again, but another one would experience problems with its water supply. The legendary Forges were working at quarter capacity only because the solid fuel conveyor line was malfunctioning and needed modernization — which meant new and complex parts made of steel. The problem was, the only place those parts could be made was… the Forges. There were also various issues with the mines, the geothermal shafts, the air circulation systems, as well as countless damaged walkways, staircases, tunnels, and passages.

It all made Mista’s head spin. She was used to managing her family’s various business ventures; she even knew a thing or two about how a dwarven stronghold like Tumunzagar was governed, but the vastness of the Kingdom Under the Mountain was a constant source of awe to her. That was why her evenings were usually filled with documents, blueprints, manuals, and reports — all of them made for heavy reading and a heavy pillow. Time after time, she would wake up in the middle of the night in complete darkness, with candles burned out, her cheek resting on a pile of parchments, her spectacles skewed.

It was not surprising that Mista found herself stifling yet another of her yawns. Discreetly, she pinched the top of her hand, hoping to keep herself awake for a while longer. She had to — it was the first King’s Council meeting she officially attended as the Queen, and she needed all her wits about her. It was imperative that she took in all the details. The first one she noticed, however, was not some important notion about the state of the kingdom but a piece of dough still stuck under one of her nails. Mista sighed inwardly. She would have to wash her hands more thoroughly when leaving the royal kitchens next time. At least she remembered to take off the apron and change her clothes to something more presentable. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass her lord husband with her ragged appearance, unworthy of a queen. She had to try better next time, she promised herself, stealing a glance at his robust figure at the opposite side of the table.

Dressed in his opulent royal robes, with the Raven Crown over his temples, the King Under the Mountain sat in his gilded chair, looking truly majestic. His dark hair flowed down onto his wide shoulders. The black and golden garments he wore somehow emphasized his warrior’s physique instead of giving him a more distinguished air, similar to the statues of the great kings of old Mista had seen in the throne room so many times. Now, there was a frown on Thorin’s face, his brows furrowed, his deep blue gaze set somewhere above everyone’s heads as he listened to his advisors. The strong line of his nose, the sensual curve of his lower lip, and the thicket of his beard made Mista sigh for the millionth time since she arrived at the Lonely Mountain. She still could not believe that Thorin Oakenshield, the handsomest dwarf under the moon, was her husband… and she was his wife. And thus, she had to act like one.

“... combined with the unusually big influx of newcomers, our food stores are far from sufficient, and winter is almost upon us!” A male voice reached Mista’s ears. It was Storemaster Yagrun, a middle-aged dwarf with a long, finely braided chestnut beard.

“Then why don’t you allocate some funds from the Kingdom’s Purse for this purpose?” said an unknown dwarf at the far end of the table. Mista did not recognize his voice, and even with her spectacles, she could not see him clearly.

Master Yagrun chuckled dryly. “Since when is gold edible, Lord Njall? Allow me to remind you that the people of Dale are not able to supply us with more food. They have barely enough for themselves.”

“Aye, and the merchant barges from the South are over three weeks late.” Mista recognized Lord Glóin’s hoarse voice. “There is no way to be certain whether they manage to arrive before the Long Lake freezes over!”

“Fishing is out of the question either…” chimed in Lord Bori, the royal chancellor, with spindly white hair. His words caused everyone to hum or nod in agreement.

“Why is it out of the question?” Mista whispered to Embla, nervously adjusting her glasses on her nose. It was better to ask about such apparently well-known issues discreetly instead of divulging her ignorance publicly.

“Smaug’s carcass poisoned the waters of the Long Lake, killing most of the fish and other water animals and plants. We managed to get rid of the cadaver, but it will take time until there is enough fish in the lake again,” whispered her secretary, and Mista thanked her with a nod.

“Any ideas?” Thorin’s deep voice filled the chamber. Several whispers were heard, but no one spoke up.

“May I?” Mista heard herself say.

The whispering ceased. All eyes in the chamber were set on her.

Her lord husband nodded politely, his right eyebrow raised slightly.

You can do this. She cleared her constricted throat, trying to stop her hands from trembling. The thought of speaking before all those honourable dwarves made Mista feel almost as terrified as on the day of her wedding. And then a recollection came; the words Thorin said to her on that day: 

During straining official functions, I tend to imagine that there are only stone statues around me, carved in amusing poses.

A hint of a smile appeared on Mista’s lips as she cast a glance around the chamber; this noble lord would indeed look quite comical as a statue of a dancing goblin; that guildmaster would make a perfect figurine of a sitting cat with a fashionable cravat around his neck; and that surly lord on the left made her think of a marble sculpture of a fussy little babe. That was what they were — simply amusing statues and not noble lords and a king. The King.

You know what to say. She rested her right hand over the notes she had meticulously prepared with Embla. It trembled a bit less than before.

You rehearsed it all evening yesterday. She took a deep breath. It had to be now or never.  

“With the newcomers arriving to ‘Urdêk, we have more mouths to feed but also more idle hands,” she glanced at the parchments before her and took. “We are able to double our local dairy production. The herds of mountain goats we received from the Iron Hills are large enough. It’s only a matter of training new dairymasters and herders.”

The whispering returned. She swallowed. It was hard to read the room, but this idea did not seem too unusual to meet strong resistance. Not this one.

Mista lowered her eyes, not daring to look at the crowned figure on the other side of the table; her magnificent royal husband.

“That could work, Your Majesty.” Lord Glóin was the first to address her. “Aye, I think we’re on to something here!”

Several other voices joined him, expressing their agreement.

Among their discussions on how to implement their ideas, Mista finally gathered her courage and let her gaze travel across the table. The King was looking straight at her, his frown gone. Instead, he offered her an approving nod. Were her eyes deceiving her, or did his lip curl up slightly? Her heart started beating faster.

He liked her idea! Mahal, he truly did!

Mista wanted to laugh and dance, and maybe even embrace him, if she dared. But it was neither the time nor the place for such frivolities. This was when she was supposed to reveal her big idea. Mista felt a knot in her stomach as she spoke again. 

“In addition,” she paused, “we could begin growing our own food.”

Her heart beat so loudly, Mista was certain that everyone could hear it.

“Your Majesty…?” Lord Njall looked as if he could not comprehend her words. 

And then the others followed; she saw furrowed brows, gritting teeth, clenched fists. One of the council members stood up and exclaimed: “Growing our food? Do we look like Elves?!” “That’s unheard of!”

“Inconceivable!”

Mista clasped her hands together under the table and took another deep breath, seeking comfort in her notes, where she laid out the matter very clearly and logically. Now, the runes seemed to dance in front of her eyes, and her tongue refused to cooperate, as the voices around her grew louder and louder.

“Itkitî!” The King Under the Mountain uttered, this one word slicing through the cacophony of voices like the sharpest of swords.

In the silence that fell after, one could have heard a pin drop. Mista’s breath hitched at her husband’s commanding demeanour.

“Lord Galar,” Thorin Oakenshield addressed the loudest council member, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. “While I understand the urge you feel to address my royal spouse standing up, I believe you can sit down now and listen to all that Zabdûna undu ‘Urd Mista, your Queen, has to say.”

“But… Your Majesty!” Lord Galar protested, shaking his grey mane of hair. “Mahal the Almighty created the Longbeards to be craftsmen, not farmers! Unlike the Broadbeams, we…”

Mista stiffened — both at his insubordination and the way he spat the name of her clan, full of disdain, before his words died on his lips.

“He created the Longbeards to be resourceful and survive.” The King’s voice was now cold as ice, his eyes dark like a winter night. “That is precisely what we did in exile, with the help of the Broadbeam clan, when your family lived in the comforts of the Iron Hills. And that is precisely what the Queen of Longbeards — your Queen — is doing at this very moment. Helping us survive.”

Another wave of whispers washed over the chamber while the King continued.

“But Your Majesty!” Lord Galar added. “It is simply not done!” 

“Not done?” The King did not need to raise his voice. The contempt on his face was unmistakable. “Then pray, enlighten me, what is done? Or even better, what have you done, Lord Galar, while Her Majesty was offering food and shelter to the newcomers?”

Mista could not believe her ears. Immense warmth spilled in her chest; she decided that if she had not loved Thorin before, that would be the exact moment when she would have fallen in love with him instantly.

It took Lord Galar a while to turn to Mista and offer her a stiff bow. 

“Forgive me.”

Only then did he finally sit down.

She decided to play it safe and slightly inclined her head in response. It was not a clear sign of forgiveness, nor did she ignore him — just enough to keep the lord wondering.

That was when King Under the Mountain addressed her.

“May I ask you to continue, Your Majesty? We would like to hear more about this intriguing idea of yours.” His voice was like a sunrise on the first day of spring, and his eyes regarded her with what she hoped was kindness.

Mista was very well aware that the respectful treatment she received from the King served one goal first and foremost: strengthening her position as the Queen. It was not personal; as the wise Dagur Sture wrote, A strong King makes a strong Queen. A strong Queen makes a strong King. It was all about power and securing the royal couple’s ruling position — politics, to put it simply. Yet, Mista was thankful she was sitting down at that moment because Thorin’s words made her knees weak.

“T-thank you,” she whispered, unclenching her hands, and then repeated louder, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

With a very slightly trembling hand, she adjusted her spectacles and began speaking, trying not to mind all the eyes set on her.

“I understand that this idea may seem controversial to some, but I can assure you that underground cultivation of certain plants, highly nutritious lichen, and fungi, was a traditional way of living among our people in the old days,” she allowed herself a quick glance at Lord Galar, his lips pressed into a thin line. “And when I say our people, I mean both the Broadbeams and Longbeards.” 

Mista noticed Balin smiling at her after she delivered that slightest of jabs. Feeling encouraged, she responded with a quick smile and continued. 

“In Tumunzahar, we — they — still produce some food this way. There are no nearby settlements of Men, like Dale here, so the people of Tumunzahar are unable to rely on food from external sources,” she explained. “But even the inhabitants of the Lonely Mountain used to grow their food, centuries before Dale or Esgaroth were established. A quick study of some of the historical records found in the Royal Library revealed that there were food farms deep in the bowels of the Mountain. The Longbeards of old called them ‘Kaminzabdûna’s Gardens’. According to one chronicler’s account in The Golden Age of Azsâlul'abad, the food from those ‘Gardens’ saved our people from starvation during a lengthy Orc siege. Mahal the Almighty gifted us with craft, but his spouse gave us an equally important gift. It is up to us whether we make use of it.” As soon as she finished speaking, Mista swept her gaze around the chamber. Every single Dwarf was staring at her, but she had her eyes only for one of them — their King, Thorin. One glance at her lord husband’s face was all that she needed. Now he was clearly smiling at her. Her heart made a silly flip. His smile was not meant for the Queen, but for her, Mista. 

Or at least that was what she chose to believe in.

“We can’t allow our people to face hunger this winter. This idea is indeed worth researching, Your Majesty,” Thorin Oakenshield announced and added, “Thank you.” “It was my pleasure, my… Your Majesty,” she felt heat creeping up on her cheeks. “I will be happy to develop it further.”

“The Great Library should contain more detailed written accounts on this subject matter,” Balin said. “Unless they were destroyed by the dragon.”

Mista nodded, hoping for the best. It was to be expected: she had already heard that the famous Library Under the Mountain could be in a bad shape after Smaug’s lengthy “visit” in their kingdom. Checking its current state was yet another thing to add to her agenda.

The next part of the meeting consisted of discussions on the specifics of food farming. Mista could not help but feel pride; against her expectations, as she explained the details of food production in Tumunzahar, the concept slowly turned out to be a matter of “when” and not “if”. Perhaps she could truly make a difference here and help the people of the Lonely Mountain, and then maybe, just maybe, Thorin would smile at her again.

Mista had completely forgotten about her sleepiness, eagerly taking part in the discussions, and noticing the sudden respect and deference she was treated with now, especially by Lord Galar. His sudden ostentatiousness was not to her liking, but she needed all the support for this project she could get. Master Yagrun’s calculations clearly showed that if the food issue wasn’t solved quickly enough, half of the current population of the Mountain would have to find a different place to live if they wanted to survive the winter.

The King’s Council’s meeting was coming to an end when Mista noticed Lord Balin giving a discreet sign to a guard standing by the entrance to the chamber. A moment later, the door was opened and a Dwarf entered, approaching the table with a slight limp. Concern was visible on his weathered face, and even though he seemed tired, his black hair and beard were neatly braided. The grey garments he wore looked plain and simple, a stark contrast with the robes of the council members.

“Your Majesties, my lords and ladies,” Lord Balin rose from his chair, gesturing to the Dwarf to come closer. “Allow me to introduce Uzrak Hrothgar, the leader of the miners who recently arrived from the southernmost peaks of the Misty Mountains. He brings news this Council needs to hear.”

Uzrak Hrothgar bowed towards the King and began speaking.

“I am honoured to stand before the King Under the Mountain’s Council. Thank you for allowing me to speak.”

“We are eager to hear you out, Uzrak Hrothgar,” King Thorin II offered. “We welcome you and your people in Azsâlul'abad with open arms. May I ask what made you leave the legendary Silvervein Mines?” 

Uzrak Hrothgar bowed once again before speaking, “I say this with great sadness, but neither the mines nor our settlement are safe any longer. For a while now, we have been enduring an endless streak of orc attacks. At first, we managed to fend them off, but they grew stronger with time. Soon, it was no longer safe to hunt in the mountains and to work in our mines. Merchants stopped arriving to us for the usual trails have become too dangerous. And so, with heavy hearts, we decided to abandon our homes, and seek refuge in the safest place we knew — the Lonely Mountain, if Your Majesty allows.”

“Consider this place your home now. Mahal knows there is more than enough space for everyone here. Besides, our mines need skilled miners like yourselves.”

The leader of the Silvervein miners bowed even deeper, but before he spoke more, he was asked to report all he knew about the current strength and locations of the orc forces in the area. A map was placed on the table, and Captain Dwalin and several other dwarves began asking detailed questions about the threat. Uzrak Hrothgar’s replies were short but precise, and from what Mista was able to make out, it seemed that the orc raids began intensifying in the Misty Mountains. The Silvervein miners were not the only ones affected. This explained why there were more newcomers under the Mountain than anyone expected. The reason for the orc attacks was unknown, but there were rumours — and sightings — of a new orc chieftain. His warbands wore the mark of three red claws. They took no prisoners, killing their enemies on the spot. They knew no mercy.

This matter, the King announced, would be discussed further at a later date. The previous smile was gone from his face, and an even deeper frown marked his features, so that his eyebrows made Mista think of a raven in flight, an impression emphasized by the shape of his crown. While her lord husband was giving a few quick orders to his advisors, she let her gaze linger on his face, fascinated by the way his expression slightly softened as he spoke to Dróri, one of his assistants, only to harden into the stern mask of the King Under the Mountain a moment later. He addressed Lord Galar curtly. She did not know exactly what was said; the only thing she could hear through the murmur of voices around her was the steady rumble of his voice: decisive, commanding, cold. It was enough to make Lord Galar and a few other dwarves lower their heads in agreement — manifesting obedience to their ruler’s orders. The King did not resemble her Thorin — the one who had danced with her long ago in Tumunzahar — but she was certain that this courteous, thoughtful, and honourable prince was still deep inside him, behind that stone-like mask of the ruler of the Lonely Mountain.

When the King’s Council meeting had finally adjourned and everyone began leaving the chamber, Mista directed her steps towards her lord husband, who had just stood up from his chair. His tall silhouette towered over the majority of the council members as he talked with Dwalin and Glóin. She needed to talk to him, too. In her mind, Mista was already putting together all the right words she wanted to say to Thorin, to thank him for giving her the opportunity to speak at her very first King’s Council meeting, for supporting her, and for making her heard. She wanted him to know how grateful she was for what he did.

“Your Majesty?” Her words sounded shamefully quiet as she tilted her head up, trying to catch Thorin Oakenshield’s gaze.

“Your Majesty,” he acknowledged her with a slight inclination of his head.

Seeing Thorin’s handsome face so close before her made Mista’s breath hitch. His eyes were as blue as an afternoon sky, their depth emphasized by the golden sheen of the crown on his head. He was looking straight into her eyes, and she completely forgot what she was supposed to say.

“Thank you for attending the meeting,” he continued in his impossibly low voice, which made her think of the murmur of the winter sea. “I do hope you did not find it too boring.”

“Not at all, Your Majesty.” She shook her head, struggling to find the right words. “Not too boring. It was… good. A very good meeting. Productive.”

“I am glad you think so, Your Majesty. We all appreciated your input. Now, if you will forgive me, I hear there is an urgent matter I have to attend to in the Forges.” The King bowed courteously. “If there is anything you need, my lady, Balin is at your service.”

Before she could reply, her lord husband was already on the way out of the chamber, with a few advisors hurrying behind him, his heavy cloak following him like a dark cloud.

“How may I help you, Your Majesty?” Balin asked, interrupting the silence that fell over the now empty chamber. To Mista it seemed as if some kind of magic spell sucked the air out of the room.

She felt cold.

***

The Great Library of the Lonely Mountain was a pile of rubble. When Balin showed it to Mista, she could not believe her eyes.

“Aye, it’s not a pretty sight,” Balin admitted, shaking his head, and then pointed to the left. “The dragon tore that wall down at some point. The main entrance is buried under those stone blocks.”

“Is there a different way to enter the library?” Mista asked with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“If my memory serves me right…” Balin began, and Mista smiled to herself. He was known for his legendary knowledge of the old Kingdom Under the Mountain, and she took every opportunity she could to learn from him about her new home. 

“There were several entrances to the Great Library but they met a similar fate, I’m afraid,” Balin continued. “Me and a handful of other Dwarves tried finding a way inside in the first weeks after the Kingdom was reclaimed, but we had no luck, My Lady.”

“There is so much knowledge behind those rocks. We can’t afford to lose it.” In her mind’s eye, Mista saw rows and rows of ancient tomes waiting in darkness for someone to open them again after over 170 years of solitude. She could not believe that all of them were destroyed. Some of the books had to have survived the dragon’s destructive frenzy.

“Aye,” Balin nodded. “If we only had more time and volunteers…” Mista agreed, feeling disappointed. Every able-bodied Dwarf was busy with the most crucial matters: repairing their realm and making it livable again. The Great Library simply had to wait. Unless…

“I could write to my Father,” she said hesitantly. That was one of the last things she was willing to do — asking her Father for a favour. “He would be able to hire experienced Stone Masters for us in the Blue Mountains. But it would take time until they arrive.” “At least several months,” Balin agreed.

They did not have that much time.

Embla cleared her throat, “May I, My Lady?”

Mista nodded.

“It so happens that my husband, Sindri, is a Stone Master, and he will be willing to help,” Embla said, giving her one of her vibrant smiles.

“That’s wonderful news but what about his other duties? Will he truly have time for this?” Mista glanced at the nearest heap of large, cracked rocks.

“Of course! He’s only recently arrived from the Iron Hills with all of our belongings — as you know, My Lady, I came here first with my parents and our little Nàli — and Sindri is yet to join a workshop that suits him best.” She grinned again. “And as he doesn’t like to stay idle, he…”

“Mommyyyy!” something squeaked nearby. Mista looked around to see a chubby pebble — a boy of no more than ten years with a tangle of copper curls on his head — running straight into Embla’s outstretched arms.

“What are you doing here, Nugget?” Embla kissed her son on the top of his head. “Daddy taught me how to ride a pony today!” Nàli exclaimed with a huge smile that closely resembled his mother’s, and Mista could not help but smile at his enthusiasm.

His prattling continued until his father approached them as well. Sindri was a big, sturdy Dwarf with kind brown eyes, several thick golden braids and a bushy moustache.

“Your Majesty,” Embla turned to her. “Allow me to introduce my husband Sindri, son of Sigurd, and my son, Nàli.”

“It is an honour to meet you both,” Mista greeted them, but when her eyes rested on the boy, who immediately hid behind his mother’s skirts. “Nàli, where did you go?” chuckled Embla. “There is no need to be afraid of the queen!” Mista gathered her skirts and crouched before him. For a moment, his curious gaze searched her face just before he hid once again behind the flowing fabric. “I’m sure a brave little warrior like you is not afraid of anything,” she spoke encouragingly. “Are you?” Nàli peeked out from behind his mother again, “No!” “That’s the spirit!” said Balin.

“Are you really a queen?” Nàli asked suspiciously.

“Yes, I am,” Mista nodded.

“Then where is your crown?” Nàli’s eyes narrowed.

Trying not to chuckle, Mista looked around conspiratorially and then whispered, “It’s hidden in a very secret place, so no one can find it!” “Why?”

“So I don’t have to wear it. It is very heavy, you know,” Mista replied. 

Nàli contemplated this answer for a moment, nodded slowly and then took a step towards her.

“But then how do people know that you’re the Queen?” “I usually have the King with me. He always wears a crown,” she said. In the corner of her eye, she saw Embla stifling a chuckle. The boy looked around. “So where is he now?”

As far from me as possible, Mista thought wryly, but instead, she replied: “He is working very hard to rebuild our kingdom.”

“Does he like to ride ponies? Because I do!” Nàli stated proudly. Does he? Mista glanced at Balin hesitantly. Thorin was her husband, and yet she could not say. She tried to ignore the sudden lump in her throat.

“He does, laddie,” Balin stated. “His favourite pony is called Cobalt.” While the boy bombarded him with questions about Cobalt, his father addressed Mista. “Forgive us, Your Majesty, for this intrusion. We were on our way home when Nàli heard his mother’s voice.” When Sindri spoke, his eyes rested warmly on his wife, and as their gazes met, it was enough for Mista to be certain of one thing. This is how a loving marriage looks like, she thought, quickly looking away.

Before Embla’s husband and son left, Sindri confirmed his interest in helping out with gaining access to the Great Library and offered the assistance of a group of stone masters who arrived from the Iron Hills with him. Mista could not curb her enthusiasm — it looked like there was still hope to recover some of those precious tomes, and maybe even learn more about Kaminzabdûna’s Gardens. 

When she turned to Embla to speak to her about it, Mista saw that her secretary’s gaze followed Sindri. He carried their giggling son on his back as they walked away.

“You have a son you can be proud of,” Mista said. “And a caring husband. It has to feel good to be reunited with him.”

“Thank you, My Lady,” Embla replied with joy. “It does. I could not ask for a better spouse, and a great father to my son. It took me a bit of work to convince him to marry me, but it was worth it.”

“Don’t tell me that he was not interested in you! I saw the way he looks at you,” Mista said.

Embla giggled, “You are correct, My Lady! And one of his glances was enough to melt my heart like butter. At first, he did not think he was good enough for me, that silly Dwarf. He was too shy to ask me to court him!” “I find it hard to believe,” admitted Mista, trying to imagine the brawny Sindri acting like a shy maid.

“But that’s how it was! I was at my wits’ end when my granny had a talk with me. She told me: ‘Em, Dwarf-men are sometimes as blind as cave bats when it comes to the matters of the heart, so it’s up to us to show them the way.’ So I listened to my granny, and showed him…” Embla giggled again. “…and asked him to court me instead!”

Mista gasped in surprise. She was not certain about the customs of the Iron Hills Longbeards, but if they were similar to the traditions of her people, a Dwarf-woman would never be expected to offer such a thing. It was a Dwarf’s duty to woo the lady of his heart, not the other way around. And certainly not by showing them… things.

“Truly?” she managed to ask.

“Aye,” Embla nodded vigorously and grinned. “And it worked quite well! I was expecting Nàli before the customary courting period ended… We had a very quick wedding!” Now it was Mista’s turn to giggle.

“Then let me offer a belated — but very sincere — congratulations on your successful courting!” Their giggles echoed against the stone walls of the cavern until Balin cleared his throat. “About the library, My Lady, I believe this part seems quite intact…” He began. Mista hoped that he did not overhear much of their scandalous conversation. That was certainly not a decent topic for such a refined Dwarf as Lord Balin.

***

A week later, Mista clutched a bundle of parchments in her hand as she stepped into the Forges. It took her quite a while to find her way there; she had visited the place only once, during her first week as the queen, and now she had to rely only on her own memory. The king’s secretary, the stern Mistress Vigga, assured her that His Majesty was to be found in the Forges. Furthermore, Mistress Vigga insisted that if Her Majesty truly had an urgent matter to take up with the king, Her Majesty should consider having at least two royal guardsmen accompany her, as the fastest route was quite treacherous on account of not being fully renovated yet. Apart from that, the guardsmen would shield her from any dangers Her Majesty might encounter in the Forges: immense heat that would surely ruin her hair, open fire and fumes — disastrous to health, sparks flying everywhere — catastrophic to any lady’s skin, and those rivers of molten metal, and then there was that constant risk of an explosion or even exposure to the Forge Masters’ crude language. It was clear that the Forges weren’t Mistress Vigga’s favourite place.

Mista, however, needed to see Thorin. King Thorin. There was a delicate political issue she wanted to discuss with him, but first, they had to meet. It had been over five days since she saw His Majesty. Every day, he hurried out of his rooms shortly after dawn, before Mista could catch even a glimpse of her lord husband, only to return to the royal chambers when she was already asleep. Today, she waited for the King in his study at lunchtime, but he never arrived, busying himself in the Forges instead, and no one could tell her when His Majesty would return. Something told her it would be late, conveniently past her bedtime, as always. That was, however, not the time to dwell upon his tendency to avoid her, Mista reminded herself. Perhaps she was a bookish, unalluring girl from the Blue Mountains who did not rouse the interest of her husband, but — what was more important — she was the Queen, and she had her duties to fulfil. One of those duties was securing enough food for the coming winter for their people, and that was why she needed to have a talk with the King before the next King’s Council meeting that was to happen the next day. 

As an ancient Dwarvish saying went, if the forge will not come to the smith, then the smith must come to the forge. Or, in this case, the Forges.

Standing at the threshold of the legendary Great Forges of the Lonely Mountain, Mista felt like an ant in a ballroom. The spacious cavern felt like a kingdom of its own. It was filled with the hustle and bustle of massive machinery and countless Dwarves alike, the clanking of metal against metal intertwining with raised voices that echoed against the walls, and the constant hum of the fire in several working furnaces. Dozens and dozens of metalworkers, engineers and Forge Masters busied themselves around the cavern, shouting orders, warnings or curses, carrying or pulling various loads, forging, casting, hammering, smelting, shaping, and doing other mysterious things one was supposed to do at a place like this. Mista did not even try to understand or recognize them. Her knowledge of this craft was mostly non-existent. One thing was certain to her, though. Mistress Vigga was right: this place was hot and dirty, and the air was thick with fumes. Mista looked down at her elegant, opulent, and completely impractical dress and sighed, wishing she could take off at least one layer of her clothes. Unfortunately, as the Queen, she was expected to dress in a proper way and not parade in her chemise across the Kingdom.

It did not take her long to notice Thorin. Or rather, his lush, wavy hair, dark brown with streaks of mithril, gathered into a thick ponytail on his back — his bare back.

Mahal, be merciful.

He was working alongside the other Dwarves, sorting large pieces of metal and rock, and chunks of some ore. Like his companions, he wore only plain work trousers and thick leather gloves, which was not surprising, judging by the heat emitted by the gigantic furnaces. Shamelessly, Mista could not keep her eyes off Thorin, or rather his back, as he lifted yet another heavy-looking piece, his muscles playing under his skin that seemed to glow like molten gold as the layer of perspiration reflected the firelight from the nearest furnace. 

When the king straightened, the muscles on his powerful shoulders and arms bulged, and Mista’s throat suddenly felt very dry. She had never been able to admire his figure in such detail before, as his royal garments usually consisted of layers and layers of fabric. Now, her eyes followed the lines of that strong neck, those broad shoulders, and the wide, wide chest that narrowed down to his trim waist. Many Dwarves his age were proud of their rotund shapes, a welcome sign of prosperity, but she knew by now that Thorin led an active life, and his body reflected it. Mista’s gaze curiously rested on his shoulder blades — there was a tattoo there, partially covered by his hair, but she recognized its shape at once. It was the Durin’s Crown, seven stars etched in black ink, the unmistakable symbol of the King’s royal ancestry. There were other tattoos on his back and arms, too, each of those patterns telling a story of its own. As every Dwarf clan used its own unique symbols, Mista was unable to decipher the meaning of all of them, but she believed she recognized one of the warrior’s marks for valour and something like a symbol of a… swordsmith? Was the King Under the Mountain a Master Swordsmith? Mista promised herself to check this new piece of information later. It was fascinating — as everything that concerned Thorin. She wanted to learn as much about him as she could, to know him better and perhaps find something in common between them, or at least use that knowledge to become a better wife to him. A wife he would talk with, exchange jests with, and spend time with just like he did with his work companions at this very moment as they all tried to move an exceptionally large piece of metal from the pile of rubble before them.

Mista told herself that now, before she completely melted from the heat, was the right time to approach the King. That was why she came here in the first place — but somehow she could not peel her eyes away from his strong back, his powerful thighs, and… his firm buttocks. 

Mahal, why is it so very hot in here? 

She kept on staring indecently at his behind, feeling her cheeks burn, when a male voice said: “M’lady? Yer Majesty?”

“Captain Dwalin!” She almost jumped. “How nice to see you.”

“And the same to ye!” He grinned, his white teeth contrasting with the streaks of dust on his face. “What brings ye here, M’lady?”

“I… I wish to see His Majesty,” she faltered as this mountain of a Dwarf folded his impressive arms — his very bare and very muscular arms — against the thick leather of his apron that covered his chest.

Thank Mahal for the apron.

“His Majesty? Thorin? Now?” Frowning, Dwalin cast a glance towards the King, who was still busying himself with that stubborn chunk of metal.

Mista took a deep breath, trying to keep her eyes away from her lord husband’s glistening back.

“I see he is busy. I had a matter to discuss. But it can wait. I will wait. Here,” she mumbled, looking around, searching for a place to sit. She felt a bit dizzy, perhaps because of that overwhelming heat. Sadly, among the smoking furnaces, pieces of rubble and soaring columns, there was nothing that resembled a bench even slightly.

“Yer Majesty,” Dwalin began, shaking his head vigorously. “That won’t do, ye won’t be waitin’, not here! Gundi! Come ‘ere, there’s a good lad! Run to Thorin — His Majesty — and tell ‘im the Queen requests his presence.”

A young, lanky dwarf with a short chestnut beard nodded, made a wide-eyed, clumsy bow when he saw Mista, and then hurried away. 

“Oh no, Captain Dwalin, not now, I don’t want to disturb…” she began faintly when a screeching sound filled her ears.

Suddenly, Dwalin’s hand closed over her arm and pulled her unceremoniously to the side.

“Sorry, M’lady,” he offered just as a group of forge workers whooshed past them with a screech, dangerously close, wheeling a large cauldron filled with some smelly, fumy substance.

“I’m sorry, I did not see them!” Mista adjusted her glasses nervously, trying to regain her composure.

“When ye’re in the Forges, ye have to have yer eyes around yer head,” Dwalin said.

“INCOMING!” a shout echoed from a distance, and something heavy thudded, making the floor tremble under her feet.

Mista gasped, quickly looking around.

“Nothin’ to worry about, M’lady,” Dwalin explained. “Ye can say we’re remodellin’ the place after Smaug. That slug didn’t have even a shred of good taste.”

She chuckled nervously, trying to calm herself down.

“My Lady Mista!” A familiar rumbly voice reached her ears. Her heart fluttered.

She lifted her gaze towards the King. Thorin was approaching her fast, taking off his gloves. His brow was furrowed, and he kept staring straight at her with those piercing blue eyes of his. A few unruly strands of his hair stuck to his face, and his lips were parted as he took a deep breath. His chest rose and — oh, Mahal — Mista caught a very good glimpse of its full bare glory. The well-defined pectoral muscles dusted with dark hair, the — Mahal, was that a piercing?! — geometric tattoos, strong core muscles, and that stripe of hair trailing all the way down to… Mista swallowed.

Suddenly, her knees felt very weak.

The King closed the distance between them in two brisk strides. Somehow, he seemed even taller than usual, dominating the space around her, so very close, emanating a strange kind of heat, heady and powerful. Mista felt like a defenseless hare facing a wolf on the prowl. Instinctively, she took a step back, stumbled over something, and lost her balance, sending her parchments flying in the air. 

In the blink of an eye before she fell to the ground, a pair of strong arms — strong bare arms — caught her and held her in place. The grip was steady and reassuring, but there was a deep frown on the King’s face. “By dragon’s breath, what brought you here, My Lady?” Her royal husband’s words resembled a growl in Mista’s ears as he stared her down. “Y-your Majesty,” she mumbled, lowering her gaze, still overwhelmed by his intense closeness and the fact that the King was holding her firmly. “There is… there is a matter I wish to discuss, it’s…”

“INCOMING!” Yet another shout rang out somewhere in the Forges, and another loud thud was heard. The ground shook. She stiffened.

“Cursed supports! This is not a safe place for you, Lady Mista,” His Majesty’s gaze darkened. “Come, let us leave. Where is your escort?”

He took Mista under her arm and began leading her towards the entrance to the Forges.

“But… My parchments!” She turned back, staring at the documents scattered all over the floor.

“Dwalin?” Thorin glanced between his Captain and the parchments.

Dwalin simply nodded and moved to gather them.

Only then did Mista notice that the hard object she stumbled upon earlier was the edge of a furnace chute used for smelted ore. She refused to imagine what would have happened if she fell into it.

“Where did you leave your guards, My Lady?” Thorin repeated, looking around impatiently.

“I came here by myself, My Lord,” she admitted, trying to match his fast pace on the way out of the Forges, still feeling the warm shadow of his touch on her skin.

“By yourself?!” The King’s frown deepened further as he raised his voice. “Lady Mista, this is one of the most dangerous places in the whole Kingdom on an average day — and today it’s twice as much! You cannot venture out here alone!” “I didn’t want to bother anyone, I simply wanted to…”

“Bother? Mahal, you are the Queen, My Lady! Can you not see what would have happened if an accident befell you? What would it mean for the Kingdom, for all of us here, if you were injured, or worse? And shortly after ascending the throne? How would it look to your family?”

Mista lowered her gaze, deciding to study a tiny crack in the stone floor. She felt utterly stupid. The first thing that her family would do if anything serious happened to her would be to break off the marriage contract and all the accompanying agreements. And if things looked bad, they would demand a sizeable compensation, break off diplomatic relations between both clans or maybe even choose a more hostile path. Not because she was that precious to them; it was all about riches and power. They invested too much into the grand plan of putting a Broadbeam on the throne of the Lonely Mountain to forfeit it. Her mother made certain that Mista remembered it quite well.

As for the Kingdom Under the Mountain and its King, a seriously injured or even dead Queen meant fewer allies and no heir to the throne. And no heir to the throne, according to Dís, meant a possible rebellion and a rift within the Longbeard clan.

Perhaps another Dwarf-woman in her place would enjoy this level of importance, but Mista was a realist. She understood that she was useful to everyone as long as she was healthy, alive, and doing what she was expected to do. Like the pawn on a chessboard — yet again. 

“Forgive me, My Lord. I… I was unaware,” she said when they stopped in the outside corridor, away from the prying eyes in the Forges. “It’s just…”

“Yes?” the King said. She felt his intense gaze on her face, but she did not feel brave enough to look up.

“I simply wanted to talk… I did not know you were that busy,” Mista began, realising how foolish she sounded, suddenly very much aware of how close the King was, how her abundant skirts brushed against his legs, how she felt the heat and the masculine power his body radiated. His scent reached her nostrils: hot fire, ash, and leather, dizzying with its raw intensity. And then there was his bare torso in front of her, his glistening skin, his pectorals rising and falling, and a pale scar across his shoulder. Her fingertips tingled; one small move of her hand and she could learn how it felt to run her fingers along the ridges and hollows of his chest. The fluttering deep inside her intensified, and she clasped her hands nervously.

Mahal help her.

“What did you wish to talk about with me, My Lady?” The King’s voice softened slightly.

“It’s a delicate matter of state, an urgent one,” she explained hesitantly. “Coming here was my last resort.”

“Your last resort?” the King replied.

“You see… I have been trying to meet you in our rooms for a few days now,” she whispered, still not daring to raise her gaze above the scar on his shoulder, bracing herself for a fiery response.

Instead, there was a long silence. And something akin to a sigh. Mista wondered whether she would now hear yet another excuse and a polite but reserved dismissal.

The King spoke, “My Lady Mista, I would be honoured to discuss this matter now.”

“You… You would?” Mista’s head snapped up. Her eyes met the deep blue sapphires of his gaze. At that moment, he somehow resembled the Thorin she remembered, at least a bit. “Truly?”

“Of course,” The King nodded, gesturing with his hand.

“Oh, thank you, My Lord.” She beamed at him, warmth spilling in her chest. He wanted to speak with her. There were no excuses this time. And he did not leave, still standing so very close to her. Without thinking, she grasped his open palm with both her hands, so large and warm, and slightly coarse against her skin.

And then his fingers stiffened under her touch, accompanied by a startled expression on his face as the King glanced at their joined hands. 

With a gasp, Mista let go of him. Feeling her cheeks burn, her heart galloping in her chest, she heard herself speak through her clenched throat.

“I- I’m sorry, My Lord,” she muttered, taking a hasty step back. “I did not mean to…”

The vertical wrinkle between the King’s brows deepened.

“My Lady…”

“Yer documents, M’lady,” Dwalin appeared beside them with a roll of parchments in his outstretched hand.

“Thank you, Dwalin!” Mista blurted out, grabbing the papers as fast as she could. Her hands were trembling, and her head was spinning. “T-thank you for your time, Your Majesty, I- I have to go!”

“What about this urgent matter?” His Majesty Thorin II Oakenshield tilted his head slightly.

The thought of her latest blunder and then facing the King — her husband — alone, his chest bare, his eyes so very blue she would drown in them within a heartbeat, made Mista dizzy, and definitely not in any shape to have a logical discussion. She would mumble like a silly goose and make him think he married a halfwit. Yes, that was it, she needed a clear mind, and her current befuddlement had absolutely nothing to do with the state of his undress or the feeling of his scorching skin against hers; it was just this awful humid heat. She embarrassed herself enough for one day. She needed to leave this place at once.

“I… just recalled that I have an important meeting,” Mista said quickly, rumpling the parchments in her hands. “May we meet in the evening? Over… over supper?”

“If you are certain that it can wait until then,” the King spoke, his right eyebrow rising.

“I am, yes!” she mumbled. “It can!”

“Very well, then. Until the evening, My Lady.” He lowered his head in farewell.

Mista turned, fleeing the Forges, feeling utterly humiliated by her own silliness. What on Mahal’s beard had she been thinking? What made her grab his hand? What would the King think of her? She was supposed to be a queen and act like one, and not a mawkish lass who could not even spend a moment alone with her own husband without embarrassing herself because of her stupid feelings.

“Would you mind escorting Her Majesty back to the royal wing, Dwalin?” The King’s voice echoed in the corridor behind her, and she thought she heard a lighter note in his words. “It turns out my royal spouse can be surprisingly energetic.”

“Just what ye need in yer dotage, ye lucky goat,” Dwalin chuckled, making her cheeks burn. Deep down she disagreed; first of all, His Majesty was far from senility, and besides, the last thing he needed was an embarrassingly lovestruck wife.

Mista did not hear the King’s reply — if there was any. The loud stomping of the Captain’s boots as he approached her drowned out all the other sounds.

✨ Entangled Masterlist

💙💙💙 Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it! 💙💙💙

📜 Searching for more stories to read? Check out my masterlist!📜

@fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings​ @sherala007 @jotink78 

@rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @.legolasbadass @yourqueenunderthemountain @guardianofrivendell

@gwen-ever @elrawienthewhite @mrsdurin @nelleedraws 

@vee-vee-writes @mcchiberry  @dumbassunderthemountain @errruvande @laurfilijames

@emrfangirl @s0ftd3m0n @lilith15000 @kami-chan1512  @ragsweas 

@enchantzz @aduialel @myselfandfantasy @thewhiteladyofrohan @middleearthpixie 

@i-did-not-mean-to @blairsanne @fckmini @clumsy-wonderland @wormsmith 

@mailinsblogofstuff  @medusas-hairband @xxbyimm @saucyminxbrainspill 

@quiall321 @frosticenow @glassgulls @evenstaredits @sotwk 

@littlesweetdressmaker @alwayssevvy @sleepycreativewriter @emmanuellececchi @sazzlep

@lyl1pad @enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog @shantismurf @dustie-faerie @beenovel @thorne-kreizler-fanfiction @thatshadowintheuniverse @animal4princess-blog

@ravenhearted @ruthoakenshield @asgardianhobbit98 @justfollowtheroad @silvergemofdurin @.sverdgeir @blackqueengold

@exhausted-humxn-being @balrog-prevention-society

If you're crossed out or not in the list any longer, it means that Tumblr hasn't been allowing me to tag you for a longer while. Please DM me so we can figure it out together.

[camficdiner]

You are so talented!!! Could you please do:

[1.1] [2.1 and 2.9] [3.1] [4.3] They pretend to hate each other — everyone else knows they’re obsessed

You’re the best, thank you!!!!!

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 055

🍒 Thank you for the fluff order! I’ve been deep-frying smut for a while so this is the perfect palate cleanser.

💬 “You Kiss Like You Hate Me”

✨ Description and prompts:

– Character: Jack Hughes

– Prompt: Kissing in a hallway + first time meeting his brother

– Tropes: fake hate, secretly obsessed, everyone knows, soft fluff

– Type: fluff, romantic tension, hallway moment, slow-burn-y

🛼🧁✨🍒

You’ve never liked Jack Hughes.

Well — okay, maybe liked isn’t the right word. You tolerate him. You’ve learned to navigate around him. You’ve figured out how to ignore his stupid smirks in the hallway and the way he always manages to sit at your table in the media lounge, even though there are seventeen empty ones literally everywhere else.

But like him? That’s never been part of the deal.

Not when he walks around like he owns the Prudential Center. Not when he chirps you for your Devils staff lanyard photo (“you look like you’re being held hostage, did they not let you retake it?”). Not when he acts like he’s God’s gift to hockey, girls, and… well, you.

And certainly not when you first met him — through Luke, actually. Luke’s sweet. You trust Luke. He’s the kind of rookie that makes you believe this team might actually have a soul. But Jack? Jack is everything you’re not interested in. Loud. Cocky. Annoyingly good-looking.

Also: not nearly as good of a player as he thinks he is.

Which you may or may not have told him. Loudly. In the locker room hallway.

More than once.

“Maybe if you kept the puck on your stick for more than three seconds, you’d stop blowing every rush,” you’d said once, arms crossed over your clipboard.

Jack had only grinned, slow and smug. “Jealous you don’t get to blow me?”

You hadn’t spoken to him for a week after that. A whole glorious, peaceful week. But then he showed up early to practice — just to sit behind you in the stands and ask dumb questions about how analytics even work anyway, like isn’t it all just vibes and luck?

You hated him. You hate him.

You especially hate that you’ve started noticing things.

Like the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. Or how he’s always the first to volunteer for media duty when he knows you’re the one managing the schedule. Or the fact that you’ve caught yourself checking your phone more often than you’d like — wondering if he’ll text. (He never does. But he always finds you in person.)

And now? Now, Quinn Hughes is here.

It’s the last stretch before the offseason, and the Devils are letting loose in practice, the air a little lighter. Luke’s already run up to greet Quinn, all excited to show off. You’ve only ever seen Quinn on TV — and frankly, he seems too quiet and clean-cut to be related to Jack.

Which makes it worse when Quinn corners you in the hallway, just outside the media room, and gives you the most unreadable look.

“You’re the girl he’s always pissing off,” he says mildly.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“He talks about you more than he talks about hockey.”

“Gross,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “And not true.”

“Oh, it’s very true,” Luke pipes up, appearing at Quinn’s side with a protein bar half unwrapped. “He follows her around like a golden retriever and then pretends he doesn’t care.”

“I don’t care,” Jack says, sliding in behind them like a storm cloud in skates. “She hates me.”

“She tolerates you,” Quinn corrects. “There’s a difference.”

Jack shrugs. “Whatever. She’s just a pretty face who thinks she knows hockey.”

You stiffen — and Quinn watches it happen. He clocks the way your jaw twitches and how Jack’s shoulders tense right after, like he regrets it the second it’s out.

Luke frowns. “You don’t even believe that.”

Jack doesn’t respond. Just tilts his head, eyes flicking to you. “Why are you even standing here?”

You smile sweetly. “Waiting for your brothers to say something useful.”

Jack opens his mouth, then closes it again. Quinn sighs. Luke mutters something about emotional repression and wanders off.

The hallway empties. You’re left standing there, across from Jack. He’s leaning on the wall now, arms folded, eyes unreadable.

“You actually think I’m just a pretty face?” you ask, voice low.

Jack doesn’t answer.

You step closer. One step. Two. His eyes drop to your mouth.

“I think,” you whisper, “you’re scared.”

He scoffs. “Of what?”

“Of me.”

And then — maybe because the hallway is too quiet, or the season’s almost over, or you’ve been pretending to hate each other for way too long — you kiss him.

Hard. Reckless. Like ripping the air out of his lungs. Your hand curls into the collar of his warm-up hoodie and his mouth crashes into yours like he’s been waiting months for this.

He tastes like spearmint gum and something boyish and warm, and when he finally pulls back, his voice is wrecked.

“I don’t hate you,” he says quietly.

“I know,” you breathe.

Neither of you move.

And somewhere in the background, you’re positive you hear Luke yell “FINALLY” from inside the rink.

[hwangjoanna]

'Red Light, Green Light.'

SKZ Squid Game AU

Hyunjin X Reader

Enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers

Dom/Hyunjin, Sub/Reader

Possessive & jealous Hyunjin

Hyunjin, Seungmin & Minho are all mean (sorry)

Felix and Jisung Besties (Soft boys)

Warnings - MDNI 18+, Physical & emotional abuse, Sappy Hyunjin, Degradation, Use of the terms Slut & Whore, Violence, Gore, Use of guns, Main character death (I’m sorry), Non-consensual touching, Angst, Anxiety Attack, Nightmares, Smut, Mentions of unprotected sex, Non-consensual Sex.

A/N - In honour of this being chapter 13 I thought I would write a chapter from only Y/n’s perspective. As she’s player 013, I thought it would be the perfect chapter to focus on our girl. However, it’s not an easy read by any means! I appreciate how many of you got involved in the latest poll, it was very interesting to see your thoughts.

Word Count - 5,608

Part 12

[Series Masterlist]

Chapter 013

PLAYER 013 POV

The main room feels quieter now, almost eerily so. There are fewer beds and more money in the piggy bank, which swings and catches the artificial overhead lights occasionally. It’s a constant reminder of the loss you feel. You look up at the blood money, and you remember that one of the stacks in there is Jisung’s share.

You twitch slightly, the uneasy feeling growing in your chest again. Grief, sorrow and the overwhelming fear that this could be your fate at any given moment. Not only yours but theirs.

Your boys, the men you’ve grown to care for in the weirdest of ways. In the outside world you probably never crossed their paths, you’d probably have never opened yourself up to the relationships you have with them now.

For one, Wooyoung would have never allowed it, he’d become very controlling in your final year together. Commenting on what you’d wear, and giving you a time frame if you went out with friends.

However, as time went on he’d never be around. So what would you have done if you met Hyunjin in the outside world?

You honestly didn’t know, when you met him you thought he was an absolute asshole. Which, granted he still was but as you came to get to know him you found he had a gentle and caring side.

Once he’d mentioned his lack of love as a child it almost made sense to you why you’d been so drawn to him. Yes, your parents never abused you but they also had no relationship with you. Just constantly threw money at you as a way of buying your love. You never really thought about it until you were here, in the game. Trapped in four walls where time didn’t feel real, although in here you had so much time to think. It was almost torturous how much.

Left with the hollow memories of childhood, where all your ‘friends’ were rich and shallow. Your parents were constantly away on business trips, leaving you with some ‘aunts’ or ‘uncles’ that you figured weren’t actually related to you. You did have an uncle, that you were sure of. He visited a lot when you were young but after around ten years old you don’t remember seeing him again.

This continued into your teenage years, snobby ‘friends’, sleepovers at strangers' houses. Then came graduation, your parents of course didn’t attend. They said they’d try to make it but ultimately you didn’t even feel disappointed when you stepped on stage, and glanced at the crowd and you didn’t see them.

You were grateful, you weren’t stupid. You had been born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you never wanted for anything and you had been provided the best education, but you fought off the ‘dumb rich girl’ stereotype as best you could. You wondered to yourself whether you came across that way to the boys.

You hoped not.

You wondered in that moment what they thought of you. It was clear that most of them were attracted to you, if you were honest with yourself, a lot of boys were when you were growing up. When you were twelve years old there were two boys at school fighting over you. The thought now amused you, one of them was called Changbin you remember. He was loud, energetic and boisterous. However, he was known as the school’s ‘bad boy’. The other was Jeongin, the boy you ended up with for two years. He was sweet, and he had a playful but gentle energy about him. A cute fox-like face, all the girls at school fancied him, but he was yours, and your best friend too.

That was until he told you a few weeks after your fourteenth birthday that he was moving to Busan. He said he’d try to keep in contact with you but once he’d gone you heard nothing.

Another person who abandoned you. You thought to yourself.

You brought it up to your mother one evening, her response cold as always ‘Well he wasn’t good for you anyway. My daughter should be dating a strong man, with the promise of a large inheritance. I much preferred Changbin, his father is very powerful.’ You roll your eyes at the memory of her words, then you chuckle slightly. She’s probably turning in her grave at who you’ve dated since her death, she would have hated Wooyoung. Granted, she would have been right about him. She probably wouldn’t be a fan of Hyunjin or Felix either. Not that you were dating them but the thought came regardless.

Suddenly, Hyunjin brings you back to reality. “Hey, you okay Thirteen?” He whispers against your hair. You’re lying between his legs on your bottom bunk, his back resting against the bed frame. Your back to his chest, one of his arms is wrapped around you, his other hand is stroking your skin lightly on your hip, underneath your numbered t-shirt.

You’d been so distracted with your thoughts you hadn’t realised till that moment how intimately he was holding you.

You hum in response, but he’s not happy with just that.

“What you been daydreaming about hmm?” His lips now ghost the side of your neck as he speaks, his breath sending shivers up your spine. “Still thinking about me?” He chuckles.

You laugh out loud, “You wish, lover boy.”

“No? Because I’ve been thinking about you.” His lips are now grazing your ear, and you can feel your panties getting wet. This guy.

You smirk to yourself wanting to egg him on. “Oh yeah? What about me?” You murmur, trying to control your breathing so as not to give yourself away.

“Hmm, let’s see. Mainly your smile, but also…” he pauses and lowers his voice to whisper that runs through you. “How wet you were earlier, how hot you look when you come, how beautifully you moan my name.”

Your breath hitches and he chuckles to himself at your reaction. You compose yourself for a moment and then reply, “Careful Hyunjin, you sound like you’re a bit obsessed with me.” You laugh again, playing it off as a joke but his hand stills on your hip and he squeezes it possessively.

“So what if I am.” He says, bluntly.

That makes you turn to him, his face is unreadable but his eyes dance across your features and land on your mouth, he runs his fingers through his slightly grown-out buzz-cut.

“Don��t be stupid, you’re just bored.” You say, trying not to think about yours or his feelings. You can’t do it again, let another guy in. Sex is one thing but ultimately you’ll just get hurt. He’ll leave you, they always do. Everyone.

“You seriously think I’m bored in here, Thirteen? When everyday I have to fight to keep myself alive. Where I have to see you get hurt? Where I have to deal with that fucking guard always putting his hands on you.” His voice grows as he speaks.

You glance at the others, Felix looks at you for a second but then continues his conversation with Minho and Seungmin where they sit on the steps.

“Why can’t I be? Hmm? Why can’t you accept that I might enjoy being around you?” Once the words come out of his mouth he pulls you on top of him, his lips crash against yours and he starts kissing you like no one else is in the room.

God, his kisses are like pure fire. Hot, wet and so passionate. His pillowy lips glide across yours with intent, and he starts to press his tongue into your mouth but you pull away. He’s never fully made out with you in public, at least not in front of the others.

His eyes are wide open, his grip on you loosens as he studies your reaction. “I think-“ he begins but you’re already getting up, interrupting him mid-thought. “I need a minute,” you say, as you scurry away to the bathroom, a corner of the room, somewhere but not here.

You don’t even want to think about what he was going to say. He doesn’t like you like that. He just likes fucking you.

As you round the corridor you smack into someone, and your body falls onto the floor with a thump. You hiss, as your ass cheeks throb from the landing. You look up and gasp, you can’t breathe, it’s him. The triangle masked man.

“Just the girl I was looking for,” he says, his voice echoing around you.

“I-“ you start to speak but then his hand is fisted into your hair as he drags you to your feet.

“You’re coming with me, Player 013.” He says, through gritted teeth.

You start to shake, the fear setting in. What’s he planning on doing?

You try to pull away, but your scalp burns from your efforts. His grip tightens in your hair, and his other hand grabs you by the arm. You scream, but no one hears, no one comes to your aid. Why did you have to run off? You start to sob, “No! Please! Please leave me alone!” Your shouting seems to anger him more and he moves his hand from your arm and presses it against your mouth.

“Shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch!” He spits. He drags you through a door that opens once his mask is scanned. Several guards walk by, none of them even turning their heads to you, a few glance your way but continue walking. You try to wriggle but he holds you firmly, he pulls you through another door and pushes you down to the ground, Your knees sting and you continue to cry. You try to move away from him, scooting back on your palms until you settle in a corner of the small room with nowhere else to go.

He locks the door behind him with a click and slowly stalks towards you, his body towering over your shaking form. You’re hunched over with your knees to your chest, weeping loudly.

The masked man squats down, he brings his finger to your chin to tilt it up at him and you wince at the contact.

“Look at me,” his ominous voice comes out gentler than before.

You close your eyes, your tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. Suddenly, he grabs your jaw in a bruising grip. “I said look at me!” He growls.

You snap your eyes open, you have no choice, he’s closer than before. Your vision slightly blurred from your crying. You can barely breathe, the air thick with antiseptic and malice. His gloved fingers dig into your jaw, forcing your face closer to his and for a second, the mask is all you can see. That cold, blank triangle. The subtle way he breathes you in makes your skin crawl.

“I’ve been watching you, player thirteen,” he says, calmly. Too calmly. “You’ve gotten very comfortable. Haven’t you? Smiling, laughing, lying in his lap like a whore.”

Your body jolts. You stare at him in confusion, terror mounting. He knows? He’s seen you with Hyunjin and that tone, why does it feel so personal? You try to speak, but your voice is trapped in your throat. His gloved hand brushes your cheek almost tenderly. The gesture makes your stomach turn.

“You think he cares about you?” His fingers trail down to your neck. “You think you’re special to him? That he won’t leave you when this is all over? Wake up.”

His words are like knives, they hit far too close to home. You want to scream, but you’re too afraid. Something about him, it’s not just the threat, it’s the intimacy of his hate. It clings to you like a memory you can’t quite place.

“Are you that desperate for attention?” He continues, his voice tight and dangerous.

You shake your head, attempting to back further away but there’s no space. He’s so close that you can hear his breathing under his mask, ragged, it feels like he’s holding back his anger. Your hands tremble where they clutch your knees.

“No? I see the way you look at him. I see the way he touches you.” He pauses, his head tilting. “I mean, they all want a piece don’t they?”

You think for a moment, surely he’s not allowed to speak to you this way. Then you remember you’re in a game where they kill people in cold blood and take their bodies away in boxes.

You continue to cry, “What did I ever do to you? Why are you doing this?”

“You know, I like how much you cry for me.” He laughs a low, joyless sound. “You cry harder than when he was between your legs.”

You freeze. Your heart threatens to tear itself apart inside your chest. How does he know that? How close was he? You turn your face, refusing to let him see the fresh wave of shame.

“That’s what I thought.” He says, He stands slowly, wiping his gloved hand on his pants like you’ve dirtied it. His shadow stretches across the room, swallowing you whole. You rub your sore knees, and his head follows the action. He notices the blood seeping through onto your teal track pants, staining the fabric.

He steps forward, “Let me see.” His voice, controlled.

You look up at him confused, “What?” You sniffle.

“Your knees, let me see.” He repeats.

You shake your head again, trembling under his gaze. “No, I’m-“ but then he interrupts you by grabbing your wrists and pulling you up, your flush against his chest for a moment before he lifts you onto a desk in the corner and pulls your track pants down to your ankles. You scream but his palm lands over your mouth again.

“Do as I fucking say and if you scream again, I’ll give you something worth screaming over!” He shouts through the mask, you continue weeping, pulling the hem of your numbered t-shirt down to cover yourself. He tears your hand away, gripping you violently.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” He comments and you feel sick knowing he saw you with Hyunjin buried inside you.

He turns and grabs a first aid kit from the cupboard, releasing your mouth. How many do they have here? It reminds you of how tenderly he put the burn gel on your palms, days ago.

He pulls out some sterile wipes and swipes them over your bloodied knees, you hiss at the contact and he just tuts under his breath. He sticks a plaster on each of them, gently. Suspiciously so. He lays his palm over it, his other hand holding down your thigh making you feel uncomfortable with how possessively he holds you.

Once he’s done he pulls up your track pants. “Good girl,” he whispers but you hear it and make an attempt to move.

He grabs you to stop you. “I’m in charge here.” He says and in that moment, your blood boils with rage. You don’t know how your fear turns to hate, but it does. You see red, your pulse deafening in your ears. Every cell in your body is screaming to stay small. To stay quiet but something inside you snaps. You stare up at him, eyes red, voice trembling but sharp.

“You’re not in charge though, are you?” you spit. “You’re just a number. Just another cog in the machine.”

He freezes.

“What did you just say?” His voice drops, dangerously low.

“You think that mask makes you powerful? That people obey you because they respect you?” you hiss. “They don’t. They’re afraid. Just like you are.”

He’s suddenly grabbing your shirt collar and yanking you to your feet. You gasp, toes barely brushing the ground.

“You want to test me, slut?” he snarls. “Keep talking.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you lie.

You see it land, his breath stutters, just for a second. That mask is expressionless, but you see it in the way his grip tightens, how your words have gotten under his skin. You struck something.

“You think you matter in here?” you continue, emboldened by his flicker of hesitation. “You’re not a god. You’re not even a real man. You’re a number, just like the rest of us.”

He throws you hard against the wall.

The impact knocks the wind from your lungs, your vision sparking with white. His hand slams beside your head, and you barely manage to stay upright. “Say that again,” he growls, breath hot through his mask. “Say it again and see what happens.”

You don’t. You can’t but your eyes, even full of tears, even filled with fear, are still locked on his.

You don’t look away.

He breathes hard. His chest rises and falls like a storm barely held back. Then, without warning, he shoves you down again, not with force, but with disgust.

“Stay the fuck away from him, I don’t even want to see you even glance in his direction,” he mutters. “Or next time I won’t stop at threats. I’ll skin your pretty little boyfriend alive right in front of you.” He grabs you at the nape of your neck, pulling you out of the room, his gloved fingers dig bruises into your skin.

You hear the beeps of doors opening but you’re too busy scrambling to get your feet to carry you, your plimsolls scrap the floor. Then you’re back in the corridor again, by the bathrooms. He moves his hand to the front of your throat and shoves you against the cold hard wall. You cry out again as your head bangs on the concrete.

“If I hear you telling a single fucking soul about this conversation, I won’t stop at him.” You whimper at his words. “I’ll kill every. Single. One. Of. Them.” He sounds out every syllable with his threat.

He waits for you to answer but you just continue sobbing in his grasp, barely able to breathe. He loosens his grip enough for you to speak.

“Do you understand?” He screams in your face.

“Yes-yes-please. I won’t tell, you’re hurting me. Please-“ you stutter.

With that, he drops you again. Your palms hit the floor and you just let yourself lie there. Curled up in a fetal position, you’re shaking, your body on fire with the bruises left from his abuse.

He stands over you for a moment as if admiring his work. Then, without another word he walks through the door he came from.

You hear the door to the main room opening about five minutes later, but who really knows how long it was?

“Y/N?” A deep Australian accent breaks through but you don’t look up, continuing to cry. Your head is throbbing with a headache.

Felix reaches down to you but you flinch, “Hey, hey, hey, shh.” He strokes your back. “It’s just me, come here Angel.” He whispers soothingly.

That’s when he picks you up, like you weigh nothing and carries you bridal style back to the main room. As he walks with you in his arms, you hear rushed footsteps and voices asking what happened and if you’re okay. You can’t tell who’s speaking, your mind feels like mush, your ears ring and your body lies limply in his arms. Your face is pressed against Felix’s chest, and his smell comforts you.

He places you on what you assume is your bed but he stays and cradles you.

“Baby, what happened?” You hear Hyunjin’s voice but you don’t respond. Fear overcomes you, the guard could be watching you and you don’t want him to get hurt.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” Felix spits.

You hear Hyunjin step back, “What are you talking about?” He responds.

“Well last person I saw her with was you, then I find her curled up in a ball. Crying her fucking eyes out. So I think it’s best you leave her alone.” Felix says, aggressively.

“If you’ve got a fucking problem with me, blondie. Then just fucking say it! Stop using her as an excuse.” Hyunjin says through gritted teeth.

You can tell they’re getting angry at each other now but you’re powerless to stop it. You feel paralysed in your own skin. If you tell them to stop, technically you’ll have to speak to Hyunjin.

“Oh I’ve got a fucking problem-“ Felix begins, his voice a deeper growl than you’ve ever heard before. But Seungmin steps between them, at least that’s what you assume because you hear his voice next. “Hey, let’s just cool off. Yeah?”

“Cool off! He’s gone right back to being her little guard dog again. Always playing the fucking hero!” Hyunjin shouts, and you can hear other players in the room pausing their conversations to listen in.

“YAH! SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU!” Minho shouts, and all three men stop. “You’re embarrassing yourselves, and Y/N is upset, do you really think you’re helping?”

You hear them all take a breath, your exhaustion starts to take you, as you sniffle into the pillow. You can feel yourself drifting off as they continue to speak amongst each other. Their voices lull you to sleep.

You’re at home, lying in bed. Your eyes adjust. It’s like your bedroom but not really. The bed feels like the one you fell asleep on. The small bunk with a metal frame. You roll over to look around and there he is, Hyunjin. He’s stood at the foot of your bed, a smirk on his lips. His hair is long and dark, not like it is now. He looks familiar like this.

“Hey baby,” he says as he climbs on top of you and settles between your legs, You wrap them around his waist. He starts kissing your jaw, your throat.

Suddenly, you’re both naked and he’s fucking into you slowly. He groans, it’s not like he’s fucked you before, it’s like he’s making love to you. “I’m so obsessed with you, Thirteen.” He whispers. You moan in response. His palm that rests on your throat tightens. “You’re going to kill me.” He says.

You blink, it’s not him anymore. Wooyoung’s hand chokes you. His face is in a snarl, his whiskey breath fans over your cheeks. “Just take it.” He hisses.

You try to say no, but you can’t speak. He makes that face. That face he makes when he’s about to come. You turn away, your eyes closed, trying to will yourself to wake up, you know you’re dreaming.

Wake up y/n, wake up.

His hand reaches for your jaw but his voice changes to that ominous sound. “Look at me,” a gloved hand pulls your face to his. You open your eyes and that triangle mask is in front of you. You scream but in the dream it sounds like a distant echo, like it doesn’t come from your mouth at all. The masked guard is still in his magenta uniform, but it’s unzipped. His cock is out and thrusting into you with a rough rhythm. “You’re taking me so well, you little whore.”

You grip his wrist pulling his hand away, he lets go and goes to grab you again but you use all your efforts and push him off you. He falls onto the floor. You run to your bedroom door, still naked and swing it open.

When you run out, you’re not in your apartment. You’re in the corridor again. The one near the bathrooms. You’re back in the game. You look down and you’re in your teal tracksuit. The fabric feels heavy, blood stains all over it. You hear him coming to the door.

You run.

You open a random door that leads to the pastel coloured staircase. You climb them as quickly as possible.

“You can’t run from me, I’m everywhere!” He shouts behind you. You don’t turn back. You just continue until you find another door.

Wake up! Wake up!

It’s Felix’s deep voice filling your ears now but you can’t see him anywhere.

You open another door, the space is decorated in dark geometric wallpaper, and the furniture black leather chesterfield seats dotted around the room.

There’s a group of people there, and they all stop to look at you. They’re wearing damask robes. Each adorning a gold mask, in shapes of animals; a tiger, a bull, a stag.

“Join us, Y/N.” The tiger man says.

You back away slowly, shaking your head and run out the door. Your body meets the triangle guard and you fall onto your knees.

“Just the girl I was looking for” he says, in the exact tone as earlier in the day.

“You’re not real.” You say, “I’m just having a nightmare.” You think saying it out loud will help appease the fear, and help you to wake up but it doesn’t work. Your breath is staggered now your heart pumping under your numbered T-shirt.

“Oh I’m very real, you’re still here. Still in the game.” He tilts his head. “And all because of me, if I didn’t take you into that room. You would have been eliminated. You should be begging for me.”

“Fuck you!” You scream, he approaches you but you kick his shin. He bends over, the screech coming from under his mask pierces through your ears. You get to your feet somehow and continue to run, you open another door.

It’s the carousel, it’s rotating in the middle of the room.

You’re alone.

‘Doong-geul-gae doong-geul-gae, jjag bing-geul-bing-geul dor-a-ga-myeo chum-eul chub-si-da, son-ppyeo-geul chi-myeon-seo.’

Six.

Then you hear him, that voice.

“Jagiya?”

You turn and there’s Jisung. He looks exactly like he did when he was alive. His beautiful honeyed skin glows, and his eyes sparkle when he sees you.

“Sorry I thought you were-“ he begins but then he smiles.

He runs towards you, and you jump into each other’s arms. You start to sob.

“I miss you so much, Ji.” You cry.

“I know.” He strokes your hair.

The timer on the wall is counting down, 20 seconds left.

“Where’s Jagi, where’s Minho?” He asks.

You look at him, his expression mirrors yours, and his tears run down his beautiful puffy cheeks. You shake your head. “He’s not here.” You whisper.

5 seconds…

“Don’t worry, I’ll see him soon.” He says. But it echoes in the room, and the sound is deafening.

1 second…

You hear a gunshot…

Then you wake, gasping. Your heart has never beaten so fast. You can’t breathe.

You’re panting, sweating. Minho runs over to you. “Y/N,” he says firmly. “You’re having a panic attack, Kitten. Come on breathe with me.” You can hear him but the sound is muffled, like you’re underwater.

You look at him, his eyes are full of concern, his brows are furrowed. He takes in a deep breath and you try to do it too but it’s stuck in your throat. You shake your head at him, your tears drip down to your chin.

Minho looks scared but you know he’s trying to hide it.

He brings his hands to your face and holds you in his palms in an attempt to ground you, “keep your eyes on me, Y/n. I’ve got you okay?” You nod then, he smiles slightly.

“Follow my breathing.” He commands.

Your throat opens and oxygen floods your lungs, it was like you were drowning before and now you’ve reached the surface.

“Good girl,” he says. “Can you do that again for me?” You oblige. Another gasp in, you hold it while he counts out loud to you and you blow out the air. You continue to breathe with him and your heart starts to slow down. You’re still aware of it in your chest but you can think now, you don’t feel overwhelmed.

“Jisung.” You whisper.

Minho visibly flinches at the name. He blinks a few times. “What?” He says, confused.

“He was in my dream, in my nightmare.” You pause catching another breath. “He asked for you.”

He chuckles but you can see the sadness in his eyes. He takes his hands from your face and settles them in his lap.

That’s when you look around the room and about five guards are circling other players, two triangles and three squares.

“What's going on?” You ask Minho, and he glances at them over his shoulder then looks at you.

“I’m not sure, something about a contraband item. They are searching beds and uniforms.” You nod, a little concerned but you don’t have any belongings on you so you try not to think about it.

“So what else happened? In your dream?” He says. “Did Jisung say anything else?” His eyes are hopeful but then you both hear two guards laughing behind him.

The two of you turn to them, “Still talking about your little boyfriend?” The one with the square mask says.

Minho stiffens. His body tenses like a coil ready to snap, and you feel the atmosphere shift around him.

The square-masked guard continues with a laugh that makes your skin crawl. “What did he say again? ‘I’m sorry, Jagiya’? Or was it, ‘I’m scared’? Little coward couldn’t even hold in his tears.”

The other guard snorts, “Fucking pathetic. Cried like a baby. You sure he was even a man?”

You don’t get a chance to respond, Minho moves.

He lunges.

The air you just got back leaves your lungs as his body slams into the nearest guard, tackling him to the floor. The metal clatter of armour, the surprised grunt of the square masked man, and the chaos of it all shatter the room’s tense stillness. Players scramble away, and shouts fill the air.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING TALK ABOUT HIM!” Minho roars, fists landing hard against the guard’s helmet. The guard’s arms flail defensively, trying to block the blows, but Minho is relentless. “HE WAS TEN TIMES THE MAN YOU’LL EVER BE!”

Another guard rushes forward to pull him off, but Felix intercepts him, grabbing his arm. “Don’t touch him!”

Seungmin’s at your side, eyes wide, voice sharp. “Y/N, get back-get back-!”

You don’t move. You’re frozen. Because you know what’s coming. You see another square-masked guard, standing a few feet away, he reaches slowly for his gun.

“No…” You whisper, but the shot rings out anyway.

Minho’s body jerks backwards, the sound cracking through your ears. He stumbles. His face twists in disbelief as blood blooms over his stomach, spreading dark and fast beneath his fingers. His knees hit the floor.

“MINHO!” you scream, running to him before anyone else can react.

You slide beside him, your knees scraping the concrete as you press your hands over the wound. “No, no, no-stay with me-please-”

“Fuck! no-” Felix’s voice breaks, and he’s on the ground beside you, helping apply pressure. “You’re okay, Min, stay with us.”

Minho’s hand covers yours, weak but steady. “It’s okay, kitten…” he whispers. His voice is trembling, but soft, like he’s trying to comfort you.

“Don’t say that, don’t Minho, look at me-please-” Your tears fall freely now, hitting his cheeks, his blood-stained shirt, the floor beneath you. “Stay with me. You’re gonna be okay. Please.”

He blinks slowly, then winces, sucking in a sharp breath. “Hurts like hell…”

You faux laugh through your tears, like you’re helping him by putting on the act that you’re okay, “Then don’t be stupid and die, okay? Please!”

His eyes flutter. “Y/N…”

You shake your head violently. “Don’t close your eyes. Don’t you fucking close your eyes.” You shout.

He smiles faintly. “Tell my parents… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t talk like that-stop-please!” you sob, “I promise. I’ll tell them, okay? But you’re gonna tell them yourself, when we get out…when we all get out-”

“I promise,” you say again, as his head begins to tilt, heavier in your lap.

Then… the light leaves his eyes.

You freeze but your body is trembling.

You don’t feel the moment your hands stop pressing. You don’t feel the blood soaking your palms anymore, or Felix’s shaking voice, or Seungmin’s broken cry beside you.

You just stare at Minho’s face.

Still. Peaceful.

Gone.

A scream tears itself from your throat. You don’t even know you’re the one making it until your voice goes hoarse. You launch forward, toward the guards.

“You fucking monsters!” you howl. “He was unarmed!“

You scramble to your feet, rage burning so hot your skin feels like it’ll split apart. “You fucking murderers-!”

Triangle 156 grabs you from behind, yanking you backward and pinning your arms to your sides with brutal force. His chest presses against your back as he speaks low and cold in your ear.

“I wouldn’t,” he hisses, his voice venomous. “Unless you want to watch them kill you and your pretty boyfriend.”

You go rigid. Silent.

He lets you hang there in his grip, shaking, suffocating with hate and fear.

Then, just as suddenly, he releases you.

You collapse to the floor beside Minho’s body again, and the guards begin to file out, silent and mechanical, as if nothing had happened.

“Fucking cowards,” Felix whispers, wiping angrily at his cheeks.

Seungmin cradles Minho’s head in his lap now, rocking slowly, mouthing words you can’t hear. His tears fall silently.

You can’t move.

You can’t speak.

Hyunjin stands just a metre away.

He hasn’t said anything, hasn’t moved an inch since the shot fired. His eyes are glassy, his lips parted, his shoulders trembling.

One tear slides down his cheek, and he doesn’t wipe it away.

The only sound is the quiet sobbing of the boys, and your breath hitching over the corpse.

Minho’s gone and something in you dies with him.

Chapter 14 - Coming Soon!

Please do not copy my work!

Comments, likes & reblogs are welcomed 🩷

Images in banner are not mine!

Dividers by - @sisterlucifergraphics

TAGLIST - @eridanuswave @astro-des @ot8girlfie

@fairylix @estellan0vella @nightmarenyxx

@missygore @mysterysold @chloe-elise-2000

@minhosglasses @akindaflora @minniesverse

@hoes4minho @hhwangsmoon @riri53

@redlightshyunjinnie

OPEN

[the-eeveekins]

I'm not very active on tumblr much these days, but as a Gundam fan I should probably pop in to talk about GQuuuuuuX. Because I sure have some opinions on it.

The basic overview is that I think the show had a very interesting framework. But everything was so rushed that I found it all to be very shallow, and I didn't enjoy it as a result. It especially hurts in my case because Beginning and the early episodes really drew me into Machu, Nyaan, and Shuji, and they were the part of the show I was most interested in. Unfortunately they felt completely overshadowed by all UC stuff in the 2nd half, which did not interest me anywhere near as much. That said, there are two things from the finale that I'm particularly upset by:

1. Bringing back Furuya as Amuro.

I don't care that production on the show started before his behavior came out. I don't buy any of the excuses. Bringing him back was an awful mistake, full stop. He confessed to his actions long enough ago that even if his line was recorded before hand, there has been plenty of time to recast and re-record one line. Having him there is a black mark against the show.

2. The Machu x Shuji Confession.

You can go through my post history on bsky and see that I never expected GQ to be yuri. In fact, you can find me rooting for the polycule more than anything. But damn, was the het absolutely terrible. Machu's attraction to Shuji is completely one-sided, and they don't even see each other for half the show. There is even a whole moment in the final episode that built up to "Shuji loves Lalah." It all perfectly clicked into place. And then it's like someone burst into the writing room and shouted "NOOOOOO! You have to make Shuji get with one of the girls, or people might think it's gay again!" What follows is a completely out of left field kiss and love confession, none of which felt remotely earned.

Meanwhile, the relationship between Suletta and Miorine was the core of G-Witch's story. They share multiple moments of mutual affection throughout the show. They end the show married. And yet, they couldn't kiss on screen. They couldn't directly say the words "I love you" to each other. By all accounts the staff were handicaped by Bandai in how they were allowed to depict Sulemio's relationship. And while the staff did succeed at making it textual, they had to get creative to do it.

In any other context I would say "Ah, forced het because he's a boy and she's a girl. Must be a day ending in Y." But to get served that right after G-Witch? After all the hoops Sulemio had to jump through? Yeah, I'm a little insulted here.

Sapphic romances work so hard and can be so good, they can be the core theme of the story. And they still get less than the most lazy and uninspired het romances in media. And make no mistake, bigots will be tripping over themselves for years to say that Machu and Shuji getting a kiss and "I love you" makes it a better/more legitimate relationship than Sulemio.

I don't outright hate GQuuuuuuX. Like any Gundam series I don't like, there are still things I enjoyed. Nyaan, Shiiko, Deux, the Gyan and GFreD, the animation, the ED and the fact Machu & Nyaan live together after the finale. Conch, my precious robot crab son, who I'am so proud of. Hell, I'm still talking about it over two days later, something I can't say about other recent Gundam entries I didn't like (Metaverse, RfV, Silver Phantom). But this entry missed the mark for me.

On a personal note, I am so glad that this got delayed and Suletta was our first female MC. Suletta was such a great starting point for female MCs: she felt like the main character of her own show (a show actually centered around women!), and her personality and motivations didn't revolve around a boy. And GQuuuuuuX had far far more misogyny problems than G-Witch; they wanted to make a show about a female Gundam MC and they failed Machu in just about every way. Considering Gundam's often problematic issues relating to it's female characters throughout the franchise, Suletta feels like a miracle, and we somehow dodged the bullet of first female MC being plagued by those exact same issues.

[vampimich]

Carmeo theory time - Someday

----- LIES OF P / OVERTURE SPOILERS AHEAD -----

Reasons that I have to believe Someday talks about Carmeo and is most likely associated with Romeo. (Or me summarizing my findings after falling into the rabbit hole of the records on Lies of P and how they come from another game by Neowiz called djmaxx so no song was written specifically for this game but they still fit perfectly) 👀

How the record is obtained:

Unlike all the other records in the game this is obtained via the MVP merchant in Malum District. This removes the direct association of record <-—-> character (and their situation) that we get from all the other records. 

We can at least get the idea from the location that it should be related to someone that was present at the Malum District at some point.

Of course it can be about anyone  like the merchant himself, but if they chose such a sentimental song with impactful lyrics, I think it would be better suited for a character with a bit more backstory than a merchant.

Could also be tied to any member of the black rabbit brotherhood, but because of the lyrics and video discussed in a bullet below I don’t think that’s the case.

Even the Cat and Fox could be discarded because I am seeing how Quixotic is tied to the Fox and her desire to continue fighting for her and her brother.

This song is performed by a man: 

The translations/adaptations for each song from djmax to Lies of P were done with a lot of care. Some songs were left without voice/lyrics for LoP where the theme or the tune would be more significant to the character it was meant to represent, and for ‘Someday’ they purposefully changed the singer to be man despite the original one being performed by a female singer. 

The only other song in the base game with a male voice is Wolf, Flower, Proposal Part 1 (Now SURVIVOR regular is part of this group too), and that is very clearly meant to be tied to the real Alidoro by Eugenie.

But in contrast to Someday, Wolf, Flower, Proposal Part 1 was performed in both games by male singer. So if they changed the Someday singer, that probably means it represents the experience from one of the male characters. And who should that character be if I already discarded the merchant, the Cat, and the BRB brothers? Which other characters that are somehow related to Malum District are we left with? We'll get the answer in the next section.

Collectibles/Lore from Mallum District: 

What piece of Lore / picture collectible do we find in the Malum District, right in the Red Lobster? 

In the couch under where the merchant is selling the record, we find nothing less than The Monad Charity House Guide. Most of the text is just to give us a bit more of Lore regarding the Rose Estate, but at the end of it we can see a piece of dialogue between Romeo and Carlo. 

“You look like a donkey in this picture”

“Stop doodling in my picture, Romeo”

We find other collectibles talking about the Monad Charity House in other zones of the game, like the Lorenzini Arcade, but the difference with those it that this guide has dialogue from our pair in it, meaning that Carlo and Romeo must have come in contact with this piece of paper. And that they were probably in the Red Lobster when Romeo doodled with his picture. 

There’s also the scribbling in the painting in the wall in front of the Merchant. 

“I, Romeo, will become the greatest Stalker in all of Krat!”

“Then I’ll become stronger that Romeo and become the greatest Stalker in all the world!”

Of course, both the painting and the Guide could have just reached the Red Lobster without Carlo and Romeo stepping at all in MD, but the fact that the devs decided to show two pieces of interaction between these two right in this place where you obtain this record is very telling.

The video for the original song:

Link to the video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YNzWea3Yh8s 

The video shows us the story about a girl and her boyfriend/romantic interest/SO and how she waits for him for a very long time him when he has to go away for military service. We see time going by and she going to the same train spot to see him. But even when she does see him, they don’t get to be together again, maybe because he just imagined it, maybe because he couldn’t be back with her. 

So what we get from this animation is that someone is experiencing loss, separation, and can’t wait for the day in they get to meet with that other person, even when the circumstances constantly keep them apart.

And lastly the lyrics.

I won’t analyze everything, I just want to emphasize a couple lines. (There a comment with an amazing translation here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvPrjpijw5o)

“The snowflakes shining white in the night sky comfort me as I wait for you alone in the dark.” Back when we only had the base game this was not really clear, and I saw it more as a metaphor, but now that we have the DLC, what is the first thing that we see in the game? Snow. And we know from in-game info that snow in Krat is not common at all and that this only occurred recently. So who could be waiting alone in the snow after someone dear to him was gone? That’s right, Romeo. This is right when the DLC told me, this is not about Carlo, it’s about Romeo longing for Carlo.

The singer mentions repeatedly that he will wait for this someone even if his heart aches.

There’s also a line that says, “Time to meet you now”, and this might just be a more far fetched speculation, but maybe it ties to the moment Romeo was dying. There was snow the day that happened. He was kept in under the night sky by Arlecchino, so I think the snowflakes falling were bringing him comfort as he remembered Carlo and thought he would finally meet him again.

In general I feel the song has a very romantic tone. Of course it could be interpreted as just someone very close, but c’mon: “Listen my heart, I will wait for you.” Like my heart? Romeo was down bad for Carlo.

But even if you do not buy into the Carmeo agenda, Romeo loved Carlo incredibly much and suffered a lot with his death

So I might be wrong about a lot of things in here, but this all really clicked for me that this song was meant for the two of them. I left this theory incomplete back in 2024 and it only took me for the DLC to be released to finally publish it! Anyway, I’m interested to know your thoughts on this! (And sorry if something doesn't makes sense, my mind was kinda scattered today :p )

[veganpeachpie]

I just finished Sunrise on the Reaping, and I am rather surprised to find I was a little disappointed.

(spoilers ahead)

In no particular order, here are my problems with the book:

I honestly could not bring myself to care about Lenore Dove at all. Maybe it was just the lack of page time for her, but her and Haymitch's relationship felt really superficial and I found it hard to see why he feels she is the love of his life. It made sense as a teen fling, but I think it should have been deeper for me to feel the stakes of this world. Haymitch was constantly talking about her being the love of his life but never gave much substance for me to understand why they were good together. She also seems like Lucy Gray 2.0, which I was not a fan of. I get that they're both in the Covey and grew up in that same culture, but I wish she had more personality traits other than Musical Rebel Girl Who Loves Birds.

I also kind of hated the term "Newcomers," and I cringed a little every time they used that term for the group. It didn't really feel accurate to what they were (I'd say they were more underdogs than newcomers), and the term was way to peppy for the Hunger Games. I thought the other names they threw out were much more accurate to their position (Dark Horses would have been such a cool title), but "Newcomers" was very much forced down the throats of the readers.

CAMEOS. Now I'm in favor of a good cameo when done tastefully, but the first few chapters in particular were soaked with them in a way that felt like fan service. Haymitch is Katniss' dad's best friend! There's Katniss' mother! Lenore Dove is related to Lucy Gray! Plutarch, an important guy from an influential family, is on camera duty for District 12 for some reason? I suppose it made sense that Katniss' parents and Lucy Gray's relatives would be there, but the fact that Haymitch knew all of them and ran into everyone on reaping day just felt forced. I did like Mags and Wiress' appearances because they explained who mentored the tributes without victors from their districts and how Haymitch became connected with the rebellion in the first place, but the others were unnecessary and were distractions from the main plot.

President Snow was so sloppy and showed too much weakness. In the original trilogy, everything he did was calm, calculated, and secretive, but here he exposed so much weakness to other people. One scene in particular was in Plutarch's house, where Snow was suffering from poison and allowed Haymitch to see him in that state, as well as the fact that he asked Haymitch for the milk from the fridge. I understand an interpretation of this scene is showing Snow's power and how even those who hate Snow and the games wouldn't kill Snow in that moment of weakness, but it was still a sloppy-looking move on his part. I also hated how Lucy Gray's performance was shown to Haymitch at the end when he was in the apartment. Weren't the 10th games erased from memory? Why was he pulling that footage out to show to Haymitch of all people?

Why did the games feel so easy? In the original trilogy, Katniss was constantly rationing, hunting, and gathering, and I thought Haymitch would have a harder time in the arena because he was limited to the food in his backpack. But, particularly in the first part before Ampert's death, he was eating food constantly, seemingly without fear of running out? And then every time he was running low, a pack would be found or a parachute would show up with an abundance of supplies? He was never really starving or struggling like Katniss and Peeta did, and only mentioned hunger once, if I recall correctly. Everything fell into his lap without much effort, including the tools needed for the rebellion attempt, which I will get to next.

Haymitch appeared to have zero regard or concern for his family and Lenore Dove (love of his life and bestest most perfect person who ever lived, in case you forgot) throughout the entirety of the games. I guess perhaps he was banking on not winning, but he was behaving extremely recklessly for someone with family who could be punished for his actions regardless. It's not even as though he wasn't aware that that was something the Capitol did, as he had talked with Beetee and was fully aware that was the reason for Ampert's reaping.

[orgasmic-rock]

The way people are just... genuinely perplexed when someone prefers Draco over Harry will never make sense to me. Like... do these people get how the human brain works? What makes it tick? Do they even go here?

(I'm not gonna talk about Ron because I've put enough effort into this and I just don't care about him like that)

So moving on, of course many people will be drawn to Draco over Harry. Personally I find Draco to be a much more sympathetic and therefore compelling character than Harry. Draco always faces consequences for his actions (sometimes unfairly so). He keeps getting beat up by others but always comes right back up. He tries. He makes mistakes, he fucks up, he has faults, sometimes he has moments where he's weak or vulnerable. The narrative is built against him and it's funny that JKR keeps showing him in a light that she thinks will make him unlikable while in reality it has the opposite effect because it humanises him. Truly, that woman's brain seems to be wired ass-backwards when it comes to, well, everything. Ultimately, Draco goes through heavy trauma and comes out a changed man, and isn't that attractive all on its own? For a human and a fictional character.

Now Harry on the other hand, has narrative protection. He's the ultimate Good Guy ™, the Chosen One, the Protagonist, JKR's self-insert. He gets to have his cake and eat it too. He never has to change in a major way because apparently he doesn't need to; it's the others who are at fault and have to come around to his own way of thinking and doing things. When he's majorly wrong about something, there's a disclaimer, a little loophole. The narrative never paints him as weak or vulnerable which I feel puts up a wall between him and the reader. Even though he goes through some heavily traumatic stuff for a very long period of time, I can't seem to find it in me to care that much other than intellectually recognising that yes, that boy has gone through horrific abuse his whole life. Basically he loses humanising points, so it's hard to relate to him in that most intrinsic way. Sometimes the narration gets so preachy when it comes to him and certain other characters that back when I read the books it completely took me out of the story (though you can certainly apply watsonian logic to this).

tl;dr: Draco is relatable, Harry isn't.

So anyway, yeah, I wonder why that Draco character is so appealing to so many people 🧐

Now I'd go on a rant about the second part of your post (because I agree with it obviously) but trying to put my thoughts in some semblance of order has wiped me out so I'll just add that I recently found your blog and I just keep nodding along to so many of the things you write. It's always a pleasure to find other like-minded people around. See ya!

I can't believe that in 2025, I still see posts questioning why Draco is more popular than Ron or Harry. If they're so against his growing popularity, instead of blaming the people who like him, why not blame jkr for giving him his own arc instead of keeping him as a minor character whose only purpose is to get in Harry's way?

At this point, it feels like these people only hate Draco because of his growing popularity, and most of it comes from envy that their favorite character didn’t achieve the same level of fame. It's funny how the ones who hate Draco end up acting just like him in the first five books.

The worst part is that some people who call themselves Drarry fans agree with this mindset because, in their eyes, Draco will always be beneath Harry, and they will never be equals. To them, Harry is someone unreachable for Draco, and it's only because of Harry's kindness that he "accepts" Draco as his partner.

And with Draco's growing popularity, there will inevitably be people who favor him over Harry, which they cannot accept. So, they keep bringing up all the bad things he did as a child while purposely ignoring the fact that canon clearly shows Draco has moved past that phase and is no longer the same person he was back then.

[inquisitor-apologist]

Ok Kalluzeb mutuals don’t crucify me but. Does anyone else kind of wish Rebels had stuck with the original plan and kept Kallus as Zeb’s nemesis?

It’s pretty clear in season 1 and early season 2 that Kallus was not being set up for a redemption arc, and that he was supposed to be Zeb’s foil and main antagonist. He’s the antagonist in both Droids in Distress and Legends of the Lasat (the two main pre-Honorable Ones episodes that focus on Zeb), and he unambiguously takes credit for the Lasat genocide early on.

Obviously that was retconned in The Honorable Ones, but let’s be clear, that was a retcon. Kallus literally smiles proudly when Tua says she ‘hadn’t thought there were any Lasat left’ and says “a few, Minister. Only a few.” He then proceeds to do his absolute best to kill Zeb, with the implication being that he wants to kill off the last of the Lasat (see: him yelling ‘Lasat! Face me!’ to challenge Zeb, and smiling when he raises the Bo-rifle to kill Zeb). During the fight, Kallus laughs maniacally as he brags about removing his from a Guardsman’s corpse and brags about being part of the genocide on Lasan.

There’s no remorse or implication that he might be lying at all in either episode. You’d think that a Kallus as wracked by guilt over Lasan as he presents himself in and after The Honorable Ones might show at least a little hesitation over targeting a ship carrying the last three known Lasat in the galaxy, but he doesn’t seem to care at all.

There’s also several other points in the early show where he’s presented as a heartless villain not related to the Lasat, like burning Tarkintown on Vader’s orders in The Siege of Lothal, but the point is that Kallus was set up to be Zeb’s main antagonist for the series (like how the Saxons were Sabine’s antagonists in seasons 3 and 4). His persecution of the Lasat drove Zeb’s character development and arc throughout the early show, and it definitely seemed like that was supposed to continue.

After Legends of the Lasat, Zeb had reclaimed his identity as a leader of his people, and promised to protect other survivors and lead them to Lira San. This feels like it was setting up an arc for Zeb where he comes into his own as a leader of the Lasat again, which would’ve naturally concluded with a confrontation against Kallus, who at this point is presented as largely responsible for the Lasats’ oppression. The end of Droids in Distress feels like it’s the setup for a later Zeb episode, where Zeb, having gone through a full arc, challenges and defeats Kallus, probably with the help of the new Bo-rifle skills he picked up in Legends of the Lasat.

Instead, three episodes later, we get The Honorable Ones (which I do like), where Kallus’s backstory is completely retconned and he’s clearly set up for redemption. Once Kallus is on the path to become Fulcrum, all the setup for Zeb’s arc is basically tossed away: he never gets a chance at an actual rematch with Kallus, he never leads more Lasat to Lira San, and he never uses the ancient Bo-rifle techniques he learned again.

This is pretty obviously because of Kallus’s redemption; with Kallus redeemed, he’s not persecuting more Lasat for Zeb to rescue, there’s no reason for him and Zeb to have their rematch, and since there’s no villains with a Bo-rifle, Zen never gets the chance to use his new skills.

Without Kallus as a villain, Zeb’s arc kinda falls apart and the writers didn’t do anything to salvage it. He has a few more focus episodes, but they don’t really contribute to any overall story and his character doesn’t develop meaningfully after Legends of the Lasat. He’s relegated to the background, which is really sad for a very interesting character who was supposed to be part of the main cast!

I do like Kallus’s redemption; it’s undeniable that the retcon made him a better, more interesting character, and I like the relationship he builds with Zeb after it. However, his character growth came at the cost of Zeb’s, and I would’ve preferred to have seen Zeb’s full arc.