#I WOULD KNOW HIM IN DEATH? AT THE END OF THE WORLD?

[reshinless]

Been seeing alot of spiderman Kinich content on the clock app and this gave me an idea

Reader gets gwen stacy'd and kinich fails to save them lol then he wakes up and then they bang

──── through the phone mask

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ synopsis. before he goes, how about a peck, yeah through his mask!

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ pairings. spiderman!kinich x gn!afab!reader (this will end up in smut, so !!NSFW CONTENT AHEAD!!) angst + comfort (in a way?? death mention but no actual death happens! just a bad dream)

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ director's notice. oooo i could not stop thinking about this during class!!

"mwa!" you cheer- briefly backing away as you admire you boyfriend, kinich, that puts his mask on. you pray that this spiderman stuff didn't pressure him at all.

"mmm... one more?" as he turned around to face you again. you chuckled as you tilted your head, stepping closer to the window sill he crouched on. "one more? i think you've had enough for today." a teasing tone present in you sonorously.

he gave you a pleading look in hopes to earn accolade (in which this case is a kiss. or two. or three.) you could giggle, feeling the way he still tried to kiss you through the mask he wore, concealing his identity to all, except you of course.

"mmmwa!" you brush your lips against the fabric that kept all of this a secret. you were so pretty when you smiled. he likes that little dimple that appears on your cheek when you grinned- or maybe the mole on your neck right there. mmmaybe he should count them soon.

but when there's a moment where kinich saves everyone but you, he'd never forgive himself. when there's a moment where kinich can catch everyone when they're falling but you. when there are gonna be moments that only star him, and missing you. like how a seed would long for a soil bed, or how the moonlight doesn't shine without its sun.

he was terrified of losing someone as precious as you were. for as long as you both lived, he wanted to spend as much time with you. his love language was all about spending time with you, and doing things for you, he knew you could handle yourself, but he loves knowing you rely on him for a few things (even if they're simple). so losing you would be losing a huge part of himself.

in all the years you both got to spend together, you spent it along side your best wingwoman; mualani. growing up by both of your sides, he never felt alone, or unneeded. he felt everything was finally coming together.

so when he saw the scene before him- it was you. being stabbed in the stomach by a spike below the now-broken bridge. even in death you were so pretty. your head was laid down on his lap, barely opening your eyes, just enough to let a few tears trickle down the softness of your cheeks.

"i'm.. sorry i couldn't do enough for you." were the words you whispered, holding his cheek before finally passing on to the next world.

no he couldn't handle the scene at all. and only now is when he realizes- he should spend more time. he'll make sure you won't feel like that when he meets you again. he knows he'll recognize you. he'd know you from anywhere, anytime, any appearance, anywho.

kinich wakes up in tears, clear tear stains on the place he rest his face into. your pjs have small marks, drops of tears where they'd landed off his face. your eyes flutter open a few seconds later, realizing he's no longer in your arms.

"kin? wh.. what's wrong? why are you crying?" you immediately got up to wipe the small sobs off his cheeks. "..you're still here.. thank god, you're still here." he suddenly hugs you, fitting his head into your nape. his hold was tight, and affectionate. enough to know that he's happy that you're still present.

"yeah, i'd never leave. was.. was it a dream?" you asked, massaging his scalp to soothe his stress. he could only hum in response, he felt a little pathetic to admit that he was, but it was the first step to accepting it.

"do.. you ever feel like i'm mistreating you?" his head popped up from the spot it was previously. "what? no you're not. in fact, i feel like i'm not doing enough for you, baby." you chuckle, shifting your head to front him a little better.

"you've done more than you think for me." his hand held a soft grasp on your palm, you could feel a few scars on his hand. "really? i find it hard to believe." you let out a giggle, certainly a superhero who does things to make sure the city is a safe place for all, feels like you do more? that was in your point of view anyway.

"may.. i show you how much i can repay you then? i want to show you.. i want you to feel how thankful i am that you're here."

whatever it was in that dream of his definitely helped yours come true. "mmm, someone's ahhn- enjoying, ngh themselves.." he grunted out, hitting you from behind so good, you can't do anything but sit there and take it.

you could feel every little ridge on his dick, the sweat emitting from your body, combined with the drops spouting from the pores of his palms. damn you couldn't even hold your own moans back in courtesy for the people in the next dorm. "mmmffffuckkk.. s'good kin.." you whined, you shut your eyes in ectasy

he throws his head back, groaning at the sight of your plush ass barely swallowing his shaft each time. every shlick only made you even wetter. you could feel his length twitching inside you, each time he hit your very core.

your folds felt so insanely good, wrapping around the base of his dick so well, even inside you it felt so warm. the way you were basically getting stretched out, it reached even further into you, in his observation seeing how your eyebrows knitted- he assumed you liked it like that, kissing your insides!

he slowed the pace of his sloppy thrusts briefly to reach over for the phone on the nightstand. "you mind if we take a photo, pretty? love the way you look right now, 'd hate to miss such a face."

he'd be too busy admiring your face to realize how long he'd been grinding against your precious spot. he knew exactly how to make you use the expressions he wanted.

kissing your neck hungrily, making sure you face the camera as it recorded, letting it see all of you.

watching how your body reacted to his so well, he couldn't help but coo into your ear about how good you were doing.

"such a pretty kitty, mmm? and they're all mine aren't they? he continued, on the edge of the bed- making sure you see yourself in the mirror in front of you.

"this is what i admire everyday. hnnn.. s'tight, fffuck.." he groaned into you, letting you sit on his dick, riding it while watching his reaction through the mirror.

you couldn't help but piston your hips repeatedly, you were already so wet, might as well put it to use!

he held your hand throughout everything, squeezing it every now and then to indirectly ask if you're doing okay. kissing down from your nape to your shoulder blades, you were perfect from the ground till your ears.

for what seemed like the umpteenth time, he cums inside you. warm seed shoots up into your body, creaming on his cock at the same time.

kinich who holds you by the waist, feeling his cock slowly soften inside you. still trying to catch his breath- but still makes an effort to kiss your cheek.

still makes an effort to carry your trembling body to the bathroom. still makes an effort to clean you up. still makes an effort to eat you out slowly afterwards.

he who already misses you while you were still in the room. he couldn't help but cuddle with you for a bit before going out again. it was sunday already anyway, and he spent the moments where the sun rose elsewhere (eating you out/giving bj)

kinich who loved the idea of making out with you right after, still having to go out since you both spent the whole night.. intimately. half of his mask is still on but all you do is lift it up a little, enough for his lips to be visible enough for you to peck.

he makes sure you're sound asleep before he goes, he'll be back before you know it anyway.

[joicecubes]

okay likeee i know we all shit on stan and ford for being petty as hell during weirdmageddon (stan just hold his damn hand. ford WHY did you feel the need to correct his grammar.) but also? i have always felt like stan was so justified in wanting a thank you. like to the point where i also get pissed at ford for withholding any sort of genuine gratitude for so long.

do i get why he did? absolutely. in fact, it’s like, a super well-written conflict between them and reflects both of their mindsets perfectly. when you really think about ford’s point of view, you realize he still believes stan intentionally sabotaged his future in high school, was the reason he spent 30 years dimension-hopping, blatantly ignored ALL of his warnings about how dangerous it was to start the portal up again, and (albeit accidentally) brought him back when ford was finally about to defeat bill cipher. yeah! he has every right to pissy! i would be too!!

but like, all that said, it just makes me SO sad for stan. he went to such great lengths to bring ford back. he spent all 30 of those years learning sciences and engineering he could never have imagined understanding as the “stupid twin.” he faked his own DEATH. his entire life was a lie for DECADES. and we brush that off because stan has always been a liar and a conman but how much of that was due to his circumstances? being on the streets at 17 doing whatever the hell he had to for enough money to eat, and then losing his brother and desperately needing to pay fords mortgage so he could stay and work to bring him back… stan was so dedicated for so many years, did literally whatever he had to, stan pledged his life to righting his wrongs and saving his brother, and the man he did all of this for has nothing to say to him. “be out of my house by the end of the summer. give me my life back. and no, i won’t say thank you.”

its no wonder stan is petty bro!!! that feels like such a betrayal! i did so much for you and you can’t even give me a single thank you? you have to uproot my life for a second time? my god, at this point i cant even blame him for refusing to hold his hand even if it WAS to save the world. sometimes you’ve gotta be a petty bitch!!

[gingiesworld]

Queen Of My Heart

Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Bittersweet Ending, Arranged Marriage. Death

18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.8K+

Taglist : @mothertoall2 @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic @dopeyouth @karsonromanoff @reginassweetheart @machyishere @gemz5 @pawiie @duckiekong (If you want to be added to my taglist, please DM me or comment)

Wanda Maximoff was everyone’s dream girl, the woman who had the most beautiful eyes, a smile that could brighten even the darkest of days, and a kind heart. Every man wanted her to be their wife, leaving many suitors to keep approaching her father about her hand in marriage.

“There’s another one.” Pietro groaned as he joined Wanda behind the counter of the Apothecary that their parents had owned.

“Why can’t they all just leave me be.” Wanda sighed as Pietro shrugged. “I don’t want to be with any of them, and it’s stupid to think that asking father would help them.”

“I’m sorry, Wanda, but that’s just how it is. No one truly marries for love, they never have.” Pietro told her.

“But that is what I want, I want a partner who makes me smile so effortlessly, I want a connection that isn’t forced, it just flows naturally.” She told him as she organised some of the jars on the shelf, dusting them as she went along. “I want to be with someone who I see a future with, not just for financial gains. Someone who wouldn’t care what we had or didn’t have, I just want that type of love that makes everything in the world seem so superfluous.”

“You mean what you have with Y/N?” He questioned, earning a slap on the arm.

“Shush. Father can’t find out.” Wanda whispered. “He will kill both of us, but yes. I just want to be able to live with them on some farm and grow old with them.”

“Wanda, your mother needs your help in the kitchen.” Mr Maximoff approached the twins, a smile on his face. “We have guests coming over tonight, and a possible suitor for you.”

“Father, I don’t.” Wanda tried only to get cut off by him.

“I don’t care if you want this or not. This is what’s best for this family and your future family.” He told her firmly. “You need to learn to remember your place.” He told her before he left the shop.

“I guess this is it.” Wanda sighed as she gave Pietro the rag. “My life and dreams are officially over.”

“They aren’t.” Pietro tried as Wanda just shook her head before she disappeared towards the kitchen to help her mother.

“I’ve already laid out your best dress.” Mrs Maximoff beamed as she prepared the dough for her bread. “This is so exhilarating, you’re going to be a wife.”

“I don’t want to be a wife.” Wanda told her honestly. “Besides, I don’t know this man either.”

“I didn’t know your father, but I can’t say that I was against marrying him when he asked your grandparents.” Her mother spoke. “But, I can say that over the time I have spent with him, I learned to love him and we then had you and your brother.”

“I don’t want to learn to love. I want it to be natural, just feel it without even spending an unknown amount of uncomfortable time with someone who is only going to help keep father’s business afloat.” Wanda told her honestly.

“There isn’t a choice in this Wanda.” Mrs Maximoff spoke angrily. “You are a woman, this is your womanly duty to provide for a husband and build a family with him.” Wanda sighed and gave up fighting against her mother, knowing she won’t exactly see the situation as Wanda does.

The night soon fell, the Starks were a well respected family in the Westview, Mr and Mrs Stark had two children, Jarvis and Morgan Stark. Given there is a significant age gap between the two siblings, they both remained close. Jarvis being the protective older brother that his sister needed.

“Are you nervous, son?” Mr Stark asked as the carriage came to a stop before the Scarlet Apothecary.

“I am father.” He answered truthfully, having seen Wanda everyday since they were children, falling for her every time he saw her or heard her voice. He loved the sound of her laugh, although he hated that he was never the one who made her laugh. That only fueled his deep hatred for Y/N Rogers, the only one who has ever truly been extremely close to Wanda. Everyone in Westview saw both Wanda and Y/N as best friends, even one of the neighbors would joke saying that the two of them would fall in love and wed.

“It is going to be fine.” Mrs Stark reassured him, making him smile as they all left the carriage, the two gentlemen helping the ladies down the steps. “She would be stupid not to see such a fine man.”

As they approached Maximoff's residence, Wanda was too busy pacing her bedroom, soon moving as fast as she could when she heard her window open, locking her door before she saw Y/N climb inside.

“You know, you could always tell me you don’t need me anymore.” They smirked as Wanda sighed. “We had a date, and you never came and I got worried.” They told her truthfully.

“I’m sorry Y/N/N, but my father.” She tried before her eyes started to fill with tears. “He’s trying to marry me off to someone.”

“He can’t do that.” Y/N stepped closer to her, their arms soon wrapping around her, pulling her into their strong embrace. “That’s not.”

“He can do that.” Wanda sniffled. “It’s not like women have similar rights to men.”

“Well, you should.” They told her firmly. “Everyone is allowed to have the freedom of choice. It shouldn’t matter depending on your gender.”

“I just.” Wanda tried as Y/N ran their fingers through her brown locks.

“I will be here when you’re finished and I can hold you until you fall asleep.” They told her softly.

“But, what about your father?” She asked them, they just shrugged.

“I’m only going to be missing another talk on why I need to uphold the family name and join the military.” They told her, they gently kissed the top of her head before she left the room. As she approached the dining room, she could hear the voices of her father, Pietro and two other men, all of them laughing as the smell of whiskey and tobacco filled the air.

“Here she is.” Mr Maximoff beamed as she stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Wanda, dear, come on in and introduce yourself.”

“Hello.” She spoke quietly, doing a small curtsy before she caught sight of her twin's grin as he tried to hold in his laugh.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Wanda.” Mr Stark spoke as he took her hand in his, pressing a kiss upon her knuckles, she had to try to hide the uncomfortable feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. “Jarvis here has told his mother and myself an awful lot about you.”

“Jarvis?” She questioned as she looked at the tall man beside her twin. “I don’t think we have ever met, I’m sorry.”

“Wanda!” Mr Maximoff scolded her, causing her to flinch at the anger within his tone before Jarvis spoke up.

“It’s perfectly fine.” He told them both with a warm smile. “I know we have never uttered a single word to one another, but I have noticed you Wanda, I have noticed you everyday since you first moved here with your family.”

“Why have you never spoken to her?” Mr Stark questioned as Jarvis shrugged.

“Well, Y/N Rogers seems to always have her attention.” He answered as Mr Maximoff scoffed.

“I don’t care for that Rogers child.” He spoke bitterly. “They are just a military family, and soon enough Mr Rogers will have them shipped off into the next War and then who knows, we may never have to see them again.”

“Father.” Pietro stepped in, seeing how Mr Maximoff’s words had affected Wanda. “Y/N is an amazing friend and they have always been there for Wanda. Did you know they were also the one who had done all of my chores that time when I had broken my leg? I never asked them too, they noticed the amount of extra stress that you put on Wanda and they decided to help. They are always there for her when we are not.”

“Don’t you dare speak out of term to me, boy.” Mr Maximoff seethed as the sound of the slap had silenced the room. “You do not disrespect me in front of our guests, now get out of my sight.” With that, Pietro left the room in a hurry, holding his already bruising cheek.

“I’m going to check on my mother and dinner.” Wanda spoke quietly before she left the dining room. She had hoped that maybe some unfortunate circumstance would happen and they would cancel dinner, but just as she had entered the kitchen, her mother was already bringing out the food.

“We are going to feast like royalty tonight.” Mr Maximoff beamed as he took his seat at the head of the table, opposite Mr Stark. Everyone had soon settled in to take their seats, soon digging in and sharing small conversations.

“I know this may seem forward.” Jarvis spoke as he sat beside Wanda. “Would you like to accompany myself on a stroll through the park on Sunday, after church?”

“I don’t know, I have to help my mother with the shop.” Wanda tried as Mr Maximoff shook his head.

“I can help your mother, you should go on this date.” He told her sternly. “You may never find another fine young man like Jarvis again.” He turned to face Jarvis. “She will be there to accompany you, she will meet you at the park.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jarvis beamed, soon the rest of the evening passed by in a blur, Wanda soon finding herself helping her mother in the kitchen with the cleaning before they all had retired to their bedrooms.

“Hey.” Y/N whispered as Wanda entered her room. “How was it?” They asked as she sat on the edge of her bed after locking her door.

“Awful.” She sighed, running her hands over her face. “My father is all for it and what he said about you.” She stopped herself before she continued.

“I heard.” They told her. “Your father isn’t exactly tactful in trying to be silent about his distaste.”

“I’m sorry.” Wanda whispered as Y/N moved to sit beside her, wrapping their arms around her and pulling her into them.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, darling.” They told her, cupping her cheeks and wiping the tears that had threatened to fall. “I will always be here for you, however and whenever you need me.” Wanda looked into their eyes, seeing how the blue shone in the moonlight, she had always loved their eyes but seeing them in this lighting was something different, and she loved it. It was a sight she wanted to be able to see every night for the rest of her life. She soon leaned in and pressed her lips against theirs, their lips both moving in unison before she snapped back to reality.

“I’m so sorry.” She said as she moved away from them. “I didn’t.” She tried before Y/N cut her off, approaching her, taking her hands in theirs.

“It’s okay.” They gave her a soft smile. “Although, I have to be honest with you.” They sighed before continuing. “I have always wanted to kiss, I can’t quite recall in which moment I began to feel more for you, but I do.” Wanda shook her head in haste, pressing her fingers to their lips.

“Please don’t say it.” She whispered sadly. “As much as I want to hear you say it, I want it to feel amazing and in a moment that is special between the two of us, within a moment that solidifies that our union will be forever.” She moved her finger as she continued. “This isn’t that moment, if I hear you say those words I so desperately want to hear right now, it will shatter my already broken heart.”

“I’m sorry.” They told her before they stepped away from her slightly. “I uh, I should take my leave now.”

“Please stay.” Wanda pleaded as they moved towards her window. “I need you to hold me, just for tonight.” And that was indeed the start of the pair’s internal struggles. Y/N hated seeing Wanda accompanying Jarvis everywhere, ever since their stroll in the park, her father had urged her to go on more outings with her husband to be. She would even see as Y/N would pass her by in the street, her heart breaking little by little, just as theirs was breaking. Knowing that in this lifetime they will never have the life they had always dreamed about when they were just children.

“You can’t seriously think you can make a name for yourself with these knick knacks.” Mr Rogers scolded as he approached Y/N who was happily carving pieces for a new chess board.

“I don’t think that father.” They answered him. “This is merely something that brings me peace and tranquility.”

“I have arranged a meeting with my old Senior Officer.” He told them as he picked up a rook, looking at it between his fingers, a look of disdain on his face. “He will help with getting you set for joining the services.”

“I don’t.” Y/N told him, placing down their chisel and the King they were carving.

“I do not care what you do or don’t.” Mr Rogers seethed, throwing the rook far into the field before he gripped Y/N up to their feet by the scruff of their collar. “You have a family name to respect, we are a military family and you will follow the path that I have laid out for you.”

“Yes, sir.” Y/N spoke flatly, their eyes never leaving their father’s who then started to straighten out Y/N’s clothes.

“I will see you at supper.” He told them before he left, Y/N watching as he disappeared out of the field, not realizing that Wanda was approaching them.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” She questioned urgently as she approached them, watching as they soon turned to face her.

“I’m fine.” They grumbled as they sat back down in their spot, grabbing their tools to finish carving the King.

“I found this.” Wanda held out her hand, the rook in which Mr Rogers had just thrown.

“Thank you Wan.” They smiled at her, her own smile widening at the nickname she had missed so much. “How are things with Jarvis?” They asked her, an edge of bitterness in their tone.

“I don’t like him.” She told them honestly as she sat down beside them, watching as Y/N’s hands worked on the small wooden figurine. “I can see that he likes me, but I just, I don’t think I will ever like him in that way.”

“But, this is what your father wants for you and your family’s future.” Y/N reminded her as she just shook her head.

“My father only wants the financial benefactors that come with this arrangement, he couldn’t care less about the family.” Wanda told them, before she turned to watch their face as theY concentrated. “I just want to be able to be with the one person who I am truly in love with freely, without any judgment from my father.”

“And how do you suggest you do that?” Y/N questioned, their attention soon turning to her, their faces close as they could feel her breath on their lips.

“I don’t know.” Wanda whispered, her eyes flashing between both their eyes and their lips. That kiss they had both shared, never really left her mind since the night it happened. “I just, I know what I want, I know who I want but I just.”

“Have to live up to our parents' expectations of us.” Y/N finished for her, their faces had somehow moved closer, their noses brushing one another. “I understand that perfectly.” They whispered sadly. “I want nothing more than to be able to remain here, marry the one woman whom I have only ever seen within my future and start a family with her.”

“Then what’s stopping you?” Wanda questioned, not anticipating Y/N rising to their feet and stepping away from her, creating some distance.

“I think you know exactly what is stopping me.” They told her, Wanda soon followed suit and stood before them, taking a slow step closer.

“I want to hear it from you.” She told them firmly. “I want you to tell me.” She watched as Y/N closed their eyes, clenching their fists as they gathered themselves before they moved towards Wanda, faster than she had anticipated, she was pushed up against the tree.

“Because you are marrying another, and I’m clearly not worthy of such love nor a future with you.” They told her sadly, Wanda’s hand reaching up to cup their face. “It’s you, Wanda. It’s always been you.” They confessed, both of their hearts beating rapidly before Wanda soon pressed her lips against theirs, kissing them with such passion as Y/N pushed their body up against her own. Wanda moaned at the feeling of their tongue slipping through her parted lips, Y/N’s hand gripping the fabric of her dress, trying to steady themselves, trying to fight the urges they had. “We should stop.” Y/N whispered, after finding the strength to pull away. “This is wrong.”

“It doesn’t feel wrong.” Wanda whispered, Y/N’s head rested against hers as neither of them attempted to move away from the other. “This.” She held one of their hands in her own against her chest, allowing Y/N to feel how fast her heart was beating. “This is right, this is what it should be, but.”

“But you belong to another.” Y/N spoke sadly, their eyes glistening as they filled with tears.

“My heart is yours.” Wanda told them. “It doesn’t matter who I am with or wherever I am, my heart will always be yours. I’m just sorry that we couldn’t have the life we wanted in this lifetime.”

“I promise you that I will always find you in the lifetimes that shall follow this one.” Y/N told her confidently. “Maybe, in one of those lives, we will finally have our story written.”

“How can you be sure?” Wanda questioned, her eyes taking in Y/N’s for what she never knew would be the last time.

“My heart will beat as fast as it is now when it is in your presence.” They told her softly. “My heart will always know when it’s home. You are my home.” Wanda pressed a soft kiss to their lips before the two pulled away.

“But, what about now?” She asked them as they sighed.

“I want nothing more than to run away with you and start our story, but we both have our obligations here.” They reminded her. “You’re getting married, and Jarvis is a rather nice gentleman, he will look after you.”

“But, I want you.” Wanda tried, feeling disappointment as Y/N stepped away, feeling the loss of their warmth against her form.

“In the next life, we will have our happy ending.” They told her as they started to pick up their tools and chess carvings. “Besides, I have a family obligation I need to uphold.”

“Join the military and get yourself killed.” Wanda scoffed as Y/N sighed, observing Wanda as she wrapped her arms around herself, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

“With every passing day we are dying, we are dying from the moment we were conceived.” Y/N told her. “It’s what we make of time we have that makes it count, and I can say that since the moment you came into my life, you made the sun shine brighter, the colours more vibrant than ever.” They continued before Wanda interrupted them.

“Don’t.” She spoke firmly, struggling to stop the emotions from falling through. “I am not going to say goodbye to you. I can’t ever say goodbye. Not to you.” She whispered as her tears slipped. “You aren’t leaving me. I won’t let you.” Y/N took a shaky breath before they approached her, only just within arms reach.

“We have to part ways, but I will always carry you in my heart.” They picked out the Queen and King in which they had carved. “You will always be the Queen of my heart. Always and forever.” They handed the small figurines to her, watching as she held them both close to her heart. “I will always remember you, Wanda and I will always hold you in my heart, until it stops beating.”

“I can’t.” She cried as Y/N pressed a lingering kiss to her head.

“You don’t have to say goodbye.” They told her softly. “Just promise me that you will continue to live your life, have a family of your own. I know Jarvis isn’t exactly the one you want to have a future with, but when you have your own children, that love you feel will be greater than any love story in history, because you will do anything for them, you will make sure they get to live the life they choose, they get to love whomever they fall in love with. Let them live the future neither of us had the chance to experience.” Wanda only nodded before she watched them leave, her sobs soon falling harder as they had disappeared. Wanda had never anticipated that that moment was the last moment she had ever shared with Y/N, especially on that night when they had returned home to find Mr Rogers drunk and hitting their mother. Y/N had jumped in to defend her, only to be beaten to death by their drunk father. Once the news had traveled about their death, Wanda had grieved for them, she had felt like her heart had been ripped from her chest, hoping that maybe if she had convinced them to sleep with her under the stars for one last time, they would still be here, but all she could do was honour their final wish they had had for her, to live her life and build a family of her own, giving her own children the opportunity of freedom, away from the family’s expectations. As much as she hated it, Y/N was right about Jarvis, he was a good man, a good husband and father to their children. It wasn’t exactly the life that she had envisioned for herself, but she was happy, she had built herself a family, taking away her own parents expectations of her own twins, allowing them to follow their dreams, something in which Wanda was never given the opportunity to do.

[moyazaika]

omg doe brought up this AMAZINGGG idea abt the crime lord yan and his lawyer darling hello hey hi!!!!!!

this kinda got away from me because it is 3am but i nEEEEEDED to get this out bjsjsjjs i blame @carnivorousyandeere

i know i wrote the initial dynamic for his darling to be his lawyer, in that they’re on his side in court to keep him from getting sent to prison BUT BUT BUT hear me out T_T

lawyer darling who put yan kingpin away.

as in ,, you are the reason he was found guilty. you are the one, when the judge announced the final verdict, that his gaze turned to and that he smiled for, then. sentenced to death, before it was appealed to multiple life sentences; the beginning of the end of his empire.

you, you, you — the cause of his downfall.

after the infamous internationally documented case, your career soars to unprecedented heights. you’re the lawyer on every newspaper in every country, all the tv channels and glossy magazines. every law school wants you to speak at their graduation ceremonies. every firm’s reaching out to you. the whole world knows your name; you have everything!

—so why do you keep going back to the man who now has nothing?

the kingpin looks the same as he did that fateful day in court. only now, there’s bags under his eyes, and a five o clock shadow on his jaw; lips still curled in an easygoing smile. he laughs when he sees you, as if the two of you were merely old friends who hadn’t caught up in a while.

as if you’re not visiting him years later in the city’s most high security prison.

he grins. “come to gloat, have ‘ya?”

“you’ve committed countless crimes.” you state. “stolen lives and livelihoods. broken up families. killed good men. and still, all these years later, no remorse?”

“don’t get ‘yer panties in a twist,” he huffs, lazily leans back in the rickety prison chair so that he’s swinging it back and forth on its back legs, like a child. how absurd that even the garish orange uniform of a prison should suit him, “comes with the job description, don’t it?”

“i think about you,” you admit, eyeing the chains that bind his handcuffed hands to the desk in front of him. you look up, meet his gaze through the thick, dirty pane that separates you from him. keeps you safe. out of his reach, if only just.

a low whistle. “you sure know how to make a man feel special, y’know. been followin’ your cases. never put another one like me away, did ‘ya?” he grins. “i like that i’m special. makes me feel all warm ‘nd fuzzy inside.”

“wow,” you let out. “you really have gone insane.”

“always been a ‘lil crazy! like i said, part of the job description. though i’ve been thinkin’ recently,” he starts.

your fascination prompts you to lean closer. a sort of morbid curiosity that yearns to solve the puzzle of his twisted mind, slot the pieces you’ve already got in a way that makes them fit. you’ve got this weird feeling that you’re missing something. a big piece, maybe. one of the central ones.

“thinking about what?” your voice is barely above a whisper, almost conspiratorial. he leans in, too, all wide eyes—

—and then he jerks forward with the chains around the cuffs on his wrists pulled taut as he suddenly yanks them all the way, like a feral dog pulling on its leash. he looks like one, too, with that glint in his eyes.

“fuck!”

you barely even register that you’re on the floor until he laughs, low in his throat. he makes a vague gesture to your chair, toppled over on its side.

“oops.” he says, coyly. “didn’t mean to scare ‘ya.”

“liar,” you hiss, standing up to dust yourself off. this was stupid. why would you even entertain the idea of a civil conversation with a madman?

he gasps dramatically. “this is slander, your honour!”

“i’m leaving,” you scoff. “i don’t even know why i even came down here. you’re clearly fucking crazy.”

“and you’re no fun!” he pouts. “how ‘bout you stay just a little longer and i’ll make it worth ‘yer time, pretty please?”

“no can do,” you turn on your heels and reach for the door, fingers curled around the handle as you spare him one final glance over your shoulder— “have fun rotting in here for the rest of your life, psycho.”

—except the door won’t open. you try again, and again once more. the handle won’t budge. an awful sense of urgency overcomes you as you desperately shake the handle in a futile attempt to get it to just—

“funny ‘yer calling me crazy, ‘cus einstein once said real insanity is doin’ the same thing,” he beams. “over and over and over and over again, and expecting different results. door’s locked, lovely. ‘yer not getting out from there, ‘m afraid.”

you turn back then, still holding onto that door like a lifeline. he’s standing up, rubbing sore wrists that are, you realise with a sinking feeling, no longer bound by the handcuffs that kept him chained; on a short leash, like a good dog.

“what are you doing…?” your voice shakes, and it’s a far cry to the headstrong, unwavering lawyer who put the world’s most notorious criminal behind bars. “what the fuck—”

“i told you i’d make it worth your while t’stay,” he rolls up his sleeves, before pushing all of his hair (longer and greasier than the last you saw him) out of his face, features set in a determination you’ve never glimpsed before. familiar eyes twinkle with mischief. “and i meant it, y’know. the world’s very best lawyer came so far to see me! least i can do is greet ‘em properly.”

“‘cus see, the other prisoners wouldn’t be so nice. but i’ve been thinkin’ about you too.” he pulls his arm back and his fist comes flying at the pane. “don’t wanna have a conversation or nothin’ like that, nah, we talked enough.”

“you’ve been thinking about me, i’ve been waiting around for you…” bloody knuckles against cracks in the one barrier that is keeping you safe from him. you watch, helpless, as it threatens to break beneath the brute force of his trained fists.

“now let me just come over there,” he pulls his arm back again, ready to strike; knuckles raw and red, like the maniacal grin carved onto his pretty, flushed face. a deep blush and a shaky smile as those fists bring it all crashing down. “and show you how much i missed my faaavourite lawyer in the whole wide world.”

“—that be a good enough reason to stick around?” he asks slyly, before catching himself. “oh, silly me.” he shakes his head, apologetically, as he steps over broken shards on the floor, tainted with his blood. “doesn’t matter what ‘ya say.” a low hum when scarred hands reach out for you. “i waited so long for you…”

“… so, let’s make up reaaalllll good for all that lost time, okay?”

[warlocksoup]

into the spider-verse: nishinoya yuu

volume one, chapter two: calls

word count: 2.5k

masterlist | main masterlist | taglist

On the rooftop of the Flatiron Building, she leans back, and stares at the sky above her. She’s learned that looking down gives her vertigo, and if she’s lying down, she can pretend she’s not twenty-two stories off the ground.

Noya laughs at her, because he always does, but he still holds her hand, because he knows it makes her feel better. “I can’t believe you’re still afraid of heights.”

“I feel like this is a super reasonable fear to have.” She inches a little but further away from the edge as she speaks. She doesn’t even wanna be close to it. “Plummeting to my death isn’t like, a big priority for me right now.”

He squeezes her hand. “You know I’ll catch you if you fall.”

He would. She doesn’t even doubt that for a second. If right now she stood up and decided to take a swan dive off the side of the building, there would be nothing getting in between him and her, and Noya would have her safely in his arms before she hit the fifteenth floor.

But still. It fucking terrifies her.

“Okay, sorry my primal instinct does not recognize that you got bit by some weird science experiment spider and now you defy all laws of nature,” she rolls her eyes, still tightly holding onto his hand as he sits upright beside her. “I’ll work on that.”

Nishinoya leans over a lightly pinches the soft skin of her stomach under her t-shirt. She squeals. “Keep it up with the attitude and I’ll throw you off the side of this building myself.”

“Hmm, not very hero-like of you, Spider-Man.”

“You bring out the worst in me.”

She grins. “I’m going to have to write an article about this. ‘Spider-Man throws innocent journalist with fear of heights off Flatiron Building.’ Jameson will love it.”

Nishinoya scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure he would. Too bad you’ll be busy being a sidewalk pancake.”

Her eyes find their intertwined hands. It’s always been natural, their friendship, everything that happens between them feels like it’s supposed to. The handholding and the couch-sharing and the arm over her shoulder. It’s always right, with Nishinoya. She doesn’t even have to think about it.

She watches his thumb as it brushes against her skin. “How’s it been out there lately?” she asks.

“Quiet,” Nishinoya replies. “Saving kittens from trees and helping old ladies across the street. Besides Sytsevich, everything’s been quiet since Osborn died. It’s kinda weird, y’know? Like eerie.”

“Yeah, I imagine waiting for the next disaster to strike can feel like that,” she comments, leaning back to stare up at the empty sky. You can’t ever see stars out here. “Hey, Noya?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you’re gonna stay here forever?” she asks. “Just stick around and be Spider-Man for the rest of your life.”

He hums a bit. “I dunno. I think I’ll probably just go wherever you end up.”

🕸 ｡𖦹°‧✩｡🕷˚⋆｡

She’s sitting on the train, a hot cup of coffee in one hand, and her phone in the other. She’s looking down at an email from her favorite Yahoo user: If you don’t want the whole world to find out, do as I say.

It’s pretty explicit. It’s hard to misinterpret that kind of message, as much as she’s deliberately trying to. Her fingers tap against the paper cup, trying not to let panic work its way up her throat in the middle of this train cab, surrounded by bored commuters that wouldn’t flinch twice at any sort of breakdown she could have.

A heavy breath leaves her lung, and she pockets her phone, trying, with a tight feeling of desperation around her throat, not to think of it. If it’s not in her face, it’ll be marginally easier to pretend.

Yachi’s waiting for her at her desk when she gets into work. She slides into her chair, and Yachi skips the greeting. “Jameson’s pissed,” Yachi says, tapping a pencil against her desk.

“Yeah? What’d Spider-Man do now?” she questions, typing her password in. She mistypes it, and curses slightly under her breath.

“The PI he hired to find out his identity quit,” Yachi laughs. “Apparently there wasn’t enough for him to go off, and the guy got tired of Jameson raising his blood pressure at him for forty minutes a day.”

She snorts. Noya’s told her about private investigators before. Everyone touts that they’re going to be the one to unmask Spider-Man, but it’s kinda tricky trailing a man with superhuman sixth sense and the ability to basically fly through the city. “I give it another three months before he tries this one again.”

“I give it one,” Yachi counters.

Her desktop loads up, and she is immediately hit with a barrage of emails, looking like they’re coming in all at once, all in caps lock. “Fuck, looks like he’s taking it out on me again.”

Email after email, the subject lines varying from things like, “This piece is crap!” to “How are you still employed here?”

Yachi leans forward to get a better at her screen. “Oh, that’s bad. I’ll leave you to that.”

And it’s just that Yachi gives her a sharp grin and two-finger salute that another email pops up. No subject line, just a simple: Wait for my instruction.

🕸 ｡𖦹°‧✩｡🕷˚⋆｡

Harry Osborn looks smarmy on the television screen, a thin layer of sweat shining on his forehead and slick smile that looks a little bit too pleased for his father’s funeral. She knocks her knee into Noya’s leg underneath the blanket they share. “That guy’s such a piece of shit,” she comments, jerking her chin forward towards the younger Osborn.

Noya knocks his leg back into hers. “My guy looks like he just won the lottery,” he remarks, eyes not leaving the screen. There’s a bit of history between Spider-Man and the Osborn family, mainly consisting of Norman committing acts of domestic terrorism from the vantage point of a hoverboard, dressed like a fucking goblin.

“Yeah, well he basically did,” she snarks. “Imagine inheriting Oscorp before you’re twenty-five. Basically guarantees you a fucking thirty under thirty spot.”

He snorts. “I’d rather not have anything to do with Oscorp. I’d rather be broke.”

"Oh, you mean the company that basically sponsored the lizard-ification of Dr. Connors? I can't imagine why." She lops her head to the side to look at him. “And anyway, I’m broke. You’re a freeloader.”

Nishinoya waves her off. “Same difference.”

She snorts, turning to face the television again to see they’re playing old footage of Norman Osborn in a lab (coat and everything), explaining the mission statement of Oscorp. To build a better future.

There were rumors about Norman, post-mortem. Details floating around about how he was driven mad in his final year. That the Osborn curse had infected him beyond hope, and his mind had began to decay, along with his body. Some people think he’s been dead for much longer. Some people think a group of investors had been secretly running Oscorp for years while Norman received private care upstate. Some people even suspect him of being the Goblin.

She wonders if that was the better future he had envisioned.

Noya shifts uncomfortably in his seat. She reaches over and grabs his hand, squeezing it tightly in hers. She’s sure he’s wishing the son will be better than his father. She’s hoping too.

His thumb traces circles over her knuckle. He doesn’t look in her direction. She tries to focus on the news and enjoy the way his hand feels in hers before there’s some police broadcast or distant siren or whatever to call him back to duty.

🕸 ｡𖦹°‧✩｡🕷˚⋆｡

Meet me @ 300 W 57th St tomorrow at 8am. Or I tell everyone about him.

She sits at her desk, biting down on the end of a pencil, and weighing her options.

One: she could tell Noya.

There’s not even a chance he would let her go. Not even if he were there. No matter the argument she would present. Nishinoya would sooner web her to the couch than let her go meet up with some mystery blackmailer. She also knows that this threat would do little to sway him. If she tells Noya, the most likely outcome is him, masked up and aggravated, showing up to fight.

Which would result in ijs99ETJfdhsg@yahoo.com telling everyone.

Two: she could do nothing.

There’s really been no hard proof presented to her that shows that Yahoo user ijs99ETJfdhsg knows what he claims he knows. This could all very well be a big misunderstanding on her end. And so what? Even if he does know what he claims to, it’s not like the world would so easily believe that Nishinoya Yuu, random unemployed man, is Spider-Man. Random liars claim to be Spider-Man every day. Noya could easily blend in with random liars.

The consequence of doing nothing though is, of course, him telling everyone. And still, the possibility that the masses believe him or that Yahoo user ijs99ETJfdhsg does have some hard evidence on his side gnaw away at her. She can’t shoulder that.

Three: she could show up.

She could put some pepper spray in her bag and give Noya the address just in case something happens, and she could go and meet with this mystery blackmailer to see exactly what the fuck it is he wants.

And then, he wouldn’t tell anyone.

The thought of it puts knots in her stomach, and those knots are worsened by the acknowledgement that it’s probably her best course of action.

She sighs, using her cursor to highlight the address he provided and plopping it back into search bar. She’s envisioning some deserted alley, an abandoned storefront or someplace that would leave no witnesses if she were to be kidnapped and/or murdered.

What she wasn’t expecting was fucking Oscorp.

🕸 ｡𖦹°‧✩｡🕷˚⋆｡

Harry Osborn’s office is neat. Almost empty, save for a few hard-drives and a stack of unopened newspapers at his desk. The wall to ceiling windows provide a view of the city she’s never seen before, and standing in the middle of it, she feels so starkly out of place. She looks behind her, just to see the assistant that led her up here closing the door behind him.

She feels trapped, at once.

Harry himself is leaning against a window, and as if operating on a que, he turns on his heel, a sickly grin plastered on his face, and, if she squints, she can almost see a greenish sort of hue in the undertones of his skin. “There’s my favorite journalist,” he greets, arms extended out as if he was going to hug her.

She steps back. “Erm, yeah,” she responds, head turning slightly to eye the closed door behind her. There’s something off in the air of room, something off-putting in the way Harry is looking at her. “Is there a reason you summoned me here through cryptic emails, or did you just wanna like, hang out?”

He stops, and lets his arms drop back down to his side, stuffing his hands in his pant pockets. “Straight to the point. I like that. I like that quality.”

It’s strange to be in the same room as him, New York City’s prodigal son. She’s seen his face on the cover of magazines and on news segments and she’s written articles about him. Harry Osborn has almost always been some kind of mythic figure in her head. An untouchable prince. Nothing she could get away with printing in the Bugle would ever have any impact on him.

But here before her, he does not look mythic, or untouchable, he looks like a very sick man. His hair falls flatly on his forehead, and he uses the back of sleeve to wipe off droplets of sweat. The longer she looks at him, the greener he seems, like his whole body is lightly stained.

Harry takes another step towards her. She steps back again.

“Y’know,” he drawls, and moves to stand behind the large desk that takes up most of the room; she watches him carefully, eyes trained on his every movement, “one of the most underrated parts of a power acquisition in a company like Oscorp, is that you suddenly have a lot more information at your disposal. A lot of information that money can’t buy.”

There’s something about the way he talks that is starkly unnatural. The PR training bleeds out of every word, and though he looks young, but the way he carries himself is eerily like his father. It makes goosebumps rise on the back of her neck. She looks over her shoulder, back at the door behind her. “O-okay.”

Harry takes a seat, like he’s unbothered by her presence. His hand lingers over one of the hard drives. “Did you know that, back in the early two-thousands, this company poured millions into researched on genetically enhanced spiders. They were supposed to be this miracle cure. A magic spider that could cure any illness. Until, of course, the head scientist died in some accident, and they had to kill off the whole project, including all the spiders they bred. Y’know, today, I think we only have one thing to show for that project.”

Her face is hot, and her ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton. This all suddenly feels like a mistake, like she’s in over her head and she never should’ve come here without Noya. Her tongue is dry when she tries to speak. “Is this, is this on the record, or…?”

Harry leans forward in her chair, and sneers. It chills her blood, that expression, cold and gnarled. “I’m not interested in going on the record with some second-rate journalist at a trash paper. I’m interested in this.”

Harry Osborn grabs the newspaper on his desk and slams it forward. She takes a step forward to get a better look and knows immediately what it is. It’s the Daily Bugle, with Spider-Man on the front page and her name printed on the bottom.

The First-Ever On-The-Record Interview with the One and Only Spider-Man!

Her hands are shaking. She looks up to see Harry grinning at her. “It’s funny, actually, how someone right out of school, with no credentials and no reputation to go off, could get this kind of interview.”

She can hear her heartbeat, and all she can think of is how unbelievably, colossally fucked she is.

Harry Osborn stands and makes his way to stand directly in front of her. The closer he is, the more of him she can see. The green tint of his skin, the almost scaly quality, the point of his teeth. “I want you to find Spider-Man, and I want you to get him to give me his blood.”

🕸 ｡𖦹°‧✩｡🕷˚⋆｡

On the busy street beneath the Oscorp building, her fingers tremble as she dials Noya’s number. He answers after the first ring. “Hey, what’s up? I’m just dropping this bodega thief off at the station-“

“Noya,” she cuts him off, trying to hold back the sob in her voice. “I fucked up.”

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[court-jobi]

Tagalong

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work OR the mindblowing art of @toshiimura))

Pairing: Midoriya x reader (retired by injury pro-hero fem!reader)

Words: 2.6K

Rating: T (18+ touches later on, to be safe~)

Warnings: Interrupted first time, heavy petting, established relationship, sharing a bed, honestly just Izuku in love and fluffy times commence in a hotel room.

Summary:

Joining Midoriya Sensei on his work trip -and yes, even sharing a bed for the first time- is medicine for you. The exchange of your passions has -and continues to be- an endless source of healing as you navigate life post-hero work. Each night away, you've danced into a settled calm with him; learning the rhythm of his habits. His sounds, his silences. When Izuku meets your gaze in the mirror, you read his mind loud and clear in how he emotes: he fawns, he sighs, then nods in the dearest way.

A/N: give me my sweet, simpering Deku, or give me death. Also by the way, yall are the best readers out there, thank you so much for all the love for my lil stories!

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on AO3

Life post-hero work was an adjustment for you… but you were starting to really get into the perks.

The lack of daily physical hardship holds the top spot on your list. PT? You can handle that on a rolling basis– the worst is behind you, and due to what you put yourself through which resulted in your injury, you’re out of official hero work for the foreseeable future- and in a way, grateful for the break on your muscles. You still retain your quirk, but can enjoy its thrills on a more recreational basis– your sweet boyfriend has even helped your healing by way of gentle exercises to keep things moving properly and get life manageable for you. 

Next would be the diet. You could certainly dip back into your baking hobby guilt-free now. You couldn’t get away from the hero world entirely -nor did you want to… but being able to settle into an agency office with an hourly job was also an incredible blessing. Late nights here and there were inevitable, but on the whole, you were able to greet and end your days with a steadiness of routine and safety.

Meeting Izuku Midoriya was the icing on your early retirement cake. Where you were tenderly finding your footing off the hero charts, Izuku held your hand to keep you upright. He didn’t lead or pull back on you– just came alongside you, so you didn’t fall too hard on the knees of self-doubt. He’s always so good like that. He knows your path because he himself shares it, and what a thing of fate that is.

New to you now though, is the general scope of free time you have. Not a forced flexibility due to the demand asked of an on-call hero, but you have paid time off. You have flex hours. You can work from home, if you so choose– so when you get the call that Izuku has been asked to hold a spot at the Sports Festival as the lead commentator, you are over the moon that you can answer with a wholehearted ‘yes’ when he asks you to come with him.

As if he’d be anything short of ecstatic, you truly believe the job was made for him. He’s got books upon books of hero research written by hand, and is essentially a walking Brittanica for Japan’s up and coming heroes, because of course he watches every other school’s sports fests in his free time so that his class can be the most prepared. Taking the role Present Mic once held when he was a student is a full-circle moment, and it's pretty precious seeing him in it. 

From day one, he’s a master of his craft, and from the couch you share in the observation deck with his co-teacher, Aizawa, you’re beyond impressed. You honestly wouldn’t be able to tell what department he was aligned with; he’s observant and complimentary of every students’ moves. You asked the pro hero hero beside you if this was the case when Izuku was younger, and he merely offered a sleepy,

“Intolerably, yes.”

But you see the lift of his cheek against his eyepatch and know that he’s secretly proud. 

The Sports Festival spreads over the course of a week now, as the culture surrounding the events available for support students to engage in has increased- to Izuku’s pride and joy. The training and feats of the heroes wouldn’t be possible without the other side of the coin, so he’s just as enthusiastic to hype up the developments of those courses as well. 

Watching your sweet Izuku -catching his eye when he looks back over to you and silently ushers you over to come watch an anticipated match-up of his kids off and on- is medicine for you. This entire exchange of passions has, and continues to be, a source of joy for you and is a treasured part of doing life with him. On that note, the event being held away from your district also grants you extended time to spend together that you normally wouldn’t, given the difference in your professional lives. Here, you’re locked in to five days and four nights of perfectly synced time– something you’ve not been able to do up to this point in your relationship.

Falling asleep and waking up together? This is the best thing ever.

On the first night, it hits your adorably flustered boyfriend that you’d indeed be sharing a room- and bed. That arrangement was something you’d registered the moment he’d asked you and were assuming he’d mentally (and spiritually) prepared for; but evidently it faced him the moment he stepped up to the counter to check in that Nezu had arranged you both to be together by default in the hotel block. 

But rather than falling on the trope of taking the armchair or sleeping on the ground like a middle school nervous nelly, Izuku was shy about it at first… but eager for the chance. The secret part of him finally let out some boyish excitement to find a bed big enough for you to actually share. You’d learned here that you both can spoon like you do on the couch, but you have so much room now. On both your parts, you’re a bit giggly and stiff at first- but settle in sweetly for the most comfortable night of your life.

By the second night, you both scoot into your room and -after a day of dancing around each other at more and more events- you’d be heard from the hallway: jumping into his arms and tackling him to the bed, filled with giggles and lots of kissing until you tangle up more willingly to sleep.

Night three, you’d both stayed out longer than you intended; catching up with some of the other instructors, which turned into essentially a repeat of the night you met. You take to talking up a storm on one of the hotel patios in a nerdy exchange of info-dumping and story-swapping that continues for almost three hours. You basically collapsed into bed the instant you got back, not even brushing your teeth out of exhaustion. Then by your fourth, you both are still so tired from the late night before and you flop on the bed, still in the sun-warmed clothes you set out in that morning.

It's so nice to be held by him- and it's torture to then look back up at each other. There’s definitely a softness found in Izuku’s face -as always, when it comes to your perfectly freckled sweetheart- but also something deep and personal. You want to ask him to shower together so badly and get rid of the day together- anything to add to this closeness you’ve been tiptoe-ing through all week. Worry over pushing him when he’s essentially on the clock keeps you from asking. This time, you still go about your rituals separately, only when you get out, you stay in a towel and shorts instead of full dressing down for bed.

When you're at the in-suite mirror doing your expedited, travel-sized skincare routine and Izuku stops by after he's out of the bathroom, he hesitates mid-step from trying to duck around you– and comes close, holds you by the middle. He stands shirtless behind you for the first time, showing you the scarring he carries in its fullest- no more tanks or undershirts hiding the worst from you. 

You’re as they say in the movies- incandescently happy.

“You smell so good,” he whispers. 

“You feel so good,” you answer. “Wanna go lay down?”

When Izuku meets your gaze in the mirror, you read his mind loud and clear in how he emotes: he fawns, he sighs, then nods in the dearest way. No sense in holding this darn towel up anymore, you simply turn in his arms, drop it, and kiss his surprise away with your reach up to his neck for a kiss. Your first of many, on this last night you could be wrapped up in your incredible boyfriend's arms with nothing but tender intentions on your mind.

Neither of you see a strong need for too many clothes under the sheets for this little foray into skin-to-skin contact, and enjoy a restorative makeout session. He's marked you up a bit, too, by all the harsh kissing he tends to do towards you (you low-key love this, since ‘that’s what makeup’s for’), and you especially appreciate how he plays with you perched in this arrangement.

You’re the first girl he's ever had topless in his reach– which is obvious from how he holds you in his lap nuzzling at your chest,

"Wow, y'r the moss'beautiful woman i'vever seen~"

From your previous talks of dalliances, you proudly keen over him, "I think I'm the only naked woman you've ever seen."

"-I've seen naked women."

You glance back to him, humored but flat, "Who."

Those green doe eyes flicker back up at you, oddly innocent as he quickly names his former classmate, who you’ve commonly heard referred to as Yaomomo, 

“Creati?” he tries to jog your memory, “i-it's part of her quirk, I didn't ev’r mean to look..."

Playfully suspicious, you test him, "Never had a feel?"

"I mean,” Izuku sharpens up a little to answer clearly, “She fell on me once, over in one of the training centers- and I wasn't gonna let her hit or head on something.."

"So a 'strategic catch'. Is that what we're calling it?" You sway your chest in front of him, feeling up his own, “I’m a horribly jealous creature, as you well know.”

He sinks and nuzzles gently at your pushed up chest- by his desire for lift. You’re playing with his painfully polite nature, of course- nothing but secure of your place with him.

"Not even once. Promise." 

Izuku lays a little kiss on your freshly cleaned skin where your heart lies under the surface, and ends up moaning at how soft it is- and so, keeps peppering kisses to your delight, "Oh wow... Oh wow, you're soft."

His name leaves you in an unsteady sigh as you’ve been scratching through his hair until it starts feeling so sharp and heady that you grip onto his neck in need of more support.

He's working on some passes with his tongue around your nipple when he whisper-sighs up to you, 

"mmmm don't stop doing tha'..."

So you play with his hair at his request, and he adores every bit of you that’s in reach: chin to cheek to neck while being the most gently vocal you've ever heard him.

The minute you rolled your barely clothed hips up on his lap just once, he split his attention from holding your waist to him to smoothing over your thigh to encourage the movement.

He started a slinking lean as he did so, losing his absolute mind watching you in a daze, before something dull hit your window - followed by a kid’s call of 'Sorry!!' . You siphon all your attention at the noise in a wide-eyed look that matches his.

Sweetly enough, you noted how fast Izuku held you at the sound, like he was going into strict ‘protect’ mode at the clash of a frisbee.

But, out of danger and out of breath, Izuku simply fell back and palmed his face.

"ughhbyou feel'so good... Mdizzy."

The heat you’d felt simmering in you has died at the interruption, but your fondness sure hasn’t.

You giggled, lowering into his chest and gripping the covers over your shoulders to warm you up, "Good dizzy?"

Even with an arm over his eye, your boy chuckled brilliantly, 

"Very good dizzy, hon’. Whew. We uh– we better stop before they start bangin’ on the door next."

You carded through his hair more, self-assured he was still just as taken by you despite the hard stop. How he kept you to him while shuffling the covers over you both was proof he didn’t want you going anywhere. Once settled, he felt he could focus again and brushed your hair back for attention,

"Hi there, handsome~"

"h-hi~" Izuku echoed.

You kissed again, a good deal calmer at first, but growing like a steady fire. Lips roaming, claiming, and keeping you ever closer. Comfort and reclaimed eagerness tipped you over by his strong guiding hand, all in favor to continue to mouth along your clavicle again.

Then, at the first sound of your addictive moans, he detached- forehead to your sternum, watching the rise and fall of your sweet belly beneath him.

"Ahh..” Izuku’s little war with himself was adorable, “w-we should stop. For real. I can’t- that’d be mean."

“You said that,” you answer with mirth, “but I don’t think ‘Little Deku’ agrees~”

Izuku wheezes out your first, middle, last and retired hero title to the point of coughing before you take it easy on him. Poor, desperate thing, brought low by little tease.

You chuffed against his stroke of nerves kindly. 

"Yes we should, if you say so," You snaked a hand through his hair, "Thank the Maker we don't have to second guess the chemistry department, huh?"

Izuku laughed brightly, slotting himself atop you, between the legs so you didn't have to feel how semi-hard he was. Snuggling back down, your heartbeats held their own conversation, content to cool to a reasonable temperature and slow things down, together.

"I'm so glad you came here with me." Izuku spoke softly to your neck, "This time with you really does me so much good."

And you really have enjoyed it. Getting to see firsthand the place where much of his proving of himself started, this event forged a lot of bonds with the close friends he still has to this day. 

"I'm glad I did too," You kissed the hairline within reach and simply laid comforting scratches along his back. "It's gonna be hell to go back."

"You don't wanna go back to work?"

You threw pity into your voice, "I don't wanna give up this glorified sleepover, no."

You don’t mean just getting carried away with thin walls and thinner restraint. You mean the intimacy that getting out of town sometimes offers in a way nothing else would. The week has made you softer, more in tune to the rhythm of Izuku’s habits. His sounds, his silences. 

The dampened shyness you hold thinking about it floats across him, so he laid back onto your arm to look up at you, 

"We don't have to. We can still have them~"

"Yeah?" You wonder how, earnestly, and he smiles in kind.

"Yeah!” his answer radiates nothing but pure sunshine, “Whenever you want! I'll come over, and we'll cook, and have podcast nights and snuggle, and... and.."

He’s got a look now- one that teeters along the line of flirty and unsure.

"Snuggle?" you finish for him mercifully.

"Y-yeah."

"Vocal snuggles?"

"Stop it," Izuku hid in your shoulder, "don't make fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you~" you turned and kissed his blushing cheeks, rubbing his shoulder slowly. "No more than I'm making fun of myself for sounding like a wonton Victorian who just caught sight of an ankle for the first time."

His laughter betrays how offended he is at the idea, "Stoooop…"

"Mmmm, I don't think I will!"

Time to take things slow.. that might top your list now. If it means more nights with your hero draped in your arms, then the promise of time spent under his attention beats out any other remedy you’ve found so far. 

[quaithe-seastar]

Let The Light In

Pairing: Aemond x fem!reader

Summary: You try to help Aemond relax when the world outside your shared bedroom becomes too much for him to handle.

Warnings: slight angst & fluff

A/N: This fic is incredibly self-indulgent, as I am deeply infatuated with Aemond's hair. No beta, so I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes!

The soothing, gentle sound of crackling wood from the fireplace echoed in the air. The shadows of the flames danced along the walls of your and Aemond’s shared bedchamber. Lately, though, it seems like it’s just yours. Your husband had decided to sleep in his own private quarters for the past week. Something that perturbed you deeply. 

This week has been filled with the most restless nights you've had in years, leaving you thoroughly exhausted. You had grown quite accustomed to sleeping in Aemond’s strong arms. The two of you had never spent a night apart since your wedding night two years ago. The marriage had been arranged, of course, but the two of you had quickly become besotted with each other. 

Has your spark faded so soon?

You took a deep breath, trying to keep yourself calm. Surely, you were just overthinking things. Aemond had his hands full with the threat of war looming on the horizon. It made sense that he would have little time for you. That was just something you would have to learn to accept.

You let your eyelids fall closed as you continue to run the brush through your hair. The day had quickly come and gone. The hour of ghosts was quickly approaching. You prayed that sleep would come easier tonight. Your poor mind and body craved a peaceful night's rest.

You jump on the small cushion bench you have been sitting on as your bedroom door slams open and closed—Aemond storms into the room. You watch quietly as he paces the room, mumbling angrily in high valyrian. You try to gauge what he is saying, but he is talking too quietly and far too quickly for you to understand. Even with the lessons Aemond and Maester Orwyle have given you over the past year and a half, it was nearly impossible to comprehend Aemond when he spoke so quickly.

You call him, but he ignores you. So you try again, this time much louder. His back is turned to you. You watch as he slowly turns, his eye wandering about the room as if it were some foreign place. You squirm in your seat when his gaze finally falls upon you.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I thought I had gone to my room.”

Your heart sinks at the thought that he no longer considers this his room.

“It is yours, just as much as it is mine,” you shrug.

“Of course,” he mutters sheepishly, shuffling his weight back and forth on his feet.

“Has something happened?” You ask, hoping to draw him into a conversation before he tries to flee.

With an exasperated sigh, Aemond moved to the bed, sitting at the edge. He clenched the blanket tightly in his hands. The two of you sit in silence. You have to bite your tongue to keep yourself from badgering him with questions. He’ll never talk if you do that. The minutes feel like hours, but soon, he speaks.

“My mother is angry with me,” he says quietly. 

I should have known, you thought. You were well aware of the strain growing between your husband and good-mother since he had returned from Storm’s End. Since the murd- the death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon. Your heart aches for your husband. You know how close Aemond was to his mother and how much she meant to him. No doubt, the distance between them was significantly affecting him.

“She blames me for starting this war. As if she and my father's council have not been plotting to usurp the throne for years,” he scoffed.

His voice was laced with anger and frustration. You want nothing more than to go to him. To reach out and soothe him, but you're afraid he will leave. This was the most time he had spent with you in a week. You were desperate for his attention.

“The realm is preparing for a war the likes of which Westeros has never seen. She is afraid.”

“Aren’t we all?” He snickered.

The two of you sat in silence. Aemond rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands. He seemed so small, almost like a child. Your heart grew heavy, weighed down by your worry and concern for your sweet husband. You wanted to help him, but you did not know how—or if he would even let you.

Your fingers twitch, curling around the brown wooden brush handle in your hand. You look down at it. A smile spreads across your lips as an idea finally comes to mind. You turn around, placing the brush down on the table before turning back towards him.

“Come here,” your soft voice cuts through the silence. You beckon Aemond closer with your hand.

Aemond lifts his head. The man looks at you apprehensively, his eye flickering towards the door. For a moment, you fear he will run, but he doesn’t. Instead, he gives you a slight nod and pushes himself up from the bed. You stand just as he’s about to reach you and quickly step aside. You gesture towards the cushioned bench, instructing him to sit. He hesitates but follows your instructions.

 Aemond sits up tall on the bench, his body tense and rigid. His violet eye watches you in the mirror as you step behind him.

“May I?” You ask, gesturing to his eyepatch.

His face goes pale, and for a moment, you regret asking. Perhaps you were overstepping. Though before you can apologize, he nods his head. Your heart skips a beat, overjoyed that he still trusted you enough to see him like this. You have to stop yourself from smiling like a fool.

You try to steady your trembling fingers as you loosen the eyepatch strap. Your eyes flicker towards the mirror. He isn’t looking at you anymore. Instead, his violet eye is closed. He flinched, and his brows knit together as you pulled the eyepatch off his head. You freeze, unsure if you hurt him or he is just uncomfortable. It had been years since he had lost his eye, but it still caused him some discomfort.

“Are you alright?” You asked. 

He blinks, eye flickering towards you. He watches you, no doubt waiting for some sign of disgust or repulsion. But you give him none; you never have. In your eyes, he was perfection. You do your best to look at him with all of the genuine concern and admiration that you can muster.

“I-,” his voice cracked. He blushed and quickly cleared his throat. 

“I’m fine.” He answered, more assuredly this time.

You nod, leaning over his shoulder to carefully place the eyepatch on the table. Your finger moved back to his hair, gently tugging on the tie that held his hair away from his face. Thankfully, it slips off with ease. His hair falls forward, curtaining around his face. 

You gather the hair off his neck, drawing it onto his back. A soft sigh escapes him as your fingers graze against the sensitive skin of his neck.

You reach over his shoulder again, picking up the brush you had been using moments ago. His single eye falls closed as the brush touches his head. You go slowly, trying to be careful of any knots and tangles, though there are none. The brush skims through his silver tresses with ease. You find yourself growing envious, thinking of all the times you and your handmaids have had to wrestle with your hair. 

His hair shines like beaten silver under the candlelight. The sight is almost hypnotic. You continue with your work, letting the brush run through his silver strands again and again. Little by little, his facade crumbles, and his body relaxes under your touch. After a while, you put the brush back on the table. 

You massage his scalp with your fingertips. Aemond’s head is tilted back just a bit, and a soft hum echoes from his throat. The sound reminds you of a cat purring. You smile, feeling rather pleased with yourself. Carefully, you remove your fingers from his hair before brushing through it one more time.

“Would you like me to braid it?” You ask.

“Yes, please,” he answers.

You nod and get to work. You don’t do anything too extravagant, just a simple three-strand braid. Once you are finished, you lean down and press a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

“All done,” you smile.

“Thank you,” he replies, sleepily.

You expect him to get you and leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he spins around on the bench. His large hands gently take hold of your hips, pulling you a bit closer.

“I’m sorry,” he says so quietly that you almost missed it.

“For what, my love?” You ask, gently caressing the side of his face with your fingertips.

“For this ... distance between us.”

“Oh,” you hum. “It’s fine. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

“That’s not an excuse,” he mumbles. “I have been-”

You shush him and place a gentle kiss on his scarred brow. “All is forgiven.”

His lips part as he prepares to argue, but he doesn’t. He closed them and nodded, silently thanking you for your forgiveness. Silence takes over the room again, but it’s more comfortable this time. Aemond rubs circles on your hips, through your thin nightdress, with his thumbs.

“Perhaps I shall rest here tonight?” He suggests, avoiding your gaze.

“I would like that,” you smile.

Aemond stands, and you help him undress before the two of you make your way back to your shared bed. Your husband climbs into the bed after you, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your back is pressed against his bare chest, and almost immediately, you can feel your mind at ease.

“I love you,” he whispers against your hair.

You try to say it back but cannot, as sleep pulls you away from the waking world. You squeeze his hand in yours and hope he understands.

[lilacwants]

I absolutely love they way you write Homelander!!! He's got me in a vice grip 😭😭😭

The brain rot is so real

I wanted to request something, you might have already done it but it dosnt hurt to ask right?

*cough cough* sky sex? Like Homelander and the reader fucking over the skyline... much like the end of season 2 except he's not alone this time?

Annnnndddd maybe the reader is terrified of heights?

Who knows 🤷🏼‍♀️

I hope this was an okay request!!! I love your work and I hope everything is going well for you 🫂

the sky is ours.

notes: hello guys! im finally back :) i know the wait was loooong and i apologise about that :’( i’ll start by responding to my asks because they’re really getting me in my writing mood. warnings: mature content. minors do not engage.

The cold night air rushed past your face, stealing your breath as you soared high above the city's skyline. Your arms were wrapped tightly around Homelander's neck, your body pressed against his as he carried you through the air like you were nothing but a feather. The world below was a blur of lights and buildings, tiny and insignificant from this height, while the sky stretched out endlessly around you.

Despite the exhilarating sensation of being weightless, your heart pounded in your chest for an entirely different reason. You weren't one for heights. In fact, you hated them.

Every instinct in your body screamed at you to hold on tighter, to demand to be put back down on solid ground, but the thought of doing so seemed impossible with Homelander's arms cradling you with such ease. His power was palpable, and even though you knew he could kill you with a single motion, there was a strange sense of comfort in his grasp.

"You okay up here?" His voice was smooth, low, and teasing, but his eyes flicked toward you with a glimmer of something genuine.

The deep blue of his eyes seemed to glow against the night, and you had to force yourself to look away.

"I'm fine," you managed to say, your voice shaky, despite your attempt to sound calm.

You didn't want him to know just how terrifying this was for you, but it was impossible to hide the tremor in your voice.

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face, his lips curling at the edges as if he could sense your fear. "You sure about that, sweetheart? You're shaking like a leaf."

You tightened your grip around his neck, digging your nails into his cape, feeling the way the fabric stretched beneath your fingers. "I said I'm fine," you repeated, more forcefully this time, though you weren't sure who you were trying to convince-him or yourself.

Homelander let out a low chuckle, his chest vibrating with amusement. "I know you're scared. I can hear your heartbeat," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "But don't worry. I've got you."

His words were meant to be comforting, but the way he said them, with that dark, seductive edge, only made you more aware of how dangerous he was. It wasn't just his power that terrified you; it was the way he made you feel. Being with him was like standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering between fear and desire, unsure of which way you were going to fall.

"You... You're not going to drop me, right?" The question came out before you could stop it, the fear lacing your voice more obvious than ever.

He grinned, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he adjusted his grip on you, his hands sliding down to your waist, holding you tighter against him. "Drop you? Now, why would I do that?" His voice was thick with teasing, but there was an undertone of seriousness that sent a chill through you.

The truth was, he could drop you. He could let you fall to your death right now, and no one would stop him. But you knew he wouldn't-at least, not tonight. Tonight, his mood was playful, almost tender, in his own twisted way. There was something possessive in the way he held you, something that made you feel like, at this moment, he didn't want to let you go.

"Relax, sweetheart. Enjoy the view," he said, his voice dropping to a softer, almost intimate tone as he flew higher, the city shrinking below you. "Not everyone gets to see the world like this."

Your stomach churned as you glanced down at the sea of lights far beneath your feet, the skyscrapers looking like toys from this height. You could feel the wind whipping through your hair, the cold biting at your skin, but the overwhelming sensation was the dizzying fear of falling, of plummeting into the void below.

"I... I can't," you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut to block out the terrifying sight. "I hate heights, Homelander. Please, can we go down?"

He hummed thoughtfully, his fingers tracing slow circles on your waist as if he were considering it. "Hmm, I don't know..." he drawled, his voice laced with amusement. "I kind of like you like this. All vulnerable. All mine."

His words sent a jolt of electricity through you, awakening a heat deep inside that contrasted with the icy fear coursing through your veins. Despite everything-despite how terrifying this was, despite the fact that he could drop you at any moment, you were drawn to him, irresistibly so.

"I thought you were stronger than this," he taunted, his breath hot against your neck.

"You can't really be that scared, can you?"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding so loudly in your ears you were sure he could hear it. "I'm not scared," you lied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I don't like it."

"Oh, I think you like it more than you're willing to admit," he said, his voice dropping even lower, more predatory, as his lips grazed the sensitive skin of your neck. "The fear... the thrill. It's exciting, isn't it?"

A soft gasp escaped your lips as his mouth trailed down your throat, his tongue flicking against your skin, and despite yourself, despite the fear, you couldn't help the way your body reacted to him. Your pulse quickened, but this time it wasn't just from the terror-it was from the undeniable desire that had been building between the two of you for so long.

He chuckled, clearly aware of the effect he was having on you. "That's it," he whispered, his hand sliding up your back, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled your head back, exposing more of your neck to his hungry mouth. "You can't deny it. You want this."

Your mind was spinning, the fear of heights warring with the intoxicating heat of his touch. You hated that he was right. You hated that despite everything, despite how dangerous and terrifying he was, you wanted him more than you had ever wanted anything in your life.

"Homelander.." you breathed, your voice trembling as his hands roamed over your body, his touch firm and possessive. You could feel the raw power beneath his fingertips, the control he had over you, and it made your heart race even faster.

"I could take you right here, right now," he murmured against your skin, his voice dark and full of promise. "High above the world... where no one else can reach us."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, the imagery sending a rush of adrenaline through your veins. The idea was terrifying, exhilarating, and utterly intoxicating all at once.

He moved his face back to yours, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that took your breath away. It was rough, demanding, and full of an intensity that only Homelander could bring. His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your whole body ache with need.

Your fear melted away, replaced by the overwhelming desire coursing through your veins. You were his, completely and utterly, and in this moment, high above the world, it didn't matter that you were terrified of heights. All that mattered was him-the way he made you feel, the way his power wrapped around you like a cocoon, keeping you safe and dangerous all at once.

The tension between you both snapped like a taut wire, and in one swift, dizzying motion, Homelander had you pinned against him, hovering impossibly high above the shimmering city.

The cold air bit at your skin, but his body was a furnace, burning with heat and power as his hands roamed over you, pulling you closer.

His mouth crashed against yours, a demanding, hungry kiss that left you breathless, and before you could even comprehend the danger of the height, your body was responding to him with equal fervor. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you around his waist, his strength holding you effortlessly as he pressed into you with a low, possessive growl.

The sensation of him inside you was overwhelming, heightened by the adrenaline of being so far from solid ground, and all you could do was cling to him as he thrust into you, each movement sending shockwaves through your body.

The world around you disappeared, the city below forgotten, as the only thing that existed was him-his strength, his control, the way he dominated you completely.

Your cries were swallowed by the wind, mixing with his low, primal groans as he moved faster, his grip on you tightening with each rough, relentless thrust. The fear of falling faded into the background, replaced by the raw, intoxicating pleasure that surged between you both, as if you were defying gravity itself, suspended in the sky, lost in the intensity of the moment.

And as his hands roamed over your body, his breath hot against your skin, you realized that maybe-just maybe-the sky was where you belonged after all.

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

You truly don’t believe that most women can genuinely love their husbands? Do you think the same is true in the inverse?

No, I believe that most women can fall in love, I just don't observe them worshiping the man they are with like a god for decades until death, the way a lot of men will worship a woman. There are some fairly simple evolutionary reasons for this, if you need me to go into them.

This particular difference between the sexes is, interestingly enough, one of the main reasons the attempts to make women heroes in modern films have failed so badly: the male hero has, for many thousands of years, always been a sacrificial role, in which he offers up his life on behalf of the tribe, which they traditionally reward after his death with honors and public gratitude. But in the western tradition we don't feel good thinking of women as sacrifices on behalf of men, and we can't sell that convincingly to the people.

In other words, if a male cowboy or astronaut or cop or fireman or whoever dies at the end of the film to save a woman and her children, we feel he has done good, and can leave the cinema oddly elated. Whereas, if a woman is beaten to death or torn apart or burned alive in order that a man she doesn't know gets to live, we don't feel that trade has been worth it, and we feel that film's a downer.

The feminist ideologues pushing for all these kick-ass action heroines misunderstand the 'hero' label as simply a nice shiny thing they want, because they see some men have it, but the thought of the women they are writing sacrificing anything never even occurs to them. So, instead of creating female counterparts to male heroes, they create extraordinarily selfish, belligerent and unlikeable Mary Sues, who simply beat up and kill men to get their way, and that is what is now being presented as a positive role model to young girls, just making the world worse one awful film at a time.

The root biological truth, that we all innately know but never openly acknowledge, is that males are disposable, and women are not, because women bear the children, and so must be protected more than men. Both men and women view women as more valuable than men, unless that man is supplying something extra and extraordinary to the tribe (or individual woman), and even then, that just brings his worth up to something approaching the level of care we have for women.

Another way of putting it: If King Charles III dies jumping on a bomb to save a mother walking by, we will think of him as a good dude. Whereas if Queen Elizabeth II had died leaping out of her carriage and jumping on a bomb to save the life of one of her footmen, we'd likely think of her as mentally ill, as it would be so outside of our hierarchy of values and expected behaviours.

Just some thoughts.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

4 Great Motives for Writing by George Orwell

George Orwell:

From a very early age, perhaps the age of five or six, I knew that when I grew up I should be a writer. Between the ages of about seventeen and twenty-four I tried to abandon this idea, but I did so with the consciousness that I was outraging my true nature and that sooner or later I should have to settle down and write books. Putting aside the need to earn a living, I think there are four great motives for writing, at any rate for writing prose. They exist in different degrees in every writer, and in any one writer the proportions will vary from time to time, according to the atmosphere in which he is living. They are:

(i) Sheer egoism. Desire to seem clever, to be talked about, to be remembered after death, to get your own back on grown-ups who snubbed you in childhood, etc., etc. It is humbug to pretend this is not a motive, and a strong one. Writers share this characteristic with scientists, artists, politicians, lawyers, soldiers, successful business men – in short, with the whole top crust of humanity. The great mass of human beings are not acutely selfish. After the age of about thirty they abandon individual ambition – in many cases, indeed, they almost abandon the sense of being individuals at all – and live chiefly for others, or are simply smothered under drudgery. But there is also the minority of gifted, willful people who are determined to live their own lives to the end, and writers belong in this class. Serious writers, I should say, are on the whole more vain and self-centered than journalists, though less interested in money.

(ii) Aesthetic enthusiasm. Perception of beauty in the external world, or, on the other hand, in words and their right arrangement. Pleasure in the impact of one sound on another, in the firmness of good prose or the rhythm of a good story. Desire to share an experience which one feels is valuable and ought not to be missed. The aesthetic motive is very feeble in a lot of writers, but even a pamphleteer or writer of textbooks will have pet words and phrases which appeal to him for non-utilitarian reasons; or he may feel strongly about typography, width of margins, etc. Above the level of a railway guide, no book is quite free from aesthetic considerations.

(iii) Historical impulse. Desire to see things as they are, to find out true facts and store them up for the use of posterity.

(iv) Political purpose – using the word ‘political’ in the widest possible sense. Desire to push the world in a certain direction, to alter other people’s idea of the kind of society that they should strive after. Once again, no book is genuinely free from political bias. The opinion that art should have nothing to do with politics is itself a political attitude.

It can be seen how these various impulses must war against one another, and how they must fluctuate from person to person and from time to time. By nature – taking your ‘nature’ to be the state you have attained when you are first adult – I am a person in whom the first three motives would outweigh the fourth. In a peaceful age I might have written ornate or merely descriptive books, and might have remained almost unaware of my political loyalties.

Looking back through the last page or two, I see that I have made it appear as though my motives in writing were wholly public-spirited. I don’t want to leave that as the final impression. All writers are vain, selfish, and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives there lies a mystery. Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist or understand. For all one knows that demon is simply the same instinct that makes a baby squall for attention. And yet it is also true that one can write nothing readable unless one constantly struggles to efface one’s own personality. Good prose is like a windowpane. I cannot say with certainty which of my motives are the strongest, but I know which of them deserve to be followed. And looking back through my work, I see that it is invariably where I lacked a political purpose that I wrote lifeless books and was betrayed into purple passages, sentences without meaning, decorative adjectives and humbug generally.

Published in Gangrel, No. 4, Summer 1946

More: George Orwell

[see-arcane]

Jonathan and I stood hand in hand, and we felt that our best and dearest friend was gone from us....

This is so lonely... Just them at his grave after the funeral, once the staff and law partners were gone.

Isolation and clinging to what dwindling companionship you have seems to be a running theme with our main characters.

Jonathan has exactly two people he can think of to write to when Dracula presses him. Mina and Hawkins appear to be the only ones who exist to worry about him when he goes missing. If anybody other than she and Hawkins had come by to express sympathy or even sent a letter once Jonathan made it back, Mina would have mentioned it. But no. Jonathan Harker would've been missed by exactly two people if Dracula and the Brides had succeeded. A heartbeat later, his symbolic father is dead and he is left holding Mina's arm, his last love and comfort alive.

Mina and Lucy hint at unnamed others they must know as 'telling tales' about seeing Arthur...but they are unnamed. And are never met or mentioned again apart from a throwaway line in their early letter-writing. Mina's world is narrowed down to working at the school on one end and loving her Jonathan and her Lucy on the other. Lucy, however mother-smothered, is still free to go and party at the pop, to go enjoy distractions and sports, to meet people and walk off with the hearts of three suitors. Mina, now minus her and old Hawkins, has her world reduced to herself and Jonathan.

And this is all the far end of a short lifetime where Mina never knew her parents at all and Jonathan presumably lost both his parents some while ago. Whoever their legal guardians were, they are either dead, distant, or just couldn't be bothered to care about their wards' situation over the course of this horrid season. Jonathan and Mina have been each others' only consistent companions since childhood, seeing as Hawkins mentions knowing them both for that long. Hawkins being without any family of his own, hence the inheritance he leaves Jonathan, the nearest thing he has to a son. It's all so bone-deep lonely.

Now here the Harkers are again. Orphaned and marooned, if abandoned on a much nicer island than they started with. More death waiting for them in the mail.

Holding to each other like children again.

[sw3etnena]

Till death do us part

Summary: Votes are just words when a betrayal is discovered.

Warnings: Angst, physical aggression, torture, false betrayal, Pregnancy.

Author's notes: Let's start with an important fact, English is not my first language, if there is any spelling mistake, blame the translator! Second fact: Votes and reposts are appreciated, so please do this charity. And third fact: I know them, seriously, but I ended up running out of ideas for scenarios, so I got inspired by the Russians (since they have a history)

☆"I, Y/N/S, take thee, Simon Riley, to be my lawfully

wedded husband."☆

Ghost Husband! Who feels the world fall apart when he opens the yellow folder left on his desk, photos of you, talking and exchanging envelopes with a man he knows very well, after all, he was the one who captured him, a member of the Russian force.

He runs through the corridors, all eyes seem to be on him, but he doesn't care, clutching the envelope in his hands as he runs to the cells, where he knows you would be, where you are.

— Ghost… — Price steps in front of him, his hands holding your shoulders, Ghost can't look at him, his eyes fixed on you, hanging, hurt and almost unconscious.

— Did she betray us? — The question seems to come out bitterly, every piece of Ghost collapses when the captain nods reluctantly.

— Andrey Petrov. He confessed things that only she heard besides us. — He explains, and then Ghost pushes him aside, opening the cell, he sees you raise your head.

— Si… — You try with a broken voice, grunting when he squeezes your cheeks.

— We share the same bed. — He interrupts, you notice his eyes shining with tears. — And yet you betrayed me. YOU BETRAYED US!

You flinch when he shouts, pushing away from you aggressively.

— They lied, I-I. — You stop only to watch him rip open the envelope, throwing the photos at your bruised body. You tremble as you look at the photos, your doctor, the one who examined you two weeks ago, who told you in no uncertain terms that a child was on the way.

Did he lie?

— Simon… — Your voice breaks, suddenly you find the strength to face your husband. — He's my doctor, I was…

— Confidential conversations. — He interrupts again, approaching you again, pointing his finger in your face. — That only you heard, only you, me, and the captain, don't fucking lie to me.

— Simon…

— DON'T CALL ME THAT! — He yells, his hands coming up to hold your hair, you scream in pain. — You're nothing more than a traitor now.

Traitor.

'I swear to love and care for you at all times, and if I fail, it's because I'm dead." Simon says in a low voice, a soft smile on his face as he places the ring on your finger. "I swear to have you as my wife for the rest of my life, at all times, I will love you."

— I am… — You try to say, your voice dies when the door is opened once again, revealing a soldier, your colleague, known as “Wasp”.

— Lieutenant… The captain is calling you. — I’m coming. — And then he lets go of your hair, and slowly lifts your balaclava, collecting saliva and then spitting it on your face, the saliva mixing with your tears.

— I’ve already finished what I had to do. — And as soon as he leaves, you know that your world has ended, every piece of it, slipped through your fingers, so quickly, it all started in the morning, when you appeared in the mess hall, and everyone turned to you, until your captain, and best man at your wedding, punched you in the ribs, you fell to your knees, and then you were dragged to a cell.

— Please… — Your voice is interrupted by the scream that escapes, with the sharp pain of the cut on your arm, and then cheeks, thighs and legs.

— Your little friend asked me to say something. — The woman sighs, turning the bloody knife in her fingers. You frown. — It wasn’t fake. What wasn’t fake?

And then your eyes widen, your heart pounding in your chest.

— Listen, I swear I'm not a traitor. — A strong slap is placed on your face, you bite your cheeks before continuing. — You need to tell Simon that…

— Do you really think we're going to believe anything you say? — She questions, getting closer only to put the knife too close to your neck.

— Then go through my sock drawer. — You beg, tears falling. — If you ever had any respect for me, as a partner, at least tell Simon that. She doesn't answer, she just takes the knife away from your neck, grabs a bucket of ice water, and throws it on your body.

It was at that moment that you knew you were going to die.

☆"I promise to be faithful. "☆

You have no idea what time it is. The cell is dark, and now empty, only the sound of water dripping from your disheveled clothes fills the dirty environment, decorated with your blood and dried tears.

No one visited you besides the woman, but you know there's a soldier at the door, you can see the shadow, they all came to look at you, not for long enough, just telling you how disgusted you made them, Kyle, Price, Ghost, they were all at your wedding, they were all your family.

You decide to stop mourning, there aren't many things in the room, but there is the knife used by the woman who tortured you, under a table a few feet away from you.

With difficulty, you manage to free yourself from the handcuffs, your feet finally falling silently to the dirty floor, you don't care, picking up the knife, also ignoring the pain in your broken thumbs.

Hiding is also easy, you just stay behind the door, until you hear the soldier curse, and then open the door, looking for you, who is quick to attack - even with the pain in your body - You press the knife into his shoulder, he grunts in pain, and then you knock him down, piercing just below his ribs, a clean cut, without any damaged area, you were not a monster like them.

You grab the man's boots that are easily too big for your feet, but it doesn't matter, not when you run silently through the corridors, ignoring the silent pains in your body.

Dodging the awake soldiers is easier than it seems, ducking and sneaking, but unfortunately, the emergency button is soon activated, while you hide behind a column, everyone runs in the opposite direction, and you smile mentally, stumbling until you reach the outside, and then into the forests.

During the night, which you discover is cold, you hold your slightly larger belly, it's a search for comfort, and you can't help but pray that he's okay.

You don't know how long you've been walking, but at some point, your still wet body feels heavy, and you find yourself forced to lean against a tree, sliding until you fall on top of the leaves, you sigh, your eyes closing. I'm not going to die.

☆"love you and respect you ."☆

— WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?! — Ghost screams as he pushes the door, the squad stares at him, clearing their throats.

— She injured one of ours, and then ran away. — Price explains. — All we know is that she ran into the forest.

— She would have to walk more than ten kilometers to find any sign of life. — Ghost grumbles, rubbing his forehead in irritation.

— She must have someone waiting for her. — Kyle suggests.

— And wouldn't they come for Andrey? — Ghost interrupts.

— Y/N could be the real piece, Andrey is probably a pawn. — Kyle explains, crossing his arms.

— He got caught and then he ratted her out, we just need to know how she got someone to come looking for her.

— That doesn't matter now. — Price says, walking around the room. — We need to know what she knew, and how much they know.

And then they go back to Andrey's cell, who is more injured than you, with a broken nose, and yet a splendid smile on his face, the smile of a winner, he starts to hum.

— Не плачь, девочка, мама тебя спасет. — Ghost approaches, his eyes narrowing in her direction.

— What is he singing? — Ghost asks the translator next to him, he doesn't take long to answer.

— Don't cry girl, mommy will save you. — Ghost sighs deeply, holding his jaw.

— Tell me what you know.

— Она такой хороший солдат, мой друг, она девушка. — he says with difficulty.

— She'll make a good soldier, I bet it's a girl. — The military man translates.

— Who is she? — Ghost takes a deep breath, irritation growing in his body.

— Кто она? — The translator asks.

—Это, очевидно, ваша дочь. — He says, looking at Simon with a big smile.

For a moment, even the military man translating stops, his eyes wide and his breath held.

— What the fuck did he say? — Ghost steps away, approaching the translator, who reluctantly looks into his eyes.

— Your daughter.

No. It can't be. I-

It's impossible.

He doesn't,

there's no way,

no-

— Daughter? — His questions come out slowly.

— The one in your little wife's belly. — The prisoner says with an accent, his voice thick and drawn out, his smile seems to widen, and suddenly Ghost feels suffocated.

— I'll kill you, you son of a bitch! — He grabs the man by the collar, his eyes locked on his, who shows no sign of lying, Ghost feels dizzy. — She's not pregnant, she would have told me!

— Она сказала, что планирует рассказать

— She said she planned to say it.

— Она сказала, что хочет чего-то романтического.

— She said she wanted something romantic.

“Baby, what do you think of this?” You ask sweetly one night, sitting on Simon’s lap, scrolling your finger on the screen of your phone.

“Why something so fancy, baby? We’re already married, aren’t we?” Simon jokes, mentally noting the name of the place.

“I want something special for us, Si.” And then you kiss him, he kisses you back, so sweetly, wrapping his arms around your waist.

— Папы не существует, мама его убьет. — He continues to hum.

— Daddy doesn’t exist, mommy will kill him.

Simon doesn’t think before running to his quarters, the room they’ve shared for years, he searches under the bed, inside the wardrobes, and then drawers. There are sheets of paper with words and more words, and then:

Positive for pregnancy.

— Simon. — Price runs to the room, stopping at the door only to see Simon kneeling, his fingers trembling as he holds the paper. — Did you find out?

— Find out what? — He looks up at his captain.

— The pregnancy. — Price bites his cheeks, guilt burning in his chest.

— How do you know about this?

— W-we found a… — Price interrupts himself, sniffling softly, trying to contain his tears. — Recorder on her cell phone, hidden in the case.

— S-so she didn’t… — Simon doesn’t need to finish, he is interrupted by a loud sniff from Price, who timidly nods. — Fuck.

Traitor.

Traitor.

Traitor.

“I swear, for the rest of my life, to be with you, when you fall and when you get up.” Simon fell even more in love with your smile, at that moment, you dressed in white, your eyes shining, he finally felt alive.

Kyle, Gaz, Price, Soap, his entire family, present at the best moment of his life.

“And I promise to love you even in the fights, the battles and the heartaches.”

Idiot.

Idiot.

Idiot.

— We need to go after her. — And then they both quickly agree, and stumble toward the rest of the task force.

Little did they know that as their bodies ran through the forests, screaming your name, with nothing but flashlights to light their way, you were no longer there, your body carried like feathers by soldiers in black, barely able to breathe, pale and cold.

— It seems we have a victory. — One of them cheers, the same Russian accent you would hear from now on, a new life.

Or the destruction of it.

☆"In joy and in sadness"☆

[fivelasanctum]

Dark Fivela *Five Edition*

Update on the nightmare sequence. Apparently they filmed it with five which hits hard in the feels. He could be holding on to his own sanity but it's precarious at best. Would be romantic but also depressing if Lila and Five had the same nightmares of losing the other to insanity. Lila has been called 'Crazy Lady' but it's five who has danced with madness multiple times in his life. Some outwardly, some from his past and emotions/feelings underneath the surface. Ironic given the from the montage, he seemed like he was her rock. Which makes sense since this is Lila's first rodeo with dealing with it to this degree. Five here, doesn't look as unhinged as Lila but might be worse. He stares listlessly at her. No emotion. The opposite of love isn't always hate but apathy. He surrenders to the impulse to give up. Foreshadowing of his suicidal, broken hearted mindset at the end of the season. If he doesn't have her, he rather let the world burn. Go back to their purgatory alone to be lost physically and in the mind or worse...end himself. He saw himself when he was on that course but in the end...death would happen. Just about how one dies. (Least they had a chance to communicate with their eyes and hold each other) He slowly backs away from her. Abandoning lila to it all. Going into the light of the cracked open subway. Symbolically it's beautiful. Where as they cursed the subway often for their predicament; it was their safe haven from the horrors they could face outside of the time stops. A place for them to laugh, share stories...where they truly sat down to know each other. In this case, can represent the mind. Given how five was going towards the broken opening of it. It's ambiguous given the short clip but if you look between the lines, Lila's own fears were manifesting. Yes being alone like Five suffered for 45 years but something more there with him walking away. Not having warmth in his eyes. Not caring (loving) her anymore and shutting down. Leaving everything behind. This was early in their subway travels so could show that she did already love him but was hidden under denial and how it would look like. Perhaps, scared if she did reveal her feelings too early...the judgements from Five since one would think he would be more loyal to his family over someone who cares for him (at this point she could have been unsure) The fear of losing him by misreading the emotions but also the domino effect of the entire family closing her out if it wasn't reciprocated. Their is her complications with kids and still being married and all ^^; Or this was a sobering moment in the nightmare, causing her to realize how much she had grown to care for him (outside of reliance for survival) if she lost him completely to insanity. Much to ponder with these clips. This song came to my mind with this whole concept. If we had more darker fivela scenes I could imagine all the edits with the song. Missed opportunities... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qn862pSFe_M

[lily-s-world]

Chaos Theory – Theories

Gotta admit that I watched the trailer a few times already, and some theories had been showing up in my head. I decided to write them here to share them and mainly to comeback after the season drops to see which ones I got right.

Two Stories

The main one I had, and I had seen comments also mention it, is that we will see two main stories this season – the Camp Fam in the strange island and Brooklynn’s side of her accident. It was revealed at the end of season one that she was alive, so I think they won’t leave us hanging for long to tell us what happened the night of the back and where Brooklynn’s had been hiding all this time.

Sorna and Nublar 2.0

Season one ended with the Camp Fam jumping into a boat towards an unknown location, the trailer shows us that they left that boat (on accident or voluntarily pending to be confirmed) and arrived at what seems to be a version of Sorna but abandoned. The place is plagued with deserted facilities used to create dinosaurs, along with some dinosaurs in the wild. My theory is that the boat was directed to the version of Nublar, but the Fam arrived at this one instead. Along with the idea that the islands are maybe a backup made by InGen or the MantaCorp version of what Jurassic World had.  Judging by the state of the facilities, my theory is also that they suffered the same fate as the original.

Dinosaur Liberation

We had a big revelation on the trailer and it knowing that Ben knew Brooklynn was alive. Ben throwed away his and Darius phone at beginning of season one, so I’m guessing he knew before the season started. In one of the flashbacks, it is told that Ben was the one showing Brooklynn the Dark Jurassic website, after her death he may had been a little to involved with the site and found the “Dinosaur Liberation” movement which led him to the clip showed in the trailer.

My theory here is that Brooklynn was the one that warned Ben about the Nublar Six being targeted. After her accident, she may have gone full spy hacker and figure out what happened. She then reached Ben knowing that from all of them, he was the one that would believe her.

Camp Fam learning Brooklynn is alive

My theory for this one is quite a stretch, but I believe Brooklynn is behind the entire liberation thing and that the islands showed on the trailer are the safe haven they are trying to build for the dinosaurs. If the Fam went to explore the places, they could have found evidence of Brooklynn being alive and confront Ben about it (when he doesn’t seem surprised or confess?) Another option is Brooklynn being at that island and the group finding her.

Bonus note: Can’t my girl catch a break??

[theloganator101]

The Great BNHA Review: The Finale

So in the end... where does this leave us?

A society that really hasn't changed that much, Izuku was alone once again because his hero friends are too busy, and it ends with Izuku being handed a suit to fight alongside them... Reinforcing the fact that Izuku couldn't be a hero on his own without someone handing him something to make him a hero.

What a lackluster and rather bleak ending when you think about it. Because they still have the ranking system so it's once again enticing heroes to compete in a popularity contest to be known, which is why Bakugou is doing poorly and Aizawa admitting that he didn't do shit to curve this behavior.

(Points at Aizawa) Teacher of the Year everyone 🙄

So with the story now completed, what I hope to eventually happen in a few years is for people to truly see the series for what it is. A poorly written story where the main character never grows, the worst anime character hogging all the attention away from things that should be important, and contains harmful messages for preteens-teens if we were to take this at face value.

So let me ask this: Was this story worth telling?

I'm only asking because since it's known that Hori just got tired and wanted to be done and over BNHA as soon as he could. Which I know WOULDN'T have happened if he just pulled a Yana Toboso and just put the manga on hold to truly figure out what he wants to do instead of working on it continuously with only a handful of one week breaks.

His story couldn't explore the themes it established, and what it DID covered, was handled poorly.

And if you want a piece of media that explores what BNHA tried to do, here're some of my recommendations .

The main character being the odd one out? The Owl House.

Family Issues? Gravity Falls.

Discussions on justice and the grey area of good and evil? Death Note.

Hell, Glitch Productions does a better job at developing the romances of their characters than this anime series did in it's entirety!

And trauma being handled in a tasteful manner?

But back to the topic!

The thing is why couldn't we explore these themes and topics that was promised to us? Was anyone REALLY asking for Endeavor to make amends with his family? Did anyone RELLY think that Endeavor's redemption was worth screwing over the Todoroki family members?

This series just wants to have it's cake and eat it too! We want to have cool fight scenes and root for the heroes to win, but we would also want to explore the world they live in and how it functions. And since considering the badly handled topics of the story and the characters themselves are as interesting as caricatures of the tropes they embody to where there's no depth or complexity.

Then you just have a story that GOES NOWHERE!

How much of Hero Society has really changed at the end? It only beckons for the same events that happened throughout the series to happen again! And the people who were horrible, I.E Bakugou and Endeavor, get they want without consequences! None of the major characters go through significant development so it makes it hard to see that they've grown at the end!

So overall, BNHA is an Anime Series that crashed and burned. Something that I hope more people will start to recognize and call it out for both the mistakes of the series and Kohei Horikoshi.

And with that, my career of criticizing BNHA has come to an end. Thank you all for liking my rants and posts, and I truly do hope you'll keep following me for whatever's in store.

So now that's done, I can finally move on to something actually good...

[kpop-stories-21]

Down In Flames

Group: ATEEZ Pairing: Mingi x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4k Rating: 18-21+ Genres, Tropes, & AUs: Non-Idol AU, Magic AU, Fantasy AU, Reverse Soulmates, Angst, Dark Content Content & Trigger Warnings: Dark Mage!Mingi, Light Mage!Reader, dark content, major character death, soulmates destined to kill each other, descriptions of fighting, death and mentions of death, mentions of blood and dead bodies Summary: The wielders of Light and Dark magyk have been at war for countless years. Many skilled Mages on both sides have fallen to the ages-old conflict. But now, a cruel twist of fate could spell a terrible end for both sides. General tags: @kpop---scenarios @stardragongalaxy @jeonrose @skittlez-area512 @mybiasisexo @biaswreckingfics @anyamaris @trashlord-007 @liliesofdreamsskz @okiedokrie-main @naturalogre @bxffietheblxxdy ATEEZ tags: @deltamoon666 @lovelyhange @spicyseonghwas @firefox79 @alex-tinyy If you want to be added to my taglist, click here Network pings: @cultofdionysusnet || @sandsofire || @wonderlandnet MDNI banner, divider, and support banner courtesy of @cafekitsune

A/N: This is my entry in @cultofdionysusnet 's "See U On The Flip Side" event. I've never really thought of trying reverse tropes before so this was really fun to write, though writer's block kicked my ass about halfway through😭 But it's here now, and I hope you all enjoy!!

Event Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Once, far back in the forgotten ages before the world was torn asunder, Light and Dark lived in harmony. Dark magyk was considered just as important and useful as Light, and Mages made friends regardless of what they studied. Many a powerful Magister was born of a union between Light and Dark, and no one thought badly of it.

But then there arose Virestiis, a Dark Mage corrupted by the forbidden Darkness and filled with pure wickedness, who was intent on eliminating all Light magyk in the world. He converted many to his cause, and families were ripped apart as the Mages chose sides. Many beloved locations were utterly destroyed during the countless battles that ensued, and a multitude of brave Mages were lost to the bloodstained earth.

Eventually Virestiis was overthrown, and some semblance of order was restored. But the rift between Dark and Light would remain forever. No longer could the magyks coexist, the two sides now far too suspicious of each other. Blended families were forced to make choices, often leading to broken hearts and unforgiven grudges. The future now seemed clouded and full of confusion, but some things were certain: the fighting would never stop, and the world would never be the same.

Fate, however, had different plans. For the first time since the war had begun a thousand years prior, the Sages of Light and Dark received the same prophecy; one of a destiny so twisted it would stop the conflict. The prophecy stated that there would come a day when a Magister of Dark and a Magister of Light would be bound together as soulmates, but there would be no bonds of love and peace here. These soulmates were destined to bring the sides against each other in a final battle so catastrophic it would claim not only their lives, but the lives of numerous others, ending the war in a blaze of death and destruction.

Our story begins just over three thousand years later…

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you approached The Divide, the neutral area between the lands of Light and Dark. It was customary for both Magisters to meet anytime a mantle was passed to someone new, in the hopes that one day two would meet and decide to settle for peace. As the new Magister of Light, this would be your first time meeting the Magister of Dark, and to say you were nervous would be an understatement.

A thought entered your head and you turned to your bestfriend San, your second-in-command and only companion on this important journey.

“What do you know about the Magister of Dark?” You asked, eyeing him curiously.

San frowned thoughtfully, his dark eyes squinting a little as he pondered the question. “Not much, I hear he’s just as new as you are.”

You were surprised by this, you hadn’t heard of anything happening to the old Magister. That meant that either both Magisters died simultaneously(an occurrence that was highly unlikely), or some of the Dark Mages had staged a coup and installed a new Magister by force(which was far more probable). Either way, if this Magister of Dark was put into power by others, then perhaps the Dark Mages were finally ready to talk of peace. It was a slim hope, to be sure, but you had always carried such hope in your heart, even before you were chosen as Magister.

You reached the middle of The Divide and stopped. Now all you could do was wait until the Magister of Dark arrived. You just hoped he wouldn’t be late.

Much to your relief it was barely five minutes before the sound of voices reached your ears. Shortly thereafter, two figures rounded a corner. One was a tall man with dark eyes, his hair coloured yellow and orange like the flames of a fire. The other man was shorter, with grey eyes and bright red hair. Both wore the black robes typical of the Dark Mages, but the robes of the tall man were edged in white, marking him as the new Magister of Dark.

The two stopped right in front of you and San, the other Magister towering over you.

“I am Mingi, the Magister of Dark.” He motioned to the red-haired man beside him. “This is Wooyoung, my second-in-command. I presume you are the new Magister of Light?” His voice was deep, like the roiling of thunder during a storm.

You nodded, swallowing your nerves in favour of polite diplomacy. “I am. My name is Y/N and this is my second-in-command, San.”

You looked up to meet his eyes for the first time, and suddenly it felt like the whole world had stopped. Everything else seemed to fade away, leaving only you and Mingi. You could feel it, the instant connection between the two of you. For a few moments, the two of you became one; hearts beating in sync, breaths taken in the same instant. This could only mean one thing: he was your soulmate.

The moment ended, and you could tell by the expression on his face that Mingi had just experienced the same thing. You felt lost, as if you had suddenly become achingly aware of the rift between Light and Dark. You assumed it was a side effect of the soulmate bond and did your best to move on.

As the new Magister of Light, there were three questions you were expected to ask and three you were expected to answer. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the look of confusion San was giving you, you asked the first question.

“Is there union in the space?” If Mingi answered yes, the stars of the Dark had aligned to suggest making peace.

“No.”

You sighed inwardly. You had expected as much.

“Are the fields bountiful?” If he answered yes, it meant his people were safe and healthy.

“Yes.”

Well that was good at least. Disease and lack of necessities was bad no matter what side you were on.

“Do you wish to create harmony?” If he answered yes, he wished to make peace.

“No.”

San grumbled quietly beside you. Of course he did not wish to make peace. The Dark Mages would fight till the end of time if they had their way.

You took another deep breath. Now it was your turn to answer the questions.

“Is there union in the space?”

“Yes.” The stars of the Light had aligned the day you became Magister, and they had not moved since.

“Are the fields bountiful?”

You sighed. “Barely.” The previous Magister had just cured a fairly devastating disease before he passed the mantle to you.

“Do you wish to create harmony?”

“Yes.” You answered without hesitation. The Light Mages were tired of the war and just wanted it to be over.

But, since Mingi did not want peace, there would be no accord today. That would have to wait for next year, when you met him here again.

Mingi and Wooyoung bowed politely. You and San mirrored the gesture, then turned to walk back to your own lands.

On the way back, San addressed the moment that had passed between you and Mingi.

“What happened between you and the other Magister? You guys stared at each other for several minutes.”

You sighed. After a moment’s hesitation, you shared everything that happened. “I…He…We’re soulmates, San.”

San gaped at you, eyes going wide. “What?!” He paused for a moment, then looked at you seriously. “Y/N, you know it’ll probably never work out, right? If he and the other Dark Mages do not want peace, there’s no way he’d accept or even acknowledge having a Light Mage as his soulmate.”

You nodded. “I know Sannie. It just hurts that I won't get to have that relationship with him, you know? It would be better if I didn't know, but unfortunately that is not the case.” You exhaled, feeling suddenly despondent.

Several minutes of silence passed as the two of you walked, the sun travelling steadily downwards towards the horizon. As you crossed back into the Lands of Light, something stirred in your memory and you froze.

San noticed and turned to you with concern. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head, pulling San aside where no one could eavesdrop. “You remember the prophecy both sides got way back? The one about a Light Magister and Dark Magister being soulmates?”

San nodded, confused. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head, and realisation suddenly dawned on him. “You think the prophecy is about you and Mingi?”

You nodded gravely. “I am almost certain of it.” You sighed deeply. “Think about it for a moment, San. If there had already been a Light Magister and a Dark Magister who were soulmates, we would not still be fighting. The prophecy says their clash will end the war, so if it is still waging then it would logically follow that he and I are the ones mentioned in the prophecy.”

San looked at you, his face a mixture of resignation and sadness. “You’re probably right, but I do not wish to lose my best friend.”

For a moment you thought you caught a flash of something deeper than just friendly affection in his eyes, but it was gone before you could really analyse it.

“We should go and speak with Hwa, see if he’s got any insight on this.” San said, leading you back out onto the busy street.

You agreed and the two of you made your way to the outskirts of the capital city, where a small hut draped in colourful cloths, carpets and strings of beads sat like a bright gem amongst plain grey rocks. This little hut was home to Seonghwa, the current Sage of Light and a close friend of both you and San. Sages read the stars and listened to their whispering voices, for each star was once a living Mage in decades long past. The stars gave prophecies and warnings, sometimes even offering glimpses into the future.

Leaning down, you stuck your head through the hut’s low doorway. “Hwa, you home?”

A faint voice came from behind a divider of bold blue cloth. “Yeah, be with you in a moment.”

Sounds of rustling reached your ears, and after a few minutes the cloth divider was pushed aside. Seonghwa was a taller man with white-blonde hair and sharp green eyes, who wore the customary patched grey robes of a Sage. He smiled brightly when he saw you and San.

“Greetings, my friends. What brings the Magister and her right hand to my humble abode?” His tone was teasing, but when he saw the gravity on your faces the mirth immediately left his eyes. “What is wrong? Has something happened?”

You nodded mutely, your heart burning in your chest as you once more felt the distance between you and the other half of your soul. You and San sat down at a table in the small, cosy kitchen and you explained to Seonghwa what had happened when you met Mingi.

Seonghwa looked troubled by this news, remaining silent for several seconds before saying anything.

“The stars have been rather veiled since you began your journey to The Divide. I wasn’t sure of the reason initially, but now I feel certain this is why.”

“Have you had any visions or messages lately?” You asked him.

Seonghwa frowned, shaking his head. “Now that you mention it, I haven’t. I was actually going to stop by the Temple today and see if you had returned, so why don’t we sit down and do a reading while you’re here? Perhaps the stars have some answers for you now that you’ve found your soulmate.”

You agreed, and soon you and San were seated with Seonghwa around a small, circular table with a crystal ball in the centre. Seonghwa closed his eyes, placed his hands on the ball and turned his face upwards towards the stars. He whispered something that neither you nor San could hear, though you could see his lips moving. After a few moments Seonghwa’s eyes flew open, and you could swear there was a pale blue glow in his eyes.

“You speak with Kirys of the stars.” Seonghwa’s voice was deeper than you’d ever heard, almost a growl, and you knew then he was channelling a Spirit of the stars. Taking a deep breath, you asked your first question.

“Are Mingi and I the soulmates in the prophecy about the end of the war?”

“I cannot answer that as plainly as you wish. All I can say is that it will become clear to you very soon.”

You nodded, you had expected as much. “Why are the stars veiled? Is something bad going to happen?”

“Yes. I cannot tell you what will happen or when, but something bad will happen.”

“Will there be peace when the war ends, or will the animosity remain even if no one is actively fighting?”

“I am afraid I cannot answer that.” There was a pause, then Kirys spoke again. “I must leave you now. My time is short, and I must share a vision with your Sage before I return to the stars.”

You bowed your head and bid Kirys farewell as the blue light faded from Seonghwa’s eyes. Everything was silent for a moment, the Seonghwa’s eyes rolled back until only the whites were showing and his body began to convulse. San leapt to his feet, ready to help his friend, but you stopped him. You’d seen this before, the day Seonghwa received the vision that named you as the next Magister.

“He’ll be alright.” You whispered. “He’s receiving a vision.”

After a few moments, Seonghwa’s convulsions ceased and his eyes slowly opened. “Did you speak with one of the star spirits?”

You nodded. ”Yes, he said his name was Kirys.”

Seonghwa looked surprised. “The history books name Kirys as the first Mage to become a star after death. He has never spoken to me before.”

“When he stopped talking with us he mentioned he had to give you a vision. Can you share what you saw or were you asked to keep it private?”

Seonghwa exhaled heavily. “I was actually told to share it with you.”

You blinked at him, somewhat surprised. “Okay…So what did you see?”

“At first I couldn’t really see anything except these high walls of fire that were surrounding me. Then, the fire seemed to dissipate somewhat. I could see I was at The Divide and there was this awful battle raging. All around me, everywhere I looked, there were Mages from both sides just falling and falling. There was just so much blood and death I could hardly stand to look at all of it. Then there was a break in my line of sight and I could see two figures fighting each other viciously. I moved closer and soon I was able to make out one of the figures. It was you, and you were fighting this other person like your life depended on it. Suddenly everything around me faded to black and I heard you let out a blood-curdling scream. Then the vision ended and I was back here.”

You gaped at Seonghwa with wide, shocked eyes. Clearly this was a vision of the final battle mentioned in the prophecy, the one that would end the war. You found yourself speechless, mind struggling to process what you had just been told. You sat motionless until San shook you gently and brought your wandering mind back to the present moment.

“Are you okay?” He asked, looking at you with concern in your eyes.

You hesitated, unsure exactly how to answer. Finally you responded. “I-I think so…”

Seonghwa took your cold hands in his warm ones and offered you a comforting smile. “Not all things are certain, perhaps there are other explanations for this.”

You shook your head in disagreement. “Some things are certain. Fate has her own plans for all of us, things that we are not privy to. I feel certain this is one of them.”

Silence hung in the air for a while after that, no one quite sure what to say. After a bit, you decided it was probably time for you and San to go. You stood to your feet and San followed suit, both of you bidding Seonghwa farewell before slipping out of his hut and heading back into the city.

You and San parted ways at the road that led to his home, and you walked on to your own small home. Once inside, you took off the Magister’s robe you wore over your clothes and set about making yourself some dinner. After that you had a much-needed meditation session and went to sleep.

~Several months later~

Things between Light and Dark rapidly deteriorated after you spoke with Kirys and Seonghwa was given the vision of the final battle. You had heard from guards posted at the edges of the Lands of Light that the Dark Mages seemed to almost be waiting for something, as if they had some great evil thing planned and were simply waiting for a word from Mingi to put it into action.

It sometimes felt as if the earth and even nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for the final string of tension to snap and plunge the world into a bitter war. And then, one fateful winter’s morning, it happened.

You were jerked from a deep sleep by the pounding of fists on your door. Slipping into some clothes, you opened the door and found a near-frantic San on your doorstep.

“The Dark Mages are attacking!” He exclaimed, agitation clear in his words. “Scouts spotted Mingi leading an army towards The Divide not fifteen minutes ago.” Your face set in determination as you thanked San for informing you. Closing the door back, you returned to your room and dressed in your battle gear with a heavy heart. Placing your Magister’s robes over your armour, you meditated quickly to ensure your mana was fully restored. You then joined San outside and headed to the city’s centre to gather the army of Light and launch a counterattack.

You had always hoped it would never come to this, yet here you were marching to war with your friends. Deep down you knew that neither you nor Mingi would survive this altercation, but if it would end the war then you would go through this a thousand times over. Too many good Mages had been lost to this decades-long conflict, at this point you just wanted it all to end.

With your army gathered, you began the march to The Divide. Some morbid part of you thought of it as your death march, but you brushed the thought aside in favour of trying to plan how you might take Mingi down. When you reached the centre of The Divide, however, you were met with utter chaos.

The forest was aflame, large blazes roaring to life wherever you looked. Magyk flew left and right, Mages falling everywhere you looked. Your heart wrenched, and you knew this had to end. Fury blossomed within you and you called on your magyk, your rage supplementing your abilities and allowing you to disintegrate every Dark Mage that crossed your path. You carved a path through the raging battle, blind to everything except the target your eyes had locked onto: Mingi.

When you reached the clearing where Mingi stood, he gave you a sadistic smile, clearly relishing in all the death and destruction.

“Shall we battle to the death, my dear?” He intoned, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

“You will pay for all the destruction you’ve caused!” You screamed, launching a volley of crimson magyk towards his face.

The Dark Magister merely waved his hand in the air, brushing your attack aside with a flash of fiery orange magyk. You threw your magyk at him again, this time in a wide arc. And again he blocked it, summoning a shield of magyk to deflect the blast.

Enraged, you decided to switch tactics. Abandoning your magyk casting for the time being, you drew your magyk-imbued greatsword and rushed at Mingi with a raucous war cry.

He drew his own sword and met you halfway, the clash of your blades ringing heavily through the clearing. You traded blow after blow for what felt like hours, your strength and stamina draining rapidly as the adrenaline began to fade from your body.

Weariness set in and your strikes began to falter, though you noted with dark satisfaction that Mingi was also beginning to tire. You decided it was time to put your final plan in action, before you completely ran out of strength and mana.

Taking a deep breath, you cast a rolling wave of darkness over the whole of The Divide, stopping all the fighting for just a moment. Then, summoning every last bit of mana within your being, you leapt into the air and launched yourself at Mingi. Your whole body was quite literally glowing with magic, burning right through the shield he threw up. You let out a blood-curdling scream as you collided with the Dark Magister, and then everything went black.

Seonghwa honestly thought he was about to be sick, a strong sense of deja vu mixing with the nausea in his belly to make a horrible churning that had him looking for nearby bushes he could take refuge behind. But then he heard an echoing war cry that had him freezing in place, grey eyes searching the body-ridden battlefield for you.

He soon found the clearing where you and Mingi were battling, moving through the crowd of battling Mages to get closer in case you needed his assistance. From the corner of his eye, Seonghwa spotted San coming up on the opposite side, no doubt for the same reason. He watched, riveted, as you and Mingi fought viciously. Neither of you seemed to have the upper hand, your skills equally matched with Mingi’s.

When you began to tire, Seonghwa started to worry. In the back of his mind throughout this battle had been the vision he received from Kirys months earlier. When he saw the determination settling on your features, a pit began to form in his stomach and he swore he could see tears forming in San’s eyes.

As you cast the wave of darkness, there was a sense of finality in the action that had Seonghwa’s heart flooding with dread. He knew what would happen, but he hated that it had to be such a close friend. He watched as your glowing form collided with Mingi, sending out a shockwave of magic that knocked every single person off their feet as well as extinguishing the raging inferno blazing through the forest.

When Seonghwa regained his footing, he was met with a heartbreaking sight that had tears spilling down his cheeks. The collision had formed a crater in the earth, and in the midst of that crater laid two motionless bodies. One of those bodies he recognized immediately as yours. He and San immediately rushed forward, untangling your limp form from Mingi's.

There was utter silence as the two of them slowly carried your body back to the Lands of Light, the rest of the Light Mages falling in behind them while the Dark Mages did the same with Mingi.

Everyone could feel it, the change in the very makeup of both Dark and Light magyk. It was as if all of the anger and mistrust that had formed the rift all those years ago had just…dissolved.

Things would certainly be better in the future, but it has come at great personal cost. You and Mingi were missed dearly by those close to the two of you and your sacrifices were remembered for decades to come. Seonghwa and San remained close friends, often reminiscing about memories both fond and funny that they had shared with you. Stories were passed down from generation to generation, making you and Mingi something of legends in the world of magyk.