#you are killing them by continuing to watch

[lyrille0-0]

Medical Prodigy: Chapter One

Synopsis: In which a young medical genius gets kidnapped and somehow becomes a doctor for Gotham's most dangerous villains

Pairing: Yan!Platonic!Batfam x Neglected!Underground Doctor!F!Reader, Yan!Gotham Villains x Doctor!F!Reader

Warnings/Reminders: Fem Reader, child neglect, mentions of violence, language, Batfam being delulu, gore (minor surgery/mentions of harvesting organs), bad writing (😔), Reader is around 18-19 years old in the current timeline

Chapter Guide: Prologue, Chapter One

“Bite this.”

“What?”

I sighed and forced myself to not roll my eyes at the stupidity of this man. “Bite the damn rag. This is gonna hurt.”

I watched as he bit the rag and I took out the tweezers, carefully digging them into his wound. The man whimpered in pain and squirmed in his seat. I glared at him, as if telling him to stay still before continuing to take the bullet out of his shoulder.

I finally got it out and placed the shell on the table next to me, creating a soft clang. The man took a deep breath and leaned back against the head rest. 

“Damn, Doc…it really hurts. Could you hold my ha-”

“When you’re clean of multiple unspeakable diseases, then we could talk.” I cut him off, stitching his wound. He grimaced, both in disappointment and in pain. I cut off the thread and patched it up with a bandage, finishing just in time for Silas to arrive. The man put his shirt back and left my clinic, but not before sending me a wink and leaving some cash.

“Poor guy.” Silas said, his usual smirk on his face. I took off my gloves and threw them out, stepping out of the operating room.

Well, it wasn’t much of an operating room. Just a big enough space for me to treat my patients and to keep my equipment. Silas followed behind me, watching me count the money before putting it away.

“What do you want, old man?” I asked and sprawled myself on the couch, exhaustion taking over my body. Silas shrugged and leaned against the arm rest.

“Can’t I just check up on you?” I let my eyes turn towards him with a raised brow, calling him out on his bullshit. He laughed and shook his head.

“You know me so well, don’t you?”

Of course I did. Silas Dean was, in no means, a predictable man. But I’ve spent the last three years knowing him, reading him ever since he saved me and took me in as his student.

THREE YEARS AGO..

I woke up with a sharp pain in my head, the ache clawing inside. My first thought was that it was dark.

I was blindfolded. A pang of dread hit me and my gut twisted uncomfortably. My body stilled once I heard several footsteps and voices.

“We made a deal! She’s just a kid!” A gruff voice yelled.

“What would you have me do? We can’t let her go! What if she tells on us, huh? You’ll be dragged down with us too.” A younger voice spoke this time.

“A deal is a deal. You promised to only bring dead beat criminals, not an innocent kid. I can deal with the others but we’re not killing a kid.”

The younger man sighed in frustration before letting out a reluctant ‘fine’, his footsteps disappearing. I suddenly felt someone’s hands on the back of my head, undoing my blindfold. I was met with the sight of an old man looking down at me in pity.

“What’s your name, girl?” He asked, examining me curiously.

I hesitated before uttering my name in a whisper, my voice hoarse and dry. “(name).” 

He nodded and went to grab a glass of water. He raised the glass to my lips, helping me drink. He placed it down the ground and undid the ropes. I stretched my arms and wiped my lips before turning to him, examining his clothes.

“...You’re a doctor.” 

He raised a brow and nodded, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Well.. a former doctor. Now I-” 

“Kidnap petty thieves and take their organs?” I cut him off, tilting my head and looked at the box filled with organs still laying on the ground

His eyes narrowed at my words and stood up. 

“It was a mistake, bringing you here. But I'm sure you understand that we can’t just let you go, correct? If you promise-” He stopped when I got up, my legs wobbling slightly. I ignored him when he tried to grab me and opened the box, carefully examining the kidney.

“These were precisely cut. Was the patient alive when you took it out? It’s a bit smaller than normal. I’m guessing you performed a partial nephrectomy first which explains the fibrosis. Incredible work. You must’ve been a good surgeon.”

“I..I-what?” He looks at me, dumbfounded. For a good reason, I suppose. Not everyone meets a teenager who would compliment someone’s organ harvesting skills after getting kidnapped.

Then he lets out a chuckle in disbelief, now seeing me in a different light.

“You’re not just some kid, are you?”

PRESENT TIME..

“You were a weird kid.” Silas commented, pouring himself a glass of whiskey he grabbed from the cabinet.

“I was unique. A genius.” I corrected. He let out a soft laugh and sat himself across from me.

“Semantics.” I scoffed at his response and grabbed the glass that he offered me, taking a swig.

“Will you finally tell me what you’re here for?” I asked before he handed me a thick envelope. I quirk a brow and opened it. Cash. A whole stack of it.

“Scarecrow was impressed with your work and decided to give a very generous ‘Thank you’.”

“Well, tell him I appreciate it.” I hid the cash with the rest of my earnings, locking it away. Silas looks at me with an unreadable expression before taking a deep breath.

“He wants you. You and your skills-”

“No. I don’t work for anyone. At least, not long-term.” Working with any of the villains stalking around and terrorizing Gotham gives you a big target on your head. Mostly for information. Some use you as ransom or a declaration of war. Either way, it’s not something I would want to be involved in, let alone work for Scarecrow.

“I know I know..you work alone. But just think about it, (name). The benefits. You’d be protected and you’ll have the opportunity to experiment on whatever you want. You’d be-”

“Safe? I’d be in far more danger with him and his goons, you know that right? I’m sure you do. Look how it ended for you. You almost died! Because of a small mistake!”

His eyes darkened at my words and his body tensed up. “That was different.”

I laughed, mocking and bitter. “Different? Just admit it. You don’t think I could handle myself. You think that someday, you’d find me dead in some ditch because of this stupid-”

“I do! Okay!? I do, because I care. Because I took care of you for the last three years that you’re..” He hesitated. 

“You’re like a daughter to me.” He confessed, looking everywhere except me. He took a few steps forward and held my shoulders.

“Just..please promise me you’ll think about it. Or that you’ll stay safe. Hm?” He pleaded. I pursed my lips in thought before giving him a reluctant nod.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Master Bruce?”

Alfred’s call snapped him out of his trance. Bruce took a deep breath and ran both his hands through his dark locks. He looked at his reflection, dark bags under his eyes and wrinkles already forming. He was a shell of what Bruce Wayne once was.

“Come in, Alfred.” The butler stepped inside, holding a tray of tea. He placed it on Bruce’s desk and poured him a cup.

“You’ve been here for a while now, Master Bruce. Don’t you think you should perhaps..take a break?”

“Crime doesn’t rest, nor will I.” Bruce sighed and focused his attention on the computer, waiting for any updates. Alfred gave him a knowing look and took a small sip of the tea, letting out a quiet hum.

“Is this about Miss (na-”

“Don’t.” Bruce warned. It’s been three years since your disappearance and the family has been in shambles since. Especially when Jason came back and found out.

Alfred didn’t say anything and nodded. “Of course. Forgive me for overstepping. I shall prepare Master Dick’s room. He’ll be arriving later.”

Bruce heard the door close once Alfred left and he slumped against his office chair, a hint of weariness visible on his face.

Your birth was unexpected. Sudden yet..a blessing. Bruce couldn’t believe it at first. A daughter? He barely took care of himself and his relationship with Dick was getting strained. He wouldn’t admit it himself but he was scared. Scared for you. 

So once the tests confirmed that it was true, he did what he did best. He pushed you away. For you to live a life away from the dangers he faced. He was protecting you, he tried to convince himself. But with Alfred’s disappointed gaze burning a hole into his head whenever he brushed you off, he knew he was only a coward.

When you went missing, he was slapped with the reality of what he did. His daughter. His precious. When was the last time he talked to you or even spent time with you? How many birthdays did he miss? All of them. 

He stalked Gotham after dark, pent up with rage and seeking vengeance. Anger at himself and whoever took you from him. Every criminal he faces, he looks for you, as if punching the hell out of them would bring you back into his arms.

Every night for the past three years, he would come home, disappointed. He would sit inside his study and brood as he looked outside the vast window. And every time, he promised to himself.

Once you’re home, things will be different. He’d show you he changed.

They changed.

You’ll want for nothing. A new wardrobe? You’ll have a whole new walk-in closet filled with designer shit. State of the art medical equipment? He’ll give you a hospital. And he’ll even hire the best mentors and healthcare workers for you. Anything for his little genius, right?

Dick Grayson walked the halls of the Wayne Manor, passing by several portraits of past Waynes.

It’s been a while since he came back here. Not after you-no. Dick shook his head, ridding away the negative thoughts already forming. He smiled when Alfred came into view, the butler standing in front of his old room.

“Hey Alf! Thanks for cleaning my room.”

Alfred gave him a nod and opened the door for him. “You are most welcome, Master Dick. Shall I draw you a ba-” Dick interrupted him, raising his hand.

“It’s alright, Alfred. I’ll just leave my things and head to the other wing..” Dick’s voice fell quiet once he said the last part. Alfred looked at him, understanding what he meant. 

“I understand, I shall take your luggage then. I have cleaned her room to avoid any molds from forming but mostly left it as it is.” Dick sent him a grateful nod before walking off to the other side of the manor.

Dick made it a habit to go to your room whenever he was in the manor. Maybe it was guilt that pulled him toward it. And longing. Longing to learn more about the sister he had ignored. Unintentionally, he told himself as if it was going to make everything seem better.

Dick remembers the day he first saw you.

You were still a baby, sleeping peacefully in your bassinet. He remembers how cute you were with your pink onesie and chubby cheeks. He remembers the feeling of each of your stubby fingers wrapping around his. He remembers how you gazed at him with those large doe eyes, filled with so much innocence that he felt dirty for even breathing near you.

But that small joyful moment was short-lived. Dick was eight and recently orphaned. That large gash in his heart was still fresh. His desire for vengeance and to avenge his parents was strong. He thought you’d be fine. Alfred was there with you, after all. He didn’t know.

Now, they’re all paying the price.

Your room was the same as you left it. Messy but it gave him the chance to read you, to look into what reflects your deepest self. Which is why Bruce told Alfred to not change anything. It was what all they had left of you and they’d be damned if they can’t even have that.

Dick sat on the bed, making a creaking sound. Your bed was small. He’ll remind Bruce to order you a new one once you’re back. Maybe one big enough to fit everyone for every movie night or game night. You’ll never be alone again, he’ll make sure of that. As your big brother, it’s the least he could do after everything.

He looked through the box of your journals, feeling the need to read it again. To feel close to you. He furrowed his brows once he realized several of them were missing.

“Looking for these?” Dick turned around and saw Damian leaning against the door frame, holding your journals and a few papers that contained your research on different diseases.

“Why do you have those?” He couldn’t help but ask. Damian could care less about anything related to you. Not only has he not met you, he thought of you as weak once he heard what happened to you. They had to hold him and Jason back from killing each other.

“Can I not learn anything about my only blood sibling?”

“Well, you kind of-”

“Whatever, Grayson. I’ve no time for you. I’m keeping these. And the others as well.” Dick’s eyes widened and he immediately grabbed the rest of the remaining journals, holding it close to his chest like it was priceless treasure.

“No way! You can’t keep those for yourself! I had them first!”

Damian rolled his eyes, finding his reaction irritable. “She’s my blood sister. Mine. I have rights to those.” 

“She was my sister even before you were born! Why the sudden interest, huh? Give them ba-”

“No.” Damian stubbornly refused.

“And from what I heard, you barely treated her like one, Grayson. Why now you call her your sister? Is it because you feel guilty? Pathetic. You, Father and even Drake. At least Todd had the decency to hunt her kidnapper down and kill him.”

Dick didn’t speak, his words hitting him hard. Damian scoffed and turned to leave, holding your annotated books and journals.

“Once I'm done learning her, I’ll do what none of you can’t. I’ll find her and drag her back here. Where she belongs.” Damian left the room, his words repeating inside Dick’s head like a sick mantra.

He was right. But he changed. He was the Dick Grayson. Boy Wonder, the first Robin. Everyone looked up to him, even Jason at one point. Even you. He was everyone’s big brother and while he wasn’t much to you at first, he will be. You’re his little sister. His baby bird.

a/n: Finally finished! I honestly had fun writing this chapter and im also happy and thankful for all of you reading this. I was supposed to add scenes w Tim, Babs, Steph, Cass and Jason in this chapter but decided not to so i'll have scenes to write in the next. Im not sure if i did their characters right so it might be a little ooc. still, i hope u all enjoy and have a nice day<3

Taglist: @shinning-stars ; @spiced-apple ; @yvanill4 ; @inayouboo ; @shqyou ; @lunar-celestial-artist ; @1abi ; @starsandshht ; @mentallyilldarling

[rainymitskicain]

Thought I Lost You

Pairing: Clark Kent x gn!reader

Summary: Ever since a photo of you and Superman kissing was leaked and went viral, you have tried to keep a low profile. Never going public about your meta-human abilities or telling anyone besides Clark. While he uses his abilities to be Superman, your abilities come in handy at the end of the fight to heal him. When you get taken by Luthor, you start to understand the consequences of that picture.

(You can heal yourself and others, but you aren't aware of how far your powers can go! And healing still drains you! kinda like wolverines healing but slower and more painful!)

Warning: Slight spoilers for Superman 2025, hurt/comfort, seizure, temporary main character death, angst, reader has regenerative powers, kidnapping, Lex Luthor

Word Count: 1k

Oh, how you wish you had super strength instead of regenerative powers. Something that would actually get you out of this predicament you find yourself in. Strapped to a chair, Lex Luthor on your left with a revolver in hand, ready to play some fucked up Russian roulette, and Clark, weakened by Kryptonite, held in a cell, unable to do anything but watch.

You remember being in your downtown Metropolis apartment, watching the news, about Clark’s, or rather Superman’s secret harem, an explosive thud in your apartment, and then black. Nothing. Until now.

“Now, let’s get this game started, shall we? I ask you, Superman, who are you?” Luthor speaks, lifting the loaded revolver to your head.

“Luthor, please, don’t. They have nothing to do with this.”

Clark

He’s in some floating glass cell, lying on the ground in pain, face swollen, wrinkled, with black lines across his face.

“Cl- Kal-El! Kal-El, are you okay?” you corrected yourself, the pain you feel seeing him like this almost causing you to slip. You feel the cold barrel of a revolver press against your forehead harder, and a click, safety off.

"Now I'm not asking again, who are you?"

Clark groans in agony. “I told you I'm Kal-El, that’s my name,” he huffs, it taking him all of his strength to speak.

“Don’t say anything, Kal-El.”

The gun goes off, you brace for impact, but nothing happens.

Clark cries out, relief that the chamber was empty, but fear that the other wouldn’t be.

You stare into Clark’s eyes, trying to convey so many emotions at once, but mainly to say

It’s okay, I love you.

Trying to remind him that you can survive this. You hope. You’ve never been severely wounded before.

You both know that a bullet to the head might be too much for your powers to handle. But you needed to let him know, just in case.

“Superman, it's okay. Kal-El, it's ok, I’ll be fine, remember.”

"Who raised you, Superman?!"

Clark continues his pleas, “Luthor, they have nothing to do with this, pleas-”

“It’s ok, I love yo-”

Game over.

The revolver snaps back as it goes off, a snap so loud it's silencing.

Your body rocks to the side, the blunt force causing the chair you're attached to to start to wobble.

The air is still, shock coursing through Clark, not believing the sight in front of him. You’re dead, you’re dead.

You. Are. Dead.

Clark let out an agonizing scream, nearly animalistic. Like someone reached into his chest and tore his heart out for all to see, because that’s what happened.

You were his heart, his solace, the one thing that made everything make sense. His scream shakes the cell he’s in, Luthor's unfazed, a look of disappointment on his face.

“Hm, I didn’t think it’d go by so fast. I was hoping to get some more questions in. No matter! I'll just put your precious dead lover in the cell next to you so you can think over the consequences of your actions. Maybe looking at their corpse for the next few hours will be motivation enough. Anyway, I’m off. I’ll find another person you care about and kill them, too. Maybe that Clark Kent you constantly interview with.”

Clark doesn’t pay any mind to his words; his focus is on you. He doesn't know if you can come back from this. Your lifeless body hangs off the chair, blood dripping from the side of your scalp, chest not moving.

He knows you might come back, but that doesn't stop the voice in his head from telling him they're gone, and it’s your fault.

As Luthor leaves, your body is removed from the chair and placed in the cell next to Clark’s, unmoving, just lying there, dead.

Clark puts his hands on the glass separating you two as he continues to sob, repeating like a chant, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” as if he said it enough, you’d be brought back to him.

After what feels like hours to Clark, he suddenly feels the slightest twitch of movement coming from your cell, a sound, a beat. It was almost completely unnoticeable to anyone else, but Clark wasn’t anyone else; his super hearing meant he felt the slightest shift in the air from your energy.

Your fingers twitched, just one, then your hand, suddenly your whole body is convulsing, like you’re having a seizure, a violent one.

Clark flinches at the sight.

You answer his prayers with a groan, “That… that really hurt”. You turned your body towards the glass wall to your left, catching Clark's eyes, more swollen than when you last saw him, and rimmed red. You felt your heart break at the pain you must’ve caused him

“Told you… I'd be… back,” you try to smile as you wince, still catching your breath. Coming back to life after being dead for over an hour was very taxing on the body, it seems. Your powers were working hard to repair the damage done to your brain, your skull. Regenerating brain matter isn’t an easy feat.

Clark tries to laugh, feeling relieved, but still struggling through the grief he was experiencing not even a minute ago, “You’re really back, I thought, I thought I’d lost you, for good.”

You reached out to touch the glass separating you two, meeting his hand, “You’re never losing me.”

You both smile, your strength coming back to you as you turn to Metamorpho, who has been watching your interaction this whole time. Shock evident on his face at your resurrection, tear stains around his eyes, “How-how, you-what”

You gave him a small smirk before nodding your head towards the kryptonite that seems to be where his hand should be. “You think you can turn that off now? I’d like to get out of here only dying once today.”

Metamorpho looks at you and Clark before nodding his head.

Oh, you were going to make Lex Luthor pay.

A/N: First Clark Kent Fic! Sorry is the ending is too rushed! I tried to keep it as gender neutral as possible, hope y'all like it!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! Love ya!

Please do not copy or repost. Love and thank you all!

[hufflezki]

“I like me better” — after escaping lex luthor's pocket universe, you take an injured superman back to his childhood home, hoping to help him get back on his feet. but when he wakes up the next morning, there's only one presence that he longs for, and its yours.

-> clark kent x gn!reader, childhood friends turned lovers ( we all saw it coming, let's not lie. ), established relationship ( they are a couple yes, yes ), hurt/comfort, then fluff, clark is having some identity crisis, also him overthinking, reader being his anchor, reader used to live in smallville, reader knows that clark is superman, some grammatical errors ( but I proofread dw! ), word count: 1,281

[ 📀༉‧₊˚. ] — i like me better by lauv

Everything felt like too much.

Clark’s whole body, taken over by the Kryptonite poison, collapsed when he met the soft mattress of his old bed. He could smell the familiar scent of wood, old and nostalgic. Taking him back to when he was still a young boy living with his parents. When life was just about helping on the farm, and looking forward to his Ma’s home-cooked meals. But Clark’s mind was clouded, unable to indulge in those old memories. As the reality remained heavy on his shoulders, embedded in his mind.

“I was sent here to rule over..” He uttered, breathless, as you helped him settle down. His Ma responded to him, staring at her son with a worried and panicked gaze. Clark was sweating all over, his body desperate to cool him down. “They sent me here to kill people..” He continued, until his exhaustion finally caught up to him and he fell into slumber. You stood back, watching by the side as his parents huddled over him, and giving them time to let everything sink in. You’ve told them what happened, that was the first thing you did when you arrived, in your own frantic way. His Pa seemed to understand it all despite your words stumbling here and there.

You were on edge, just as they were.

Sleep was a lot kinder to Clark.

It was silent, comforting, but a little unworldly. He was in his body, well and all, like the prior events didn't just happen. He saw the farm in front of him, a vast horizon of greenery. Another familiar sight. Clark didn’t feel any pain, and he didn’t wince when a sharp and cold breeze passed by. Instead, he felt something else in his chest. Almost like tranquility. Then came your voice, the lovely sound making him turn. You step outside, holding a cup of hot chocolate. He could smell its sweetness, although faint. As you hand him his cup, he watches you sit down next to him, his eyes tracing your features.

He was in heaven. He must be.

But the thought quickly leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, washing it down as he takes a sip of his hot chocolate, which tasted exactly like how you make it. Sweet. If this was heaven, then that would mean that you were just a figment of his own mind. Conjuring up his best memories, taunting him with the doom that he might not make new ones with you. But he shook it off. This was just him getting in his own mind again.

This was a dream. A nice one. A beautiful one.

When he wakes up he’d see you again. That face who’s been with him since he was just a boy. You who’d seen him in his worst days, loved him even when he felt like an outcast to the world, and showed him that he was still as human as everyone else. Because he was authentically himself.

“You look like you have a lot in your mind, Clark.” He felt your hands brush against his dark curls from behind, the feeling akin to when he finally lays down after a long and hard day.

“I do. But I’ll tell you everything later.” He responds, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles, softly.

“Alright, then I’ll be waiting.”

“You always do.”

Krypto’s laying down on Clark’s chest, his ears perk up when he notices the first few signs of his eyes blinking open. You’re sitting on the chair by his desk, looking around his old room and waiting for him to wake up. You don't exactly know how long it’s been, but you’ve been unable to sleep since Clark did. Now, the sun has risen, you’ve opened the curtains just a bit wider to let the light in. And suddenly Krypto, who’s been quiet and still laying on his chest, shoots up and starts licking Clark’s face.

Your heart skips a beat. It’s just like that night when he first snuck into your room, back when you were teens, all wounded after a fight. But instead of heading straight home and getting patched up by his Ma, Clark headed straight to you.

He says your name, groggy from hours of sleep. It snaps you back into reality. And you approach him, carefully, as if he’d disappear if you didn't. The mattress dips as you sit down beside him, Krypto rushed out of the room, probably to fetch Clark’s parents—or to at least catch their attention. But right now, all he wanted to see was you.

“I had a dream.” His lips stretch into a small smile, as his hand finds yours down on the bed. You squeeze it, pulling it up to your lips to kiss. “Yeah? Wanna tell me about it?” You sound like you’re trying to keep yourself from being emotional and Clark notices. He responds by giving your hand a firm squeeze back. “You were there. You made me hot chocolate.” It sounds silly now that he’s saying it out loud, but the way your face softens—like you’re just happy that he’s talking to you again, makes Clark’s heart ache.

You really did love him. And he loves you too. It’s too much, but in a way where it spills out of his chest and makes him feel warm and embraced. In a way where he’s not afraid to be vulnerable with you. Because he knows you care deeply about him. In a way where he wants to do good despite being in a world that takes advantage of it. Because you’ve been nothing but kind to him, even before he was the Superman that everyone knows and loves.

And, maybe, this was the whole point.

Clark groans as he lifts himself up on his elbows, trying to sit. And you quickly help him up. “Sounds like you had a nice dream.” You quip, trying to keep it light-hearted. It works, though, as Clark gives you a grin. “Its always nice when you’re in it.” He flirts and you’re taken aback that the only reaction you can give is to roll your eyes. “Okay, Mr. Smooth Talker.” He chuckles. But then he reaches for your face, thumb brushing across your cheek. You lean into his palm, melting under his gaze.

“I realized some things before we arrived here..” You hum, cupping the back of his hand with yours.

“My parents—my biological ones—had a different motive for me..” You watch his eyes flicker down, before back at you, processing his emotions.

“I don't know.. It’s a hard pill to swallow. I mean, all my life I’ve watched that over and over again, thinking that this is exactly what they wanted for me. I just..” He sighs, you remove his hand from your face and intertwine it with yours once again.

“Listen, Clark. Whatever your parents wanted for you, has nothing to do with who you are now. This is who you chose to be. And I think that’s what matters the most.” Your words are earnest and genuine, just like how you’ve been with Clark ever since. And he takes them to the heart, cherishing them and never taking them for granted.

“You’re a great person. Because you have a heart and you listen to it. Even with the risks that come with it. But you know what? That’s what also makes you human. Just like the rest of us.”

In that moment, Clark was sure that he'd made the right decision to follow his heart, to care, to make mistakes—and learn from them. And most importantly, to love you.

marvel & dc masterlist ꩜ .ᐟ

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

I would just like to say that I loved reading the Yandere Concubine story! However I am a bit curious as to what it would be like if reader started to try to slowly distance herself from him after the incident? Perhaps she no longer accept any gifts that he gives her, and if she does then she either throws them away... or gives them to other servant girls, as she is too afraid of him to potentially accept any sort of kind act from him. Anytime he tries to display his affection on her she tenses up in fear... and any attempts at him trying to beautify her are met with rejection, as she feels that with the scar on her face, no matter what she does she could never be beautiful again.

Giving you all the kisses, anon oooooo I adore this.

He wouldn't be angry. He's only angry with you when you're doing something that could be dangerous, like if you were to refuse food. But if he was to discover that you gifted away his presents to others, he'd be calm, rationalising it as you being too kind for your own good rather than ungrateful.

He'd only make sure you don't faint as you watch your fellow servant be caned for "stealing" from his property. And when you shake and beg him to end the punishment that you gave it freely, he simply smiles, saying how it was not yours to give nor hers to accept. He doesn't need to lay a finger on you to punish you for not valuing his gifts.

And if reader was to withdraw and refuse his affections, he would only continue. He is not above holding you down until you stop thrashing until you become limp and pliant to his grip. To him, this is gentleness, but you can not expect him to stop fighting for the only thing he can call his. It's why he coddles you so intensely, sharing all that is his and looking after you as best he can.

The scar puckering your cheek gets shown all this intensity , he knows you don't find yourself beautiful, and he knows no one else will ever find you beautiful as well. And that is fine by him because all you need is him. He will remind you when you pull away from the late night rituals the two of you once shared. That because of him and his blade, you will be safe from the emperor's lecherous gaze that no other man would harm you if they found your face too repulsive. He affirms that no one will ever call her beautiful again, no one but him.

It doesn't matter how hard you pull away. He would rather kill you than let go of you

[ttheggrimrreaper]

Two is Always Better than One

Kpop demon hunters x demon idol fem!reader This fic might have smut, Might have Rujinu, miroabby, zoestry, might have smut, I dont know yet, all I know is that y/n is here to cause problems for both huntrix and the saja boys. This chapter has none of the above, but i still dont know for future ones Lyrics from “Love Me Like This” by NMIXX. All rights belong to the original artists and creators. No copyright infringement intended.

"Why settle for  one..”You smirked. pressing a claw to your cheek as you stared into the fire. The demon king, Gwi-ma. “When you can have two?” You hummed softly. "You can guarantee more souls, more power, and a solid back up plan should the saja boys fail, which they will, they are nothing more than little boys playing war.”

"Yet so far I have gotten what I wanted. What more do you have to offer?" Gwi-ma pressed. The amused tone of his ever present.

Your smile widened, white teeth glowing against the kings  fire. "Well, Female groups are more popular world wide, and heavily criticized, While that may sound negative, in order to criticize, you must watch the content, which gives us even more popularity. So more in person events, more opportunities to steal souls." You hummed, hips swaying softly.

"Youve come prepared Y/n. I am impressed." He chuckled,the fire shaking with movement. then he voice dropped low once again. "What do you want?"

"For my and my girls to go to the human realm, as humans, and continue to live as kpop idols, even after huntrix is dead”

"Granted. Now show me 'your girls'" He approved of your request, you giggled, whistling, a blur flew up the stairs. Three other demons appeared, with an equally pleased and cocky look on their faces as your own. 

"hm... very well. But, should Jinu and his group kill the hunters first, you are bound to the demon realm just like any other" You frowned. Huh, so hes making it a game. You held back the chuckle that bubbled in your throat. Jinu, was the least of your worries. 

"Of course" You agreed, and with a bow, You and girls turned and started down the stairs.

Your group had one purpose; Win your ‘freedom’. Sure it would be a limited freedom, but still freedom. You didnt gather the first demons that offered themselves up for your group. You watched, assessed, and made sure they fit the boxes you were searching for. You hand picked the best, for both kpop idol appeal, and Idol appeal. You; a water demon. The leader and all rounder of the group. Swift, adaptable. On land you were dangerous. In the water, unstoppable. Kuroka;, your main dancer, the air or sky demon. Whichever people preferred to call them. Agile and untouchable. Her aerial strikes were unmatched. She could fight on one foot and keep her balance. Mika; the main vocalist. A demon made to be a pawn, made to be killed in the line of battle. She didnt fear death, and ran right into battle. Her voice hauntingly beautiful it made even the purest of souls falter. Lastly was Tenshiro, a demon born of shame. One look from her has a person drowning in their own shame, remembering their own flaws and reliving their mistakes. Yet, with a perfect face like hers, it made them want to keep looking at her. She was the perfect main visual.

Now, the hard part wasnt making the songs or the dances. It was letting the girls pick what they wanted to look like in their human forms. You went with your old self, before the demon blood, and gwi-mas voice in your head. They fought for a little, but eventually fell into line. Kuroka chose jet black hair that fell to her knees, curly and bouncing with every step. Eyes just as black to match. Tanned sunkissed skin.  Mika went with a blueish black wolfcut. A bold look, but she made it work with pale skin and golden hunter eyes. Tenshiro was the only one you made sure looked good. The others were fine, but you needed Tenshiro to look heavenly. Together, you built her up like a goddess, goddess curls and snowy white hair, paired with gorgeous purple eyes. It would be hard to look away from her, shame or not. Kuroka bounced down the stairs, stretching her arms over her head. “Glad to see it worked, now we just have to pick an opening song and hope all works out.” “Free concert. Thats what Jinu did and worked well, we might not the game show immediately but we can work around that.” Mika shrugged. “Just to choose where… cant do the same place.” You muttered. “I vote night time, We already know that the hunters know that the saja boys are demons, but thats because they were careless to hide their markings. At night, it could help avoid that a little.” Tenshiro hummed “Smart, I like it. Night time it is. I will find us a good place to preform. I was thinking we should do “Love Me Like This.” (by NMIXX)  You offered “Yes!! I love that one actually! Alright deal. How does tomorrow sound then?” Kuroka clapped her hands as you all walked. “Mmm…. how about tonight? I just remember a pretty popular place with an open area. Flash mob style, hows that sound?” You smirked. “Done deal.” Mika nodded, Tenshiro giggled and Kuroka cheered. Tonight, you were starting on your way, and you planned it well. Making sure that tonight, was a night the Saja boys themselves would be out, and close by, filming for a variety show.

The city buzzed with energy. You remained leaning on the light pole. Zip up hoodie covering your themed outfit. Normally you would consider this cringy, embarrassing, useless.. But not when your freedoms are on the line. The plaza was alive, but unsuspecting. You checked the time, then sent off the signal. Just you getting up from your leaning spot. Saja boys just finished recording, you can that Gwi-ma for providing that information. The four of you met in the middle and just as quick as the speakers started playing, your cover up coats were off. “Ttwineun simjang soril ttaraga, keojineun ullim oh my, oh my god~” You were already mid move, body moving in sync to the lyrics, skirt flowing along with you. The others in perfect sync with the music as well. It wasn't long before the crowd was solely focused on you. Kurokas hair flipped with the perfect amount of drama. Mikas voice was perfect and addicting, Tenshiro ensuring her face was always in view. 

“Can you see the paradise” You and Tenshiro stayed, but Kuroka and mika disappeared. The crowd seemed entertained, and distracted by you and tenshiro. Perfect. Then things started to fall even closer together. You saw one of the boys, Abby to be specific. The puzzle was coming together. Slowly the others appeared, watching you in confusion. If they knew you were demons or not, didnt matter. For the last verse, Kuroka and Mika joined back in in perfect synchronization. It was exactly as you had planned. The crowd clapping and already adoring the show. “Love me like this and I’ll love you like that~”  You pulled out the final pose, chest rising and falling with your panted breathes. Mika held up three fingers, Kuroka held up four. You and Tenshiro held up zero. The Saja boys grabbed some attention sure, but after that performance a lot of it was focused on you. “The saja boys!?!” A fan called out squealing. They walked forward, seemingly confused. “What are you doing here?” A fan yelled. You couldnt let the hunters realize you knew the saja boys, it would be easy to figure out you were demons if so. So you squealed, clapping your hands and bowing. “Oh my gosh! Saja boys!! Idol-Sama!!” You bounced forward, the others caught on quickly. Squealing like school girls and looking at the boys with nothing but admiration. “Did you like our performance!?” Kuroka grabbed Mikas arm, playing along. “Did she just say Idol-sama!?!!?” “What!? Oh my god!” Tenshiro bounced forward. The four of you bowed, fake respect, but it was good enough that the fans would be convinced you were just fans of them, not that you actually knew them.You wanted to see if they were as dumb as they looked, so as you stood up straight, you allowed your golden eyes to flash. For a quick second. Jinu was already caught off guard, but based on his eyes widened even further, you figured he got the hint. “Were so honored you saw us preform, but we have to get back to the studio to rehearse for our next live performance!"

‘WHEN!?” One of the fans yelled. Kuroka smiled as she turned to them.

“Take a look at your socials, keep a look out for SIRENE posts! We love you!! See you soon!” Kuroka blew a kiss, you and the others followed along. Waving them goodbye… you were able to slip out easily, the attention going back to the Saja boys.

Around the corner, hoodies back on you, you squealed, for real this time. “How many souls!?”

“Seven! Seven souls!” Mika cheered. That was it, that was the plan. You had Mika and Kuroka leave the performance while you had the crowds attention so they could grab up souls without causing a panic.

You laughed off the thrill of the performance, cheering and celebrating your success. Atleast you were until a voice cut through.

“Well, look who thinks they can steal the spot light?” Jinu spoke, the saja boys. All of them. You looked over your shoulder at them, unimpressed.

“Steal what spot light?” Tenshiro blinked, pouting her bottom lip slightly.

“We know your like us.” Abby growled, standing behind Jinu. You took a step forward, smiling.

“So your not as dumb as you look, good to know.” You hummed, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Now what I cant seem to understand is what the problem is?” You lied, and obviously, you knew what the damn problem is. Jinu cant hive memories taken away if you kill the hunters.

“You took my idea, although being demons, I am not surprised. What I cant figure out is why you're not already after the hunters. We could work together, you know, take them down in one fight. 9 demons against 3 flimsy hunters. “ he smirked, putting his hand out. Already assuming you were going to take the deal.

You pushed his hand away and rolled out eyes. You leaned against Mika, checking your nails. “The hunters arent our targets.” You hummed. Jinu paused, unsure. Kuroka and Tenshiro walked to be behind them. Kuroka being dangerously close the pink haired one. Romance was it? You lifted your gaze from your nails to the boys again. “You are.”

Silence followed. Two types of it. Minor fear and confusion from the boys, and pure confidence and power from you and the girls. They were making this game, just too easy.

“Is.. is that supposed to scare us?” Jinu hissed, markings appearing for a moment.

You shrugged. “If you were smarter it would.”

“You think the city can handle two demon groups?” Abby glared at you.

“No, but were not here to share.” Mira hummed softly, a mock pout taking over her face.

“Enjoy the spot light while you can idol-sama” Tenshiro whispered, running a finger along Abbys jawline. He was quick to smack her hand away. “Well, we have to run” She pouted, Kuroka and her rejoining you and Mira.

“Keep watching Saja boys.” Kuroka started, your backs turned to them as you walked. “The shows only just begun~” You said in unison. It didnt matter if they were worried or not. All that did matter was everything was coming together. The hunters didnt know you were the new demon group, and even if the saja boys tipped them off, they had no evidence. Who believes a demon anyway? Further more, with more souls going to Gwi-ma, the more restless the hunters the will get.. Your hoping they will tire eachother out, work themselves to the bone while you relax and enjoy the fruits of their labor, only to come in at the last second and finish them all off. 

[kingdoncomes]

day one: pool

@kingdonmicrofic | wc: 495

“Is that a fucking belly button piercing, Melatonin?!” Trinity shrieks, sitting up from the pool lounger so she can examine Mel’s stomach.

Frank turns his gaze away from watching his kids playing in the pool, and turns towards the direction of Trinity and Samira’s ooohs and aaahs, where Mel is continuing to strip off her pants to reveal her bikini and… miles of skin that Frank has never seen before.

He swallows, adjusting his swim shorts, glancing to where Abby is standing to confirm she isn’t paying attention to what—who—he is looking at. She’s still deep in conversation with Dana, with a beer bottle in hand. Frank’s empty-handed, besides the obvious of him trying to cover up his growing erection.

He thanks whoever invented sunglasses, so at least nobody else will notice how much he is staring at Mel’s body. He’s never seen her out of their work uniform before, so seeing her out of nearly all clothing is sending too much of his blood to his groin. Maybe that explains why he is not thinking, shamelessly staring at his coworker, his best friend, in a setting that involves his supervisors, coworkers, and his wife and kids.

The piercing is a fucking purple heart. He might as well jump into the pool now to cool himself off from how heated his body is.

Frank doesn’t even have time to process that Mel has a heart belly button piercing, freckles all over her shoulders, the side of her neck, and holy shit, is that a freckle on her thigh? before she turns around and shows off a—

“Oh, I also have a lower back tattoo!” Mel says excitedly, pointing towards the small butterfly on her lower back.

He wonders if there is an appropriate way to ask his children to grab a bucket of water from the pool and throw it on him without being too suspicious.

“You have a TRAMP STAMP?!” Trinity has her hand over her mouth, while Samira goes to have a closer look at the butterfly tattoo.

“Don’t call it that, Trinity,” Samira chastises Trinity. “Wow, it’s so pretty, Mel! I never thought you would have a lower back tattoo.”

“Or a belly button piercing,” Trinity adds.

Mel flushes. Holy fuck. She flushes all over. “I got them both after a breakup, which I wouldn’t recommend; it was tough for both to heal since I got them on the same day. So I was sad and couldn’t sleep on my back or my stomach.” She winces, caught up in the memory.

Who was it? Frank wants to know. He should kill that guy.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Mel asks, looking around them. Samira and Trinity point to their left.

Frank watches her walk away, looking at her from the corners of his eyes behind his shades. He doesn’t notice that Trinity moves over next to him until she finally speaks. He nearly jumps.

“You do know that we can see your eyes, right?”

[berryrev]

Sniper Wifey

hanma shuji x reader

"How many guns do you have, Shu?"

The question that slips from your mouth isn’t unusual, not when it comes to your husband. You’ve always had a habit of blurting out whatever curiosity hits you, and he’s always indulged you, gladly, even.

But not now. Not at 3 AM, while he’s trying to sleep. Not when he firmly believes you don’t need to know.

Hanma Shuji—feared in the underground and respected by criminals, has one and only oath when it comes to you: keep you far away from his world.

Ironic, isn’t it? To be married to a crime boss, yet he refuses to let you experience his side of things.

That doesn’t mean he isn’t fully open with you. You’ve known him since time immemorial, and you accepted him for who he is and what he does. That’s why, even when a lot of people told you to run away before it was too late, you didn’t listen. Instead, you drew even closer, held his hand, and chose to run away with him.

Which brings you to where you are now: your head resting on his chest, fingers mindlessly caressing his tattooed bicep as you wait for his answer.

He didn’t react. Even in his half-awake, half-asleep state, he still held firm to his belief that you didn’t need to know. And if he refused to answer, if he just pretended he didn’t hear you, maybe you’d stop.

Hopefully.

“If you’re not going to answer me, I’ll get your case and count them myself.” you look up, watching to see if that threat would pull a reaction out of him. It didn’t fail—he opens his eyes and shot you a direct glare.

“How many?” you flash him a cute smile, the one you know he can’t resist. If you’ve managed to pull one reaction out of him, you know more will follow. Your best bet? He’ll keep entertaining you for as long as you want. You have that kind of power over him.

“You don’t need to know,” he mutters coldly, shutting his eyes again, ready to drift back into dreamland, where he hopes you’re in it, hopefully naked and minus the annoying question.

“Shuji—”

“God, baby, it’s fucking three in the morning. I’ll answer you later when we wake up.”

“Why not now?”

He lets out a grunt and rubs his eyes with his free hand. If one of his subordinates saw him like this, they’d be terrified, because they know what usually follows when Hanma Shuji starts getting pissed off. But you? You purposely annoy him and still have the audacity to look at him adorably afterward, like you didn’t just stretch his patience to the limit.

God, you’re annoying… and lovely, all at the same time.

“Baby, I have lots. Now sleep.” he hopes you’ll drop the question and finally drift off, but unlucky for him, you continue.

“What’s your favorite gun out of all of them?” you stop caressing his skin and shift to drape your full weight over him, lifting your head so you can face him completely. “Is it the one you always bring?”

This time, he fully opens his eyes, a serious look settling on his face as he locks his golden irises onto you.

“You’re not planning to get any of my guns and play with them, are you?” his breathing stills. Unlike earlier, when he’d rather ignore you than entertain your curiosity, this time, he’s genuinely anticipating your answer.

“Baby, you’re not getting my guns—”

“Shu, what if I ask you to teach me how to use one?” and this time, he can’t hide the slight shock that flashes across his face.

He snaps out of it after a few seconds. His honeyed irises, dilated from your question, are now replaced with confusion.

“Why’d you want to? If you’re planning to gun someone down, I’m here. I can do that for you. You don’t need no guns. I can kill for you.”

And you know he can do it. No doubt. Shuji would kill for his baby.

He’s not a crime lord for nothing, putting his life on the line for you has always been his top priority.

But that’s not the reason you started this talk. And it wasn’t a random question, either.

The purpose behind all of this is the fear of not having any power to fight back when the time comes, when you’ll be in danger, and no one, not even Shuji, will be there by your side to protect you.

"I mean, I am the wife of a crime lord. Isn’t it only right that I learn how to hold a gun too?" you ask, pouting. You already know he’ll refuse, but just in case, maybe the pout will sway him.

“You can do whatever the fuck you want, be whoever you want, go wherever you want—without a fucking gun, baby.” husky voice is laced with finality.

Shuji worked hard in the streets and underground to give you everything, to make sure you’d never feel restrained, even if his world is built on broken laws and freedom is elusive for someone like him.

But in his eyes, you’re free to do whatever you want. In his arms, you can be whoever you want to be. Except for one thing. There’s one thing he never wants you to touch, and one thing he never wants you to feel: the cold, heavy weight of a gun or the fear of standing in front of one.

With that thought, he hopes you’ll drop the topic.

However, he forgot that he also gave you the freedom to be bratty, which means… you’re not going to let this go.

“But Shu…” you whine.

He’s about to refuse you again, but your next words nearly, nearly, make him give in.

“I know you just want to keep me away from danger as much as possible, and I understand that, baby. But we live a life where risk is part of everything, especially you, Shu—you face it all the time, and sooner or later, I will too"

You say it in the softest voice, hoping it reaches his core. And knowing your husband, even the most trivial or nonsensical thing you say, he always remembers. He engraves it inside him.

“I'll keep you safe.” You feel his arms wrap around you tightly. Even now, when you're both in the safest part of your home, he feels the urge to shield you anyway. “You don’t have to, baby. I can do it.”

“Love" you call, and this time, you know it’s your last resort.

Then you hear him sigh. Not an annoyed sigh, but one that says: I surrender.

“I want to be able to defend myself… because you won’t always be here when something happens. I want to fight like you do—so I can live, too. So I can stay with you longer.”

And surrender, he does. You hear another sigh, this one followed by a tender kiss on your head.

He can never win against you.

And his solemn promise not to let you touch anything related to his world? It immediately flies out the window. Because even if he’s stronger, he’s weaker for you, and your love always makes him surrender.

He know it's still half hearted, but to make you stop he mutters his decision. “All right. But I’ll be the one to choose your gun—and you’ll only use it with my permission, and only when I’m around. Got it?”

-

Now here you are, clutching your husband's arm inside the warehouse. According to him, this place is where they stock “supplies,” and some of the rooms are for “rats”, which you didn’t ask him to elaborate on.

Dressed in your Loro Piana dress, you don’t exactly look like you’re here to learn how to pull a trigger. In fact, you look more like you’re about to attend a tea party. But Shuji didn’t have the heart to tease you, not when you’re beaming and literally pinching his arm in excitement. So he just let you. Shoot a gun in heels and lace, if that’s what his wife wants.

“So, what gun am I using?” you stare up at him, eyes sparkling, and Shuji bites his lower lip to keep himself from smiling.

Goddamn. You’re so adorable that if someone saw you from afar, they’d think you were asking where the two of you were going on a date… not what kind of gun you were about to use.

He woke up trying to pretend he didn’t remember the conversation from earlier that morning, but when you pouted, pleaded, and peppered him with kisses (even bribing him with an offer to suck him off), he didn’t have the heart to refuse you anymore.

“You’ll be using the P365,” he says, giving you a peck on the lips and tucking your hair behind your ear. “You gotta listen to me, baby. Alright?”

“Yes, boss!” you beam, and your husband couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh. He knew that answer was your playful imitation of his subordinate from earlier.

The warehouse was full of men in suits when you arrived, but Shuji waved them off with a single command. He wanted you to relax, to feel comfortable. Before they left, though, you caught him murmuring something to one of his men. You only caught two words: “rat” and “bring.” You didn’t think much of it, your eyes were too busy wandering around the massive space.

“Bring him in!” Shuji’s voice boomed across the warehouse, sharp and commanding.

Two suited men reappeared seconds later, dragging someone between them—a bruised ragged man, blindfolded and stumbling.

“Shu?” confused, you clutch tighter onto your husbands arm.

He turns to you with that crooked, amused smile. “Baby, I prepared your target.”

“H-huh? B-but—”

“Bullets are expensive, my wife.” he says coolly, his big hands wrapping around your waist.

“We don’t want to waste them. And instead of aiming at a piece of paper” he tilts his head toward the blindfolded man now kneeling at gunpoint. “Why not practice on someone who’s worth even less than that?”

He’s challenging you. Not because he wants you to bite at his taunt, but because he wants to tap into your morals and prove a point—that you can’t hold a gun.

That you’ll never pull the trigger. Not even if he himself deems this poor man less worthy of life. Not even if you’re literally married to him.

He’s not going to force you to kill anyone. That’s not what this is. He just wants to see you waver, even just a little, so he can decide, once and for all, that you, his precious wife shouldn’t have a gun, and will never need one.

But instead, you stare at him with those imploring eyes, a silent plea that you don’t want this. Not like this. Not with a shaking man on his knees. You’re here to learn how to defend yourself, not to point a gun at someone who won’t even fight back.

“Shu, I—I don’t want to—”

“Why not?” his tone is somewhere between playful and challenging.

“I thought you wanted to learn how to aim? Why not start with a target? Or… you don’t wanna learn at all?”

He still won’t push you. If you say no, that’s the end of it. You’ve known horrors just by standing next to him, and the last thing he wants is for you to carry any of it on your own. But if teasing you just a little will make you turn around and hide behind him, if it’ll remind you to leave all the danger to him, then maybe it’s worth trying.

“I don’t want to, love.”

And just like that, Shuji throws every damn conviction he had out the window again.

God, woman.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, then turns to the kneeling man. “Get him the fuck outta here.”

And just like that, the two of you are left alone again.

You gently grab Shuji’s arm and swing it a little, like a kid tugging for attention.

“I’m sorry, baby… I feel like I might be asking too much. Am I interrupting your work?”

“Not at all, babydoll. But I guess now I really do need to teach you how to use a gun.”

“Why? Weren’t you planning to anyway? Is that why you brought a man in here?”

“Just scaring you a bit to see if you’d give up, s’all.”

You jab his side gently, and he grabs your hand, presses it to his lips, and kisses your knuckles.

“Let’s see if this hand is capable of shooting.”

In front of you is a gun—a Sig Sauer P365. Hanma chose it himself because he thinks it suits you best. It’s compact, lightweight, and reliable. Unlike your husband, who prefers heavier ones just for the feel of their weight against his palm. He’s a thug, after all, and full-sized weapons have always been his go-to.

And you, you need something that fits your hand and body without feeling like a burden, something that doesn’t feel foreign or overwhelming.

“Since you don’t have a target… see that bottle over there?” he points to what looks like a bottle of alcohol perched on top of one of the crates. “That’ll be your target, baby.”

He hands you the pistol. When the gun sits snug in your grip, he moves behind you, one hand guiding your arms, the other resting lightly on your waist.

“This gun doesn’t have a safety,” he murmurs. “So it’s point and shoot. First rule? Keep your finger off the trigger till you’re ready.”

The gun in your hand is surprisingly lightweight, like you’re not carrying a gun at all, but you can feel its presence against your fingers and palm. Whether it’s excitement or fear, your heart starts to beat faster as your husband’s instructions continue.

“Feet shoulder-width apart,” a shiver runs down your spine as your husband's deep voice graze right beside your ear.

“Lean forward just a little—not too much. You don’t wanna fall back when it kicks.” you adjust your stance, feeling his hand tap your left elbow.

“Both hands. Dominant hand high up on the grip, thumb along the frame—not the slide, unless you wanna lose skin.” you nod, swallowing, as he folds your fingers around the gun, wrapping your support hand over your dominant one.

His hand skims up your arm again, then down to rest at your lower back—steadying you, but lingering a little longer this time. Before you can say anything, he leans in and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your neck.

Your breath hitches. “Is this part of the lesson?”

“Sorry, got distracted,” he says with a lazy grin against your skin, then pulls back like nothing happened.

“Now, straighten your arms a bit. Relax your shoulders. Don’t lock your elbows—keep it firm but flexible.” you shift, taking it all in, trying not to think about how warm his hands are or how close he’s standing.

“Breathe in. When you exhale, gently squeeze the trigger. Don’t jerk it. You control the shot, not the other way around.”

You take a breath, let it go slowly, and squeeze.

The shot cracks through the air, and the recoil nudges into your arms—not harsh, but not subtle either. Then Shuji's hand steadies your back.

“Not bad.” Sin and Punishment trail down your back to your waist, giving it a light squeeze as he kisses your temple. “Again,” he grins.

-

Two weeks have passed since you learned how to use a gun. With Shuji’s additional instructions and facts, you now feel confident that you could use one even without him at your side.

Though, when your husband left for a week-long mission, he firmly reminded you not to use anything while he was gone. You have his bodyguards to protect you, his men ready to obey your every command, there’s no reason for you to be exposed to danger, and you won’t need any weapons.

Whenever Shuji is away, instead of leaving you at the penthouse, he prefers to keep you at your house in Akiruno. In this western part of Tokyo, he feels more at ease knowing you're there, surrounded by quiet streets, limited-access roads, and a tightly secured perimeter guarded round-the-clock by his most trusted men.

It’s a secluded place, and any potential threat can be tracked down easily.

Or so you thought.

You’re sleeping soundly on your king-sized bed when suddenly, you feel the urge to go downstairs. You don’t need the bathroom or a glass of water, they’re both inside your spacious room, but the instinct to go downstairs tugs sharply in your gut.

Something feels wrong.

So without hesitation, you get out of bed and walk toward the door.

Just as you open the door slightly ajar, a sudden clanging sound cuts through the silence of the home, then it goes quiet again. You think you’re still in a haze of sleep, that maybe your mind is playing tricks on you… until another sound follows, louder this time.

Footsteps.

Then the sound of rummaging.

Then a faint clang as thin metal hits the floor.

Not a dream. Not your imagination. Someone is in your house.

That’s your cue to get back inside and call your husband.

If someone has breached your home, it means the security system is compromised, because how the hell did someone get inside?

This is danger. The kind that threatens your safety.

Each slow, careful step you take is accompanied by the frantic beating of your heart. One wrong move, one sound too loud, and the burglar just one floor below will know you’re here.

You’re about to grab your phone to call Shuji when your eyes land on the pull-out cabinet tucked beneath the bed.

That’s when a sudden thought crosses your mind.

There are guns in there.

You remember your husband keeps weapons in case of emergency, so without hesitation, you crouch down, pull the heavy drawer open, and it reveals a metal case secured with a combination lock.

You’re sweating bullets now, glaring at the heavy metal case, the one thing that can save you, if only you knew the combination to the lock.

With a dry throat and trembling lips, your hands go for the first numbers that come to mind: Shuji’s birthday.

You squeeze your eyes shut when it doesn’t open.

You pause, heart pounding in your ears, straining to hear if there are footsteps nearing your door. One glance. Two. Then you try again, fingers fumbling with the dial, this time, your wedding anniversary.

You let out a quiet gasp when it doesn’t work.

You’re about to give up and just call your husband so he can alert security and send more men, when your hands, moving almost on their own, try one more combination—your birthday.

Click.

It opens.

There, lying inside the metal case, are three guns with three magazines. Exhaling, you pick up the one you're most familiar with, a SIG Sauer P365, and decide that if help will be late tonight, you have no choice but to help yourself.

You open the door and step out slowly, not bothering to close it behind you. The same hallway you were sashaying through this morning now feels eerie and unfamiliar. With your stomach lodged in your throat, you reach the staircase that leads down into the dark living room.

The sound from earlier becomes more distinct the closer you get, each step pulling you deeper into the shadows.

Just two weeks ago, you were teasingly talking about what if you ever found yourself in a situation where you'd be the only one who could protect yourself. You didn’t expect that situation to come this soon. And you thought, when the time came, you’d be brave and confident to fight for your life because there's a Shuji who's waiting for you.

Yet here you are, hands trembling tightly gripping the pistol, praying that whoever you come across in your home will be merciful enough to let you live.

Because you can’t leave Shuji like this.

Even if you end up regretting this decision to confront the danger alone, you hope this won't be the moment that becomes your last.

Your husband needs you.

You can’t leave Shuji. Not like this.

So, with a newfound determination, you cross the dark living room, your footsteps soft, your eyes straining to see. You keep reminding yourself: this is your house. And in your husband’s words, no one hunts better in a house than its owner.

When you arrive where the faint sounds are coming from, without hesitation, arms locked in and the gun raised, you open the kitchen door and fire.

The bullet cuts through the air and hits something, shattering it loudly, then suddenly, a voice booms in urgency and shock.

"Fuck!!"

A familiar one.

A voice from someone who isn’t supposed to be here until the end of a long-week mission. The one you should have called first when you felt danger earlier…

"Put that fucking gun down!"

The one you were thinking about before you risked your life, before you aimed at someone you should never be aiming at.

"Open your eyes and put that fucking gun down now.

It’s Shuji, baby."

With that, you open your eyes to see the love of your life—one hand raised, gesturing for you to lower the pistol, the trace of shock unmistakable in his golden eyes.

Your eyes sting with sudden tears, your voice cracking as you call your husband.

“Shu…”

Before your wobbling legs can betray you, Shuji takes two long strides to reach you. He gently takes the pistol from your hands, sets it aside, and cups your face. His brows are furrowed, lips pressed in a thin line, but instead of anger, his expression is full of worry.

“Baby..."

“I-I thought… I-I… there w-was a burglar a-and the s-security… they breached it, a-and… Shu, I was scared.”

He pulls you into a tight embrace. Your frame is shaking, a clear sign of how terrified you were, thinking someone had broken into your home. If you weren’t crying, he might’ve found the whole situation funny and ridiculous, but instead, all he feels is pride. You were brave enough to collect yourself and confront a supposed threat without any backup, relying only on what you’d learned from him.

“I’m sorry if I scared you, baby doll,” he murmurs. “I didn’t tell you I was coming home ‘cause I thought you were asleep. Didn’t wanna disturb you, y’know?” his strong arms wrap around you as he kisses your head.

“Did I scare you that much?”

“I thought you were a burglar.” you sniff and bury yourself deeper into his chest.

“And instead of calling me or alerting security, you opened my cabinet, grabbed a pistol, and went hunting? That it?”

You nod sheepishly against his chest, your fists lightly gripping the front of his shirt. “I—I panicked.”

Hanma chuckles, a low, warm sound that rumbles through you. “Panicked, huh? So my sweet little wife turned into an action star the moment I stepped foot in the house?”

He leans back just enough to look down at you, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “Goddamn, baby. You almost gave me a heart attack. First time you ever pointed a gun, and it’s at me.”

He’s only teasing to lighten the mood. He knows you’ve gone through all kinds of fear tonight—the kind that makes you tremble at the thought of losing everything.

“I didn’t know it was you,” you mumble. “I just used what I learned…” your cheeks are burning, partly from embarrassment, but more so from the sheer relief that you didn’t die tonight, that the supposed burglar turned out to be no one but your husband.

“And I’m impressed,” he grins, kissing your temple, then the corner of your lips. “Scared me and turned me on at the same time. How the hell do you do that?”

“Shu…” you say weakly, squirming in embarrassment, but he only laughs again, pulling you closer.

“You tryin’ to kill me or seduce me? ‘Cause I swear, I felt both.”

“I was scared,”

“I know, baby. But you were so brave, pulling shit like this. To be honest, I’m really proud of you. But...”

He pushes you slightly, just enough to level your eyes with his. The shock from earlier is gone. Now, there’s only love and worry in his gaze.

“Next time, though, text me first before you decide to go all John Wick on someone, yeah?”

And just when you think he’s about to ban you from ever touching a gun again, not that you want to, not after tonight, you feel another wave of fear crash through you. The realization hits hard: you almost hurt him.

You could’ve killed him.

With that terrifying thought, you cling tighter to him. Your voice trembles.

“I-I almost k-killed you, Shu—”

“Ah, ah.” He thumbs your cheeks gently, as he pecks your lips, one, two, three.

“Aren’t you a little too proud, Mrs. Hanma? You’re not that good yet to be able to kill me.”

And just like that, the fear dissipates, replaced by that warm feeling only he can give.

You were able to face your fear because the thought of being away from him was unbearable. The idea of leaving him was what pushed you to act. And if something like this ever happens again, you know you’ll risk your life all over again.

Even with shaking hands, even with tears in your eyes, as long as Shuji is in your mind, as long as the promise of spending more years with him lives in your heart, you’ll face any danger just to be with him again and again.

“I promise to learn more about guns so I can protect us, Shu.” you whisper, gripping the arm that’s always held you safe.

“Can’t wait to have a sniper wifey,” he grins. “But first, let’s go back to our room and calm you a little, yeah?”

And he will tell you too, again and again, that even if you become capable of protecting both yourself and him, he will still be the one to shield you, until the end of your lives.

Because in this life full of danger, you gave him a space to feel safe, too.

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Kiss day 1 part 2

Because I’m a glutton for punishment. Aka I was trying to figure out what to do for kiss week and briefly my brain was like…. AUs!!! And this one specifically got so stuck in my head. This is just super silly and for the lols and for funsies

Kiss week day 1: Morning = High school AU edition

There’s 2 whole kisses in this one for @dragonagekissweek (750 words below)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Zalan walked down the stairs leading to Lighthouse High School’s front entrance. He and his sister Ilene usually just walked and she was walking several paces in front of him, clearly impatient to get into the building.

“You know that guy isn’t going anywhere- he’ll be at your locker like every day, he’s your boyfriend. You don’t have to rush.” He teased, and grinned broadly when she snapped her head around to glare at him.

“You better watch it. I’ll tell Lilya when she comes to pick us up after school that you stayed late and she’ll leave you here.” The threat was real but he only laughed, making her shake her head and speed up even more, just to be away from him. He was almost to the bottom of the stairs when an arm looped around his shoulders and Turvi bumped hips with him, pressing a kiss to Zalan’s cheek with a loud smack,

“Zalan, want a cookie?” The elf was wearing shorts and a tank top despite the chilly October air and was holding out a cookie with an obvious bite taken out of it. “Xi made them.” He explained. Knowing Turvi he had stolen Xiqaa’s cookies but Zalan took the offering anyway, eating half and handing it back for the blonde to scarf down. Gladius was beside him, munching on a cookie Turvi had obviously handed him, the boy looking grateful.

“You know Xiqaa is going to kill you for taking those.” He gestured to the bag of cookies Turvi was holding but the elf only shrugged.

“They’d have to catch me first.” And famous last words as the elf in question pulled Turvi off Zalan and threw him into a headlock yelling about missing cookies. Zalan grinned despite the whiplash and threw his hands up to the siblings as he walked backwards to look at them,

“The cookies were good Xi!” He called before turning and jogging the last few steps to escape her wrath.

Getting to the front doors Zalan spotted Amara struggling with a pile of books in her arms, trying to balance them to be able to grab the door handle. He pulled the door open for her,

“Studying for those college courses again?” He asked her, watching to make sure she made it in before walking in after her.

“There’s just a few courses I really want to take. And the school offers credits if I take them now.” She explained. She was too smart for this school. But her dad was superintendent Solas and her mom was some scientist so he wasn’t surprised.

Veryl came in right behind the two and noticing Amara still struggling with her armload took several of her books,

“I can help you carry them to your locker.” She told her with a dutiful nod. Zalan nodded his thanks and walked through the main lobby. He had to skirt around Coadi Aldwir and Qatesh both trying to finish their homework, Taash hanging over Qatesh’s shoulder looking at the papers while Jericho tried to help the two.

Zalan had to stop at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, the early morning traffic of stomping kids too heavy to push through. Hugo, Alana, and Cara were all sitting in the alcove beside the stairs with homework out, Cara spotted him and waved,

“Zalan please tell me you did the homework in Mr Rutherford’s class.” She was pinning him with a look, “I gave you my workbook from Arainai’s class to copy last week.” Zalan was already pulling his backpack off and pulling out the papers.

“I never said no, jeez.” He grumbled handing them over. Alana smiled her thanks and Hugo waved with an almost apologetic look. Zalan shook his head at all three of them but continued on his way. Ayanne, Esha, and Eris were at the top of the stairs and he had to push through them, eavesdropping as they talked about some new relationship drama in one of the younger classes.

And then he slid by Sabi, Rose, and Cyri having a loud discussion about deserts to get to his set of lockers. Waiting at his locker was Harding and Riley Mercar chatting and they both waved at Zalan as he approached. He grinned at Harding stupidly and cleared his throat blushing. Riley snickered at them both as Lace blushed too and Zalan leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Oh hush you.” Harding scolded her best friend, gently pinching him before smiling at Zalan. “Good morning.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

This is just a myriad of rooks. I honestly tried to shove in as many as I could think of. It’s super silly but I love to imagine a whole school of Rooks (it would collapse because they’d all just be full of reckless trouble lol)

All the Rooks maybe in order: Ilene @kabsey / Lilya @serensama / Turvi @davrinsleftpectoral / Xiqaa @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai / Gladius @jenn2d2 / Amara @chaosherald / Veryl @hedwigoprah / Coadi @notyourmamasdeerbat / Qatesh @bronzieinthedas / Jericho @sandcastlekings / Hugo @jukkaricity / Alana @therivercrow / Cara @pixiedurango / Ayanne @cute-ellyna / Esha @in-the-drowning-deep / Eris @grand-crow / Sabi @seaglassmelody / Rose @aetherflowers / Cyri @mythals-whore / Riley @woundedsoul12

I love you guys <3

[alexanderlightweight]

Happy Wednesday! I think nightshade has the right idea, cuddles sound good. How about the bitter trap of truth Malec cuddles? Alec is loving it and Magnus is both loving it and stressed. Like I’m going to keep this. Somehow.

happy wednesday! here are two different time slots, but interjections into cuddling in this verse. last part here (nightshade is right now protesting the fact i'm not in bed with him - currently he's not even sleeping in bed he's sleeping next to it because he's too hot. he's snoring angrily and it's adorable.)

i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

the bitter trap of truth

Magnus is already sitting and comfortably lounging on a sofa when Alec fully steps through the door. For a moment Alec isn’t sure where he should sit but before he can panic, he sees the slightest twitch of Magnus fingers. Alec doesn’t hesitate. Leaping at what he hopes is a true invitation.

His fingers take Magnus own, tangling them together and Alec can’t help but bring Magnus’ knuckles up for a kiss. His skin is as warm now as when they woke up together and he smells like the soap Alec used and now also smells like.

It’s a gamble to slide half into his lap but he doesn’t push Alec away and Alec can wrap his arm around Magnus’ waist and settle around his shoulder.

“Don’t you have things to be doing?” Magnus asks him and Alec shakes his head.

There is nothing and nowhere he’d rather be than here with Magnus.

—

Magnus finds himself continually surprised by what Alexander allows during the first few days of living together.

Especially because he does so easily, guileless and with a strange charm that speaks of earnestness.

Magnus paints Alexander’s nails one day. Just because Alexander admired his polishes and Magnus had meant the offer as a mock-tease. He hadn't thought Alexander would accept.

In fact his husband’s only complaint is that his nails didn't match Magnus' own nails.

Which led Magnus here.

To somehow having his nails done by a nephilim. A retired shadowhunter who can probably kill with his bare hands.

Yet Alexander is practicing with sincere care on Magnus nails.

He’s being very careful about how much paint he uses and not a single smudge has happened. It’s with delight that Magnus indulges them both as Alexander requests a small, thinner brush. He gets to watch as Alexander paints small designs on Magnus’ nails. Tiny little details that stand out against his nails.

Alexander waves it off.

A mixture of bashfulness and amusement before he explains he painted his younger sister’s nails. And also runes his own arrows.

Which means Alexander is capable of detail but it’s Alexander’s next remark that has Magnus ears perking.

“You draw?”

“Field sketches, anatomy, botany. Things for research and records. It's meant for learning not pleasure.” Alexander carefully explains as he wipes the brush on a summoned towel for the last time and then sets it down. 

There’s a preen to his grin. 

A smug little confidence as he looks over Magnus’ nails. Something that has Magnus’ heart aching and his hands yearning for how they feel empty without Alexander’s touching them.

Magnus doesn't push it but he's curious and it lingers. Alexander has knowledge, Magnus is aware but suddenly Magnus is curious as to how much. What kind of a weapon did he steal away? How strong is his boy and how smart? Because Magnus doubts that Alexander lets himself be anything less than utterly competent and what's left is just to find out what he knows.

Yet despite Magnus' plans and questions, a moment later and a drying spell to his nails and Alexander is in his lap. Not a single remark or comment.  Instead he’s grinning softly at Magnus, smoothing out Magnus’ hair and pressing adoring kisses to his jaw.

There are few things as complex yet simple as this. A man who is supposed to be an enemy but is a gift and one Magnus cannot give up.

How can he?

When Magnus has a lap full of content shadowhunter and feels sated for the first time in years. At peace, like the world can continue spinning without the need for Magnus in interfere. So in this moment he ignores his worries. There is plenty of time for fear but right now nothing can’t harm them.

The world won’t end just because Magnus lets his guard down enough to cuddle his political husband. After all he's not letting down his guard completely. Alexander is still an unknown and he's dangerous, no matter how much Magnus enjoys him and plans to keep him.

Alexander smiles up at him.

Soft and tender and Magnus leans down for a kiss without bothering to think it through. He’s met eagerly. Alexander’s nose knocking into his and there is laughter against his lips before he’s kissed properly.

It’s playful, almost carefree and filled with so much gentle affection that Magnus hides the tremble of his fingers with a summoned drink.

One hand steadies itself in Alexander’s hair and the next grips a martini glass and Magnus wonders at just where this is going. He’ll need to speed up his plans. To find a way to ensure that he can keep Alexander.

Both alive and here, as Magnus’.

Magnus summons music with a thought and lets it soothe him as he settles and readjust. It takes time to memorize the scent and weight and touch and feel of another. Yet Magnus has time and an abundance of access to a very willing husband. There’s a wealth to having so much strength spread out and subdued in peace against him.

AN:

Alec: if given an inch will take a mile with personal space in regards to magnus

magnus: will he bite?

alec: if you ask me to? happily

--

magnus really wondering what he's supposed to do with his lap-husband. he thought he was going to have to lure his spouse of said spouses own room with like, a crumb trail or something.

magnus has to bribe alec to leave his lap because magnus is like: i need to work but if i just tell him to leave i can't tell which of us would be more devastated.

alec literally walks into a room and sees magnus and is like 'oh i belong there okay hi'

magnus: i can handle this. i'm handling this. i've got this.

alec exists:

magnus: i'm having a crisis and need a hotline oh hi cat, ragnor. so about that husband of mine. i'm gonna need some help.

cat/ragnor: to get rid of the body?

magnus: so about that. i'm keeping him. actually. permanently. i really don't want to talk about it.

[withapenandamission]

Helga looked around the tavern, eyes narrowed. In the corner was a young man, blonde and mostly human. The markings on his arms set him apart. What looked like black lightning strikes that glimmered like ice in the candlelight. They came from his fingers, which were now black and looked as if they'd stain what they touched like charoal. His tunic had no sleeves. No doubt in an attempt to make his enemies fear him. They never would. They knew the king's bastard had poor aim and an even poorer swing. Her own arms bore similar markings, although now her full arm was inky black, the marks of lightning spreading to her neck and chest. The curse of witchcraft. For every spell you lost part of yourself. Cackling rang from the other side of the tavern. The witch didn't dare look. The wench, Ayla was not known for her sublety. "She's at it again" The barmaid was uselessly scrubbing the polished wood of her bar with a rag "A knight this time" "well you did hire her" "to serve not to mingle...and i let you come here to drink not to stare" Helga silently placed two silver coins on the bar and was promptly given a tankard "poor child" the barmaid continued "not his fault his father's a prat" "his father's the king" "who's taxmen threaten to take my bar every week i have no favour for 'im" Helga laughed, sipping from her drink "Watch you mouth mildrith" "Say that and you'll have to start watching your drinks helga" The woman hobbled off and helga weaved between tables and drunken men to sit opposite the boy. She had thought he had been staring into his lap, she realisied he was toying with something between his fingertips. "what's that?" she asked, her voice gentle, too gentle she realised a bit too late, he was fifteen, not ten He silently placed it on the table, it was a deep red crystal, a bloodstone "did you steal it?" He shook his head "you understand what it means if it was given" "that i am to die by the next full moon" His voice was flat, laced wtth acceptance Alya came to join them, freezing in her seat when se saw the stone on the table "Helgs?" "Not mine Alya" her eyes didn't move away from the boy "his" Alya just stared, hands gripping the side of her chair "shit" "shit indeed....who gave it?" The boy shrugged "Alastor i don't think nows the time for attitude" Alya looked at him the same way one looked at a large spider in the bath "He won't combust" Helga gave Alya her drink, which she almost gulped down "He might, death by sword or god isn't it?" "I am here" Alastor glared at Alya as she gulped down the mead as if it were water, one of her arms now draped casually over the back of the chair, assured her friend wasn't the once with a death curse "well then...what do you want to do before your death" "killing my father" Helga scoffed, before actuallly looking her her companions. Alasotr's face was almost stoic, him and Alya meeting echothers eye. They both had their reasons for wanting the monarch dead. Many people did. "we would get killed afterwards you both understand that" she said carefully "personally i would like to be preistess before i die and you need the help of a wit-" "Darling you are not the only witch i know and you're an apprentice" Alya smiled casually "he's a witch" "barely" alsstor spat "you burnt down a forest-" "I was aiming for a man...i don't know if you recognise him but he's there" Alastor pointed, the two women turned to see a mud soaked knight who was chewing bread in an attempt to look threatening. He looked like a slow sheep. The women smiled like apologetic mothers before turning back to their conversation "you two are going to be the death of me" helga muttered, her head in her hands "i don't think so" ANya smiled "alastor will die before you do"

Writing Prompt #1

A witch’s apprentice, a prostitute, and the bastard child of a noble meet in the capital city.

[ceoandslutler]

personally i think this is one of oddest things i have ever read. thank you, captain obvious! ignoring the fact they spelt out the ship name in the tag causing it to appear for us, lets get into what they're actually saying.

they think ciel cannot recover and they accuse sebaciel shippers of thinking that he can recover. as someone who has had multiple people tell me my opinion that ciel can't recover is wrong—non sebaciel shippers, mind you—this is hilarious actually. i don't know why op thinks sebaciel shippers water down the story, likely just projecting their own interpretation when they used to ship them onto everyone else. if anything, when you're not scared of mentioning the romantic subtext, you can get a deeper understanding of the characters. the green witch arc was just ptsd being induced, ciel was not healing, sebastian did not prevent him from healing at that point. you can debate that about other points in the series but what ciel was going through in that arc was not an example of sebastian preventing him from healing. if he didn't snap ciel out of it, wolfram was planning to kick them all out and kill him along with his servants. sebastian did not want that to happen so he was opting to eat ciel early. also for a demon to be only 90% serious (if he wasn't just joking) is a big deal, he literally confesses in the same arc a few chapters later that he likes the game he's playing as butler. he did not truly want it to end there.

also nobody thinks everything is going to end well. some of us might wish that but we know it's hopeless.

we all know sebastian cannot heal ciel's trauma, at best he can remove triggers (by killing people who want to further traumatise ciel or remind him of his trauma like kelvin) and at worst he is one of the scary adults ciel fears (like in the green witch arc). if these two characters do survive long enough to develop an explicit relationship, it will not be a pretty one.

sebastian and ciel have ultimately 'cursed' each other, which is how the sebastian himself describes their contract. their relationship is one that is mutually beneficial but also causes suffering for both parties. sebastian is forced to serve in exchange for his hunger being satiated at the end of the contract (which we know is important because william states he's starving) while ciel is given a rather vicious dog on a leash that can snap at any moment and he'll get his face eaten; unfortunately he gets his face eaten either way but he wants to reach his goal of revenge first.

so pros for sebastian:

• gets to eat soul at the end of contract

• contract can be ended if ciel gives up so he isn't just trapped in a long ass meaningless contract for the 60-70 or so years it takes for ciel to die

• even if it takes a long time to complete the revenge, a human lifetime is nothing for sebastian

cons for sebastian:

• he was summoned against his own will by the cultists

• he is stripped of all rights while he is contracted and has to obey ciel no matter what

• if ciel gives up, his soul won't be as tasty

• he is devoted to his butler role and won't be able to continue playing the game once this contract is over simultaneously he is treated differently by those with a different status to him

• this contract has caused him to make enemies with a retired grim reaper who has a weapon that can literally tear him into bits

now let's talk about cons for ciel:

• he cannot give up or he will be eaten

• he will be eaten either way because that's the nature of his contract with sebastian

• debatably he didn't have much of a choice when making the contract due to being in a cage and watching his brother die seconds prior

but the pros for ciel are pretty good:

• got back his land, title and status and while he is using his brother's name, he won't have to be his brother forever (he doesn't want to be him forever)

• will die either way but his soul will just disappear this way rather than being collected by reapers

• wants to die after attaining his revenge anyway and this way, he won't become a reaper if he commits and have to work for eternity, he made the choice to not die in that cage and instead agreed to the contract (so maybe he did have a choice)

• gets to reach his goal of revenge easier because he has a demon under his control

• literally has a slave who caters to his every whim

this is not that bad of a deal for either of them but debatably the biggest con for ciel being "he'll die once he's done what he wants to do" is a little silly. we all die. at least he gets someone to help him do what he wants before he dies and clearly he's using this well—he established funtom as soon as he came back as 'ciel'. that was his childhood wish. he got to make the people living in his earldom happy. that was thanks to a certain butler who has been coaxing him towards kindness and empathy all through the blue cult arc and currently opts to solve problems through providing compensation to those he's wronged rather than violence. he's not fixing ciel's trauma but he's not always outright a negative force.

that's what makes it interesting. will they cause each other to suffer by making it each other worse? or will they make each other better and suffer loss? ultimately we don't know... it's up to toboso to decide

also op loves glazing random antis in the fandom who don't even interact with them then insults shippers for being "parasocial with yana" like what are you talking about even?? generalisation final boss, just because you were hanging around a certain group of people doesn't mean you can say 'everyone who likes sebaciel is xyz' stop projecting onto us while writing meandering posts that pander to antis 😪

[blossombabbles]

Tokyo debunker boys reaction to Mc asking them to kill her: Frostheim

A/N: part 2 of the series inspired by @xienperna 💖 forever credit fr 💖💖

˚₊‧꒰ა··········································•✦•··········································໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Jin hadn't expected those words to fall from your mouth when he invited you here. He could feel his expression change, once stiff and firm to suddenly feeling the cigarette draping down from his lips and his eyes widening. Soft wind ruffled his hair forwards, brushing bangs in front of his face.

There was very little that caught him off guard these days.

Somehow every time it always came down to you.

"So you've lost it," He started, pulling the cigarette back into his lips, only barely, to take a longer and thicker drag from it. His pulse had quickened, beating out of time. Not that he'd let it be known by anyone.

"I want you to kill me." You repeated, a little more firmly than before like you had to be sure he heard you. The gaul of peasants these days...

He heard you. Of course he fucking heard you. It was a new line to haunt his nightmares and be the kind of things demons spoke of. He could hardly stand to imagine it, the blade at your neck, tears in your eyes he would never be able to shake away. No amount of solitude would be able to cure that.

"No."

It was simple, final, there was no room for argument even if you tried he simply wouldn't budge. Offering you a sidelong glance, seeing the fear and dread in every line of expression. Sorrow didn't even begin to express it. He'd give you many things without even thinking, but a means to an end that great he would never provide.

Gesturing briefly for you to come over, your shoes slowly tapped across the ground towards him, standing by his side.

"What is it?"

You asked but he didn't respond. How was he meant to say I just wanted to stand beside you? I wanted you to look out at this view with me and just stay by my side? Even if it's just for tonight, he wanted a quiet night with you.

"And what if I dared to agree?" Thoma crossed one leg over the other, reclining in his chair, hands poised perfectly in his lap - the same kind of pristine authority you expected from him every time you met. The suddenness of the silence became deafening, he didn't move at all past that, just simply waiting for you to respond.

The coolness of the room you commonly played chess in now felt oppressive, frosty and entirely unwelcoming. A shiver clearly forced it's way up your spine which he watched with keen eyes.

His better judgement told him to let you out of this a little easier than he usually would, but he didn't. Staring directly into you like he had earned the right to your gaze, which now became evasive, only earning a slight smirk across his features.

"Are you truly ready for what that might entail?" He finally freed you, pressing a chess piece closer to your king, putting you on check, "are you truly ready to face your death? Does making it by a familiar hand make it better, somehow?"

He continued to press, watching the expression on your face shift between emotions, none of which seemed appropriate. He could only theorize what was going on in your head, could never quite comprehend exactly what you've gone through. You were always so easy to read, unlike him, you held your heart out on your sleeve, resting every emotion on top of it, and even if you tried to put on a smiling face, it was so obvious that there was suffering beneath it. A truly terrible poker player, but an overly honest person.

He admired it, in a way.

"If it's your last wish, I'd grant it if I could. However our captain may not be so willing," hard to tell if that was just an excuse or a genuine thought. The game now became forgotten, entirely alien in its own right, just used as an activity you could distract your hands with, to give you time to think.

That's when he gave you relief again, "you truly don't wish it. So perhaps you should focus on things you do wish for," he gestured, "Like better chess skills,"

He practically choked on his water, nearly spitting it out in his fit of sudden coughing that he tried to turn back and dress up as far more gentlemanly than the bodily reaction but couldn't truly find a way beyond quick apologies. Wiping his mouth repeatedly with a napkin, offering a sorry smile. A few short breaths and a collected demeanor later, he gave a mournful smile, shaking his head briefly. Hand pressed over his heart as if to steady it's beating.

"I'm so sorry, [m/c] I must have misheard you."

"I uhm... I asked you to kill me. Just ... You know, before the curse does."

Suddenly the world around felt so still, the air in his lungs felt null despite having caught it only moments ago and everything seemed to stop moving. His hearts beating the only thing defying it with the intensity of its beating, tension drawing up his spine, violet eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

... What?

"Kill... You?"

The words felt wrong on his tongue like you'd poured antifreeze across it and forced him to speak. His eyebrows firmed, furrowing into a tight line that only brought more tension to his forehead which already ached.

"No, I will never and could never do such a thing. I swore to do everything in my power to cure you of your curse and I'm not about to end your life over it."

He couldn't have possibly made himself more clear, in fact he hated the firmness he just spoke to you in, how rude it sounded. Yet he couldn't apologize for it, especially not given the drastic measures you were trying to ensure. He should go around to every ghoul and ensure they never agree to such a thing.

"Are you okay?"

The sympathy swept in quickly after, gloved hands reaching forward, offered to you and ever more grateful that you took. Feeling his lips quiver, wet with sympathies he didn't dare shove on top of you.

"I just -" your voice cracked, practically breaking, "... I don't know Luca..."

"I cannot even imagine what you're going through... And I cannot express my sympathies enough..." His hands slightly tightened around the bulk of yours, trying to provide any reassurance that he could, "but we cannot give up yet. There's still time and I will use the rest of it doing all I can."

"Huh- What- what--- WHAT?!"

Kaito sputtered out, phone tumbling from his hands as he repeatedly tried to grasp at it, only managing to juggle it for a moment before the device fell to the ground. Hitting it hard and making him cringe at the sound. But what did you expect when you asked the archer for his help in something that would be hard for even the most hardened of ghouls, let alone HIM! HIM!!!! What?! Why him?!

Couldn't Jin do it?! Anyone else!? What about those scary pit guys?!

No! Kaito! Think! Think!!! What would a totally cool and heroic man say in this moment?

"I-I mean," good start, "why would you want that? There's still time," he forced a smile, bending down at the waist to pick up his phone where his expression dropped.

Finally able to show his true emotions of complete and utter PANIC before forcing himself to recompose and stand back up. Smiling again, though even he could feel the strain in it. He adores you, so very much, even now with that terrible look on your face that scrunched it, you were so beautiful.

"S-sorry... I just..." Your shoulders fell and so did his heart, quickly throwing his arms out to pull them back up.

"no! No no! Don't cry! Hey- hey! Please! Look at me!"

He threw his arms around you, pulling into him tightly, feeling his eye already watering, forced to think about how much of an impact you've had on him - on his life. How every day with you has been a dream he never felt so lucky to have, the kindness the friendship, the love he's held for you ... what would he do without you?

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Okay! I'm a bad shot and what if I miss and just- just wind up hurting you! I couldn't bare it! I'm really squeamish actually! And- and -"

His shoulder suddenly felt damp, his eyes slowly widened and his voice broke off, feeling it so abruptly. The shaking of your body as you tried not to but it came through anyways, the hiccuping starting and your hands firm against his back.

Oh god what had he done? He'd made this all about himself and this was ... All about you.

"Mc..." He stopped, "... It's okay," his arms squeezed around you tighter, "I'm here..."

He couldn't fix it. He wouldn't even pretend he knew how to or fill your head with plastic promises... but he'd be there, he just hoped it was enough.

[inkedwithcharm]

Sunshine and Sin | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 13

The sky was overcast when you saw him again—gray clouds pressed against the windows of the company’s front lobby, soft light diffused through them like the pause before a storm.

He was waiting near the elevators, hands stuffed in his coat pockets like he didn’t know what else to do with them. But the moment he saw you, his posture shifted—like a man catching his breath after being underwater for too long.

You said nothing at first. Neither did he. The air was quiet between you, full of everything unspoken.

“I’m going home,” you finally said, your voice softer than you meant it to be.

His throat bobbed. “I figured.”

“I need to pack a few things first. But my mom… she’s expecting me tonight.”

Jin stepped closer, but not too close. “Can I take you there? Just—let me drive you.”

You hesitated for a heartbeat. Then nodded.

The car ride was quiet. City lights passed like fleeting thoughts outside the window. You watched them blur together while he kept his hands steady on the wheel, glancing at you now and then like he was afraid this was the last time he’d see you.

At a red light, he finally spoke. “Y/N…”

You turned your head slowly.

“I know you said you needed space. But please… come back to me. When you’re ready. When you’re not scared anymore.”

Your eyes filled. You blinked fast. “I will. I promise I will.”

He nodded, jaw clenched like he was holding everything together with sheer will.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For leaving you in the middle of all this.”

“Don’t apologize for needing air,” he said. “I just don’t want to be the reason you can’t breathe.”

Silence. Then your voice again—softer, raw.

“I’m scared, Jin. That if I stay right now, I’ll break into pieces I can’t put back together.”

“And I’d still pick up every piece,” he said without hesitation. “No matter how long it takes.”

He parked in front of your apartment and killed the engine. Neither of you moved.

Then, quietly, he leaned over and pressed his lips to your forehead. His kiss lingered.

A farewell—but not an ending.

You stepped out of the car, turned back to look at him once more. His eyes held something you couldn’t name—devotion, maybe. Or hope. Or heartbreak wrapped in patience.

He waited until you got inside before driving off.

The Kim residence was quiet when Jin entered, except for the distant ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the hallway.

He found his mother in the sunroom, surrounded by potted orchids and untouched tea.

She turned sharply when she saw him.

“You’re home,” she said.

“You told her she only wanted me for my money,” Jin said, voice calm but cold.

His mother stiffened. “I told her what any mother would tell the girl who’s dragged her son into scandal.”

“No. You told her what Aera convinced you to believe.”

Her expression faltered, a flicker of guilt clouding her features.

“She isn’t like that,” Jin continued, stepping closer. “Y/N isn’t chasing status or headlines. She wanted to quit. She wanted to disappear just to protect me. Does that sound like someone after my money?”

“She’s still your secretary,” his mother murmured.

“And I’m still a grown man who loves her.”

The word love fell heavy into the room.

She sat down slowly.

“I didn’t raise you to be reckless, Jin.”

“No. You raised me to stand by what I believe in.”

She looked out the window, as if trying to remember the version of herself that hadn’t been poisoned by whispers and doubt.

“I’ll talk to your father,” she said. “Maybe… maybe I need to listen more.”

“You don’t have to agree,” he said quietly. “Just try to see her. The way I do.”

The library smelled like old paper and wood polish, touched faintly by the scent of the fire burning in the hearth. Jin stepped in quietly, careful not to make the floorboards creak. His father sat in his usual chair, the leather worn to comfort, a cup of black tea resting on the table beside him. A book lay open on his lap, but he wasn’t reading.

“You’re still up,” Jin said softly.

His father didn’t look at him immediately. “I always am when things get loud outside.”

Jin lingered by the doorway, unsure if he was welcome. His voice was a little hoarse. “I didn’t mean for things to explode like this.”

“You never do,” his father said, finally closing the book. “That’s the thing about truth—it has a way of echoing whether or not you’re ready to hear it.”

Jin stepped inside and sat down on the armchair opposite him, posture stiff. His fingers curled against his knees.

“I didn’t come here to justify anything,” he said after a moment. “I just thought you had the right to hear it from me.”

His father looked at him closely now, expression unreadable.

“I love her,” Jin said, quiet but sure. “More than anything I’ve built. More than what they expect from me. And maybe that makes me a fool, or a target—but I’m not going to let her take the fall for being with me.”

A beat of silence.

“Even if it means losing your name?”

“I’d rather lose a name than lose myself.”

His father exhaled slowly, as if letting go of something he’d been holding onto too long. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands loosely clasped.

“Do you know what I remember about the day I told your grandfather I wanted to marry your mother?” he asked, voice rough.

Jin blinked. “No.”

“He told me she was a distraction. Said I was throwing away twenty years of legacy for someone who ‘served me tea and looked too kindly at the world.’”

He chuckled then—low and distant. “I remember thinking that was the most accurate thing he ever said. She did serve me tea. And she did look kindly at the world. And I would’ve gladly burned every building with my name on it just to see her smile one more time.”

Jin’s throat tightened.

His father looked at him then, eyes gentler than Jin could remember in years.

“I’m not disappointed in you, son.”

Jin looked up.

“You’re not?”

“No. I’m proud.” He leaned back again. “It takes strength to build something. But it takes something more to walk away from it when love’s at stake.”

Jin looked down at his hands. “It’s all falling apart. The board. The press. Y/N’s being dragged through hell for being with me.”

“And she’s still standing,” his father said. “So are you.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy but not hostile.

Then his father said, “This won’t be the end of you. Or her. You were never meant to be the kind of man who hides behind boardrooms and pretty lies.”

Jin’s voice cracked as he whispered, “She’s gone home.”

“She’ll come back,” his father said with quiet certainty. “Because you didn’t make her choose between the chaos and the love. You gave her room to breathe.”

Jin nodded slowly, tears forming in his eyes but never falling. His father reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You inherited a company, Jin. But the man you’re becoming? You built that yourself.”

Jin shut his eyes for a long second. “Thank you.”

“Go. Fix what needs fixing. Say what needs saying. And if anyone gets in the way…”

“I won’t let them,” Jin finished, steady again.

As he stood to leave, his father said one last thing:

“Make sure that girl knows she’s not alone. Not anymore.”

The city was quiet, unnervingly so, as if it knew a reckoning was coming.

Seokjin stood outside Aera’s apartment building, heart heavy, hands clenched. His reflection in the glass doors was unfamiliar—eyes darker, jaw tense. He hadn’t seen her in years like this. Not like this.

He knocked once. Then twice.

She opened the door wearing a satin robe that clung to her figure like it was meant to be part of the performance. Her lips curled at the sight of him.

“I knew you’d come,” she said.

“I shouldn’t have to,” he replied.

She stepped aside.

The moment he entered, he felt the past close in like walls. The room hadn’t changed. Not since the last time he waited on that couch, asking her not to go.

“I see you haven’t redecorated,” he said coldly.

“Why fix what still works?” she replied, pouring herself a drink. “Want one?”

“I didn’t come to drink.”

“Then why are you here, Seokjin? To throw your new love in my face? Or to remember what we had?”

He turned to her slowly. “I came because you crossed a line.”

Her eyes glinted. “Which one? Remind me.”

“You sent that photo,” he said. “You fed lies to my mother. You painted her—Y/N—as something she’s not.”

“She’s not like us,” Aera said, tilting her glass. “She’s… ordinary.”

Seokjin’s voice was ice. “And thank God for that.”

She laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “So that’s it? You really fell for your little secretary?”

He said nothing. Just stared.

Aera’s smile faltered. “You and I… we built something once. Don’t pretend it meant nothing.”

“I’m not pretending. We were together for years.”

He paused.

“I waited for you. With the ring in my pocket. You left without a goodbye. Without a word.”

“I got scared.”

“No. You got selfish. You wanted fame. You wanted someone shinier. Some actor with a better PR team.”

Her voice trembled. “I thought I deserved more than being the woman behind the man.”

“And now you’re trying to be the woman who ruins him,” he snapped.

She walked toward him, slow, deliberate. “You were mine, Seokjin.”

“Once,” he said. “But you gave that up.”

“I thought… if I tore you two apart, maybe you’d come back. Maybe you’d remember.”

He let out a breathless, pained laugh. “You thought I’d come crawling back after you destroyed the one good thing I’ve had in years?”

She was silent.

“She’s kind,” he said. “She’s brave. She stays even when the whole world tells her to run.”

“And she left, didn’t she?”

“Because of you.”

Aera’s expression twisted. “She’ll never survive in your world. She’s not built for it.”

“She doesn’t have to be,” Jin said. “I’ll carry her through it if I have to.”

Aera’s voice cracked. “You never said things like that to me.”

“Because I never felt peace with you.”

She flinched.

He softened. “I loved you once. But it was always a war, Aera. It was always about who mattered more. With her… it’s quiet. Safe. Real.”

“I still love you,” she whispered.

He stared at her.

“I don’t,” he said.

A beat passed like thunder.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “For everything.”

“I wish that changed anything,” he whispered.

He turned to leave.

“And if I tell the board I lied?” she asked desperately. “If I clean this up?”

He looked at her over his shoulder.

“You can do whatever you want,” he said. “But I won’t let you touch her again.”

And with that, he stepped into the hallway and out of the wreckage of his past.

The train ride away from Seoul was long and silent, the windows fogged slightly from your breath as you stared out, watching the city blur into fields. You clutched your coat tighter around your chest. The coffee in your hands had long gone cold, but you held it anyway—like it might ground you.

Everything felt too loud in the city. The headlines. The whispers. The way Jin’s name echoed in every corner of the office, tangled with yours like a rumor you couldn’t outrun. So you ran.

And now, you were finally home.

You barely reached the gate when the front door opened.

“Y/N,” your mother whispered, arms already waiting for you.

You fell into them without saying a word.

She held you like you were still a child, fragile and trembling after a nightmare. You pressed your face into her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of warm fabric softener and dried flowers. She didn’t ask why you were crying. She didn’t need to.

Later, you sat at the kitchen table with a chipped mug of barley tea between your hands. The house creaked with wind and memory.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “I should’ve called earlier. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You don’t have to explain. This is your home.”

You nodded, eyes burning again. “I love him, Mom.”

Her expression softened. “I know.”

You stared at the steam curling up from your mug. “I didn’t expect to. Not like this. But he… he saw me. Not the version the world sees. Just me. And I think—I think I started falling for him before I realized I had.”

“And now you’re here,” she said gently.

“I left,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I left when everything was falling apart. And he—he still protected me. He stood in front of the board, the press, the world… and chose me.”

Your mother reached across the table and took your hand in both of hers.

“But what if I’m the reason he loses everything? His company. His peace. Everything he’s built.”

“What if he’s already decided you’re worth more than all of that combined?” she said, her voice steady and sure.

Your chest ached.

“I’m scared,” you confessed. “Scared that if I go back, I’ll break under the weight of it. The looks. The words. The hate.”

“Then break, Y/N,” she whispered. “That’s how the light gets in.”

You tried to smile, but your lips barely moved.

“I just needed to breathe,” you murmured. “Even if it meant breaking both of us in the process.”

Your mother stood and wrapped her arms around you again. “When you’re ready, you’ll know what to do. Until then, rest.”

And so you cried—really cried—for the first time in days. Quietly. Safely. Until there were no tears left.

The boardroom felt colder than usual. Jin sat alone at the end of the long table, elbows on his knees, eyes hollow with exhaustion. It had only been three days, but he hadn’t truly slept since you left. Since he dropped you off at your apartment and watched you cry in silence the whole drive.

Namjoon walked in, loosening his tie.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Jin answered.

Namjoon didn’t try to offer false comfort. He simply sat down beside him. “You don’t have to be.”

Jin ran a hand through his hair, eyes red. “I told the truth. I said it clearly. That I love her. That she didn’t manipulate me. That she’s the best person I’ve ever known.”

“And they still want her out?” Namjoon asked.

“They want her erased,” Jin said bitterly. “Like she’s some problem I need to clean up. Like she isn’t the reason I started showing up to work with a heartbeat again.”

Namjoon was quiet for a long time.

“She left,” Jin whispered. “She went home. Said she needed to breathe. I should’ve fought harder—should’ve made her stay.”

“No,” Namjoon said, shaking his head. “You did the right thing by letting her go.”

Jin looked at him, eyes glassy.

“Will she come back?”

“I don’t know,” Namjoon answered honestly. “But if I were her—and I knew you were waiting—I would.”

Jin swallowed hard. “She told me love was like planting seeds in the rain. It doesn’t look like much at first. But one day, you look down, and something’s grown.”

Namjoon gave a quiet smile. “Then keep watering.”

The days in the countryside passed like breath caught in frost—slow, still, and aching.

It was the middle of December, and winter had crept in quietly, dusting the earth with thin veils of white. The mornings were sharp with cold, and the sun took its time crawling out from behind the mountains. Christmas was a week away, but there was no music in your chest, no warmth in your smile. You kept busy instead. Always busy.

You helped your father dig the last of the sweet potatoes before the ground froze, your gloves soaked through, your cheeks flushed from the wind. You swept the floors of the small stationery shop your parents had opened when you were young. Ran the till. Bagged notebooks and pens for kids who came in after school, their laughter piercing your quiet heart like pinpricks of light.

You smiled at customers. You laughed at your mother’s jokes. You watered the houseplants even when your hands shook. And every night, when the house went quiet, you sat on the porch and let the silence speak.

You thought of Seokjin more often than you admitted to yourself. You remembered how he used to tuck your hair behind your ear when you rambled. How he looked at you like you were the softest thing in the world. How he held you that night before you left, when neither of you said goodbye properly—only pressed your foreheads together like the goodbye was too heavy to speak aloud.

Tonight, the cold was sharper. A breeze carried pine and burnt wood through the air. You pulled your knit scarf tighter, sitting alone on the porch, knees to your chest, the stars dusted faintly above the barn roof in the distance.

You didn’t hear the cane until it tapped the wooden plank once, twice.

You looked up.

“Grandma,” you said softly, rising to your feet. “You should be in bed. It’s cold.”

She shuffled toward you, wrapped in her thick floral shawl, her hair like silver silk in a bun. The porch light caught her face gently—lined with time but still full of that soft fire that always made you feel safe.

“I was sleeping,” she said, voice low and warm, “but I woke up with a strange feeling in my chest. Like my heart was reaching for something.”

You swallowed. “You were probably just cold.”

She gave you a long, knowing look.

“Or maybe,” she said, easing herself into the old wooden rocking chair beside yours, “my granddaughter is sitting out here trying not to cry again.”

Your throat tightened.

“I’m not—” you started, then stopped, your breath catching.

She didn’t push you. Just looked out into the dark fields, rocking gently, hands clasped in her lap.

The quiet between you stretched and softened.

Then finally, she spoke.

“You don’t need to tell me what happened, Y/N. I don’t need to know the names or the reasons. I don’t even need to know who hurt you. I can feel it. I’ve felt it for days.”

You lowered your gaze to your lap, your fingers curling around your scarf.

“I thought coming home would make things easier,” you whispered.

“But it didn’t?”

You shook your head. “I love him. I love him so much that it hurts to even say his name. But everything around us got too loud. The world started pointing at me like I wasn’t enough. Like I didn’t belong next to someone like him.”

Your voice cracked.

“I got scared. That if I stayed, I’d be the reason he lost everything he built. And if he lost it all… and then realized I wasn’t worth it…”

You trailed off, eyes stinging.

Your grandmother reached for your hand. Her palm was soft and thin, but it held a strength you had leaned on since childhood.

“My darling,” she said, voice hushed with emotion. “Love isn’t something you earn by being perfect. It’s not a medal or a trophy. It’s a garden. Some days, it blooms without trying. Other days, it dies in your hands unless you fight to keep it alive.”

You looked at her, tears slipping quietly down your cheeks.

“I didn’t want him to fight for something that keeps hurting him.”

She gave a sad smile.

“You don’t get to choose for him, Y/N. You don’t protect someone by walking away from them. You protect them by standing beside them, even when it rains. Especially when it rains.”

You broke at that.

Covered your mouth as the sob cracked through you.

Your grandmother pulled you gently to her chest, your head resting against her shoulder like you were five again and scared of thunderstorms.

“You’ve always loved too big,” she whispered. “Even when you were little, you would cry for the broken-winged birds. But you forget—you are not the broken thing. You are the sky they fly through when they’re healed.”

You cried harder.

“He protected me,” you said, voice raw. “He told the world the truth. He fought for me. But I left anyway. I left him in the middle of everything.”

She rocked you like you were still her little girl, her hand stroking your hair.

“Sometimes we leave,” she said softly, “not because we don’t love, but because we don’t know how to be loved. But the right ones… they wait. They water the garden anyway. They believe the flowers will bloom again.”

You nodded against her, breath trembling.

And then, in a barely audible whisper, you asked, “Do you think he’s still waiting?”

She smiled, brushing your tear-damp cheek with her thumb.

“I think if he loves you like you say… he never stopped.”

The wind rustled through the trees. Snow began to fall, soft and light, settling on the porch rails like tiny stars.

You stayed like that—wrapped in her arms, tucked against her heartbeat—as the night deepened and the ache inside you softened just enough to let a little hope in.

The office windows were tall and glinting with winter light, catching the soft glow of Seoul’s pale December sky. Snow had stopped falling, but it lingered on the rooftops in quiet drifts, softening the edges of the city below.

Inside the boardroom, the air was sharp with resolution and post-conflict fatigue. The investors had nodded. The final word had been spoken. The statement cleared. The truth, at long last, had settled into place.

Seokjin stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, watching the city move without him.

The war was over.

At least the one in the headlines.

Aera had pulled out quietly two days ago—no press conference, no apology. Just a message through her attorney, and silence. Her name was no longer tied to the company. No longer sewn to his.

The board believed him now. The media had stopped tearing through his personal life like wolves. The storm had passed.

But peace didn’t feel like peace when the person you loved wasn’t there to share it.

He touched the pocket of his coat. His fingers brushed the edge of the photograph he still carried—one you had taken together.

She wasn’t here.

She hadn’t called.

And that was what hurt most.

A soft knock came against the glass wall of his office. Namjoon stood there, shoulders slightly hunched beneath his camel coat, coffee in one hand and something unreadable in his eyes.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

Seokjin nodded.

Namjoon walked in, placed the coffee on the table without speaking, and sat in the chair opposite. For a while, neither of them spoke.

Outside, the light moved slowly over the buildings, brushing skyscrapers with pale gold.

Seokjin finally broke the silence.

“I thought I’d feel more… relieved.”

Namjoon leaned back slightly, arms crossed. “But you don’t.”

“I do. I mean—logically, I know it’s over. I won. The company is intact. My name’s clear. But…” He looked down at his hands. “It doesn’t feel like I won anything.”

Namjoon studied him, then quietly said, “Because the one thing you actually want isn’t here.”

Seokjin’s chest tightened.

“Exactly.”

A long pause passed between them.

“She hasn’t called?” Namjoon asked.

He shook his head. “No. I dropped her off at her apartment that night. Told her I’d wait. She said she needed to breathe. And I meant it—I want her to take all the time she needs. I just… I keep wondering if she’ll ever come back.”

Namjoon nodded slowly, thoughtful.

“Do you blame her?” he asked.

Seokjin exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. “No. I blame myself.”

Namjoon tilted his head. “You didn’t push her away, Jin. You fought for her. You went public. You took the fall. And she knows that.”

Seokjin gave a bitter smile. “But it doesn’t change how heavy it all became for her. How much she must’ve questioned herself—us. I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve protected her better. From my past. From Aera. From all of it.”

Namjoon leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Maybe. Or maybe this was something she had to face on her own. You know how she is—she gives everything she has to people, and never stops to ask herself what she needs. Sometimes, loving someone means giving them space to find their way back.”

Seokjin looked up at that.

“You think she will?”

Namjoon’s expression softened.

“I think she loves you in a way that scared her. And I think when someone loves that deeply, they don’t run forever. They pause. They hurt. But they remember.”

Seokjin’s gaze dropped to the coffee now cooling between them. He wrapped his hand around it, just to feel something warm.

“You know,” he said after a long silence, “I used to think love was supposed to be simple. You meet someone. You fall. And everything just clicks.”

Namjoon’s lips twitched. “That’s the fantasy.”

“But this?” Seokjin went on. “This is messy. It’s painful. It makes you doubt yourself, your past, your worth. But even now… even in this moment where I don’t know what’s going to happen… I wouldn’t trade a single second of loving her.”

Namjoon nodded, his voice quiet.

“That’s how you know it’s real.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of honesty hanging like snowfall on an untouched street.

“Do you think she’s okay?” Seokjin asked, not looking up.

“I think,” Namjoon replied, “she’s out there trying to make sense of a world that cracked beneath her. And I think she’ll come back when she’s ready to build something new with you. Not because she owes you—but because she chooses to.”

Seokjin let that sink in. He held it close like a promise.

Outside, the clouds shifted slightly. A pale shaft of sunlight spilled across the glass table, catching the edge of your photograph peeking out from his coat pocket.

He pressed a hand to it.

Still waiting.

Still yours.

It was two days before Christmas.

The store windows fogged slightly with warmth from inside, a soft contrast to the breath of winter curling against the glass. Outside, snow lay thick across the sleepy village. The fields slept in frost. The trees held their silence like old friends.

Inside the stationery store, you stood by the window, carefully hanging paper lanterns made from recycled notepaper and gold string. Your hands moved on instinct, your mind elsewhere.

Every corner of the shop smelled like cinnamon wax, paper, and pinewood. Familiar. Safe.

The same chime above the door rang softly when someone entered. The same row of notebooks lined the shelves by color and season. This store had been your world long before Seoul ever was. But even now, surrounded by childhood comforts, you felt like a ghost among them.

You hadn’t spoken Seokjin’s name aloud since you arrived. You kept it tucked inside your chest, like a pressed letter never sent.

He still lived inside you.

But you didn’t know if he was waiting.

Or if he had moved on.

Your mother was organizing a shelf of gift wrap by the counter when she called out gently, “Y/N-ah? Could you check the drawer under the register? I think someone left something there.”

You turned, brushing snow off your sweater sleeve. “A delivery?”

She nodded. “A man came by two days ago. Said it was important. Didn’t leave a name.”

Your breath caught for a second—but you didn’t ask. Couldn’t.

You knelt behind the counter, slowly pulling open the drawer.

There, beneath a stack of unused gift tags and a ribbon spool, was a small brown package. Wrapped simply in kraft paper, tied with a single navy ribbon. No name. No card.

Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted it.

You brought it to the table near the window. The winter light was soft and dull outside. The sky looked like it had swallowed all its stars.

You untied the ribbon. Peeled back the paper.

Inside was a photograph. One you hadn’t seen in months.

It was from your first date. Seokjin had pulled you in without warning, and you had laughed, lips parted mid-giggle while his face pressed against your cheek. You had both looked so happy then. So unburdened. So alive.

Tucked behind the photograph was a folded piece of parchment.

You held it between your fingers for a moment, staring at your name written on the front. Not in ink. But in his handwriting.

It was undeniably him.

Your heart cracked open.

You sat down slowly, breath hitching, and began to read.

Y/N,

I don’t know where you are while reading this. Maybe you’re still in the village where the stars are closer. Maybe you’re sitting in the store, where the scent of paper always calmed you. Maybe you’re reading this after throwing it away twice before opening it.

But if these words reach you, even now, then I’m grateful.

I’ve been carrying a version of this letter in my mind for days. I rewrote it in elevators, in boardrooms, on sleepless nights and early dawns. I don’t know how to say any of this perfectly, but I hope you’ll read every word anyway.

I miss you.

Not just in the way people miss each other when they’re apart. I miss you in the smallest, sharpest ways.

I miss the sound of your voice when you’re half-asleep. I miss how you organize your pens by color when you’re thinking. I miss how your laugh breaks in the middle when you’re trying to hold it back. I miss how you look at the world like it’s still worth something, even when it’s cruel.

I miss you because you made my life mean something more than just power and titles and survival.

You made me remember I had a heart.

And you taught me what it meant to let someone hold it.

When you left, I told you I’d wait.

That hasn’t changed.

Not because I’m expecting you to come back like a movie ending. But because my heart doesn’t know how to stop loving you, even now.

You told me once that you were scared. That staying might make you fall apart.

But what if falling apart was the start of building something stronger?

I’m not asking you to return today.

I’m not even asking you to forgive everything.

I just want you to know—my heart hasn’t moved from where you left it.

Still yours,

Seokjin

Your hands shook as you set the letter down, tears slipping from your eyes without warning. Your chest ached. The air in the shop felt too full and too quiet at once.

The photograph rested in your palm, the ghost of his smile staring back at you.

He hadn’t asked for anything.

He hadn’t begged.

He just… wrote the truth. And gave it wings.

You didn’t hear your grandmother’s footsteps at first, but you felt her presence before you looked up. She stood at the porch doorway, wrapped in her soft quilted shawl, her silver hair gently pinned back.

She watched you for a moment, then slowly stepped forward, her joints aching as she knelt beside you.

“You’re crying, Y/N,” she said softly.

You turned to her, unable to speak, but nodded through the tears.

She reached for your hand.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” she whispered. “I know how your heart works. I raised you with it in my own hands. I don’t know who hurt you, but I can feel your love breaking you apart.”

You pressed your forehead against her shoulder, sobs slipping free, raw and childlike.

She held you, gentle as snow.

“My love,” she said after a while, voice like weathered silk, “sometimes love doesn’t come back wrapped in ribbon. It returns like a letter lost in the wind. Not because it wants to remind you of the pain—but because it wants to ask if you’re ready to believe in it again.”

You nodded slowly.

She pulled back, cupped your cheek.

“Only you will know when you are ready to love again. But don’t let pride or fear close the door to something that still makes your heart beat.”

Outside, the church bell rang softly in the distance.

Christmas was coming.

And something inside you—hope, maybe—stirred in the stillness.

You looked down at the letter again, the corner of it now smudged from your tears.

He hadn’t asked you to come back.

He had simply waited for your heart to find its way home.

Meanwhile in Seoul,

The city was hushed in white.

Snow had fallen quietly all day, softening the chaos into something almost holy. The kind of silence that comes just before midnight on Christmas Eve, when even the traffic lights blink slower, as if holding their breath.

Seokjin stepped out onto the rooftop.

The same rooftop where you once stood beside him, wrapped in a borrowed coat, whispering that the city looked gentler from above.

He remembered how you had tilted your head back that night, watching the stars pretend not to cry, just like you. And how he’d stood beside you, trying to hold in a thousand words, but only saying one:

Stay.

The wind was sharp tonight, but he didn’t flinch. He wore the scarf you once said made him look “too polished,” the one you still tugged over his chin anyway.

In his hands, he held a paper lantern.

It glowed faintly from within, trembling slightly against the wind. He steadied it with both palms.

The rooftop was still, save for the snow that kissed the stone and the distant echo of carols from somewhere across the Han River.

He breathed in the cold and whispered:

“I miss you.”

His voice sounded strange in the open air. Honest. Breakable.

“I don’t know if you’ll ever come back. And I don’t want to make you choose between yourself and me again. I just hope wherever you are, you feel warm tonight. That you laugh. That you eat something sweet.”

He swallowed, eyes on the flickering light.

“And I hope you know that I’ll still be here. If you ever find your way back.”

And then, with a quiet breath, he let go.

The lantern rose slowly, catching the breeze, swaying gently as it lifted above the skyline. Upward, toward the clouds and stars and all the things people wish on when they have nothing else to hold.

Seokjin stood there a long time, watching it disappear into the snow.

The kitchen smelled like oranges and soy sauce and rising bread.

You stood at the sink, hands dusted with flour, while your mother stirred soup by the stove and your father arranged dumplings into neat rows. Laughter echoed from the next room, where your uncle had taken it upon himself to teach your little cousins a cha-cha line dance, to absolutely no success.

The warmth inside contrasted the cold outside. The windows had fogged up, and the snow hadn’t stopped falling since morning. Candles flickered on every windowsill. A radio played an old love song from the 70s, softly.

You had been quiet all day.

Not sad. Just quiet.

You watched the steam curl up from the pot and thought of him.

Seokjin.

The way his voice cracked when he was tired. The way he reached for your hand like it was second nature. The way he always looked at you like he was memorizing the moment.

And the letter.

You had read it every night since it arrived. Folded it gently. Tucked it under your pillow.

He hadn’t begged.

He had waited.

You turned to your mother. “Umma,” you said softly. “Can I tell you something?”

She looked up, wiping her hands. “Of course, Y/N.”

You wiped your palms on your apron, heart pounding.

“I’m going back to Seoul. Tomorrow.”

She paused. Just for a breath.

Then smiled.

Your father looked over from the dumplings. “To him?”

You nodded. “I don’t know what will happen. But I want to see him. I want to… find out. I want to tell him that I didn’t leave because I stopped loving him. I just needed to come back to myself first.”

Your voice trembled a little.

“I still love him. So much it hurts. But this time, I want to choose him with all of me.”

Your mother stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Then go,” she whispered. “Don’t let something that real pass you by.”

Your grandmother entered the kitchen just then, wrapped in her cardigan, holding a basket of peeled apples. She looked at you with knowing eyes, then walked over and pressed one into your hand.

“It’s time,” she said simply. “Don’t let the snow keep your heart waiting.”

You blinked back tears, then pulled her into a hug, your fingers clutching her cardigan like you were seven again.

“I’ll pack my things tonight,” you said.

And suddenly, something inside you shifted.

The ache didn’t disappear. But it changed shape.

It became something like hope.

The snow in Seoul was unlike the countryside.

Here, it didn’t fall in heavy sheets or blanket open fields. Instead, it drifted gently, like it was afraid to land. It painted the city in delicate strokes—rooftops, parked cars, lampposts adorned like frosted candles. Everything was hushed, still, waiting. Even the traffic had quieted, muffled under December’s breath.

You stood outside the glass entrance of his building, breath fogging in front of you, hands buried deep in your coat pockets.

The suitcase beside you was small, but your heart felt unbearably full—too heavy to carry, too fragile to leave behind.

You looked up.

The penthouse lights were on.

Some part of you had hoped—no, believed—he’d be home on Christmas.

He was always the one who quietly remembered things that mattered. The rooftop dates. The first snow. The way your hand fit inside his.

Your heart pounded so loudly you could hear it over the wind.

You hadn’t called. You hadn’t texted. You just… came.

You exhaled shakily, eyes stinging from more than the cold. You told yourself you’d only wait a few minutes, and if he didn’t come, you’d go. You’d take a cab to Mina’s or your apartment. But even as you thought it, your feet didn’t move.

Then, the glass doors parted.

And there he was.

Seokjin stepped out of his car, shoulders hunched in a charcoal gray coat, a scarf loosely looped around his neck. Snowflakes had settled on his hair, glinting like tiny stars.

And then he saw you.

His phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a soft clack.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

The moment felt suspended—caught between reality and some silent, magical thread that had always connected the two of you, even when everything else fell apart.

He didn’t run to you. He didn’t say your name.

He walked. Slowly. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Like you were a dream he didn’t want to break.

The wind pushed snow around you in soft spirals. It clung to your hair, your lashes, the edge of your lips.

When he reached you, his hands were already trembling.

“Tell me I’m not imagining you,” he whispered, voice cracked from days of silence.

You swallowed hard. “You’re not.”

His eyes searched yours—desperate, gentle, afraid.

And then he pulled you into him.

His arms wrapped around your waist, and yours curled around his shoulders like you’d never left. His coat was warm and familiar, and his heartbeat echoed against your chest, rapid and real.

You buried your face into his neck.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry it took me so long to come back.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“But I left,” you said, voice breaking. “Right when you were hurting. Right when everything fell apart.”

“You were hurting too,” he murmured. “I saw it in your eyes. I didn’t want you to stay for me if you were breaking.”

Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his coat.

“I missed you every single day,” you confessed. “Every quiet morning at the farm. Every night I closed the shop. I kept looking for you in places I knew you wouldn’t be.”

He pulled back just enough to cup your face.

Snowflakes landed on your cheeks, and he brushed them away with the softest touch, like you were something sacred.

“I never stopped waiting,” he said. “Even when it hurt. Even when I thought maybe you wouldn’t come back.”

Your lips trembled. “I didn’t know if I still deserved you.”

His gaze softened—warm, heartbroken.

“You’re the only thing that’s ever made sense to me,” he said quietly. “I don’t care about anything else.”

“I want to try again,” you breathed. “With you. For real this time.”

He kissed you.

And it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. It tasted like snow and salt and forgiveness. Like time slowed down just long enough for two broken hearts to find rhythm again.

The streets of Seoul lit behind you, golden and festive. Children laughed somewhere in the distance. A street musician played an old Christmas ballad that barely reached your ears.

But none of it mattered.

You were home.

Right here, in his arms, in the snowfall.

Chapter 14

That’s a wrap for Chapter 13 🤍

Thank you so much for reading all the way through this emotional turning point in their story.

Writing their reunion made me feel a thousand things, and I hope it did the same for you.

What comes next is not just about falling in love again. It’s about choosing each other in the ordinary, in the aftermath, in the little moments that follow the chaos.

They’ve found their way back. But the question is—can they hold on when reality slowly settles in?

There’s a new chapter of love waiting. One that involves family, future plans, and the kind of courage it takes to truly begin again.

See you in the next chapter. I hope you’re ready for more healing, more honesty, and more love.

With all my heart,

InkedWithCharm 🤍

@jimochi @misschelliejeon @parapiop7 @kittenan2 @mar-lo-pap @isthara-7 @thegirlwithnomiddlename @j0cgr0c @pp0810

[kytalityss]

first day.

based on a literal dream i had of this man (im cooked)

contents; byun euijoo x reader, idol au, first-meeting, gn!reader, taller!ej.

wc; 983

song reco; close to you - gracie abrams,

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤIt was stressful, to say the least. The worries of just debuting? The struggles of feeling so alone despite being surrounded by staff and your members? You were hassling to keep up, just barely dragging yourself out of bed and into the bathroom every morning. The same shit every day. Skincare, skip breakfast, hit the afternoon of practice, come back to the dorms, shower, sleep. Repeat.

Alongside it, you had to prep for your first stage. Currently, you were laid on the large platform itself–surrounded by nothing except for the tall metal beams that held screens hundreds of feet above an empty stadium. The title track of your album played softly from the speakers placed about sporadically. A soft chirp of staff guiding your members around. Your back felt heavy on the stage under you, shoulders sagged down and eyes heavily glued to the far ceiling.

You felt small.

Worthless.

Your debut hit charts already, selling out said stadium, surprisingly. You weren't far excited, just.. eager.

Exhaling a long breath, you squeezed your eyes shut. Fuck. It was exhausting...somehow exhilarating in the same beat.

A set of footsteps echoed around the stadium, along the stage you laid on. Assuming it was one of your members, you scoffed a soft laugh through your nose, arms and legs stretched out like a starfish. The structure was cool agaisnt your skin...an unused fan held in one hand.

"Hyein." You called lazily, shamelessly, eyes still glued shut and mind reeling with grogginess. It didnt take a beat for you to continue, not wasting a moment to hear for a response. The footsteps stopped just a little from your head, the feeling of eyes on you sparked in the air.

"I swear." You began, bleakly bringing your knuckles up–resting them softly over your eyelids. "This choreography is gonna kill me..."

Finally, you peered your eyes open at an unfamiliar scoff. A precise laugh. Nothing drawn out. But deeper, lower, almost something unrecognizable.

"Is it?" He replied with a charming look.

Fuck. Definitely not Hyein.

A taller guy stood over you, his eyes bright and lips quirked into a careful smile. His hair draped over his face. Gaze warm and hands placed on his knees. Barely crouched over you.

Jumping in your skin, you shot upright. Then staggered to your feet. Oh, God.

Your hair was a tousled mess from just getting up still, eyes wide and lips drawn into a shaky line over your features. Quickly, you practically folded over into a respectful bow. Frantically greeting him.

"Im so sorry!" You breathed after a beat, standing upright again and backing up a few steps, just towards the stairs of the stage. God dammit! Seeing your sunbae while you looked like–this?! Your heart pounded heavy behind your chest as he laughed, a little brighter, definitely more purposeful now. You could barely even register which member it was until he stood up as well.

A simple tee, some basketball shorts that practically enveloped him. Sneakers and a microphone loosely held in one hand. A velcroed chest piece identical to your own. It read; &TEAM, Euijoo/의주.

You gulped down the feeling of weariness that shot up your spine, watching as he barely shook his head, his smile beaming. Amusement radiated off him like a glow, his rounder cheeks accompanied by slight dimples.

"You're good! Dont worry." It was almost reassuring, your nerves on fire at the thought of disrupting his own groups rehearsal.

"You must be the leader of ___," He paused, head tilting. Soft brunette hair draped over black, browline glasses–which he shifted onto the top of his head after a beat. Purely an accessory.

"Its nice to finally meet you."

"You as well."

Nodding back quickly, you flashed a half-embarrased, half cautious smile his way. It was weak in nature, your palms a little clammy at your sides. Had you known anyone other than staff was just... appearing, you would've atleast tried to put yourself together. Instead you stood in a loose tee and sweats, the kind you'd wear to bed. The kind you'd regret being caught in.

Euijoo took a few small strides forward, his steps gentle and a little more welcoming. As if not to scare you off. Much like a wolf approaching a deer.

His hand reached out, palm inwards and posture casual. Calm, almost. As if he hadnt scared the shit out of you.

You returned the handshake with a little more firmness than you'd anticipated, watching his expression shift to a playfully confused look once more. Who could pass up a chance to tease some new kid around?

"Dont be so nervous." You glanced up, gaze meeting his own doe eyes. Warm. Welcoming. Oddly, mellow. Relaxed despite the beaming energy he gave. And as if he could read your mind itself, he took another small pace forwards, leaning down slightly to speak faintly. A murmur only for you.

God, who ever let a man be this tall?

"You're gonna do great." Euijoo slid his palm away from your own now, unhurried and cautious of your jumpy behavior.

"...Thankyou." You breathed back, fingers barely catching his own– a mindful glance down. He smiled. Pliantly casual. Almost like a fresh of breath air, a shiver gnawing up your spine.

Your heart seemed to spike behind your ribs as he strode past you, hands finally slid apart and breath caught in an invisible net that nested itself in your throat. God, if anything couldve gone worse, somehow. Some way. Anything more embarrassing than being caught like a doe in headlights. You sighed out a breath, one you didnt realize you'd been holding. Shoulders stiff and eyes widely set on the far wall from across the stage.

Barely registering your managers firm call to get off the stage, you hassled to turn on your heel and scamper down the same steps Euijoo had disappeared from.

© all rights reserved to @/kytalityss, no reposts or translations permitted anywhere outside of this blog. all writings are human-made and self-written.

[drugggstoreperfume]

i’m gonna say this now so i can come back to it:

Cloudward, Ho! theory: think there’s some weird time stuff going on with zood/zern. be it some time dilation or distortion or a full time loop idk. certain things have stuck out to me:

- The Legio Rex: i get it that it’s like a funny beat to have the Rex have lived in that forest or whatever for so long just continuously breeding and being velociraptors, but i feel like 1000+ years is a LONG time. maybe im reading too much into that but it feels weird.

- Ramansu ‘Temple’: We know it’s not a temple by any means; it’s a power station. And if i remember correctly, Brennan mentioned that Comfrey was there about 2-3 months ago and alludes to her having been there for 6ish months. But Lou(?) rolls a check and Brennan mentions that even with having the best crew, the amount of work put into that place is impressive. Also when they first get into it and see the coffee machine, it’s described as ancient. Like not the amount of settling/decay/whatever that could occur in 2ish months. I know it’s implied that Comfrey and her crew like took up in this scientist power station but i doubt the ancient inhabitants of the place had a coffee machine.

- Van?: This is something I just noticed that might be me being like hypervigilant for Brennan lore drops, but the way Brennan referred to the hand in the jar as the “EyeFULL” hand feels significant. Maybe a time loop involving Van and the Eyeless Hand. It could also just be a one off bit. Occam’s Razor.

- Max’s Watch: Something about a watch that hears time feels significant

- Zood and Zern: Just the fuckin shape of the two of them is extremely intriguing to me. Looping around each other and all

- Goldbeard: The most obvious evidence at this point. His sense of time is very warped. Daisuke knows it’s been 60 years since he “killed” Goldbeard, but Goldbeard only believes it’s been 30 years and looks as if he’s aged that little as well.

One more thought that feels a little crazy but idk: the legio rex speaking common with the party was odd from like a linguistic perspective. Like if they’ve been basically isomsting themselves and being dinosaurs why would they learn a new language and not just use their native tongue. Like put Nero and other ancient Romans into dinosaur bodies, leave them alone in the woods isolated, return in like a Millenia; they’re probably still speaking latin or an evolved version of it, but not the same as common.

edit: @house-of-frangus mentioned that the language thing i said at the end is prolly due to the language crystal and that tracks! thank you for the insight!!

[atopfourthwall]

On a less emotional note, I'm sorry if I already asked you about this and forgot, but I've been watching a few of SF Debris' vids about DS9 and Dukat, and apparently the character went through a very...odd shift. In that the villain gains enough layers and nuance to the point where people start seeing him as not a villain; only for the writers to overcorrect it and establish his villainy as undeniable, but tossing away all that nuance. I was wondering what your own view on it was? Are there other examples of this happening in media you enjoy?

See, I have no problem with the villain shift. I don't even think his ending arc is particularly bad like a lot of people do. No, my problem is two-fold with him: 1-There should not have been any connection between Dukat and Kira's mom. Just makes things squicky and weird given how he treats Kira over the series plus slightly contradicts some earlier minor continuity stuff. 2-Him becoming more overtly villainous is perfectly fine - just because Space Hitler has some nuance and respectable qualities doesn't mean he isn't still Space Hitler and it was important to remind people who were forgiving him that he was Space Hitler. Waltz is where the shift is supposed to happen. Dukat makes his big impassioned defense of his actions, that he wasn't so bad, that he was fair and just... while descending further into madness and reminding us "Oh, yeah, he thinks that murdering 200 suspected people - not convicted, just SUSPECTED terrorists - is justice and not really fucking evil." His delusions and self-aggrandizement gets stripped away, his excuses and justifications fall apart even in his own eyes until he realizes "Oh, I actually fucking hate the Bajorans and want to kill them all because they don't love me for being their superior!" And you see that conclusion evident as he screams at Sisko "I have unfinished business on Bajor! They thought I was their enemy?! They don't KNOW what it is to be my enemy, but they will! From this moment forward, Bajor is DEAD! All of Bajor! And this time, not even their Emissary can save them!" It's a good moment, it's the shift of his character to being dedicated to destroying Bajor... aaand then NOPE. At first you might think given his next appearance in the season finale with the Pah-Wraith statue "Oh, he's continuing his arc," except then he tells Damar and Weyoun "Actually, I blame Sisko for my daughter's death and not you, Damar, even though I called the Defiant to go pick him up instead of leaving him to die." And then he uses the Pah-Wraith to close the wormhole. But then suddenly "Actually now I want peace with the Bajorans and have started a Pah-Wraith cult!" Admittedly, maybe you could argue it's because these Bajorans are all worshipful of him like he wanted, but it feels pretty unambiguous to go "I SHOULD HAVE KILLED THEM ALL" to "Nah, it's cool - they like me so it's fine!" Sure, in the finale he's all "Mwahahaha, the Pah Wraiths will burn across the galaxy" but his anger was originally directed STRICTLY at the Bajorans and now his motives seem a little broader for no good reason but otherwise doesn't really care about his specific vendetta.