#anyway here's hoping to more frequent updates

[gamerwoo]

Bang Chan: The Girl Who Didn't Cry Wolf (Part Seven)

Characters: Bang Chan x fem reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, enemies-to-lovers-ish??, slowburn, werewolf/alpha!chan, (werewolf)hunter!reader, minor angst, fluff at the end, hurt/comfort-ish, alcohol consumption (reader gets kiiiinda drunk), trauma dumping, mentions of death, idk i probably missed some things [dialogue in bold is meant to be korean]

Word count: 3,951

Summary: You've learned to do whatever you can to protect yourself after an incident almost a decade ago had your father and brother dragging you to a new country to start all over even though they blamed you for what happened. After finding yourself stuck in a house of werewolves, you're forced to come to terms with your feelings over what happened back home when the alpha imprints on you and his pack claims they're keeping you prisoner. You know exactly how this will end if you give in, and yet you can't seem to get yourself to leave the sweet and charming werewolf who's willing to do anything to make you comfortable. You're just hoping that maybe there'll be a good end this time.

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a/n: hiiiiii friends!!! i know it's been a VERY long time since this was updated, or since i've even been active. life has been a bit difficult and busy to say the least. BUT i had the privilege to see skz at their new york stop of their tour and i VOWED that i would make some time to pick my writing back up no matter what. so here we are. im still going thru a few things (the biggest thing being my cc info getting stolen while in ny haaaaa 🙃) so idk how frequently i can update but i will do my best. anyway for those who sent asks saying they still check in on me and still reread my old stuff, i literally love you sooooo much i send you a very consensual and platonic kith on the forehead <3

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The next morning, you woke up to a sharp pain in your side. You gasped, jolting up only to hiss in pain. Strong hands quickly pinned your shoulders down, and you looked up to see Jeongin looking down at you with an awkward smile, “Sorry.”

“Please try not to move,” Hyunjin instructed from beside him, coming over to help hold you down now that you were awake.

Your instinct was to fight back from being pinned down, so you did, wanting to sit up to avoid the pain that would be caused to your side. A third pair of hands stalled your movements as Chan moved into view, concern creasing his features, “_____, stay still please. It’ll hurt more if you move.”

“Why am I pinned down?!” you demanded.

“We just want to look at the wound, _____.” Changbin explained where he was already reaching to peel the bloodied bandage away.

“Well why did you have to touch it?” you groaned, your head flopping down on the pillow like a child throwing a tantrum. “You woke me up and it hurt! If this is how it’s gonna be whenever I’m asleep, I–”

A large hand covered your mouth, and you already knew it was Chan’s before you even checked. You gave him a glare but he just stared at Changbin.

“Is it bad?” he wondered.

“It’s definitely...not...good,” he said, sucking in a breath between his teeth as he looked at your newly opened wound. “It might need draining tonight, but hopefully we’ll come up with something that puts her in less pain.”

You tried to say something but Chan kept your mouth covered. You bit his hand but he only smirked, making you roll your eyes.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” he teased.

“Can you stop being weird please?” Hyunjin asked in disgust. “There’s a child here.”

“I’m not even a child!” Jeongin frowned. “Sorry, not all of us have been stuck at the same age for 30 years, old man.”

“Can all of you stop for a second?” Changbin sighed. “I swear, Chan, she brings out the child in you. More so than usual.”

Then he glanced briefly at Jeongin, “And I take offense to that.”

“Just let me fix the wound, Binnie,” Chan offered, removing his hand from your mouth. The first thing you did with the freedom was stick your tongue out at him. “You go do whatever it is you need to get done.”

He sighed but stood and handed the ointment to Chan, “Don’t bicker with her.”

“That’s not my decision.”

“Right, it’s the real alpha’s,” Jeongin laughed, earning a pinched cheek from the alpha himself, but his laughing persisted as he left the room.

As the three wolves left, Chan rolled you to lay on your side before kneeling down beside the bed. He opened the tin and swiped some white cream onto his first two fingers, “Did you sleep okay?”

You nodded, “Yeah.”

“Did you…dream at all?” he pressed, but his eyes were focused on your side. You wouldn’t have ever suspected something was up.

“A little bit.”

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. What did you dream about again? You knew you dreamed but you couldn’t remember what it was. But it must’ve been something amusing or important if Chan was bringing it up.

“What did I say?” you asked.

“‘No, Finley’,” he recalled in a murmur, eyes still trained on rubbing ointments into your wound.

Your cheeks felt hot. You knew why, too – or you at least suspected why – but you weren’t going to say anything to Chan.

“Y-yeah, Finn… He was my best friend back home,” you explained in a mumble.

Chan’s eyebrows knitted together curiously, “He didn’t come with you? I think most people fled from the Americas. Honestly, I was shocked you stayed up until a decade ago. There was that big war that drove everyone away.”

“Well, my dad fought in the war so we stayed. My mom didn’t want to leave him behind. Things were pretty bad for a while, but they got a little better when the war ended. It was slow, though.”

“So…what about Finley?”

Hearing him ask so bluntly even though his tone was casual made something click. Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him, “Are you jealous, Christopher?”

His golden eyes widened as he paused, looking into your eyes for the first time.

“Me? No,” he said, but you could tell by his tone he was lying. “Just curious. You’ve never mentioned a Finley until you were…telling him no last night.”

“Don’t be weird,” you scolded him. “Finn was just a friend.”

“But you’re still thinking about him, apparently,” he continued, going back to his work. “Saying his name in your sleep.”

You let out a sigh and rolled your eyes, “You’re just digging yourself a deeper hole, Chris.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Finn's dead now,” you stated plainly; numbly.

Again, Chan froze. His eyes, wide and apologetic, went to you, “O-oh… Shit, _____, I’m sorry, I was just messing around, I didn’t–”

You chuckled, “You’re fine. I just wanted you to feel like an ass for a second.”

He made a face at you before he went back to tending to your side, “You’re a sassy little thing, you know that?”

You just shrugged, “I’ve been told.”

-

“We’re back!” Felix announced, walking in along with Jeongin and Minho.

You were sitting on the couch in the living room with Changbin, Jisung, and Hyunjin while the three wolves were playing poker and betting their various snacks they kept hidden in their rooms. You just watched even though Changbin offered to deal you in, figuring you had nothing to offer since Chan had confiscated every weapon you had – and that was all you had when you had shown up.

As the group of wolves that had come back from the market walked into the living room, Felix raised a brow at the three wolves in their heated argument over if Changbin was cheating or not. Then he looked at you, and you just sighed softly and shook your head.

“They’ve been doing this since you left, and I don’t even really know what it’s about other than stealing or something,” you stated, making him laugh.

“Hey,” Chan entered the room, eyeing the bags that the wolves were carrying, “did you happen to find anything to help _____?”

“Yup,” Jeongin giggled before tossing a glass bottle full of honey-colored liquid to him.

Chan caught the bottle easily, turning it over and reading the label, “Whiskey?”

“Alcohol can numb anything,” was all Minho gave him for an explanation. 

“If you’re gonna be mad, be mad at him,” Jeongin stated, jabbing his thumb toward the older wolf who merely shrugged and looked away from the alpha, walking into the kitchen with the rest of the bags.

“I can handle the pain–”

“You think we want you to be in pain if you have to be?” Felix asked him. “We wanted something to save you both the pain.”

“It really was Minho’s idea,” Jeongin mentioned, Felix nodding along.

Chan didn’t show any emotion, just looked down at the bottle.

Then Felix looked at you with a chuckle, “How well do you handle your alcohol?”

You shrugged. It had been a while since you’d gone to any taverns for a drink, but you used to be more of a midweight, “It’ll take a few shots.”

“We can’t get her drunk!” Seungmin exclaimed as he entered the room. You assumed he was either in the kitchen or in his room and had overheard the conversation. “She’s already attacked at least two of us while sober!”

“Seungmin…” Chan’s tone was a warning as he stared at the younger wolf, “don’t start. If you’re here to fight, go back to wherever you came from.”

“If Channie can forgive you for attacking his mate, don’t you think you can forgive his mate for attacking you?” Jisung asked mindlessly from where he was sitting on the floor. Only when nobody said anything did he look up and realize he didn’t read the room well enough. That obviously wasn’t the only animosity the three of you had. “...Sorry…”

You spoke up, looking back over Hyunjin’s shoulder to check his cards. “Frankly, I couldn’t care less if Seungmin forgives me or even likes me. Actually, if I cared any less than I do currently, I’d be dead.”

“_____–”

You looked at Chan when he said your name but cut him off, “I’m not saying it to be an asshole, I’m saying it so everyone knows. I don’t care about anything he or Minho has to say to me; they’re the only ones ‘keeping me hostage’ so they’re the only two I don’t trust in the slightest.”

While your last comment did make Chan and the rest of the pack kind of happy that you verbally admitted to having some sort of trust with them, Chan still didn’t want you saying anything even remotely rude to Seungmin or Minho. He knew it would only cause more fighting, and he wanted to avoid it.

“Look, Seungmin,” Chan began, rubbing his hands over his face before looking at the taller wolf, “we’re not doing it until tonight when you’ll probably be asleep. You won’t have to deal with her.”

“Well, I’m staying up to witness this,” Jisung giggled, putting a card down before picking up a new one.

Jeongin nodded in agreement. “This, I gotta see.”

“Plus, free drinks,” Changbin shrugged.

Chan groaned, rolling his eyes at the younger wolf. “They’re not for you! Whiskey is for _____ only.”

“Ah, c’mon, Channie,” you grinned, using the nickname you’d noticed the pack always used with him, “don’t you wanna have a little bit of fun? Being drunk alone is the most boring thing in the world.”

“I’m going to have to babysit you,” he stated playfully, walking over to stand behind the couch by where your head was. “I just know you’ll be a handful.”

“Ooh, what kind of drunk are you, _____?” Felix wondered with wide, curious golden eyes.

You hummed as you thought it over, trying to remember how you were whenever you went out to the tavern, “I think it depends on who I’m with and the atmosphere.”

“So she’ll be an angry drunk.” Seungmin spat. “Lovely.”

-

Whiskey clutched in your hand, you stared at Jisung with doe-like eyes as he patched up your newly-drained wound and helped you sit upright. Felix couldn’t help but laugh at your drunken state, while Hyunjin, Changbin, and Jeongin seemed to be having a race to see who could get the drunkest the fastest with the little alcohol that they were allowed.

“This is for _____!” Jisung whined when Jeongin tried to make off with the bottle.

So now, there you were: drunk off your ass. You didn’t even take shots, you just chugged straight from the bottle. Chan chuckled at first at how eager you were to down the liquid that burned your throat and made your stomach feel warm, but when you were sufficiently drunk and kept at it, then he began to get concerned.

But since you were still starting to cry and scream at the pain, Changbin put the bottle to your lips to silence you, like you were a newborn and he was giving you a bottle. Now, it was just a sharp pinch that made you wince and cry out with “ow” whenever you moved wrong. For the most part, it was a lot more bearable than the first time.

“_____, do you feel okay?” Felix wondered once you were sitting up.

“Uhhh-huh!” you nodded happily.

All of the wolves in the room – which was everyone except Minho and Seungmin – stared at you while you looked around at all of them. You definitely just seemed...different. You weren’t hostile or sarcastic; you were easy-going and smiling at all of them, and it was clear you were very different when you were drunk. At least, different from the you they knew.

Then again, you said it had to do with who you were with, so someone must’ve made you feel chipper despite just having a knife cut through you.

Chan placed a hand on your head, smoothing your hair back. “Do you want to go to sleep now, _____?”

You looked up at the alpha, and a wide smile spread across your face, “Channie!”

That made all of the wolves break out into laughter.

“She sounds like us,” Hyunjin giggled.

He was surprised at how excited you seemed, and was trying to contain his giggles as he asked, “Yes?”

“Can we do something fun?” you asked before putting the bottle to your lips.

Chan quickly grabbed it and carefully took it from you with both hands, “Ah, I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

“I just wanna have some fun with my mate, is that too much to ask?” you pouted.

Chan laughed, his cheeks warming when you called him your mate, as he handed the bottle off to Felix for safe keeping, “When it involves you getting drunker than you already are, yes.”

Chan easily lifted you off of the desk, cradling you in his arms, “I’m gonna stay with her for a little bit in my room. I’ll try to keep her quiet.”

“I’ll…make an attempt to keep them quiet,” Jisung said unsurely, looking around at his three brothers who were joking and laughing, basically ignoring anything the alpha had said.

“Don’t worry,” Minho sighed as he walked into the room, “I’ve got the kids. Have a good night.”

The wolves chimed in with their goodnights after hearing Minho, so you waved to them and rested comfortably in Chan’s arms as he walked you back to his bedroom. You looked up at him the whole walk down the hall, studying every feature of his perfect face. You wondered how you got so lucky having such a good looking mate. You also wondered if Chan knew just how good looking he was, because if he didn’t, you wanted to tell him.

So you did.

“I like looking at you,” you blurted as soon as he shut the door to his bedroom.

Chan let out a laugh that vibrated his chest – you knew because you felt it against your arm and shoulder, “What?”

“You’re just so...pretty,” you repeated, reaching up to poke his cheek, right where his dimple was. “Hasn’t anyone told you you’re pretty, Christopher? Actually, no, not pretty. Maybe… I dunno, they don’t come up with a word good enough to describe you.”

He was still giggling as his cheeks and the tips of his ears turned red, “Who’s 'they'?”

“The people who make the words,” you said as he set you down on the bed.

“Right, of course. The council of word-makers. How silly of me,” he continued to giggle, playfully rolling his eyes. “Y’know, you’re rambling a lot. I think it’s time you sleep, _____.”

“No, I’m busy,” you huffed, sitting up against the headboard and curling your knees to your chest.

“No, you have to listen,” he told you softly but still firmly, going over to the door. “I’m going to turn the lights off and leave, and you’re going to go to sleep.”

“Noooo!” you whined, reaching out for him like a baby. It was loud and something he didn’t expect, so it startled him a bit. “You should stay with me!”

Another smile began to form on his face as he cocked his head to one side, “Are you sure you want that?”

“I always do!” you admitted, although drunk you didn’t know she shouldn’t be telling him that. “I always want you to stay. But I’m not supposed to want you to stay. Y’know?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. We’re enemies,” he chuckled and nodded as he walked over to the bed after shutting off the lights. He climbed in beside you and promised, “We can still be enemies but hang out together. Don’t worry.”

You immediately scooted closer to him and took his arm, putting it around the back of your neck and over your shoulder before laying your head on his shoulder. He immediately melted into you, letting his thumb rub against the skin of your arm as he smiled to himself and closed his eyes.

“That’s how it was with Finn,” you admitted, not really paying much attention to your words because of how drunk you were.

All filters, cautions, and inhibitions were gone now. You were willing to tell Chan anything – you wanted to tell him everything. You were ready to blab all of your secrets and put all of your cards out on the table.

Hell, you were fully prepared to admit that maybe you loved him but only kept yourself from that because maybe a few teeny tiny inhibitions still lingered -- the sane part of your brain that warned you there were still some boundaries.

Chan’s eyes opened, his eyebrows furrowed, but he continued to rub your arm with the warm pad of his thumb, so you didn’t know anything was wrong, “What do you mean?”

“He was a werewolf, too,” you told him, and that was when Chan froze – including his movements. But you were still too out of it to realize. “The only difference was I didn’t know until he shifted. He kept it from me. And…I think I was...his…mate…”

Chan wasn’t sure what to do with this information, but he didn’t want to make you feel like you did anything wrong by telling him, so he tried to stay natural. But damn, you were already a werewolf’s mate? He honestly never would’ve guessed judging from how you acted. He never thought you would’ve been a lot more open to werewolves. Not that you were really un-open to him, but you certainly were holding back a lot.

But if you were a mate, why were you training to become a hunter? Unless…

That was why you weren’t really a hunter.

After a beat of silence, his short-circuiting brain came up with, “Y-you…think? What made you unsure?”

You let out a deep sigh and explained, “I…loved Finn. But I always did. I never felt any different. I never felt that feeling I did like when I first saw you. Y’know, how it just…hits you. But…the feelings are the same…”

You started to feel a lump in your throat, and your eyes were watering a little. Maybe it was the alcohol making you emotional, thinking about your feelings toward Finley being the same as the ones you felt toward Chan. Or maybe it was just because you were finally saying it out loud.

Basically admitting that you love Chan, but still feeling guilty because you felt like you were moving on from Finley.

Chan also caught what you said. ‘I loved Finn. … The feelings are the same’. Did you love him? He didn’t want to hear you say it to him drunk, but he was still flabbergasted and didn’t know what to do. He felt like he was getting so much information from you all at once and couldn’t process one thing without being bombarded with another. The poor guy was malfunctioning right beside you and you had no idea.

“_____,” he managed to speak up, clearing his throat, “you don’t have to talk about it right now. Maybe tomorrow, okay?”

“I won’t have the courage to tell you tomorrow,” you sniffled. “Everything is hard to admit. It makes it more real…”

“I know,” he sighed, holding you a little tighter and going back to rubbing your shoulder. “But confronting and accepting your feelings will be better for you. We’ll figure everything out together, yeah? I promise.”

“‘Kay,” you sighed, too and just let yourself rest against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body radiate off of him.

There was a comfortable silence for a few moments, and Chan started to wonder if you were falling asleep. He wasn’t sure how long he was supposed to stay. Yes, you said you liked his company, but you were drunk. He couldn’t take your word when you weren’t sober. He knew a lot of people said a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts, but he wasn't going to count that as you giving him any sort of consent for anything.

“Can you teach me more Korean?” you suddenly asked him.

He let out a quiet chuckle, “Where did that come from?”

“Changbin made a comment before. I didn’t understand much but I recognized ‘Korean lessons’ or something, and I assumed it was about me,” you explained.

His eyebrows raised and he nodded approvingly at the little bit of Korean you said, “Not bad. What do you know how to say?”

“I can say hello, goodbye, thank you, introduce myself, and a lot of haggling phrases.”

He let out a loud laugh, “You haggle?”

You sucked in a breath, imitating the way the other people at the market spoke, “No, no, no, that price is too low. This is quality deer meat and sells for much, much higher than that fuck-ass price you’re offering. What are you, stupid?”

You went back to your normal talking voice while Chan burst into a fit of laughter, holding his stomach with his free arm and kicking his legs, “Followed by, like, a bunch of swear words and insults. I’m really good at calling people ‘fucking dickheads’.”

You were pretty sure you could hear loud laughter from down the hallway, but that might’ve just been the rest of the pack sharing the rest of the alcohol.

“Okay,” Chan breathed, still letting out little giggles as he wiped tears from his eyes and cleared his throat to try and calm himself down again, “okay. Yeah. Alright. Well, you clearly know all the fun stuff, so… Wait, okay, I’ve got a good one.”

You sat up straighter and turned to look at Chan, “Lay it on me!”

He sweetly sang a short phrase to you with a smile, and you repeated it back to him in the same tone, making him giggle some more. You noticed Chan was very much a giggler.

“What did I say?” you asked.

“Goodnight!” he grinned with a loud laugh. “Remember, it’s bedtime?”

Your eyebrows fell and you gave him the most unamused look you’d probably ever made in your life. All of the alcohol in your system was giving you a second wind that covered up any of the exhaustion you got from being sliced open, so you were less than thrilled about sleeping.

“No,” you stated plainly.

“It’s late, you’re drunk,” he listed as he began to lift the covers to tuck you in, “and you’ll heal better with as much rest as possible.”

You found yourself obeying him anyway, moving to lay down as you let Chan cover you with the blanket, “Are you sleeping in here?”

“...Do you want me to?”

“Duh.”

“Duh,” he imitated you, making a face as he moved to lay down beside you. “Go to bed.”

You rolled over to face him and closed your eyes, “Night.”

“G’night, _____. Sweet dreams,” he smiled down at you fondly.

After a few seconds went by and you didn’t feel him get any closer to you or drape his arm over you like you thought he would, you scooted closer to him, nuzzling into his chest. He just chuckled before lightly putting an arm around you, but you could feel the happy rumble deep in his chest.

Chan was pretty sure that was the quickest you’d ever fallen asleep since being at the house.

[bukashki]

Raccommodeuse, Part 12

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I wanted to thank everyone again for continuous support and feedback (especially so much on the previous part hahah), it means a lot to me, even if I can't respond to everyone! We have entered the second half of the story and oh man, it's a lot of work, more than I anticipated when I just started. And since the beginning I knew I wasn't going to make it easy for them, so I hope this continues to be interesting to you (I myself am excited about working on every part of it :D ). I wish updates could be more frequent or at least scheduled, but I can't offer that... I hope it's not too bad to read one dialogue every 1-2 weeks :'D maybe it would be nice to read it as a whole thing once it's done. Anyway, thank you for being here!

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

hc for adrian having a girlfriend or s/o prior to his mother's death. they're human and maybe her apprentince or something. and the church takes her too, but before they can burn her at the stake, dracula shows up and rescues her because he knows lisa was fond of her. during adrians and draculas fight maybe she interbenes at a critical moments so drac doesnt kill him and alucard gets away but she's now a prisoner of dracula w/n his castle. and maybe she befriends the generals?

A/N: Aw, man. Sometimes I wonder if Lisa did have an apprentice, that maybe Dracula wouldn’t be as anti-human as he ended up being, or if she could start to turn him to see the error of his ways sometime before Alucard and Dracula end up in Adrian’s childhood bedroom. 

Apologies for the delays in updates. But my brain went WILD with this request so it’s a long one, I hope that makes up for the less frequent posting. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these somewhat bittersweet (then depressing then bittersweet again) headcanons! (Also this is unbeta-ed and prob grammatically messy as hell, so read at your own expense lol.) 

Word Count: 6.2k 

TW: Canon Typical Descriptions of Graphic Violence; Brief Mentions of Sexual Violence; Canon Death; Descriptions of Torture (the church is high-key fucked up here)  

Adrian W/ A Human S/O Reader (Who’s Also Lisa’s Apprentice, Prior to Her Death):   

━━━━━ ❂ ━━━━━   

The Beginning:   

Okay, so let’s get one thing straight… FIRST OF ALL, Lisa would adore you!!! Like, you make her baby boy happy and you’re smart??? What else is there to it? And then to top it all off, you’re super sweet and kind and interested in learning about medicine and the world around you!   

Lisa meets you once over dinner and she’s already planning the wedding in her head.   

Adrian is smitten, because of course he is, but in an adorable, somewhat restrained way. He doesn't have a lot (ahem, ANY) experience in this department, so he’s hesitant to take things forward with you, mainly because he doesn’t want to scare you off or make you suspicious about what he is. (It’s hard to make out with someone when you have two big vampire fangs in the front.)   

Adrian is young, like you. So, on top of all the complications, he feels no need to rush things. Sure, he’s heard a few whispers here and there about Dracula having a son, a son who according to rumors and gossiping villagers is to rise as the antithesis of Dracula. It’s all silly superstition, but it does stay fixed in the back of his mind. What would this future legacy mean for his relationship with you? And, should it ever come to pass, would you even be a part of it?   

That’s neither here nor there though, and in the meantime, the two of you simply enjoy the talking phase. You get to learn more about each other's interests, and beliefs, but mostly, you spend time in proximity to one another— you remain busy attending to his mother, learning all you can about healing while he, just a table over, spends his time rereading one of his many favorite tomes.   

I honestly don’t see you meeting Dracula until you and Adrian are like a fully committed couple. I’m pretty sure you would have to have been Lisa’s apprentice for a while and/or lived with the Tepes in their Lupu cottage for months before Lisa finally breaks through Dracula’s protests and makes him officially meet you.   

I don’t think that meeting would happen in Lupu either. No, I imagine it would have to take place at Dracula’s castle, just in case you were to freak out, you’d have no way of escaping and telling any others.   

I can almost see your reaction being similar to Lisa’s upon first entering the castle, especially if Adrian is already at your side. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Dracula is terrifying, but there’s also a giant telescope in the next room calling your name so….   

Much to Adrian’s relief, this newfound information doesn’t make you frightened of him at all, if anything, it simply reignites your fascination with him. You throw rapid-fire questions at him: If he's part vampire, how come you’ve seen him eating human food? Does he need both food and blood to satisfy each of his halves? If he needs blood, he could take some of yours you know…   

Your penchant for learning softens Dracula a little. For a brief time, he wonders if, perhaps, it was as Lisa said, that the humans could change, that humanity was changing for the better.   

He sits across from you at their grand dinner table, watching you intensely as you and Adrian talk about the recent literature you’ve read. You’d no doubt feel Dracula’s all-powerful gaze on you, making you turn to him and… Wait, did you just smile?!   

You’ve got guts, Dracula will give you that.   

Knowing the family secret, you can’t exactly break up with Adrian, nor do you have any desire to. I wonder if Dracula would have rings made for the two of you, maybe commission a new family portrait or two.   

You stay with Lisa in Lupu during Dracula's travels. Adrian is around, although he's always off between the castle and their cottage, so you never feel entirely alone or vulnerable. Your life is perfect! It’s better than you could have ever imagined!   

That is, until…   

━━━━━ ● ━━━━━   

The During:   

When the Church comes to take Lisa, you beg them to see reason. You cry and scream, hell, you even try to fight your way out at one point, only for both you and Dr. Tepes to be overpowered by the Church’s henchman.   

The two of you are taken, violently, to Targoviste, where you’re thrown into dark, damp cells with little to no light. Freezing, you huddle together for warmth, each trying your best to reassure the other, that all will turn out well. Adrian was still around, right? He’ll have to come home to find you missing, he’ll come and rescue you. And Dracula was due to return soon, correct? Surely, they’ll come. Surely, they’ll stop this madness.   

It’s a few days later, after hours of interrogation and brutal torture that you realize with a heavy heart, that no one is coming to rescue you. And what’s worse, that these so-called men of the cloth cannot and will not listen to reason. You’re starved and beaten, your hair is sliced off so close to your skin, that they take bits of your scalp with it in some places. And despite initially being imprisoned with Lisa, you find yourself being separated from her for longer periods.   

The men try everything to get you to turn on her. They tell you if you recant her wicked ways now, say she used her evil magic to trick you, your sentencing will be easier. You could still live— they dangle betrayal in front of you as a last lifeline. You don’t take it of course. You love Mrs. Tepes, and you know she’s no witch. You muster what little might you have left, spitting at the men as you tell them to go to hell. You swear she’s innocent, that she knows nothing. Hell, at one point, you find yourself confessing to having manipulated her! You don’t think they buy it though, if the poor doctor’s screams from down the hall are anything to go by.   

The night they light the pyre, the night of Lisa’s murder, you’re sick on more than one occasion. You scream your throat raw, begging them to burn you first! That she was innocent! That you corrupted her! That it was all your doing! But to no avail.   

In a scene that could only rival the Crucifixion of Christ himself, you look up through tear-soaked eyes to see Lisa, enshrouded in flames, begging Dracula to show mercy on her killers, to forgive them, that they know not what they do. “I know it's not your fault,” she cries out, “But, if you can hear me, they don't know what they're doing! Be better than them. Please!”   

You sob and wail, watching as your would-be mother-in-law is burned alive. You scream out for someone, anyone! To please help you, save you! With Lisa’s last words echoing in your mind, you can’t help but fear Adrian’s and his Father’s reactions, should they find you both killed.

Oh, gods…   

You don’t know what makes you feel sicker… The barbaric display you’re witnessing now or the hypothetical one that threatens to wipe out all living people in Wallachia once Dracula learns of what’s happened. You need not wait long for an answer.   

In a fury of fire and grandeur, Dracula’s head appears, molded in flame, demanding to know what has happened to his wife. You cry out to him, apologizing profusely, saying you begged them to burn you first! You scream out how they refused to see reason, they killed her for helping! Injudiciously, in your indignant anger, you plead with Dracula to release his fury on the priests who did this, to send them to hell to be tortured for eternity for this unforgivable transgression!   

With the silent fury of a gathering storm, Dracula’s fiery visage speaks calmly as his anger grows concertedly less. "I give you one year Wallachians,” he finally decides. “You have one year to make your peace and remove any marks you have made upon the land. One year, and I'll wipe all human life from the land of Wallachia. You took that which I love, so I will take from you everything you have and everything you have ever been. One year."   

No sooner than he spits out the words, a coil of fire bursts from his image, winding itself around your body. The guards surrounding you gasp and flee, avoiding the coil’s tail as it whips back and forth, hoisting you into the air.   

The fiery coil burns your skin, and the smell of even more burnt flesh makes you gag. If you had any bile left over at all, you’re certain it’d come up yet again. The pain is like a thousand stinging nettles and boiling water constricting your arms and midriff all at once. Your vision grows blurry as you feel your body move through the air, your nostrils taking in one last wretched breath of sulfur and smoke.   

━━━━━ ◉ ━━━━━   

The After — Part One:   

When you awake you find yourself laid, practically bare, a heap on the floor within Dracula’s castle— the evil Lord himself only feet away, raging over his magic well— as shards of his magic mirror whip around him at incredible speeds. Your head is pounding, it feels as if it might explode, and your arms… Fuck.   

Where the supernatural coil grabbed you, your skin was red and raw, small pockets of blisters already beginning to form. Your arms tremble uncontrollably as you try to move them, the pain that’s consuming your nerves is far too intense to hold them steady as you sit up into an upright position.   

It doesn’t feel real; nothing feels real. It feels like a nightmare. It had all been perfect, everything was perfect— you all were happy! How did it turn into such horror so fast?   

Shakily, you rise to your feet and clutch the remains of your clothes to your chest in an attempt to preserve your modesty, although it’s more of a subconscious act on your part. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion, yourself included. It’s like the air is heavier here somehow, its weight filling your lungs and weighing you down.   

A loud noise shocks you back to the present, nearly making you stumble over in fright. At least you would have, had Adrian not used his superspeed to catch you before you fell. One of his gloved hands grasps your left arm directly over the burn, causing you to let out a hiss. His rectangular eyes look wider than you’ve ever seen as he releases his grip, looking over your battered form.   

“(Y/N) ...” Adrian says, his voice serious and quiet, barely a whisper.   

You shake your head furiously, unable to trust your ability to speak without breaking. Upon Adrian’s gentle insistence, you feel your mouth opening, and the words slipping out, scraping against the back of your reddened throat as they exit your frail body.   

“They killed her, Adrian…” you whisper, your voice quivering. “I, we tried to stop them, they just wouldn’t listen!” Somehow, your eyes begin to water again, despite your earlier certainty that your body had no water nor tears left in it at all.   

“Once she realized they wouldn't listen to reason, she lied and told them I was innocent. She told them she had manipulated me, that I was just a child, that I didn’t know what I was doing, that she never got the chance to teach me!” A feeling of guilt consumes you as you speak the words aloud, and soon enough, your body is once again plagued by uncontrollable sobs.   

Adrian listens intently to your words, his brows furrowed. You watch through teary eyes as a range of emotions flash across his face: anger, hurt, pain, sorrow, and finally… acceptance. Your beloved hardens his gaze, choking down whatever grief he may be feeling. At the present, Adrian knows, there are more pressing matters at hand.   

You follow Adrian’s steely gaze back, seeing his Father where he is bent over his summoning circle, cursing in a language that is foreign to you before he switches back to Romanian.   

“One year! It will take me one year to summon an army from the guts of Hell itself!” Dracula proclaims, promising to enact vengeance for the death of his love.   

“No.” Adrian counters, slipping out of your grasp.   

“Adrian,” you whisper, warningly. “Don’t—”   

“What do you mean, ‘no’? That woman was the only reason on Earth for me to tolerate human life!”  Dracula retaliates, enraged his son could even conceive of such lenience.   

“Then find the one who did the deed,” Alucard proposes. “If you set loose an army of the night on Wallachia, you cannot undo it, and many thousands of people just as innocent as her will suffer and die.”   

“There are no innocents! Not anymore! Any one of them could have stood up and said, ‘No, we won't behave like animals anymore.’"   

“(Y/N) did.” Adrian points out. “She tried to take all the blame, in an attempt to save Mother’s life.”   

Dracula looks over at you with blood-red eyes, contempt clear on his face. “And yet,” he snarls, “Here she stands, and my Wife, your Mother does not!” He hisses the last word, livid that out of the two of you, you were the one who survived.   

With large, fearful eyes, you watch as Adrian closes the gap between him and his Father.   

“I won't let you do it. I grieve with you, but I won't let you commit genocide.”   

“Adrian,” you warn again.   

The next bit happened all so quickly.   

Faster than you could blink, you watch, helpless, frozen in horror as Adrian charges his father, his longsword drawn. Despite their vampiric speed being unrecognizable to the untrained human eye, you swear you watch the scene unfold in slow motion. Adrian charges first, but Dracula, roaring in a fit of rage, counters faster— his Father’s elongated claws slash diagonally across Adrian’s chest, before his fist pauses, still embedded deep within your lover’s gut.   

You don’t have time to think before you act. To you, Adrian has the abilities of a god, but to his Father… It was clear there’d be no match. You have no clue how you got your hands on it, no idea as to how you even managed a successful hit, but the next thing you know, a triangular shard of magic mirror is impaled in Great Lord Dracula’s back, put there by your very hand.   

Too terrified to even breathe, the only sound you can hear beyond your racing pulse is a wet, gory squelch as Dracula retracts his claws from Adrian’s body. You hear the spray of blood before you see it, a rush of bright red blood gushes onto the marble floor between Dracula and his son.   

Standing at his impressive full height, Dracula turns ever so slowly, ever so menacingly, to face you. His pupils are that of a blood moon, his sclera so bloodshot they practically look as black as night. In that second, you know you’ve fucked up.   

You cower as Dracula raises one hand to you, instinctively shielding your neck from his nasty bloodied talons. With surprisingly repressed strength, Dracula backhands you, the force sending you flying backward, smashing into the base of one of the curved bookshelves lining the walls of his summoning room.   

With his focus still on you, Dracula stalks toward you. Knowing it’s now or never, you scream at Adrian to flee. “Run!” The words rip out of your raw throat, sounding like an eleventh commandment.   

You see Adrian, previously stunned by his Father’s disregard for his life, holding together the gaping wound across his chest. He has no time to even spare you, his beloved, a last look before evaporating into clouds, his cloud of bloodied mist bolting for the door, fleeing as fast as his injured state would allow him.   

Dracula only turns to watch as his son, his very possibly fatally wounded son, flees the confines of his castle. For a moment it is silent— only the sound of both yours and Dracula’s heaving breaths echo across the chamber.   

Clenching his clawed fingers into a fist, Dracula says nothing as he too makes his way to the castle doors, leaving your bruised and broken body alone in the dark.   

━━━━━ ❍ ━━━━━   

The After — Part Two:   

Somehow, Christ only knows, you find your way to one of Lisa’s old labs and do a half-assed job of patching yourself up. You find your burns and dislocated shoulder to be the most painful of injuries.    

Thankfully, Lisa had taught you enough about setting a patient’s shoulder that you managed to smash it into an adjacent wall, popping your joint back in yourself. The burns you wrap in honey and milk-soaked linen gauze, wincing every time the bandages brush against your skin. It’s awful work, slow work too, but you must have managed it alright because you find yourself patched up and passed out in one of the castle’s kitchens a few hours (or days? had it been days?) after that.   

You eat raw vegetables and berries— nothing that requires cooking. Lord knows you couldn't prepare anything successfully now even if you were to try. Eating your foraged meal in silence you debate your next steps. Do you go back home? Would your family even welcome you home after your long and unexplained absence? And if they, along with all the humans in Wallachia were ultimately to be driven from the land, did it matter anyway?   

‘Oh god,’ you think. You have to warn them, have to make them flee before a year is up. But where would you go? Where could you go? Greater Styria was a possibility, although it was not by any means an easy journey, and the climate there was much colder than your folks were used to here. You shakily rise to your feet and set out to find a map within one of the Castle’s many libraries.   

After a good night’s rest, you find your mindset with a newfound determination: you will go home. You were going to get your family on the move and then… Then, you’d come back here.   

You knew, in all likelihood, that returning to Dracula’s castle after the fact entailed certain death. But you also knew, things would get worse if he were to be left alone.   

Dracula may not have ever loved you for a daughter-in-law. Hell, he may not have ever loved anyone aside from Mrs. Tepes, but you promised her while huddling together that first night in those dingy cells that no matter what happened, should either of you get out alive, you would not leave Adrian and Vlad. “They need humans, (Y/N),” Lisa coughed into your ear. “And most importantly, humanity needs them.”   

Dracula would resent your company, he would want to be rid of you. But you could not be rid of him, not after what Lisa had asked of you.   

‘Besides,’ you thought, ‘Nobody should have to grieve alone.’   

The journey back home to your parents is majorly uneventful. Sure, it was touch and go for a while, your body was exhausted after the ordeal you endured, and your wounds had gotten infected once or twice. Thankfully, you had the mind to pack with you any potential treatments you might need.   

It felt good to be home, to be amongst family again. You couldn’t stop crying and hugging everyone when you first arrived. You kept the details to a minimum but made it clear they needed to be the hell out of Wallachia before a year. You told them you had found an apprenticeship, that the woman was kind to you, but while in Targoviste, you saw the burning of a witch, and soon after the face of Satan himself appeared in flames, threatening the crowd. It caused a panic, you see, and you had gotten trampled in the process.   

You didn’t bother to explain that the woman you were learning under was this so-called witch and that this Satanic figure was her husband. Nor did you tell them of your half-inhuman partner. You knew had you told the family the whole truth, they might have cast you out as a devil worshiper and a liar and choose not to heed your words.   

Your warnings spread through your extended family like how ivy creeps up a stone wall. A fair part of your relatives in the country believed you enough to agree to uproot their lives and settle outside of Wallachia: some settled on Syria, others had decided on Greece, Egypt, or Rome. The more skeptical ones who hemmed and hawed over the validity of your claims agreed to move into the countryside, a decent distance from any major Wallachian city or village.   

When you were certain they’d heed your words, you told them you could not stay with them, your Mother wept for three straight days and your Father could do little to console her. As much as it broke your family’s heart, you knew that your need to return to Castlevania was larger than yours. You weren't just doing it for your family, you were doing it for every family across the land. You couldn't be selfish. Mrs. Tepes was the most selfless woman you had met, and she taught you well. If you meant what you said to her when you first met, that you wanted to help people, you would need to buck up and accept the consequences of that.   

Your journey back to the castle was much more melancholy than your journey home. You could almost feel the whispers of the tortured souls Dracula had slain before blowing cold air into your ears, begging you to turn back. Nevertheless, you continued. You entered Castlevania to find you were alone, however, that would not be the case for long.   

Months later you had fallen into somewhat of a predictable routine within the castle and its new occupants. Dracula had recruited two humans to serve as his war planners— men by the names of Hector and Isaac, respectively. You appreciate the levity Hector, and his undead pets bring, and you admire the intelligence and loyalty Isaac has. You just wish they weren’t going along with Dracula’s plan.   

You tread carefully as you find the time to express to each of his Generals that you wish they wouldn’t go through with this plan. You explain humans are not the kind of species to give in to subjugation, they will revolt eventually. You suggest the vampires come up with some sort of tit-for-tat system with the humans instead like, for example, promised blood servants would equal vampiric protection for that territory.  

It’s safe to say no one is impressed with your centrist ideals, so eventually stop taking part in the conversation. You silently hang around Hector, and just listen with a sorrowful expression, satisfied with knowing that if you can’t change the Generals' minds, you can, at the very least, make them somewhat uncomfortable.  

When Carmilla arrives, you’re immediately put off by her little display of insolence. Unlike yours, her dissent doesn’t seem to come from a place of concern. You make a mental note to keep an eye on her.  

It’s during the General's next argument that you receive a ray of hope: “We are quite certain that Alucard sleeps at Gresit.”  

You feel your body grow lighter.  

“So, that means,” you speak aloud to yourself more so to anyone else, “Adrian is alive?”  

You’re met with a handful of annoyed glares from the other vampires as Isaac continues: “And that there was recently a Belmont there.”  

Upon hearing Carmilla berate the others for not sending night creatures to the ancestral Belmont home, your smile falls and your improved mood falters. These Belmonts were famous monster hunters, famous enough to frighten your current vampire company. That means, if there was a Belmont in Gresit, at the same time as Adrian, as Alucard, whatever the hell he’s going by these days, it could prove disastrous for your love. For all you know, he’s still recovering from the wounds dealt to him by his Father. And if this Belmont, this monster hunter strikes first and asks questions later, he may accidentally kill the only living vampire in existence who stands against the very nature of this war.  

‘How ironic,’ you think solemnly. Just as fast as the universe gives you hope, it rips it away once more.  

You excuse yourself, and make your way towards Hector’s forge, aiming to distract your distraught mind with some cute reanimated pets.  

Shortly thereafter, Hector joins you. He asks if you truly did not know Dracula’s son was still alive. You shake your head ‘no’, telling him how you had prayed every past night to any God who would listen, that they would send their holy armies and angels to guard him, but no, you had mostly just feared he was dead.  

You spend the rest of the night talking to Hector about Alucard, Adrian as you knew him. How smart he was, how much the two of you used to laugh, and how much he looked just like his Mother.  

“Perhaps that’s why,” Hector supposes, “Dracula could no longer bear to see him.”  

You say perchance he’s right, conveniently leaving out the part where the Father and Son duo almost fought to the death right in front of you.  

The conversation with Hector reignites something within you. You feel as if you had been praying all this time for an answer, and this was it. Alucard was alive, and so was Belmont. You understand now what needs to be done.  

Your lover must once again fight his Father, and this time, he must win.  

Your silent observations allow you to learn of Carmilla’s scheme fairly early on, as well as Godbrand’s demise at the hands of Isaac, yet all that time, you say nothing. You keep your mouth shut and your eyes down. If Carmilla divides Dracula’s army and court, she will inevitably make it easier for Alucard and Belmont to destroy him.  

The Generals, and even Dracula himself, believe you are mourning the loss of your love for the second time, as his demise will be inevitable the moment he meets his Father and his armies— or at least, that’s what they assume.  

When Carmilla has Hector send special night creatures to the remains of the Belmont home, you attach a letter around one of the creature's necks, hoping your love will notice it, and if he doesn’t, you pray he instinctively outwits the traps that await for him within his Father’s castle.  

━━━━━ ❂ ━━━━━   

Beginning Again:   

The night Dracula chooses to move the Castle to Braila, you manage to speak with him one last time.  

You bring him some tea, even though you know he won’t drink it, and you tell him, for what must be the hundredth time, how sorry you are about all that’s happened. You apologize for not being able to do more to save his wife. You tell him that if you could do it all over again if you were given a choice between who they should burn first, you’d demand it be you.  

Dracula turns away from the fire to look at you upon hearing those words.  

“She was fond of you, you know.” He says, sounding far away as if lost in a distant memory. “She was overjoyed at the thought of gaining a daughter”  

You nodded along a hurt smile on your face. “It was my honor.” Gathering your courage you continued: “Even though it didn’t work out, I want you to know I loved your wife very much… And,” you kept going. “I love your son very much.”  

Dracula said nothing. He simply turned his attention back to the flames within his study’s fireplace.  

“It’s not too late, you know,” you prod gently. “If Adrian is alive, he could still come back, we could still be a family-”  

“No!” Dracula’s low growl sent shivers down your spine.  

For a moment you feared he would rise to attack you or perhaps berate you further, but no such action came. Instead, the former Great Lord Dracula’s shoulders deflated back to their hunched position, as he fell silent once again.  

Quietly, you made your way back to your room, shutting and locking the door behind you. If you had any tears left at all, you would have shed them throughout the night. Instead, you merely lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if there would even be a tomorrow to awaken to.  

Pleased to still be alive at this point, but feeling increasingly suffocated by this overwhelming sense of doom, you spend the next day cooped up in your room, on your knees, the rosary in your hand, whispering prayers of safety for your loved one. You couldn't explain it, but at the time, you felt compelled to recite prayer after prayer and reveal all the fears and worries in your heart.  

You speak out to Death, to God, to all the angels and saints, and beg them to grant Adrian safe passage as he completes his task of saving humanity— it’s something his Mother would have wanted after all.  

Amidst your fervent prayers, you feel the Castle shake and creak, but you soon realize something is off: it keeps jerking from side to side, several times, way too many to be a case of a single relocation. Your heart races, and in the pit of your gut, you know this is it:

The Alucard has come.  

Your love has come back for you.  

You scramble behind the door, poised with a wooden stake in hand (just in case, you never know), and wait.  

And wait.  

And wait.  

Following a crescendo of metallic crashes and screaming, you hear more crashes, this time lesser in intensity and they’re accompanied by the distinct scent of fire, sulfur, and burnt flesh.  

It terrifies you, bringing such horrible memories of your almost demise to the surface. You look down at the burn scars on your arms and feel physically ill. Every time you shut your eyes to blink, you see the corpse of Ms. Tepes, burning alive right before you as if no time has passed at all, as if you’re trapped in the permanent hell of that memory.  

The overwhelming ornery atmosphere in the castle only grows, seeming to suddenly flood your nostrils and every pore.  

You watch in shock and horror as thousands of soot-colored transparent ghouls burst through your doorway, the shock of the impact sending you reeling into the bed. Tortured faces of all shapes and sizes circle you menacingly, before bursting through your room’s glass window, vanishing just as fast as they came.  

Within an instant you feel… lighter, freer almost. It’s as if something major has changed, but you don’t know what.  

Timidly, stake still in hand, you make your way down the castle corridors. Unfortunately, you have to take several detours, your regular route being cut off by giant holes in the architecture. A good portion of the castle looks like it had been hit with cannon fire.  

You sincerely hope that whatever caused that damage is no longer rampaging around these halls, lest you stumble upon them yourself.  

By the time you reach the throne room, the sun is just peeking out from behind the horizon. The sight of it flowing freely into the castle interior lifts your spirits with hope. Sunlight means no vampires. No vampires means…

You follow the originating path of the sun’s beams, finding three figures illustrated against the sunrise. One of them is a burly-looking man, with a large frame and broad shoulders. Another is a woman, at least, you’re fairly certain they’re a woman, with curly hair, dressed in flowing blue robes. And the third is….  

You don’t even need a second glance to know who the third person is.  

Crying out his name, you run towards your long-lost lover, almost losing your footing over all the debris covering the floor. But just as he would before, and just as he always would, your lover, Adrian, catches you before you can fall.  

The two of you cling to each other for dear life, just silently sobbing, feeling grateful to be in one another’s embrace. You’re not sure how long the two of you stay intertwined like that, you just know however long it was, it could never be enough to make up for how much you missed him this past year.  

“Adrian,” you clutch his coat, “I thought you were dead! I thought he had killed you! I was so worried.”  

“He almost did,” the strange broad-shoulder man reveals in a teasing fashion. You watch as the robed woman elbows him in the gut.  

“Alucard,” Adrian says, regaining your attention as he grasps your hands in his. “I am Alucard now.”  

You look into his golden eyes, sensing while this is still very much the body of the man you loved, this Alucard before you, is not the same person that your Adrian was. After all this time, it feels like quite the loss, and yet, you cannot fault him for it. You are unaware of the journey he’s been on, of the sacrifices he’s had to make. God knows your character must have changed as well, living amongst a vampire court and necromancers for just under a year.  

You back away from your love, temporarily ignoring his concerned expression.  

“Hello Alucard,” you say, extending a hand, “My name is (Y/N). And I’d very much like to share a drink with you if you’d let me.”  

“Don’ know about Alucard,” the broad man mumbles, gripping his side in pain, “But I’d very much like a drink. Or five.”  

“Trevor!” The robed woman scolds.  

“What?”  

You smile at the three of them, feeling beyond blessed that your love has found such wonderful new friends.  

When you had first fallen for Adrian, you assumed your family would consist solely of him, his mother, and his father, that you’d spend the rest of your days learning medicine in a little cottage nestled in Lupu. That simple life was to be yours. But now, it’s all changed. And Alucard is all that remains of that family you once loved.  

You gaze out into the forest beyond the castle grounds, closing your eyes and sighing as you feel the morning’s sun on your face.  

Yes, it was true Mrs. and Mr. Tepes were gone.

It was true that the old Adrian could never come back.

But if you had to choose a new life, a life here amongst a gorgeous castle, with your former lover and his two new friends, well… you doubted you could pick a better one than that.  

A/N 2.0: WHY DID THIS TAKE ME SO LOOOONG? Who knows? Anyway, it’s here now. And hey— did you pay close attention to the symbols in the dividers? Go ahead and look back if you didn’t, just a silly little fun symbolism storytelling. Oh, also, I will finally be updating The Queue List to reflect all the asks I’ve since answered and posted to not confuse people checking on the status of their ask/new readers.

If you liked reading this, please REBLOG! Likes are great but reblogs spread my work much further. 

If you really, really liked reading this, Consider Buying Me a Coffee <3. 

[nolita-fairytale]

something will happen | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter one

summary: you and luca embark on another a big new adventure together: one of second dreams and second chances. the long-awaited sequel to 'burn your life down.' titled inspired by something will happen - berlioz.

warnings: fluff, light angst, grief, death, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, off-canon connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: it's really happening! i can't promise i'll be updating frequently, but season 3 got me inspired and i've really missed this world. this feels more like an intro than a chapter but here we are anyway. all italicized scenes are a part of the same conversation. i just wanted to play with something new so i hope it makes sense. lmk if you'd like to be tagged.

masterlist | chapter two

Late Spring

“Well? What do you think?” Luca asks you, the anticipation in the silence between the two of you palpable. 

“I don’t know!” you practically exclaim, all giddy at the mere idea of it. You chew on your lower lip as you wait for him to say something next. 

“I’m just saying. It’s not a half-bad idea and ehm… well, I’ve been thinking about it. A lot, actually,” he reasons with a shrug. He sends a loving glance your way because you look so damn cute wrapped in your twin-sized duvet that makes up one half of the bed you share. 

“For how long?” you ask, cautiously. 

“Dunno,” Luca shrugs. “Ever since Marcus mentioned it, I suppose.” 

He’s almost too casual about this—as if he hasn’t been stuck on the idea for the last month or so since his friend had returned to the States.

This is most certainly not a lazy Saturday morning with breakfast in bed kind of conversation. 

This is a paperwork and really nice pens kind of conversation

A big step.

Huge, even. 

You’ve already agreed to live with the man. 

And now this?

“Luca…” you struggle to get out on an exhale. “I just. It’s not that I don’t want to. I just-.” You pause, collecting your thoughts as you shake off all your nerves before choosing to pivot.

“What if we just-.” you begin again, taking a breath as you brace yourself to jump over this specific cliff. “Total fantasy. No limitations, no logistics, then sure. Okay. We could talk about it.” 

“Alright,” Luca accepts with a nod, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes like he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. He sits up straight, pushing himself off of where he leans against the headboard, shifting so that he’s closer to you. The smile that spreads across his lips begins to grow as repeats your words back to you. “Then, my love, total fantasy. No limitations. No logistics. What’s the dream?” 

—---------------------------------------

Summer

The dream was only supposed to be this—one where you’d begin living with your very sexy and very sweet pastry chef of a boyfriend—and yet, months later, as you move your things into Luca’s Vesterbro flat, your thoughts are consumed by ‘what ifs.’ 

What if you did it? 

What if you opened the restaurant of your shared dreams? 

What if your dreams came true with the love of your life by your side? 

Opening Kokuore had been different. It was your first step towards your next chapter, one where you had moved to Copenhagen in search of a new beginning. But this would be… a proclamation: that you were here to stay, that you and Luca could be something permanent, that you could be more than just romantic partners. 

Proof of a life well-lived and a life well-loved. 

Kokuore had been your dream, your first, your baby. Sure, there’d been talk of expansion—maybe a bigger space, or something along the lines of that—but you hadn’t thought too deeply about a second. 

You hadn’t thought about what would come next. 

And then he did. 

Luca. 

“Need any help, love?” Luca offers, watching you scoop two stacked boxes up into your arms, ready to be hauled into the bedroom. 

“Nope!” you heave with a sigh. “Not with these. But if you could grab the other three I’ll meet you in the closet, babe.”

He smirks, calling after you with a: 

“And what do you suppose we should do there?” 

You chuckle in response, your voice sounding further away as you shout back, “Let’s just unpack a few of my clothes, love, before we start taking them off.” 

—---------------------------------------

“Then, my love, total fantasy. No limitations. No logistics. What’s the dream?” 

You sigh, like you too haven’t been thinking about it since Marcus brought it up in the first place. 

“Okay, I’m not ready yet,” you preface, cautiously. “But. If we were, hypothetically speaking, talking about opening a restaurant together… I kinda love the idea of a brunch spot.” “Like Marcus said.” “Exactly.” 

“Slash bakery.” “Right.” 

“Hypothetically speaking.” “Of course.” 

For a moment, your mind gets away from you, running wild with the fantasy that’s beginning to unfold before your eyes.

“I think I really like the idea of it being a bakery during the weekdays when we’re open,” you admit, an excitement beginning to bubble underneath the surface of all your reasons why you shouldn’t. “Maybe we do Wednesday, Thursday all grab-and-go sort of breakfast stuff in addition to the bakery.”

“Kind of like a NY-style bodega,” Luca adds, building on your idea. “You know. With a little extra finesse.”

“Yes! Then… Friday, maybe, we pivot to full breakfast/brunch till the end of Saturday,” you reply, building off what Luca’s just said. 

“Think Wednesday – Saturday service would work?” he asks curiously, knowing that most places are closed on Sundays in Copenhagen.

“We could try it out. Extend our hours to Sunday down the line IF it feels right,” you reason with enough ease to worry you a little. You begin to back pedal, your mind flooded with doubt. “But-, I don’t know, honey. Don’t you think Copenhagen has enough bakeries?” 

“Not ours! Copenhagen doesn’t have ours yet,” Luca protests, as soon he begins to recognize what’s going on in your head. His excitement and passion alone might convince you to do this as he sits up on his knees, his body language expressing just how fully IN he is on this idea. 

His face changes—he’s only just a little more serious this time—his tone light and voice gentle as he warns you with a: 

“And I’m not letting you talk to yourself out of this.” He crosses his arms over his chest almost as if it’s a challenge. “So tell me more about this bakery-slash-brunch spot you’ve got in mind.” 

“Luca Davies! I don’t know where you get off thinking you can sweet talk me into this,” you scold him teasingly. 

He’s even faster to reply. 

“Oh I think I can.”

And this time, you know it’s a challenge. 

“Fine,” you concede to him, meeting him right in the middle of his challenge. “But I don’t want this to be all about my ideas. Besides, aren’t you the one who’s been thinking about it for months now?” 

—---------------------------------------

Fall

Over fresh ink that’s barely had a chance to dry, you and Mathilde clink glasses in celebration of the very big step you’ve just taken together. The contract had barely been drawn up before she charged into now-your Vesterbro home, opened a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, ready to sign on the dotted line.

A promotion, chef du cuisine, and a bigger percentage in ownership of Kokuore—a piece of your heart—now shared between the woman who helped you create your masterpiece. 

“I can’t believe we’re really fucking doing this!” Mathilde practically squeals, bursting at the seams with excitement as she rests her arms against your kitchen island. The two of you sit side by side on twin bar stools, facing each other to the best of the chair’s swivel-ability. 

“I know. It’s unreal and yet it feels like the right thing, yeah?” you agree, half in shock. Shifting gears, your back to business as you continue with an explanation of the ownership plan that you’ve thought long and hard about. “It’s important to me to stay involved, but most of my focus will go towards the new space for at least the next year. We’ll have weekly check-ins and Mathilde, I want you to at least consider some kind of ownership eventually in the hospitality group should we go in that direction.”

“I forgot you went to business school. It’s very sexy,” she teases, but the prospect of a hospitality group feels even more exciting.  

There’s a feeling of familiarity between you and your friend as you begin to break down some of the nitty gritty details of the contract. With Luca out for a jog, it reminds you of the days when it was just you, her, and Jesper, exploring your shared wildest dreams. The nostalgia wells in your chest as you take another sip from your champagne flute. 

You were really doing this and you’re so lucky you get to do it with your favorite people. 

Well, with your favorite people again. 

Who would’ve thought that moving to Copenhagen would bring you this grand of an adventure?

—---------------------------------------

“Fine,” Luca agrees, knowing that the way he looks at you only stokes the flames you feel for him. He’s got plenty of ideas, spent maybe too much time thinking about breakfast menus and laminated pastry doughs folded with all kinds of experimental ingredients. He hasn’t felt this creative in… well… since he met you. 

“I love the idea of breakfast/brunch. And I’m already feeling really inspired by the prospect of getting to create a menu with you, darling,” Luca begins, ready to build off of your previous idea. “I guess my first question is… who will lead it?” 

He’s not expecting the elated, “You, silly!” that escapes your lips without hesitation. 

It’s not that he has doubts about himself, but you are the one with the business degree. You’re also the one that’s opened a restaurant before, so he'd be more than happy to let you take reins. 

“Not that I’m going to totally love being on opposite schedules but…” you continue, this hypothetical conversation feeling less and less hypothetical. “...maybe I turn Kokuore over to Mathilde… spend a little more time developing this next concept with you. But. Without question, my love, I think you should lead it.” 

It’s his turn to be surprised, your unwavering belief in him felt so deeply it practically takes his breath away. The only response he can get out is: 

“I love you.” 

“I love you,” you giggle in response. 

“I guess my question for you,” you shift cautiously, as it begins to dawn on you that this is something you just might want as much as he does. “...is… is this something you want to do? I mean, I know it’s going to be a really big pivot from fine dining and-.” 

“God yes!” Luca exclaims, relieved at the thought. “I’ve been dying to get away from the fine dining stuff. I-. It’ll be an adjustment, sure. But yes. Yes, it’s what I want.” 

You nod as you process, listening to the conviction in your lover’s voice. 

He wants this. He really wants this.

And he’s so sure. 

You let out a sigh of relief as you realize you don’t have to have to suppress the feeling any longer.

“Fuck it!” you declare, as if you’re inhaling for the first time. “Fuck ‘hypothetical.’ We should totally do this, babe.” 

“Yeah?” “Abso-fucking-lutely.” 

A beat. 

“So…” Luca trails off, the wave of excitement beginning to wash over him. 

“What do we call it?” 

The baritone in his voice catches your attention, and as you look at him, you can practically see it all. In Luca you’ve found your second chapter, your second great love, and now your second restaurant. The word falls out of your mouth as if it were destiny: 

“Seconds. I think… we should call it Seconds.” 

“I love it,” he grins back at you.

And now, you’re just as certain about a second restaurant, because you get to do it with him. Luca chuckles, catching your gaze once more, almost as if he’s about to say ‘I told you so,’ as he utters a cheeky: 

“Well, love. Looks like we gotta call Marcus and let him know he’s about to own 10% of a restaurant.”

[e-evangeline]

𝐴𝑛 𝐸𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑅𝑒𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader.

part 1, wc: 1k+

Synopsis: “The last thing you were expecting to see tonight was him. Caked in mud and stumbling down your hallway. Tomura Shigaraki. The headstone you’d been visiting and writing your Plath-esque, teenage rage poetry beside at Kamino Graveyard. More importantly, he’s supposed to be dead.”

Contents: Lisa Frankenstein!AU, Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, AFAB reader, romance, fluff, references to gothic literature, death (and resurrection), non-sexual intimacy, sexual tension, explicit language, mutual pining, idiots in love, happy ending, multiple parts! more tags to be added…(do not have to have seen the movie)

A/N: I hope you enjoy this first chapter. I will be cross-posting on ao3 once I sort my account out. I will update when that is done.

It started around 3 months ago. Moving to a new city to live with your father’s new wife and step-daughter, isn’t the easiest of changes. Let alone for an 18 year old entering her final year of high-school, and now at a new state school where the other kids already have their cliques. If anything, it was more of a pain for you rather than a haunting sentimentality for your old life that has made it difficult to adjust.

Instead of making friends with people you’d soon forget about in a couple weeks as you walk across the graduation stage, you had decided to fill up the remaining time that the typical students were using to socialise and organise weekend karaoke events with friends to do what you do best. Write.

It was late winter, that time where spring is on the horizon and where the fog hangs a little too low and where the dew in the air attaches itself to your hair, dampening and making it flatten against your scalp. You’d been walking home from your class’s mandatory meeting to discuss their fundraiser for the spring festival when you took an accidental detour, stumbling upon a pair of rusting gates that read ‘Kamino Ward Cemetery’.

Despite its creepy appearance, something about the chill and foggy atmosphere encouraged you to enter. To your left, you could see a small crypt that you could only assume housed some upper-middle class egoist who must have thought they were better than the rest of Kamino city’s dwellers. To your right, a few miscellaneous graves of varying sizes whose names were mostly hidden from the neglect of the land’s upkeep and age. You had almost missed it, but somewhere further back you saw a lone grave anyone could have easily missed if they didn’t do a double take. Stepping on a branch, the snap filled the silence as you approached it. Getting closer, the small light seeping through the fog began to dissipate slowly till you were craning your neck up at what you now realised was a much larger, much more gothic style grave with a man’s head sculpted of stone at the top of it. You gripped the branches and leaves obscuring the lettering. Then tracing your eyes over the slab, half lidded and bored, it read:

“Here lies, a young man who deserved more than what he got out of life … Tomura Shigaraki”.

—

From that day on, you’d been a frequent visitor of the man you’d found to be only a couple years older than yourself at the time of his death. You had always been one to have a morbid curiosity and interest in the macabre, so after school every other day you would bring your writing tools to this neglected field of corpses for a couple hours until you started getting ‘where are you?’ texts from your sister. There was something about this dead man though, that interested you, like you were Heathcliff and he were Catherine. You had began to picture the life of some done and dusted guy, talking to that stone head you couldn’t tell anyone you thought was handsome for fear of being locked up in some run-down loony bin. You’re sure if your dad’s overbearing wife found out you were just hanging about graveyards alone for fun like a creep, she’d bust a pretty nail or two and admit you anyway.

“You don’t get it Tomura, well maybe you do, or did, how would I know. My step-sister is being a real cunt lately, she keeps trying to get me to go to these sport rallies with her uppity-douche of a boyfriend who I’m pretty sure doesn’t even know the difference between a Jane Austen novel and a Charlotte Brontë novel!”

Flipping a page in your notebook and lowering your voice to a smaller octave, you mutter: “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everyone and everything irritates me. My dad says he’s worried about me but he’s leaving with his wife to go on a weekend trip to Okinawa… does that sound selfish of me?”.

The temperature is lowering and the sun is starting to set, you sigh and look up one last time at his grave. “I wish you weren’t so dead Tomura. I feel you’d have understood me. I’d have liked to have someone to complain about with who also seems to have been a troubled loser…ahh, no you weren’t a loser… I’m sure of it”.

—

‘These new cotton pyjamas are really soft’ you think as you lounge on the living room sofa. Being home alone, you get to be a slob for a couple days because as well as the newly wed couple going away for a few days, your sister is at some university party with her friends. To make the most out of this opportunity, you’ve acquired an array of unhealthy food: a can of cola, a bag of sweet and salty popcorn, sour gummies, and for good measure a slice of a brownie with ice-cream. You’re not going to eat all of it, but the ability to indulge and not be reprimanded by the diet infested brain of your new mother is appealing and gives you a sense of evil satisfaction. This TV channel you found is reprising a bunch of David Lynch movies, tonight’s showing is Eraserhead. A true classic. So you’re going to do absolutely nothing but enjoy the simple pleasures in life for tonight.

The rain has been picking up outside for the past half hour, and the lamp at the side of the sofa is imbuing the room with a warm cosy glow. You’re half way through the movie, comfortable with a blanket up to your chin when you hear a small thud… and then another, but with more umph the second time around. You pick up the remote and pause the TV, slowly moving your feet as the blanket falls to the floor. It’s coming from the door. Another thud. You’re all but about to reach for the landline on the wall when the door comes crashing open and swinging hard against the wall when a large blur stumbles into the hallway.

The blur begins to steady itself and you’ve already got that weird pole thing people have next to their fireplaces in hand read to swing like you’re in a game of baseball, when that same blur turns to your direction and is not a blur at all. But a man. A man you know all too well. He’s staring at you with a look on his face you can’t quite discern.

The last thing you were expecting to see tonight was him. Caked in mud and stumbling down your hallway. The headstone you’d been writing your Plath-esque wanna be poetry beside at Kamino Graveyard. More importantly, he’s supposed to be dead. It’s Tomura Shigaraki. And he’s… alive?

—> Part 2

(Now on ao3, user id is in pinned)

[shiny-jr]

Heya sorry to disturb ya but talking about AI, how to notice if the writing are ai or not? Imma reader so yeah :P

Sure! I'm really glad that the whole AI discussion seems to actually be making a sort of change here. I sorta expected for my words to fall on deaf ears, but that is not the case. So that makes me really happy!

Anyways, just to make this extra thorough, I consulted with the council (my writing mutuals) to ask their opinions on the best way to tell between AI writing and real writing. To some it may come across as an easy difference to spot, but to others it may not be so obvious. So I hope this does help you and others pick apart the AI from the real work!

AI Art

Red flag number one. To me, this is the most obvious sign. As AI art is a bit more obvious to see. There's usually inconsistencies in lighting, awkward lines, too shiny, oversaturated, etc. If you see someone use AI art as a cover for their story or within the chapters, the user is likely using AI in other ways too. If they're okay with using AI in art, they're probably okay with using AI in writing. Which isn't okay.

2. Pacing

This is also a big one. Writers are busy, we got lives and things to do, believe it or not. So if you see a story or account that's just pumping out heaps of content in a small amount of time, that is highly suspicious.

Of course there's people who can write a lot in a short amount of time or who have the time to write frequently, but I can tell you, if you see a story less than a year old that has HUNDREDS of pages of content, something about that is off. Usually, not all the time, it's AI. Because it's very quick for people to just type prompts and get the AI to make tons of content in a small amount of time when real work actually takes a lot of time.

Just check out the frequency of updates and the amount that is being given with each update, and you can probably make logical conclusions from there.

3. Author Notes/Comments

This is a hit or miss, but I've noticed a pattern here. From the AI fics that I've seen, I assume that most of them are written by users who did not have English as their first language. How can I tell? Their words.

These users might leave a note or a comment, and sometimes it's hardly readable, other times it is readable but there's a lot of mistakes in basic words, and on occasion their English is good but there's still flaws. Yet somehow, they can write pages and pages of a story with perfect English? Yeah, that don't make sense.

4. Writing Style

This is a lengthy one, as there's a lot of telltale signs in the writing itself that can reveal whether or not it's written by AI. I'll be breaking this down into more parts, just because there's a lot here.

Definitions - For this one, I'll give an example, without going into specifics of titles or anything. However, I saw a story recently, where something happened. And the line essentially went "And the crowd gasped– a collective intake of breath." See what's wrong with this line? Why are we, the readers, being told the definition of a gasp? People should know what that is. There's no reason for that to be there. So if a written portion includes a word, then defines what that word is, something is wrong.

Emotion - AI work is very stiff, robotic. It does not portray emotion well, if at all. As I mentioned once before, there's no passion in it. Any emotional scenes AI does write, feels very stale and lifeless. It doesn't invoke emotion as it should.

Characterization - This one is iffy. AI work tends to get characters wrong, like they'll make dialogue for a character but that character would never say that. Or they'll make a character do something but the character would never do that. Things like that. It's because AI doesn't truly grasp characters. The most it'll do is if given a set of character traits, it'll try to emulate that character solely based off the given traits, but often come up with multiple flaws and just totally get the character wrong. However, I say that is iffy because people do write characters differently. Sometimes, people totally write a character wrong and it's not AI.

Vocabulary - Another iffy one, but in all the AI works I've seen, they tend to try to use a high level vocabulary. Iffy because some real writers do write very eloquently with high vocabulary, but usually with AI, it sounds like an essay. You can also include excessive descriptions on this, especially descriptions that don't matter and have no real importance to the story. AI does that a lot.

Tone Shifts - AI doesn't have good memory, for the most part, so they can change tones of the story very quickly that it might seem jarring and out of place. If you look closely, this'll reveal if it's AI or not, especially is the tone shift is accidental and caused by the AI messing up. This can included repeated phrases, which also might seem out of place. It can especially be seen in chapter stories, as one chapter might read or feel a certain way and the next chapter reads completely different. There's no consistency.

Focus - AI tends to focus on tell. Tell and not show, when most writers try to focus on show don't tell. Here's an example, since this one might be hard to conceptualize. AI might write something like "He looked around suspiciously" versus a person who might write "He avoided eye contact, glancing around at anything else but you." See the difference? The first example is tell, the second example is show don't tell.

Long sentences - I have yet to have seen an AI fic with short sentences. All AI fics I've seen thus far have the tendency to write in long sentences.

Okay, I think I covered the basics of everything that was mentioned. At least, that's all that was brought up and could be thought of. I sincerely hope this helps, y'all. Remember, support real writers, not AI users ✨

[savvy-reyes]

Feed My Hunger. Feed My Soul.

PM!Dazai x Fem!Reader

Nakahara Chuuya x Fem!Reader

Summary: The conflict with the serpents' den was nearing its end but so were you, the only issue was no one knew what was wrong or how they could fix it but what if you knew what was wrong and you didn't know if you wanted to fix it.

Author's note: Look at me updating after four months or so, lol. So anyways, here is chapter six, I hope u enjoy it also if you notice small things in the storyline changing please ignore it, I'm just learning more about BSD so yeah, don't hesitate to comment lol.

Taglist: @v15aexe @hotwomanlythings @zaushimo @mintyymao @destinyisastar @lilyosamu @vette-01 @mimiimmii

Chuuya was sitting on the couch in your living room, legs crossed while one of his hands rubbed his forehead, his headaches were becoming more frequent and with your state, they would become an everyday occurrence.

Kouyou and Hirotsu were also with him, the demure woman sat on the couch opposite Chuuya while Hirotsu was standing in front of the apartment windows, seeming to be deep in thought.

"So she's lost it?" Kouyou asked, her voice calm and smooth like honey, meant to give comfort but only those close knew she had an ability strong enough to make one crawl in fear.

Chuuya turned his gaze to her, somewhat offended on your behalf as he answered. "She didn't lose it."

The red haired woman rasied an eyebrow at his quick defense of you and he huffed before he spoke again.

"Something is going on with her, even since those serpents appeared she was fighting all that she could and I saw that she was growing weaker but she couldn't stand at first…"

"Then?"

"Then… she started becoming delirious, saying things that didn't make a scratch of sense, as if she was talking to someone only she was seeing, after that she collapsed and Dazai seemed to understand something and have been by her side ever since."

Before either of the older members could speak their minds, the door to your bedroom opened, revealing their boss, Mori Ogai, his face devoid of emotions but Chuuya only focused on the fact that Dazai wasn't with him.

"Boss?" Chuuya spoke as he moved towards him and he had to double take the sight he saw, his blue eyes wide open.

There you were on the bed, black veins covering your body, face pale and entire being looking fragile enough to break in a mere touch, beside you was Dazai Osmau, his hand grabbing yours tightly and at first glance it didn't make sense but when one looked closer…

Is he nullifying her ability? Chuuya wondered.

"Unfortunately Chuuya-kun, it doesn't look like I could be of help at all… whatever is happening to our precious Weaver isn't something a doctor can cure." Mori explained while eyeing you the same way Chuuya was doing.

Chuuya didn't even realise that Kouyou and Hirotsu were standing there as well as he looked at Dazai for an explanation, something inside him nagging at his emotions… he didn't like seeing you like this.

Dazai's eyes were glued to your sleeping form, as if trying to decipher you. "Whatever is happening to her is something only she can fix, she doesn't get worse when I'm nullifying her ability, in other words-"

"Her ability is killing her." Kouyou continued and the silence between them now was deafening, what could they do when the only person who knew how to stop it wasn't waking up.

Chuuya pursed his lips, hands tightened to fists by his sides, feeling utterly helpless and something inside him was snapping, flashbacks of his own self going through his mind and then it all clicked in place.

The last fight that led you to this, was your fight with that girl, the enforcer of the serpents' den, she did that to you somehow and she was going to undo it.

Dazai's voice filled the void around them. "Chuuya, make her talk, no matter the cost."

"You're not coming?"

At that, Dazai smiled bitterly. "Me leaving her side is me killing her."

Chuuya could only nod, his throat tight at the thought that your fate was now lying in his hands and he would be damned if he let you die on his watch.

Confident footsteps could be heard in the dem space, clicking on the ground with force and making everyone's mind high on alert, some because they knew who was there and for her, because she didn't know what to expect.

The subordinates who were guarding her moved away as soon as the shadow of a certain figure appeared, and she had to try and make it look as if she wasn't at least a bit scared to see him.

Nakahara Chuuya, the gravity manipulator, the previous king of the sheep and the sharp color of his eyes was blazing like a wolf as he took step after step until he was looking down at her and she tried her best to hold his glare.

"Who are you?" Chuuya's voice was laced with a sharp edge that could split people open and she tried her best not to flinch, her wrists burning from the ropes around them and her body numb from all the sitting.

But even through her fear, she knew better, not answering him would only cause more trouble for her circle, she couldn't have that… and there was no one better than her to lead the port mafia on.

"Rinako Sable." Her voice didn't waver, not even for a second, showcasing a false strength inside of her but she also knew that she still saw nothing from the port mafia.

Thus far, they just had her with them, just a prisoner whose fate was yet to be determined but the gears in her were starting to turn faster.

The gravity manipulator gazed at one of the guards who hastily brought him a chair from the dark corners of the basement they were in, Chuuya, hands still stuffed in his pockets, took a seat in front of Rinako.

"Sable…" It almost sounded like he was testing out the name, or perhaps the time weaver had already spoken of what she knew to them and they already knew about the one and only.

"What are you after, Rinako?" He was eerily calm that it made her skin crawl with discomfort, why was he that calm while speaking to an executive in an opposite crime organisation?

Rinako chose silence this time, measuring her words as if she was trading on hefty thin ice and she was, in a way. Any words she said felt like it could set off the strongest ability user and she couldn't afford to die, not yet.

She leaned back in her prison chair, a small smirk on her lips. "A rival criminal organisation, what could we possibly want other than the port mafia's downfall."

Chuuya smiled, but it was a mocking one. "You're like… eight months late. The dragon's head conflict would have been a good time."

"We prefer to be the only stars of the show, sharing the spotlight isn't our thing." Rinako argued, withholding his striking blue eyes and if they weren't on opposite sides she would have given going out with him a thought.

And for the first time since he barged into the basement she actually noticed the small tension in his body, hsi muscles looked stiff and his hands, even inside his pockets were straining against his pants, his jaw clenched as he eyed her warily and it all clicked in her mind.

"She's dying… isn't she? That's why you're here." His gaze turned rough for a moment and she knew she hit the jackpot and she made note of the fact that Nakahara Chuuya cared enough about the Weaver to show off his concern, even slightly.

"You did something when you fought her a week ago-"

"Oh, you mean plucking out her ropes… that was usually child's play." Rinako's eyes widened at her slip up, how could she be so stupid? and she knew that Chuuya noticed it with the way he turned his full attention to her.

"Usually?"

"What do you want from me?" She asked, hoping he would drop it and his attention would go back to his little weaver.

"Undo what you did, Sable." Chuuya ordered, his patience reaching its last thread and he was seconds away from losing his mind.

Rinako shook her head. "I can't-"

"Don't Bullshit me-"

"I can't but she can, she already knows how to cure herself." Rinako yelled out, thrashing in the chair, trying to defend herself.

Chuuya looked as confused as ever and so Rinako explained. "You see those ropes all over her body?"

He nodded.

"Those aren't just ropes… those are souls and they are her lifeline."

"What?"

"The time Weaver wasn't born, she was made. Her ability being no gift and so on comes at a cost, to live and keep using her ability she must take a payment… souls, that she turns into whatever she desires within her powers, such as the ropes of time as she used to call them."

Chuuya felt a lump in his throat and he found it hard to breathe. "She was experimented on?"

With a sigh, Rinako nodded. "Think of it as a trade, a life for a life. There is a hunger inside her that needs to be fed and there is no way around it, the more power she uses, the hungrier she gets."

"H-how does it happen? The process of taking souls."

"She does all the work, just give her someone and she will suck the life out of them until she inhales the souls orb that leaves their dead bodies."

"Then why didn't she do it? You said she knows how to so why-"

"She's not the only thing living inside herself… the hunger inside, it's from whatever it is that gave her the power she has… it needs to be sedated and those souls are its salvations… but the more she feeds the more… that thing takes hold of her."

Before Chuuya could talk she continued. "Plus, she never believed in taking an innocent soul so that she could live, her conscience still alive unlike me."

Chuuya could only shake his head in disbelief… "How do you know all of this?"

"Does it matter?"

"Hell yes, it does."

Rinako looked to the side, blinking away the tears threatening to fall. "Because…"

Something was utterly wrong, you could feel that something was wrong but you couldn't place what or why you felt that.

You looked around and it seemed like you were standing in a very empty and foggy space, it was rather scary and your own voice echoed through the empty space when you talked.

"Is anyone here?" The same sentence repeated over and over again into the nothingness you were in and against your better judgement, you started moving forward, hoping to understand a little of what was happening.

The last few days had been hell for you, your body dying and your mind blurring, things that might be and things that shall never be mixed together, fragments of memories coming and going without a single way to help you understand what was happening.

The Serpents' den were such an exhausting rival, relentless to get to you without any success due to the circle of protection Dazai put you in yet she still found an opening and got you… Rinako.

You didn't remember her at first, your memories were always bits and pieces yet you placed it all together and remembered her but it didn't matter after she tore down your ropes, taking away your ability to simply live.

Keisuke always warned you to be careful of those who knew how you were made but you never believed she would hurt you that much one day and hurt you she did… who could you trust? You didn't know.

'I don't want to.' A small, broken voice said and it had you turning to look behind you faster than light, knowing damn well what was happening now.

Everytime it happened, the same nightmare.

'My little weaver, you have to.' Red, manipulative eyes were looking at the little girl with so much adoration it almost had you fooled from where you stood, watching the memory unfold but you knew better… because you were that young girl one day.

'I'll hurt him.' Little you spoke again, her eyes tearing up at the thought of doing such thing to someone yet Evelyn only tsked at that and knelt down to be on younger you's level.

Evelyn shook her head. 'No, on the contrary, you'll relieve him from his pain, he'll be thankful to you.'

'A-are you sure?' Your heart broke for your younger self, so naive, so….broken as you wondered back then if you believed Evelyn’s words because you thought she was telling the truth or simply to avoid her wrath.

Still Evelyn nodded and so did little, the all familiar ropes stretching from under your veins and into the wounded man in front of you, wrapping all over his body like a soothing touch before it started happening.

A once young face turning all wrinkly and old, thinning and decaying in the matter of second, body turning into bones and those loud whimpers turned quiet then he stopped moving all together as a circular shaped thing appeared in the air and you took in your hand.

Bringing it closer to your mouth as your lips fell open and you took a long, large inhale, the orb disappearing little by little before it was completely gone and another rope shot out of your body… a new soul and tears ran down your face at the memory.

'See… you saved him from his pain.' Evelyn’s eyes shined with renowned interest, you were going to be her legacy… her greatest creation.

Suddenly multiple voices were heard around in the void you were standing in, they were panicked voices, your name being called over and over again that had you covering your ears with your hands and clenching your eyes shut.

"WAKE UP!" And your eyes opened with that command, body shooting up into a sitting position, to find yourself back in your room, your right hand held in by someone as the terrified eyes of Chuuya caught yours as he stepped closer.

The hand holding yours tightened its hold and you turned to find Dazai, his eyes filled with emptiness you had never seen before and you started panicking inside… What happened when you were asleep?… How long were you asleep?

Your name was called by that familiar voice and your eyes widened as you turned to look at her… Rinako.

"W-what are you doing here? What's happening-" Your protests were cut off when your vision darkened for a second and you laid back down on the bed as you tried to regain your strength.

Yet Rinako still answered you, her voice breaking. "Your heart stopped beating… you almost died."

"You should have let it happen, I won't-"

"Yes, you will." Dazai's voice was cold, distant and terrifying as he gazed into your unhinged eyes.

How did he know… Rinako… she told them… she told them everything…

Comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist.

[thankskenpenders]

Happy new year, everyone! Welcome to 2024, the year that will mark the 10th anniversary of Thanks Ken Penders. I'd like to go over my plans for the blog for this year.

First of all: in the very near future, I'll have a post with my thoughts on Sonic Dream Team, and I'm sure I'll write one last Sonic Prime review once the final episodes drop on the 11th. I've also been sitting on an unfinished piece about the Sonic LEGO sets. I wanted this to be longer and more detailed piece that not only reviewed the sets but also went into the weird disconnect between homogenized image of Sonic the Brand and the actual fiction it's based off of, but it'll probably end up getting cut down a lot just so I can put something out. Let's just say I did a fun little thing with one of the sets.

Second: yes, I would like to return to regular TKP updates this year. As I've said many times, I wanted to do this in 2023, but I've been suffering from creative burnout after finishing SLARPG and have generally been unable to focus on any of my creative goals this past year. I'm hoping that this year will be better and I'll be able to get back into the swing of covering Archie Sonic issues. Even doing one issue every week or so would be vastly preferable to continuing the hiatus. I'm still only halfway done!! But aside from burnout, my other main hurdle is that I need to reread my own archive to refresh myself on all these things after nearly three years away. This will take some time.

The thing is, though, this year I'll have an extra incentive to go back through my previous writing and brush up on all things Archie Sonic. Because you see...

I've decided that I want to make a video essay about Penders. The comics, the copyright battle, The Lara-Su Chronicles, everything.

The why

I've thought about doing this before, but I never committed to the idea. I was too busy with gamedev, or I thought it'd end up being too long, or I figured that there were already enough videos on the subject, or I just lacked confidence in my ability to put together a video essay. So I told myself it wasn't meant to be, and let the multiple YouTubers who have cited me as a source on their own Penders videos fill that void.

Recently, though, a few things have happened that have convinced me it might be time. For one, YouTube video essays/media retrospectives/etc. are just getting longer and longer. When Quinton Reviews is out here doing 21 hours of videos on Sam & Cat, a subpar Nick sitcom that only lasted one season, I don't feel so crazy for wanting to make a video about several hundred comic books and two lawsuits that'd be at least an hour or two long lmao. Admittedly, I've also been self-conscious about doing a long video essay like this as a trans woman who has yet to do any vocal training. But these days I feel like I see a lot more transfem YouTubers who have done little to no vocal training, and that's given me more confidence on that front.

But the big one was Hbomberguy's recent plagiarism video. As I sat there watching it, I kept thinking about the time I found a CBR article that was just a crude 800 word summary of my two previous articles on Penders, published by a CBR writer who's put out over 4000 articles since 2019. If I've already been plagiarized before, and my writing is so frequently passed around as a go-to source on Archie Sonic drama, then I wouldn't be shocked if there were YouTubers out there straight up just plagiarizing me. I don't watch other peoples' videos on Archie Sonic, so I'd never know! So if people are just gonna paraphrase me when covering these topics anyway, why not take matters into my own hands and make what I would consider to be the definitive video on the subject? If hacks like James Somerton and iilluminaughtii can churn out these shitty video essays and people will still watch them, surely it can't be that impossible to make my own, right? (And also, uh, Hbomb literally told me I should make the video lol. If you're reading this, thanks for the encouragement.)

The what, how, and when

So here's the plan.

Part of this video essay will be an adaptation of my Medium article on the recurring themes of Ken's Archie Sonic run, with its content touched up and expanded upon. There were a few things I skimmed over in the article because I didn't want it to get too long, but again, people are out here watching ten hour videos about bad Nickelodeon sitcoms now. I can get away with elaborating a little more. I can add a few paragraphs talking about the Chaos Knuckles arc, or throw in a little more historical context I've discovered in the years since.

After covering the comics, the back half(-ish?) of the video will be dedicated to the copyright battles and their ensuing controversies, trying to give an accurate picture of what actually went down, the sheer scale of how bad Archie fucked up, and what our takeaways should be. This will have some similarities to my New York Magazine article on the subject, but I'll be rewriting it from scratch. I REALLY had to keep things short for that article because I was already way over the expected word count, and my tone was a little more straight-laced than normal because I was trying to keep things Professional. I can riff more and insert more of my own opinions this time, like I normally would.

I'll inevitably have to touch on some of Ken's Bad Tweets when discussing things that have happened after the lawsuits, but I don't want the video to just devolve into a list of times people got mad at him on Twitter, so I'm gonna try to keep that to a minimum in favor of focusing on his actual work. Things like the Scourge the Speed Demon incident and his continued statements on certain characters' copyright statuses probably warrant mentioning, though. And finally, assuming that the book really does come out this summer, I would like the grand finale of the video to be about those first couple chapters of The Lara-Su Chronicles.

I don't currently know when this video will get done, but it'll probably be in the back half of the year, especially with me waiting for the book to either drop or get delayed yet again. But I've actually already started writing a bit of the script, and will keep chipping away at it for a while.

So, uh, yeah, look forward to that? Wish me luck?

[vurelly]

Hi! I got sent over here by Bamsara to ask your opinions on a good starter/durable drawing tablet! Honestly probably woulda come over here anyways ‘cause I follow you both!

yEAAAAAAAAAAS I got so many starter tablets under my belt. (Note, these are all pen tablets, not DISPLAY tablets so if you'd like any info on those I'd be happy to help!)

I personally started with a Wacom Intuos (kept it for about 12 years before I threw it), and honestly there's a lot of positives and negatives with it. On the upside, it is ASTOUNDINGLY durable, it's a great size for transportation, and Wacom is a well-known and otherwise trustworthy brand. On the downside, Wacom has been notorious for not updating drivers on older products, the pen pressure leaves a lot to be desired, and Wacom's pricing is usually on the upper end.

A good follow-up for a similar price is the Huion HS610 series, it's also one of my personal favorites. It's got quite a larger capture area than the Intuos, they're extremely lightweight, the drivers update frequently (even for out of date models), the pen pressure is utterly divine, and the amount of accessories included makes up for the slightly steeper price. On the downside, because of it's larger size, it is a bit more difficult to travel with, but if you draw primarily from home it's a very good fit.

And if neither of these brands do it for you, the XP-Pen's 01 V2 might be a good fit (and on sale for $47.99 right now!). While I haven't personally owned this one, it was one I did quite a bit of research on when looking for a replacement when my Intuos started giving me trouble a while back. The Deco series comes in multiple sizes, colors, and wired/wireless settings (look for the series on the website, I've only linked the 01 V2), they come with multiple accessories and adapters for both PC and mobile phone use, the pen pressure has been relatively well reviewed, and the price beats out both Wacom and Huion. Unfortunately, because I haven't personally owned this one I can't speak on the drawbacks of the tablet, but from what I see they're a well reviewed brand overall.

Hope this helps!

[iiseult]

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒: 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒶𝓅𝓅𝒽𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒥𝑒𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓂

CWs →  fluff, angst, suggestive content, historical inaccuracies, slow burn, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, eventual smut (once reader and baldwin are both over 18), leprosy, time-period accurate sexism, one-sided pining

Wordcount: 3.1k

Note: I asked if you guys preferred to have more frequent updates with shorter chapters or slower updates with longer chapters, and the three people that responded wanted more frequent updates so here we are. Please reblog if you enjoy because the second chapter didn’t do very well and I don’t want this series to die off before it even begins! EL OH EL!!

The issue of an heir, or the lack thereof, had been solidly squared away by Baldwin within three months of your marriage, so that you never had to speak a word on the matter. He told his mother that despite “frequent attempts” on both your parts, you could not be made with child on account of his inadequate health. Of course no such attempts were ever made, but that knowledge was something that stayed solely between the two of you. By that point everybody in the royal court had suspected as much anyway, and with the news of his leprosy having recently been confirmed, it was accepted with very little noise. Nobody spoke to you of it, likely afraid to broach the topic, except for Baldwin’s mother, who offered you her sympathies and prayers, which you publicly accepted and privately rejected. Though she had finally relented in her feelings of ill will toward you, they had apparently been replaced with feelings of nothingness, so you continued to resent her until her death the following year. 

Meantime, you concerned yourself with adjusting to life as a queen and worked on becoming familiar with the kingdom, and Baldwin left you very much alone. He was a positively mysterious figure, seemingly doing his utmost to stay out of your way and to avoid contact with you altogether. Occasionally you did see him haunting the corridors of the castle like a faceless apparition in his colorless robes and hidden expression, but he never spoke to you, so in turn you did not speak to him. For the most part it did not bother you, but you sometimes childishly wished for his company, though it likely wasn’t his direct company you were wishing for but rather the company of any such equal. However you did miss the fluttery feeling he used to be able to stir in your breast with his charming words and noble actions. Somewhat successfully, you pushed those immature notions away and hoped they wouldn’t return. 

Despite your loneliness, you were constantly surrounded by Matilda and Amelia, the latter whom you’d come to rather like and regard as something of a sister. And if she was the sister, Matilda was the mother. 

Matilda perpetually accompanied you on your explorations of the city, helping you navigate the narrow alleyways and bustling streets and showing you which unsavory characteristics were the surefire marks of a swindler. That you favored the market streets above all else was immediately evident to her, so teaching you to spot dishonest merchants and avoid giving them your business was one of her top priorities. Most of your time in the city was, in fact, spent shopping. You admired the handmade wares being peddled at every corner and ignored the incessant voices imploring you to come this way or go that way so they could sell you something. It was all very amusing and enticing to you. 

Each time you requested it you were allotted certain amounts of money from the king to spend at your whim, collected and delivered to you by various servants, and he was more generous than anyone ever expected. With this allowance, you were able to purchase rolls of richly-colored fabrics to be made into dresses, endless supplies of ink and parchment, pottery covered in artwork so detailed it could have only been done by a single paintbrush hair, any number of books that appealed to you, and numerous tapestries hand-woven with shining threads that depicted biblical scenes or mythical creatures, such as unicorns or dragons. These you hung in your own bedchamber. But perhaps the most magnificent of all your purchases was the very first one you ever made, which occurred during your second week. You had emptied your coin purse for it, quite literally turned it upside down on the merchant’s stand, gold coins rolling here and there for him to chase after. Matilda strongly disapproved and urged you not to make the purchase because she thought the piece too fanciful and mature for such a young lady, but you silenced her with an icy glance and there was henceforth no more talk of the subject. 

It was a sapphire ring. The band was thick and gold, adorned by intricate flowing patterns, and the stone was inlaid securely between four strong prongs. For a second you figured it could become a family heirloom and be passed down onto your children, but then you remembered that the prospect of you ever having children was unlikely at best and a small twinge of disappointment tugged at your heart. So you decided it would be best to get as much enjoyment out of the thing as possible and from then on you wore it proudly everywhere and on every occasion, regardless of Matilda’s disapproving glances. 

The people of Jerusalem found their new queen just as mysterious and elusive as they had once found their king. Seeing a member of their royal family out in public had become an oddity over the years of Baldwin’s reign, and yet you were there at least twice a week, speaking in some romantic foreign tongue to your servants. Many of your subjects spoke only Arabic or Greek and could not recognize your French when they heard it. But the thing most contributing to the air of mysteriousness surrounding you actually had nothing to do with you personally; it was more so the fact that nobody ever expected the king to marry. Your indisputable beauty only contributed to the confusion. There had been rumors about Baldwin’s illness for years now, and the fact that his face was always covered by a mask led most everyone to believe that he must have suffered some hideous facial disfigurement as a result. This begged the question, how could such a beautiful young woman willingly marry such a horrifying person? 

Baldwin took his meals in his bedchamber and also conducted all business out of it. To you he was evasive and sightings of him were rare, limited to perhaps once a month. In the first four weeks after the wedding night, you saw him twice, maybe thrice. 

You had been in the chapel, kneeling at the altar and praying with your head bent and a cloth covering it, when he silently slipped into the room completely unbeknownst to you and took up prayer only a few feet away. After a moment you looked up and saw him with a start, having expected to see someone there, but not expecting to see him. His head was bowed, and his blond tresses fell over his face, hiding it from you, but you could still see his lips moving silently in prayer. When he was finished he quickly crossed himself and turned to fix his gaze on you, apparently having decided to go maskless that day. You stared, chest rising and falling heavily as you tried to recover from the shock with a hand clasped over your heart, willing it to stop its wild thumping. His blue eyes twinkled in amusement as your cheeks flushed and you felt a little anger at him for being entertained by you, but if he noticed this, he didn’t show it. He gazed at you for a time, eyes remaining kind but impassible, before he evidently decided he’d had enough and stood, walking out of the chapel without a single word ever passing between the two of you. 

Again you saw him one afternoon after returning from the city with Matilda. You had purchased the last remaining volume of a book whose other parts were already in the library, and seeked to put it in its rightful place on the shelf. Baldwin had been in the library playing chess with Raymond at the time, as he had been for the better part of the day, and he muttered something to the man softly when you walked in and hastily curtseyed to them. His eyes followed you across the room to where you stopped in front of a towering bookshelf. You let your head drop back against your shoulders and sighed, seeing that you would have to somehow reach the very top shelf. You’d have to find the ladder, or else find a servant who would replace the book for you. As you turned around, he appeared right behind you, blue eyes twinkling in that same mild-mannered way and holding his gloved hands out. 

Without speaking he seemed to say “allow me”, and it was so bewitching that you complied immediately without a thought, dropping the heavy volume into his outstretched hands. You watched, enchanted, in silence as he reached up to the top shelf, straining even at his impressive height, and slid the leather-bound volume into place. Again you curtseyed and bowed your head in thanks, peering up at him through your lashes. He continued smiling and only nodded once before retreating to his chess game, so you followed suit and returned to Matilda’s side. 

A strange anxiousness had seemed to overcome you, and you spent the rest of the day lying on your fainting couch drinking wine and trying to keep your mind from conjuring up images of him. How had he known which books the volume belonged with? How could he know? But by the time night fell and Matilda was gathering you against her chest to help walk you to bed, your regular spirited countenance had returned, and the period of brooding had reached its end. 

There was one other time in that first month you thought you might have seen him, but for all you knew, it could have been a trick of the candlelight. 

After a particularly heavy dinner of lamb, bread, and pudding, you had been dragging yourself wearily to bed when out of the corner of your eye, you saw something white and fluttering behind you. You turned to see what or whom it was, but of course it was gone by then, vanished into thin air. You hadn’t dared peer around the corner, deciding it was better not to know. But the fluttering white thing had almost certainly been his robe, and that notion didn’t leave your mind for the rest of the night, nor did it really ever. It was something you always remembered and often thought of for no particular reason. 

In the second month you saw him even less frequently, only catching a few glimpses here and there, and the instances seemed more spaced apart. He was seldom alone, but even if he had been you doubted you’d have the courage to speak to him, and God only knows what you’d speak of. Perhaps some interesting tidbit of news from the city or some morsel of gossip, as it were. However the opportunity never presented itself. 

In the third month you saw him but once, on the eve of your fifteenth birthday. He had been returning from the city on his white horse with a retinue of servants, many more than would be necessary for any other royal figure, but perhaps they were worried he’d have a spell of illness.

You had been awaiting his return by the window of the East tower with your embroidery for hours, hoping to discover something interesting about his little trip. Earlier in the day you’d heard a few of your maids murmuring about the king’s sudden decision to visit the city for the first time in almost a year. They wondered what the occasion was and then so did you. As he rode past the great stone wall surrounding the castle and disappeared into the stables beyond your line of sight, you concluded that there was truly nothing remarkable to see and that all your waiting had been in vain, so you promptly went to bed. 

On the morning of your fifteenth birthday you awoke to see a package of brown parchment on your bedside table, bound with a shining silken bow of royal blue. The color was a gift in and of itself, for you very well knew how costly blue dye was. A tingle of excitement ran through your veins as you lifted the package onto your lap, carefully pulling the bow loose and setting it aside for later; it would make a lovely accessory. Then, holding your breath, you slid your fingers along the seam of the parchment and unfolded it to reveal an unremarkable wooden box, smooth and cool to the touch. But inside the box, to your utter shock and speechlessness, was a treasure unlike any other you’d ever laid eyes upon. 

It was a necklace, made of heavy, sparkling chains of gold, and set in the middle of the large circular pendant was a perfect sapphire. It was cut expertly and you could see your own awestricken reflection, tinted blue in tiny identical rooms on each flat face. The gemstone was heavy and you understood the need for such a substantial chain as you hung it around your neck, barely able to tear your eyes away from it to read the note that was placed underneath it in the box. 

“To match your ring,” it simply said. 

Though there was no signature, you knew who it was from. Only a king could afford such a thing. And the deep blue color of the jewel was so familiar to you, it must have been the exact same shade as the one in your ring. You held up the ring next to the necklace, which was resting on your bosom, and looked in the mirror for comparison, and sure enough they were identical in color, though the stone in the ring was much smaller. It was only the size of a thumbnail whereas the necklace’s stone was an honest to god rock, a bit smaller than your palm. 

While you stared at yourself in the sapphire’s glassy surface, you came to realize two things; one, you didn’t have any idea when Baldwin’s birthday was, and two, both gemstones were very similar in color to that of the eyes of your husband. You thought perhaps that was what drew you to the ring in the first place, that familiar feeling you got when looking at that color. 

Later in the morning when Amelia dressed you, you showed her the necklace and her pupils widened so much that you could no longer see the gray of her irises. She carefully placed it around your throat, adding the finishing touch to your appearance. Then you asked her when Baldwin’s birthday was. 

“September 16th, Your Majesty. It was a few months before your wedding. He does not celebrate, or at least he hasn’t for very many years. But the parties used to be ever so wonderful…” she trailed off, no doubt reminiscing on the great royal get-togethers of her youth. 

Again something clicked in your mind which you found a bit surprising. Though Baldwin had only seen you a handful of times since the wedding and up close only twice, he had apparently noticed your ring and managed to commit to memory nearly its exact shade of blue. You further realized that he had gone out of the palace the day prior for the purpose of procuring this gift. How did he know your birthday, you wondered. 

You stared down at your ring, which was glinting ceaselessly against your finger as if it was trying to tell you something. Sapphires, you thought, September. And then it made sense. The stone of September was, in fact, a sapphire. That was Baldwin’s stone. The stone of loyalty and honesty. And the two sapphires you now possessed, both bought with his money, would certainly become heirlooms. Perhaps you would have them pass them onto Baldwin’s young nephew upon your death, for it would be too much a shame to bury them with you and keep them from sparkling in the light of the sun the way they were meant to. 

You wanted to thank him but you just didn’t know how. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Baldwin had become something of a private investigator, as it were, and his focus was you. He wanted to keep his distance because he was afraid of upsetting you, so he tried to revert to his original plan of leaving you completely to your own devices and not interfering, but it soon proved impossible for him. Like a fool he had gotten his hopes up, just to have them come crashing down around him on his wedding night. He thought you could have been the perfect person to rule side-by-side with even if you did have a lot to learn. He thought you could have loved him even if it ended up being true that he could not provide you with an heir. He thought that you could have loved him, and that was his mistake, but he had already fallen in love with you.

He could not keep away from you but he could not be with you, so he compromised and went near you only when you did not know. It was not invasive, however, and he never wanted to breach your privacy. It was just little things. He would lurk in corridors he knew you would walk through in hopes of catching snatches of conversations between you and one of your servants. He had Amelia collect pieces of personal information about you and report back to him, which was undoubtedly how he found out your birthday. 

One day he followed you into the chapel and made like he was praying so he could sit next to you, if only for a moment. The warmth that spread in his breast in those few moments of closeness with you was enough to sustain him for a few more weeks. 

Even more painful than his raw leprous skin was the pain of seeing you smiling and conversing with people who were not him, to see you dressing in fine gowns and jewelry and going to dinner with people who were not him. To not be with you was the most painful thing he knew. For the woman he felt such tender things for to not even know the half of it. So with every month that passed he withdrew more, knowing that every time he left his chambers he risked running into you.

 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Quietly he opened your bedroom door, knowing you had to be sleeping at such a late hour, and you were. The pale light of the moon made your face look almost mask-like in sleep. Your delicate eyelashes were pressed to your cheeks, those cheeks he wished so badly to kiss. The desire to be near you, he thought as he gently placed the brown parchment package on your bedside table, was one day going to kill him.

[1d1195]

Most Extra II

Read Most here | ~2.8k words

Warnings: angsty and a little fluffy

Summary: Harry hates Lauren and doesn't know how to convince her that she should too.

Harry was speeding. Beeping like an obnoxious driver in their little town where anyone who looked over would know it was Harry. But he was terrified. Truly terrified of whatever Lauren would or could say to her.

How dare she. After Harry was kind enough to not tell his sweet angel about her horrible ex-friend. He didn’t tell anyone. Not even Sarah (although he knew she suspected more than anyone). He didn't ruin her reputation for being a horrible person. All she had to do was quietly ignore her and leave them the hell alone for the rest of their lives.

But Harry got a text from Louis saying he and Eleanor were heading out and they were insistent, but she refused to go with them. The kind, stubborn lady she was. Instead, she was going to make sure Lauren got home safely.

Harry hated Lauren. Preying upon her sweet kindness once more. Harry knew from experience it was difficult (next to impossible) to convince her Eleanor and Louis would be happy to stay with her. He could hear her saying that it was late, and she didn’t mind waiting. She was going to be up until Harry got home anyway. Arguing with her was futile,

Harry pressed her contact again wanting to scream when it went to voicemail again.

What if it was too late?

What if Lauren was telling her she wasn’t enough again, and that Harry deserved more? His heart was in his throat, sweat dotted his hairline, and his stomach felt like it was about to reject his dinner. He hated being a firefighter. At least in that moment he hated it. It wasn’t fair he had to work odd hours and couldn’t be by her side to usher her out of the restaurant when she refused to leave her old friend.

He hated Eleanor and Louis while he was at it.

And the phone company since it was clear her phone was dead or she had already blocked him.

Plus, the traffic light that refused to turn green.

In that moment Harry hated everything that wasn’t her.

Fortunately, he had one rational brain cell still functioning in his mind. Her phone was just dead. Lauren wasn’t stupid enough to try the same thing a second time. Regardless, she had too much stuff in their house. It would be enough to slow her down from leaving in the middle of the night. It had to be. It would give him enough time to be there in case she tried to leave. He would beg. Sob. Scream. Whatever he had to do to keep her. To assure her she was enough. That she was more than enough.

Harry parked at the end of the short road. He was almost certain his door didn’t fully close and if the key was still in the ignition, he wouldn’t be surprised either. He took off sprinting up the sidewalk toward where a crowd of people were waiting to get into the restaurant for the live music and good food and dancing.

The whole lot of his friend group had gone earlier in the evening (except Harry because he was working) and everyone had left at a reasonable hour except for the three of them. She had sent him updates throughout the evening and told him that her phone appeared to not hold its charge, or she left her flashlight on again draining the battery. But she loved him, and she would text once she was home, and it was charged. At the time he didn’t mind at all. It was kind she sent such thoughtful messages to assuage any future worry when she didn’t answer. Harry wasn’t a controlling boyfriend (or he hoped he wasn’t) but the worry he felt over her ate at him frequently, and badly.

By the time his shift was ending he still didn’t have a message from her, but instead one from Louis. A voice memo muffled by the sound of a door closing. We tried to stay with her, but you know how she is. She’s just making sure Lauren gets home safe. She said she’ll Uber or get a ride home with her coworker.

Harry felt like she was in danger the same way when he scaled her apartment building. He sped, he beeped and was now running to find her. Hoping it wasn’t too late.

“Harry?” her sweet voice interrupted his nightmare of her leaving again. He skidded to a stop and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of Lauren hanging onto her just like she used to when she drank too much. "Are you okay, baby?" She asked her eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

He swallowed the emotion in his throat at the word baby. She was there. She was safe. She didn't sound like she was leaving. "Yeah," he shook his head. "I uh..." he bit his lip.

"My... my phone did die."

Lauren avoided Harry's gaze, which was easy enough for her because she looked like she was about to throw up so she was probably actively focusing on that. "What are you...?" He started then shook his head.

"Lauren's other friend is coming to pick her up. She was insistent. I even offered to Uber home with her. But she's not doing so well," she frowned. "Lo, you still with me?" She asked.

The girl he hated, really truly hated, nodded once. Harry wanted to scream still. "Her phone is likely in her friend's car, otherwise I would have called you. You didn't need to rush down. Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

He nodded trying to keep any semblance of cool and collected he had etched on his face. But it was nearly impossible. "M'fine. Jus’ got worried..." he rubbed the back of his head. "Where's her friend?" Harry wanted out of this nightmare and away from Lauren as soon as possible. But even though he hated her, he didn’t want something to happen to her because she was drunk and unable to stand on her own.

"She’ll be here any minute. She was ten minutes out ten minutes ago when we called from the bar."

"Do y’need t’go back in?"

She shook her head. "I told Eleanor and Louis I would just Uber or catch a ride with Lo," she explained. "Lo, you doing okay?" She stroked her hair from her face softly. Like the sweet best friend she always was way back when. "Poor thing," she frowned as Lauren nodded once more. “You got out a little early? I thought I was going to beat you home still.”

Harry didn’t want to tell her that he basically told the squad he was feeling sick, maybe it was food poisoning, and he wanted to be in the comfort of his own home when that happened.

Harry still felt nauseous anyway. Maybe he would throw up when they got home. All that anxiety and frustration. At least it seemed that Lauren was unable to speak. Unable to say anything to cause doubt or ruin his life all over again.

"Can I take y'home?" He asked.

She giggled. It was such a musical, magical sound. It made some of the worry release from the grip around his heart and throat. His shoulders untensed. She was so cute, and he loved her so much. Even when he was anxious, it was enough to settle him some. That sweet smile, her kind eyes, and that beautiful giggle. "I would hope so," she bit her lip. "Unless you want me to Uber home."

Harry wanted to handcuff her to his side. But he thought driving her home would be sufficient.

For now.

*

The second he closed the front door, Harry pressed his body flat against it, caging her against the door and his chest. “Hey, what’s wrong?” She wrapped her arms around his waist. Barely flinching. As if he did this all the time. “Baby, you're making me nervous. Why are you so upset?”

His face was pressed to the crook of her neck like he was hiding there. Harry had a good mind to hide there and never let her go. He shook his head. “S'nothing. M'fine”

“This is not very convincing, baby,” she whispered and combed her fingers through his hair. She inhaled deeply against his head and then kissed at what she could reach which was part of his ear and some of his head. “I’m sorry about my phone. I didn’t mean to worry you—”

“Can y’do me a favor? No questions asked?” He asked into her skin.

“Harry?”

“You trust me?”

“Yes of course—"

“Don’t talk to Lauren. Ever. Please.”

"Wait," she frowned, gently pushed trying to get a look at him. But he didn’t budge. Like he didn’t want to look at her when he asked because it was too much or something. "Harry, that's kind of a weird thing to—"

"No questions, kitten. Please, M’begging,” his voice was so quiet, almost cracking as he spoke into her neck.

She pushed him away again, a little firmer this time, just far enough that she could get a good look at his face. His features pinched with anxiety. His eyes looked so sad. "Harry—"

"Baby please," he pleaded. "I won't ever ask you t’blindly trust me again ‘bout anything. Just this. Please."

Her heart felt sad. His anxiety made her feel sick. She frowned, cupped his cheek. He turned quickly and brushed his lips along her palm. Of course she trusted him. With her entire life. Blindly, all the time. He scaled a whole building to save her life. He could ask her anything and she would trust him. "Okay, okay,” she brushed her thumb along his skin hoping it would soothe the anxiety in his expression. "Whatever you say, baby." Harry pulled her back into his embrace, her face snug against his shirt. His nose bumped against her skull as he kissed the top of her hair. "I blindly trust you," she assured him, muffled by his body holding her tight. "I was just a little surprised was all."

He nodded silently. Not wanting to say anything more. He wanted Lauren to remain a nice memory for her. A friend that no longer served her purpose—someone she outgrew and nothing more. "Are you always going to hug me like this when my phone dies?" She asked. “I’m sorry I worried you so much, baby. I didn’t mean to.”

"I ordered y’a portable charger when y’told me it was dying hours ago. It’ll be here tomorrow," he murmured into her hair not letting go of her even slightly.

She giggled. Continued to hold onto him, and let Harry take whatever he was getting from this hug against the front door when there was a perfectly good couch and bed nearby. But he seemed to need this.

*

The following morning, she tapped gently against his arm. "Harry, baby?" She whispered. "I need to pee." He moaned softly. "M'sorry."

He shook his head and slid to sit up against the headboard. He rubbed his eye. "S'okay."

"I'll come right back."

"No, s'okay. We can get up," he glanced at the clock on his bedside table. He could make her breakfast or have her be his breakfast.

"Well, I want to snuggle longer," she frowned getting out of bed and putting a sweatshirt over her frame. It was too big. The static from putting it on made her hair frizz in front of her face. She didn't move it. Which only made Harry love her more. She was adorable.

"Well, I'll be here," he promised.

She hurried into the bathroom and then before Harry could fall asleep, she was back. She situated herself between his legs pressing her back against his chest and holding his hands in hers. The sleeves of her sweatshirt got in the way a bit, so Harry pushed the long sleeves up her wrists. It melted her and Harry kissed the top of her head. "Y'okay, baby?" He asked. She nodded, twisting their fingers together. Then holding his left hand and tracing his palm with no pattern in mind.

"Can you tell me why?" She asked.

"Tell you why what?"

She sighed. "I know you said no question asked. But... it has nothing to do with my trust in you. But... Sarah said something to me a few weeks ago and I don't know... I'll let it go if you really want me to. But... I'd like to know. If you can tell me... I don’t even see her anymore and honestly, I’m not sure why... but... Why can’t I talk to Lauren?"

He tilted his head up and sighed. It was unfair of him to give her a directive like that. She was an adult and could do whatever she wanted. Harry didn’t want to be controlling, and this was not the way to do it. "Okay," he took a deep breath. She was utterly patient. Waited while Harry tried to form the words. Words he didn’t want to say or relive. "Do y'remember our first date when y'got back?"

"You mean having sex in your car?"

He smiled fondly and nosed at the back of her head. He was glad she remembered such a lovely detail. "Y'said something t'me. That I deserved more than you," he squeezed her hand in his. It was a little easier to have this conversation while she wasn’t looking directly at him. It might have made him cry to relive all of it and think about what happened because of what Lauren said.

"I still think that, if I'm being honest."

Harry winced. Gently he turned her in his lap so he could look at her. "Baby," he frowned. "S'not even a little funny."

She reflected his frown with her own. "Harry...” she sighed. “Tell me what happened,” she whispered.

"I was grabbing y'a coffee after m'shift. Before the fire. Lauren said the same thing. I deserved so much more than her. S'exactly what she said and maybe if either of you used a different phrase I might not have noticed. But... y'didn't get there on your own, kitten, did you? I adored you and m'confident y'knew that. So she did it, didn't she? She told you that y'weren't enough," he swallowed hard, his voice breaking. "She made y'feel like y'weren't enough for me."

"Harry," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "Stop, I'm here."

"But you weren't. I felt so alone and sad and kitten, it wasn't fair."

She winced. "I know."

"I hate Lauren."

"Harry," she brought a hand to his cheek and ran her thumb over his cheek, rough with the scruffy starting of a beard (or whatever he chose to call what grew on his baby face. "I'm the one that listened. I'm the one that left."

"But she knew y'would do that. She knew y'loved me so much y'would go because I think I would have done the same thing... I want you t'have everything. Even if that means I don't have you."

She looked down at his chest, terrified to make eye contact. "I know," she whispered.

"I'll never forgive her," Harry promised. "For making y'feel like less. For making y'feel like y'didn't deserve love and t'be happy. For making y'think I would ever stop loving you," he pressed his mouth over hers. A tear rolled down her cheek and got caught in the kiss. Harry pulled away and swiped at it with his finger. "You're my favorite person, kitten."

"You're mine," she breathed. "I'm sorry I listened to her."

"Y'thought it was the right thing t'do. I don't fault y'for that. I wish y'told me; that will always make me sad that y'didn't want t'tell me," his voice ached with longing.

"If I told you, you wouldn't have let me leave."

A wry chuckle escaped him. "I would have had a hell of a time convincing you t'stay," a forlorn smile graced his lips.

She smiled shyly. "Yeah?"

"Probably would have kissed you 'til y'believed me. Handcuffed you t'me," he chuckled. "Or m'bed."

"I'm sure Anne would have loved that."

"She would have handcuffed you too," he rolled his eyes.

She giggled and then dropped her face to his chest. "You smell good."

"Mmm."

"I love you," she whispered. He buried his face in her hair and kissed the top of her head.

"I love you, too.”

“I love you more,” she teased, and he smiled against her head. It still felt like a dream that she was in his bed and that she loved him. That she was back and all his and they would have forever.

Harry decided breakfast could wait if he could kiss her and hold her like this for a while. “I love you most.”

--

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Most: @harryspirate

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If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part thirteen

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

GIF by richardgrimes

Part Thirteen - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.2k

a/n: helloooo after a very long hiatus i am back and writing again, i hope to update more throughout the new year (as it is my goal to write more frequently)

We are all seated outside the shawarma place, the sun dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. Wade is, unsurprisingly, talking nonstop, his mouth moving just as fast as his hands as he digs into his food with enthusiasm. Logan, across from me, is more reserved, chewing thoughtfully, his eyes never straying far from mine. I take a bite, trying to savor the calmness of the moment, though a part of me knows it’s fleeting.

Deadpool wipes his mouth dramatically, pointing at his plate. “You know, the Avengers discovered shawarma.”

I raise an eyebrow, playing along. “They’d be lucky to have you.”

Wade’s face contorts into mock offense. “Fuck off!” he retorts, his voice as sharp as ever, though the humor lingers in his eyes. 

Before I can respond, a flash of movement catches my attention, and I look up to see a little grimy dogpool sprinting toward Wade, tongue lolling out of her mouth and eyes bright with excitement.

Wade’s face lights up. “How’s my little munchkin? Oh, all is right in the world.” He scoops the mutant dog into his arms, showering it with affection like a proud parent. 

I glance at Logan, and for a moment, we share a quiet look. His gaze, deep and steady, holds mine as he speaks, his voice low and almost tender. “Yes it is.”

There’s something in the way he looks at me that makes my heart skip a beat, the weight of everything that’s happened settling between us. The chaos, the explosions, the near-death experiences—all of it feels distant now, like something from another lifetime. Here, in this strange little moment, I feel safe.

Wade snaps me out of it, his voice cutting through the quiet. “So, what are you gonna do next?” he asks Logan, curiosity evident in his tone.

Logan pauses, his jaw tightening as he thinks for a moment. “I’ll figure it out,” he says, as if that’s the only answer that matters. “I always do.”

Wade, of course, doesn’t let the moment hang for too long. “All right. So, I’ll probably see you around,” he says, nonchalantly shoving another bite of food into his mouth.

Logan stands, his expression unreadable, but there’s a finality in his movements that makes it clear he’s ready to go. “Probably not,” he mutters, pushing his chair back and rising to his full height.

Without thinking, I get up too, the instinct to follow him overpowering any other thought. “I go where you go,” I say softly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Logan’s gaze softens as he looks at me, his hand brushing against mine in a way that sends warmth spreading through my chest. It’s a subtle gesture, but in it, there’s something unspoken, something I don’t need words to understand. 

Logan gives a final nod, “See you, bub.”

Wade’s face contorts into mock indignation again. “Wait! I’ve got room for two more,” he says, standing, hoping for us to join him.

I glance at Logan, a small smile pulling at the corner of my lips. “Not a bad idea,” I say, my voice light. We could use somewhere to stay for now anyway.

Logan smirks, a rare expression of amusement flashing across his face. “You might regret that,” he warns, though the warmth in his voice tells me he doesn’t really mean it.

Wade, ever the opportunist, spreads his arms wide. “Oh, come on! We could be a badass trio. It’s like the perfect mix—angst, claws, and… whatever it is I bring to the table.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “You mean chaos.”

Wade grins. “Exactly.”

__________________

It’s been three months since we’ve settled into living with Wade, and somehow, it’s even more chaotic than I expected. The apartment—a surprisingly decent two-bedroom loft Wade "acquired" through means I’m too afraid to ask about—has become a strange sort of home.

The first few days were a whirlwind of adjustment. Wade’s never-ending commentary was grating at first, but I’ve learned to tune him out when necessary. Logan, on the other hand, had less patience and almost walked out the second day after Wade serenaded us at 2 a.m. with an off-key rendition of Careless Whisper. Somehow, I convinced him to stay, and now, three months later, I think even Logan has started to begrudgingly accept the lunacy.

Most mornings start the same way. I wake up to the smell of burning… something. Today, it’s toast—Wade has a knack for turning simple tasks into disasters.

“Breakfast is served!” Wade announces loudly as I shuffle into the kitchen, still groggy. He’s wearing an apron that says Kiss the Merc, and Dogpool is perched on the counter, staring at the charred bread like it’s a gourmet meal.

“Do I even want to ask what happened?” I say, rubbing my temples.

“Creative genius takes risks,” Wade replies with a flourish, sliding a plate of inedible toast toward me. “But don’t worry, munchkin.” He pats Dogpool on the head. “There’s always cereal.”

Logan strides in, shirtless and already looking like he’s been awake for hours. His hair is wet from a shower, and his face is set in its usual scowl. He takes one look at the mess and growls, “I’m making coffee.”

“Ah, the grumpy one emerges,” Wade says, clapping his hands together. “I was starting to think you’d finally run off to join a monastery.”

“Keep talking, Wade, and I’ll show you where you can shove that toast,” Logan mutters, grabbing the coffee pot.

I hide a smile behind my mug. This is our dynamic now—Wade provoking Logan, Logan threatening Wade, and me stuck in the middle, finding an odd sense of normalcy in the chaos.

Later that day, we’re all sprawled out in the living room. Wade is flipping through channels at lightning speed, Dogpool curled up on his lap. Logan sits in the armchair, sharpening his claws with a steady focus that makes me nervous and amused at the same time. I’m on the couch, sketchbook in hand, half-listening to Wade’s ramblings.

“You know,” Wade starts, pausing on a nature documentary, “this reminds me of that time I fought a bear. Big guy, lots of claws. We bonded over mutual hatred for humans. It was beautiful.”

Logan looks up, deadpan. “Bears don’t bond.”

“This one did,” Wade insists. “We’re pen pals now.”

I snort, shaking my head. “How do you even come up with this stuff?”

“It’s a gift,” Wade says, leaning back and throwing an arm over Dogpool. “Speaking of gifts, I think we should go on a team mission. Shake things up a bit. What do you say, claws?”

“No,” Logan says immediately.

Wade turns to me, eyes wide and pleading. “Come on, sunshine. Help me out here.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of mission?”

“Oh, you know. Something simple. Heroic. Maybe a little illegal.” He grins. “I’ll even let you lead.”

Logan groans, standing up. “I’m going for a walk.”

As the door shuts behind him, Wade sighs dramatically. “You two would be so cute.”

“Wade,” I warn, though I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

“Don’t worry,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll play nice. For now.”

And so, life with Wade continues—chaotic, unpredictable, and somehow, against all odds, exactly what we need.

Next Part

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007 @aheadfullofsteverogers @raptor192 @bontensbabygirl @lunavelha

[tiedyeflannels]

Stay Where You Are

Kim Namjoon x f!reader

Chapter 3 | Masterlist

A/N: AHHHHH!!!! Sorry I've been gone!!! It's been a LONG time since I've last updated this series and I feel so bad about it, so I'll do my best to keep updating on this series frequently because I really love it! Anyway, sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoy!

“Huh?! Did she just…”

Namjoon shook off the thought as he watched you carry Mochi and give him kisses. It sparked something in Namjoon, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up since knew you had said it absentmindedly.

You happily hugged Mochi a bit more before he started to wiggle in your hold, alerting you to put him down.

“I should get going,” Ha-rin started, “I have some errands to run before tomorrow, but I’ll make sure to visit every chance I get, okay?”

She walked over and gave you a hug before heading out the door. You and Namjoon both sighed and turned to each in silent questions of “what do we do now”.

A small, shy smile creeped onto his face as he cocked his head to the side, “Let me give you a bit of a tour.”

You nodded and followed him as he walked into the room Mochi came out of. You looked around and saw a metal shelf full of different kinds of pottery that had yet to be fired, bags of clay, a pottery wheel under the window by the right wall, and couch surrounded with some plants on the left.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, “You do pottery?”

Smiling and walking up to the shelf holding the unfinished pottery pieces, you gazed at them in awe at how beautifully hand-crafted they were. 

“No,” Namjoon chuckled and shook his head, “I tried my hand at pottery, but I wasn’t the best.”

He walked over to the shelf to stand next to you and reached for a piece of pottery, carefully turning it over in his hands whilst examining it.

“These were actually made by you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, “Really?”

Namjoon nodded, “Yep. You told me about how you’d been wanting to do pottery for the longest time. Once we moved in, we got the equipment for it and you’ve been making things ever since.”

You smiled, “Yeah, I remember thinking about wanting to learn, but I just brushed it off because I was busy.”

You both stood there in silence, looking at the pots on the shelves before Namjoon lightly tapped your shoulder to get your attention.

“Let me show the rest of the place, hmm?” You nodded as you both left the “studio” to look at the rest of the place that you now call home. 

Walking around, Namjoon made some comments about the paintings and art pieces that were scattered around the complex, making sure you knew what they were, who made them and why he- and you- had them there. It was almost like you were at an art gallery and he was your tour guide.

It made you giggle a bit when he started talking about something else making him look at you with a confused smile, “What?”

You lightly shook your head, completely endeared by his expression, “Nothing! I just think it’s cute that you’re acting like a tour guide because we have so many art pieces in the apartment.”

He let his head drop as he smiled and loosely shook his head before looking back at you. “I’m glad I can make you happy.” 

Namjoon then clapped his hands together, “Anyway! Through here is the master bedroom.”

He walked back to where the living room was and entered a doorway on the right that opened to a large white room with a similarly large white bed in the middle.

Walking into the room, the first thing you saw was the singular charcoal wall that that was behind the bed, but the more you looked around, the more it was just like the rest of the apartment.

There were contemporary paintings on the walls, some small sculptures scattered around on the tables that were in the room like nightstand and the dresser, and books.

Namjoon watched you from the doorway as you made your way around the bedroom, looking at the many knick knacks and books that you both placed together until you reached the nightstand on the left.

Something made you stop in your tracks and stare. A small, 4x6 picture frame that was sitting near the lamp on the table had caught your eye.

Picking it up and examining the photo that sat within, you realized it was one of you… and Namjoon.

It was black and white; kind of blurry and imperfect, but it captured both of you standing in front of a mirror. Both of you seemed off balance, his arms around your waist as he planted a sweet kiss on your cheek which made you laugh.

Namjoon loved looking at that picture because it brought him an intense feeling of happiness that you two were together.

“We’re together,” you looked over at him with furrowed brows.

But now…

“We’re dating?”

It’s almost bittersweet.

Chapter 4

Taglist:

@maple-leaves-in-the-wind

[cyber-mari]

₊ ☆ ‧₊˚ → ann, makoto, futaba, and haru general relationship headcanons!

cw: fluff, slightest bit of angst if you squint

note: ahhjflslksdfglds i accidentally deleted this ask :( but anyways i was so excited when i saw this since it's my first request, i hope you enjoy ( ≧ᗜ≦)!!

- big on physical touch and words of affirmation.

- lots of cuddles, kisses, spooning, etc if you let her. she loves that type of intimacy.

- she doesn’t mind pda! if you’re okay with it, she would be pretty affectionate.

- would kiss you on the cheek as a greeting

- if you aren’t a fan of physical touch she'll be minimal with it or just stop all together.

- loves showing you off!!! a big part of her social media page would be her and you. if you don’t like being posted, she would have an album/folder full of pictures of you.

- if anyone says anything even remotely bad about you trust and believe she’s hitting that block button in the blink of an eye.

- appreciates any type of compliments, but compliments beyond her looks make her so insanely happy considering her looks are mostly what she’s usually noticed by.

- she absolutely loves to shower you in compliments too. makes her smile when she sees you get all shy

- if you post yourself on social media expect her to be flooding your comments hyping you up 😭

- absolutely loves doing your makeup/skincare and dressing you up!!!

- ryuji is TIRED of hearing her talk about you. someone save this boy

- “red? speaking of red, y/n-“ “ann. 🙁”

- dates with her consist of going out to dessert places, harajuku, the park, and going to the underground mall.

- makoto is very inexperienced with romance. at the start of your relationship she would pretty much leave most decisions up to you.

- after a bit of time of you guys being together and experimenting with things she learns what she likes and dislikes and sets boundaries about those things. she becomes a lot more comfortable in the relationship after that.

- not a very big fan of pda. she would rather being affectionate like that in a more private setting.

- she’s very easy to fluster! an unexpected hug or kiss and her brain short circuits. 😭😭

- her main love languages are words of affirmation and acts of service.

- makoto tends to overthink so ressurance would play a significant role in your relationship.

- she prefers to show affection in ways like checking up on you and such.

- you’re thirsty? she’s already getting out her water bottle. it’s hot and your hair is bothering you? she should have a hair tie somewhere…

- and so on. anything you need, she’s got it, and if she doesn’t, it’s her top priority to help you out somehow.

- your wellbeing is always on her mind

- she tends to keep to herself a lot, but she tries her best to be vulnerable around you.

- sae doesn’t mind you guys. probably just some playful teasing here and there.

- study dates are very frequent!! she likes them a lot because it allows her to spend time with you and also get things done.

- like makoto, futaba would also be very inexperienced with romance.

- her love languages are physical touch and quality time.

- being in the same room as you whether you’re watching a movie, on your phone, or just sitting in bed doing whatever in complete silence together, means a lot to her.

- if you guys ever go out she very often (if not always) is holding your hand. it makes her less anxious and brings her a sense of comfort.

- “excuse me, she asked for no pickles.” while futaba frantically nods behind you

- she’s a HUGE yapper; she could go on and on talking about a new volume of a manga she’s into, the newest episode of a show she likes, the most recent updates for a game she enjoys playing, etc.

- if you were also interested in the same things as her you guys would nerd out together.

- loves listening to you talk about things you like just as much as she enjoys ranting about her interests.

- would love having matching profile pictures of her favorite ships with you

- she’s the type to send you those slideshow videos that say “us?”

- most dates with her consist of just hanging out at each others houses playing a video game, watching shows together, things of that nature. if you were to do something outdoors you’d most likely be either at akihabara or asakusa.

- omg haru is such a sweetheart of a friend and even more as a your s/o.

- i can easily imagine her being affectionate in private. while she's a bit shy to initiate things at first she slowly gets more comfortable with it later on.

- that being said, she’d be a bit hesitant with pda due to her publicity

- a bit of all but i think her main love languages are quality time and gift giving.

- i feel like she’s big on gift giving because she's rich?? idk, she loves giving you stuff that reminds her of you or something that catches your eye while you guys are out together.

- she would give you flowers she grew herself too

- cuddling is a frequent activity in your relationship! adores playing your hair when you two cuddle, gently running her fingers through and complimenting it

- she’s an amazing listener! not only does she like listening to you talk about anything and everything, she also just enjoys hearing the sound of your voice.

- absolutely refuses to let you pay for anything 😭

- her favorite dates with you are anything involving gardening. if you're inexperienced she is more than happy to coach you and teach you anything and everything you need to know. haru would be open to pretty much anything though, she’s just happy she gets to spend time with you.

[nothing-impt]

Oh boy! A new Hermes/Tiresias shipper! Welcome aboard!🤗

What headcanons do you have for this silly couple?

YESSSS I AM SO HAPPY I GOT INTO THIS SHIP Flying Snakes Headcanons ig: (I think I work better with my art than with my words, so I'm sorry if this looks really badly written)

Tiresias is more of a ‘receiving gifts’ than a ‘words of affection’ guy, hence the two-headed snake Hermes gifts him.

 I  love to think Hermes just constantly hits on Tiresias whenever he drops by to deliver souls into the Underworld, and Tiresias is either really dense or is completely unbothered by it.

Hades definitely knows about these two (people always make him out to be the villain But I would like to think that he’s really chill and lets them be together in the Underworld.) Unrelated note, Persephone ships them too.

Like @rubypet’s hc with Apollo, Apollo has prophecy as one of his domains so he’s a little pissed that Hermes is hitting on his prophet lmao.

Hermes calls the double-headed snake ‘the twins’ on purpose, usually in front of Apollo to piss him off and because Apollo doesn’t know Hermes is referring to the snake(s)? He just assumed Hermes knocked up Tiresias lol.

Because Tiresias has prophetic visions, he’s sometimes distracted (e.g, he’ll glance at a lingering spirit while Hermes is talking to him and will recall that spirit’s life) Hermes just takes it in his stride and asks him what he sees and they talk about that instead.

Tiresias tends to tell his prophecies in a roundabout way (my hc is that prophets are prevented from telling the outright truth behind what they see) so those who come to him for visions would oftentimes accuse him of misguiding them after they die (Oedipus would like to curse at him or smth everytime he sees Tiresias in the Underworld after he died)

Hermes knows that Tiresias gets disheartened by all the negative remarks (sounds like Tiresias gets a bad review on Prophetic visions lol) Especially so after Odysseus literally misinterprets his visions despite him trying his best to help the King of Ithaca cause he’s Hermes’ great grandson. Hermes would frequently give updates on how Odysseus is doing to reassure him (I personally feel prophets are used to ‘see’ the negative life-changing events in people’s lives instead of any of the positive ones, so Tiresias would be relieved to hear anything good that goes out of a hero he helps) Edit: It just came to me so I decided I'll just put it here, Tiresias absolutely hates Oedipus :)

I have a doodle I’m doing to explain more about why ‘the twins’ are called Jason and Theseus, hopefully, I’ll post it by tonight. Anyway, thanks for all the Asks, I hope y’all can understand my terrible explanations, if not my inbox is still open for questions! 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Why do you only post 1 request/nrc family in one day? I remember you saying you finished all of it and it's in your scheduled. Why not post NRC fam twice a day?

[Referencing this blog update!]

Hey, so 💦 I’m sure it wasn’t your (the anon’s) intention for the suggestion to come off as a entitled or rude. However, it certainly didn’t make me feel good to read, especially since I was not asking for advice in the first place.

This blog is my own space in the fandom, so it’s only natural that I decide the pace of my posts and what kind of content is put out there. Whether I decide to post one, two, none, or more creative writing pieces a day is entirely up to my discretion and no one else’s. I don’t think it should warrant any further explanation—but let this be the one and only time I have to.

I understand that you may be eager for more content or for another masterlist to be put out. (Those are the only reasons I can think of for wanting 2 interactions posting a day instead of 1.) But I have my own reasons for why I don’t cram all my writing pieces to post in a short span of time. I want to leave breathing space between them and have time to casually talk about Twst. Regardless of whether or not I have finished pieces on the backburner to put up, I intentionally space my creative writing work out so people can sit with them, digest them, and (I hope) better appreciate them.

You don’t know this because you don’t see my queue, but I don’t have ONLY the remaining NRC Family Day interactions scheduled. I have 60ish other asks queued (3-4 per day). This isn’t even accounting for new asks I may get + reply to and add to the queue. Part of what I like about running this blog is the interaction and the discussion we can have on here, and I want to continue being able to do that. To post more creative works a day would mess up my preferred rhythm for the blog.

I ask that you try to put yourself in the shoes of the creator—be it be or someone else whose work you consume. Creators are putting out art, writing, etc., typically for free, for any fan passing by to enjoy (should they choose to). We are not beholden to this, but we choose to do it anyway out of love and passion for Twst. Now how do you think we feel when someone comes up to us after already gobbling up our creations and asking (sometimes demanding) for more? Does that not read as… I don’t know, a little callous and ungrateful? It dehumanizes the creator and makes them little more than a content farm churning out the next hit of dopamine. That’s so incredibly demoralizing 😔 It grossly undervalues what we do. And it definitely does not encourage us to want to continue creating.

At one point, I was satisfied frequently posting multiple writing pieces a day. That is no longer true. It had become stifling and thankless so I intentionally stepped back and have been much happier since.

I hope I was able to get my thoughts across well 💦 It’s just a really frustrating sentiment…