#might do a few more sets for this show...

[freeandiwill]

Saja Boy Love Languages

Oh lookie there just so happens to be 5 of them, how convenient.

Jinu - Quality time

This boy absolutely loves to seek you out for impromptu dates, especially more intimate and secluded ones. Long walks after dark, dinner in an empty restaurant, playing card games in bed. He wants to feel like he’s really getting to savor his time with you, absorbing your presence without any interruptions. He’s a sucker for good conversation, whether it’s the two of you just bouncing off each other with banter or having a deep conversation when you should be sleeping or him just listening to you ramble on and on while he memorizes every feature on your face. He’s utterly fascinated with all of your behaviors and soon will be able to read your demeanor like a book, knowing exactly what you need when you need. He gets antsy when he goes to long without having seeing you and will forcibly pull you away from anything if he’s desperate enough, craving another moment with just the two of you.

Abby - Acts of Service

Despite being kind of a massive douchebag, he really enjoys feeling like a true gentleman for you. First of all, absolutely any opportunity where he can show off his strength and build is a win in his book. He’ll hold your shopping bags for you, block people from bumping into you in crowds, reach things off of tall shelves. Oh, your feet are tired from standing? Well, you are being hoisted up into his arms, no questions asked. His manners game is also off the charts, even though he does it all with the most cocky smirk you’ve ever seen. He holds doors open for you, keeps you on the inside of the sidewalk, mindlessly adjusts your hair and accessories so you always look perfect. And he loves when you dote on him for doing all these little things, drinks up every thank you and cheek kiss. Sometimes you swear he’s randomly buying you your favorite snacks just to see you swoon over his chivalry and giving you his shirt when it’s not even that cold just to show off his abs to you…again.

Romance - Gift Giving/Receiving

How do we feel about ‘Roman’ as an alternative name for him?

Turns out being a massive Popstar has its financial perks and he has very few things he wants to spend his money on besides you. You might open your closet to find luxurious outfits that were totally not there before or find massive bouquets on your doorstep, all his doing. He’s very nonchalant about all of it too, only relaxedly admitting to it when you’re in the midst of having a crisis over where how this 22karat gold bracelet appeared on your wrist. As time goes on, he gets better at distinguishing your taste and making his gifts more appealing to you specifically, like a special edition of your favorite book or a pair of shoes you’ve been wanting all your life. He would literally go to hell and back if it means he could spoil you just a little more, nothing is ‘too much’ for his love. He also adores any and all gifts you give him, from a framed photo of the two of you that you printed out and decorated to literally a hair tie you let him borrow once that never leaves his pocket now.

Baby - Words of Affirmation

What can he say? He’s a lyricist at heart. Honestly, he’s going to be quite cool and apathetic most of the time, but when he gets going he really knows how to really lay it on thick. This might be sickeningly clever nicknames or passing compliments that set your heart on fire. It could also be the absolute most passionate, provocative monologue sensually whispered in your ear at this worst time possible. He loves to torture you with his knack for words. He’ll leave you Shakespearean-level love poems on sticky notes that you keep and cherish forever. And then he’ll mischievously deny ever leaving the note in the first place. He’ll randomly look up at you with glittering eyes and tell you all the ways he holds you dear, how finds you more precious than the universe itself, how he considers you to be a valuable blessing upon his life and he mourns the days before he knew you and dreads every future minute he can’t be beside you. Then he’ll very casually ask what you want for dinner. Good luck with all that whiplash. Don’t worry, even though he might not show it, you drive him just as wild with even the smallest things. You called him cute once and he plays the moment on repeat in his head. Boy is just as down bad as you are, but a lot better at hiding it.

Mystery - Physical Touch

He’s also quite good at keeping himself in check most of the time. In public, he won’t do much besides stand close to you, making sure your shoulders are brushing. He gives little frowns to anyone who tries to come as close to you, hovering over you like a guard dog. If you’re lucky and he’s feeling particularly clingy, he may hold your hand. But this absolutely pales in comparison to how he acts in private: he is feral for your touch. He wraps himself around you and nuzzles into your skin, labored breathing like you’re his only lifeline at this moment. You have to remind him to calm down. His limbs are squeezing yours, nails grazing and groping. You swear to god you hear sniffs, is he smelling you? He’ll press sloppy kisses over every inch of you, whimpering while he leaves wet patches, teeth just barely nicking your flesh. Sometimes he doesn’t realize how rough he’s being with his affection, he really just likes to feel like he’s consuming you, like you’re melting into him so you can never leave again. And if you do have to leave briefly in the middle of a cuddle session, even just for the restroom or to get a drink of water, he follows and has his hands gripping your clothes until he can tug you back to your bed or couch.

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 27

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 26 | Series Masterlist | Part 28

Chapter Word Count: Almost 4k

Chapter Summary: An idea comes to you regarding part of your future and Bucky has a few choice words for your parents.

Chapter Warnings: Confrontation, bonding of sorts, inner turmoil, world building, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: I don't know what happened to the original post. Let's try this again! More Hold You Tight, and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You thought it would feel strange with Curtis hanging out in the kitchen while you baked the brownies, but it wasn’t as bad as you thought, and it was something you’d have to get used to since he would be around you going forward. He didn’t try to fill the silence with small talk unless you asked him a question, likely trying to remain in the “shadows”. You did wonder what was on his mind since he mentioned being trapped, but it wasn’t any of your business. He was your bodyguard and that didn’t mean he’d be your friend. 

“Smells delicious,” he said, standing when you took them out of the oven. 

“Don’t worry. I won't burn myself,” you said, nodding for him to sit back down. “And thanks. I hope you like them.”

“I'm sure I will.”

Ray walked into the kitchen the moment you set the brownies out to cool off and looked between you and Curtis who settled back in his chair. “A treat for breakfast?” he guessed.

“A treat for Curtis,” you said, making your bodyguard smile a little.

Ray blinked hard and slow. “I see,” he said, pushing his glasses up. Did that upset him? 

“Well, that batch is for Curtis. You have first dibs on the other batch,” you clarified. 

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” The blonde raised an eyebrow. “And what about the boss?” 

“He’s third. He knows what he did,” you said unapologetically. They were your brownies. You could do what you wanted with them.

Curtis hid a smile before Ray asked, “And how are you feeling?”

You put your hands on the counter and shrugged. “Hard to say since I’m seeing my parents today and still dealing with…”

“Everything,” Ray finished for you. 

You nodded. “I appreciate you asking.” It felt like you hadn’t talked to him in days and you admittedly missed it. Like Curtis, keeping you safe wasn’t a bore or chore in his eyes. He believed you were brave and part of you was starting to believe it, too. 

“We’re all glad you're safe now,” he softly said.

“Careful there. You might be showing emotion,” Curtis said, earning him a glare from his colleague. 

“Where’s Bucky?” you asked. 

“He sulked for a minute when you kicked him out of the kitchen,” he said, making Curtis snort. Again, Bucky knew what he did. “But he’s in his office. Called Steve and Natalia. He also got an update on Lois.”

“How is she?” you asked, hoping that things were still looking up.

“She’s recovering well,” he assured you. You were glad to hear that. “From what we know, she’s stubborn and strong and it’ll take time, but she’ll be fine.”

You let out a breath. “I really need to see her, and I need to talk to Natasha,” you said. A woman you could hopefully help heal and move forward and a woman who was going to help you in some capacity. Both receiving and paying it forward. As that thought settled in your mind, an idea washed over you, making you stand up straighter and look at Ray again. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“I have a thought,” you answered, trying not to get too excited. “I need to talk to Bucky.”

Curtis jumped from his chair when you walked out without another word, his footsteps behind you nearly silent. He really was going to be a good bodyguard for you. Ray followed, too, likely curious about why you rushed out so quickly.

Bucky looked up from his desk when you walked into the office, a smile on his face when he stood up. “Brownies ready?” he asked, holding his hand up to keep Curtis and Ray from walking in. 

“Yeah, but that’s not what I came in here for,” you said, taking a seat on the sofa. Bucky immediately went to join you. “I have a bit of a crazy idea and I wanted to get your opinion on it.” 

“You want my opinion?” The subtle shift in his posture showed he was touched. “And I’m the crazy one, Kotyonok, so nothing you could say would ever sound crazy to me.”

You didn’t dispute that he was crazy. “So, you know how one of the things that attracted you to me was helping your mom and my generally kind nature?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“And you helped Natasha however long ago so she could give the women who work at her hotel a better life, right?” you continued. You remembered Natasha telling you if it wasn't for Bucky she wouldn't be where she was. 

“Yes, I did,” he confirmed, not elaborating on how or why.

“What if I do something kind of like that? What if I try to help other women who have…” You swallowed and tried to find the right words, suddenly nervous to ask for his opinion. “Been through stuff, like Lois or me.”

He tilted his head. “You want to help women who have been hurt in some capacity?”

“Yeah. Assault. Abuse. Trauma,” you said. You thought of your own situation, not just Clark's attack, but Bucky systemically making his way into your life. He wasn't out to harm you, but some stalkers did try to harm their victims. “And it's not like I’d have to quit being a florist. I just… I don't know. I want to do something.”

It could've been a means to take back some more control of your life. Being by Bucky’s side, you didn’t want to lose who you were in your core and wanted to continue putting good back into the world. Perhaps you wanted to pay it forward even more since others didn't have the kind of money and protection you now had. 

“It’s stupid, isn't it?” you asked when he stayed quiet. 

You were a florist. Yes, you volunteered when you could and wanted to help people, but it wasn’t your area of expertise. An endeavor like that was out of your depth, wasn't it? 

Bucky framed your face, his eyes flashing with a mixture of pride and fury. “Don't you ever say an idea of yours is stupid. I won't stand for that,” he said, his gaze softening considerably. “Especially since that’s a great idea.”

You studied him, looking for any sign that he was joking. He wasn’t. “Really?” you asked in a small voice.

He kissed the tip of your nose with a smile. “Really. Money won’t be an issue. We can sketch out a plan and figure out what exactly you want to focus on, start local and small. Or you can sketch out the plan and I’ll give input if you seek it out,” he said, a hint of his businessman tone coming out. “If this is really something you want, we’ll make it happen.”

“So, just like that?” you asked. He was really supporting this?

“Of course. It’s admirable that you continue to look out for others and I’m going to support whatever you want to do,” he said. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. You didn’t want to admit how nice it felt that he was backing this up, especially when you had no set plan yet. 

“It also means a lot that you asked for my opinion.”

“Well, we have to talk through these things. It’s what couples do,” you said. 

His smile was brighter than the light in the room. “So, you really see us as a couple now.”

“I guess so,” you said. What choice did you have?

He sighed before he kissed your lips, featherlight and full of promise. “You won’t regret it,” he whispered, suddenly standing and helping you to your feet, too. “You’re still in your robe.”

“I’ve been in the kitchen this whole time,” you reminded him, your mind going back to Curtis and wondering more about his past. 

Bucky checked his watch. “Why don’t you get ready for lunch? I think Curtis and Ray have seen you in your robe enough for one day,” he tried to tease and checked his watch. 

“And what about the day I’m walking around in nothing but my underwear?” you blurted out without meaning to.

Darkness crossed Bucky’s eyes, but it was more lust than rage when he put his hands on your hips. “I’d hate to have to hurt my own men, but I do love the thought of you walking around our home so… freely.”

“I’ll bet you do,” you whispered, knowing he’d probably chase you around or drag you to bed if he had the chance. “But for now, yes, I should get dressed.”

“Don’t want to keep your parents waiting,” he said, letting you pull away to get ready. “I hope I make a lasting impression.”

You shivered, wondering just what kind of impression he wanted to make. “I’m sure you will.”

Curtis leaned against the wall outside of the office while Ray stood on the other side. “You want to help others, huh?” your bodyguard asked.

You stopped to face him. “Yeah, I do.”

Curtis didn’t say anything else, but he looked impressed. So did Ray. You didn’t have time to dwell on that. You had to get ready for a lunch that you didn’t want to go to. 

But your whole life as of late had been a series of events you had to participate in without much of a choice, so what was one more?

Bucky held your hand the entire drive to the restaurant and didn’t force you to talk, which you appreciated since your stomach was in knots. You found yourself playing with the diamond necklace, which he had put around your neck before you left. Your mom would no doubt stare at it or make a comment since you had never had such a nice piece of jewelry. Was this going to be a disaster or were you overthinking it?

“We’ll get through this quickly,” Bucky told you once the car stopped, his lips brushing the top of your hand. “Long enough for me to meet them and send them on their way.”

The knot in your stomach tightened more. How exactly was he going to send them on their way? “And after that?”

“Whatever you want,” he promised, helping you out of the car.

You didn’t pay much attention as you were escorted to the private table, but you knew Ray and Curtis weren’t far behind. The place was bright and airy, but sophisticated. It would've been a nice place to go on a date. Would this lunch sour that idea?

“I’m here,” Bucky whispered, pulling out your chair for you.

Considering the way he burst into your life you never expected to lean on him for anything. You had since your attack and now this, looking to him for support without meaning to. You even asked for his opinion on your idea to help other women, which you did seek out. Who were you becoming?

“Why do I care so much about what they think?” you asked when he sat down beside you.

“Because they’re your parents and it’s natural,” he replied, taking your hand under the table. “But you don’t need them.”

You were about to argue that you did need them before you caught them in your line of sight, your back rigid as they moved closer. They didn’t look overjoyed to see you, which broke your heart a bit. Bucky squeezed your hand before you realized you had squeezed his hand first. This was going to be a long lunch.

“It’s good to see you,” your dad said when Bucky released your hand only to pull your chair back to help you stand. “And you must be-”

“Bucky, her boyfriend. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, shaking his hand and smirking when your dad winced and turning a critical eye on your mom. Neither of them hugged you before they took their seats and you quickly sat back down to hide your embarrassment. “You two raised quite the woman,” he added, daring them to say something.

“Thank you,” your mom said, looking over the menu. 

“Since the menu seems to be more important than greeting your daughter, please, pick whatever you want,” Bucky smiled like a wolf getting ready to strike while you gaped at him. “I spare no expense when it comes to her and her… loved ones. Just look at her necklace. I purchased it for our first date.”

Your mom’s mouth fell open and you felt a bit of satisfaction when your dad squirmed in his seat. Did that make you a bad person? “I’m sorry. I meant nothing by it.” Your mom cleared her throat. “We’re thrilled to see you. It’s just with our accounts being frozen…”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind,” you filled in the blanks. You were used to it.

“Yes, I’m sorry about your accounts,” Bucky said without sounding sorry at all and pretended to look over his menu. “Interesting how you always think of others first even when you have a lot on your mind, Kotyonok,” he said loud enough for the whole table to hear. “Makes me wonder what that came from.”

Your mom’s mouth didn’t drop again, but you heard her sharp inhale on her next breath and your dad squirmed again. They weren’t used to subtle insults like that, especially for someone who had just met them. But as Bucky took your hand, you very much felt like his queen and he was defending you as such.

“Aren’t you going to compliment her necklace?” Bucky asked, turning his head to smile at you. “It’s as beautiful as she is.”

Your face felt hot when your parents stared and admired the diamonds. “They don’t have to say anything,” you mumbled.

“But I don’t understand. What kind of parents don’t compliment their child, especially when they haven’t seen them in some time?” he asked. Once again, it was loud enough for them to hear. He was digging the knife in and twisting it in the most passive aggressive way.

“It’s beautiful,” your mom said enviously, avoiding looking at Bucky. 

“Thanks,” he said, flagging the server down and putting a hand to his chest. “Like I said, whatever you want. It’s on me.”

You picked a light meal, knowing there was a high chance you couldn’t stomach something heavy. Your mom chose the highest priced meal, which Bucky merely smiled expectantly. Your dad had the good sense to not do the same. It would’ve been nice if they asked how you were or gave some sort of indication that they cared.

“How did you two meet?” your dad asked to break the tension, which only made you nervous all over again.

“My club, and I very much fell for her first,” Bucky answered easily and leaned over to kiss your temple. “I knew she was the one the moment I laid eyes on her.”

“Club?” your mom questioned. “Since when do you go to clubs?”

“It was for Addison’s bachelorette party,” your boyfriend answered for you, smiling again. “You know Addison, don’t you? I would hope so. She’s practically family to her.”

You took a sip of your water and said nothing as your parents looked more uncomfortable with each passing second. The air was awkward to say the least.  Bucky, on the other hand, looked over the moon one second and was ready to kill the next. It had to be giving your parents whiplash.

“She’s a good friend,” your mom said, her smile shaky. “How’s the shop?” she asked, changing the subject.

“The shop’s great,” you said and found yourself smiling since you did love the place and your job. “Mrs. Crandle is still a great boss and-”

“And you’re still just a florist,” she cut you off dismissively with a shake of her head, wiping your smile away. “You could’ve been so much more.”

Your eyes glossed over, but you held your head high. “There’s nothing wrong with me being a florist, and I am more.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Ease up,” your dad whispered to your mom, shocking you both. Since when was he not on her side? Or was it because Bucky glared at them?

“Just a florist.” The man beside you chuckled, a dark and empty sound. “Tell them about the idea you told me about earlier today.”

The knot filled your stomach so much that you feared you’d get sick. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you said, not wanting to hear what they had to say since they never backed you up on anything.

“But it’s a great idea,” he assured you, giving your parents a smile. “Wait until you hear it.”

Your dad leaned forward and appeared interested. Was it for show? “What is it?” 

Bucky nodded, encouraging you to speak up. “I went through something recently,” you said carefully, not wanting to blurt it out. “And it made me realize I want to help others and build a support system for women who have been through things.”

Your parents looked at each other as you held your breath. “That sounds ambitious,” your dad said just as carefully as you. “I realize you have good intentions, but…”

“You can’t just up and decide you want to run a charity,” your mom said, laughing and tapping her finger on the table when Bucky gripped his water glass. “You need more than just good intentions. You need experience and funding, which you have none of.”

You sighed. It was exactly what you expected. They wanted you to be more, but offered no encouragement when you tried. 

“Aren’t you even going to ask what I went through?” you asked, your voice thick with emotion. For the first time, your mom looked worried. “Someone-”

“They don’t deserve to know.” Bucky took a sip before he gently set the glass down, making you eye him warily. He looked like he was ready to explode. “She isn’t just deciding, by the way. She has volunteer experience and she’s going to formulate a plan. And what she may lack in other ‘experiences’, she has passion, heart, and drive. It’s a shame you're too blind to see that.”

Your mom shrank back in her seat, looking as small as you felt. “I didn’t mean-”

“And as far as funding, I’ll be helping her with that since I don't expect either of you to lend her a thing. She has her own money, too. You just didn't know it,” he explained, bitterly laughing again at their shocked expressions. “Jesus Christ. You’re her parents. You should be proud of her. She’s loved by everyone she meets and she has thrived without your support.” He let that hang in the air before he continued. “She has more character in her finger than you two have in your entire body and I will back her up on anything and everything she needs because I believe in her.”

You placed a hand on Bucky’s thigh to ground him, your eyes welling with tears again. You were torn between not wanting him to cause a scene and for him to keep speaking because it just felt nice to hear. It felt pathetic and empowering, a strange combination. 

“I just wanted you to support and love me,” you whispered, your chest aching at finally saying the words. “Why didn't you?”

Why did it hurt so much that you didn't have the love you needed?

Your dad leaned back like you slapped him while your mom didn't move. “We did and do love you,” he swore, looking to his wife for help when Bucky scoffed in disbelief. “Tell her.”

He shouldn't have to tell her that.

“We just wanted you to have direction,” your mom said, flinching when Bucky leaned forward with one elbow on the table. She couldn't even say she loved you. 

“She has always had direction. You just never bothered to look where she was going,” he said, his voice soft and dangerous. “Though I guess your lack of support helped build her into the woman I love, so I almost wonder if I should thank you for not being who she needed.”

“I’m not going to sit here and let you continue to insult us,” your dad said since your mom was rendered speechless for once. 

You almost warned your dad that Bucky wasn't the kind of man to mouth off to, but didn't. 

“You know, I think I know now why you wanted to become a florist,” Bucky said as if he didn’t hear him. “You’re surrounded by warmth and brightness and you get to watch things bloom and grow and thrive because you never had that.”

You blinked away your tears. Bucky saw what they didn’t. You didn’t have to point it out.

“We do love our daughter, even if we didn't show it in the best way,” your dad argued, trying to take your hand across the table, but Bucky pulled you back. It was another brick added to the wall to keep people he didn’t want near you out.

“You didn’t love her enough and you never will.” He took his wallet out and threw some money on the table, more than enough to cover the meals that hadn’t yet arrived at the table. “Thank God I love her enough for all of us and I always will.”

Your mom sniffled. You hardly ever saw her cry. “I…” She trailed off when your boyfriend tossed more money on the table. 

“That should cover the rest of your time here in the city. Take it. Or don’t. But I’m not going to sit here and play nice with people who make my future wife feel low about herself.” He pushed himself up and let your parents see just how large and imposing he was. “Just leave her alone the way you always have.”

They were good at leaving you alone. 

“Please,” your dad begged, making you pause. “We’re sorry.”

“Empty apologies mean nothing,” Bucky said, his eyes narrowed. “Oh, and as it stands, I don’t want you at our wedding, but maybe your loving daughter will change my mind.”

“Wedding?!” your mom exclaimed. 

“Yes, she’s going to be my wife and have a wonderful lifetime with me.” He smiled when you didn't disagree. “Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

Bucky helped you up from the table and led you away, not even letting you look back when you heard your mom choke on a sob. They didn’t chase after you. They never would.

Your steps felt heavy. Your head spun. It was a relief that they knew how you felt in some capacity, but you didn't feel much better. Why not?

“They’re the past and I’m your present and future,” your boyfriend whispered, slipping an arm around you when you bit your lip. “I’m the family you need.”

“Thank you for sticking up for me,” you said, making him preen. 

“I’ll always defend and stick up for you,” he promised, his grip possessive. “And I'm proud of you.”

What was there to be proud of? No, you wouldn't think like that. You were a good person, and a survivor. Your parents and their lack of support and care wouldn't take that from you.

“But I didn’t even get to tell them what happened.” What if they had wanted to help? They weren’t loving, but you were still their daughter and your mom had looked worried for a second.

“You don’t need them. Not when you have me,” he said, leaving no room to argue when he nodded to Ray and Curtis who hovered nearby. “And I won't let them hurt you ever again.”

You should’ve known lunch with your parents meant Bucky would close the door. You would have no choice but to move forward. And you didn't know what that meant except that you were now one step closer to being entirely his. 

This chapter took a lot out of me! As a mom who wants to show nothing but love and support to my babies (and protect them), I want to wrap Kotyonok in a huge hug. Where do we think they'll go from here? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[fayevalentiinee]

— ACT I: Lights, Camera, Fake it.

Summary. After saving Gojo Satoru’s life, you’re suddenly caught in the spotlight when his team offers you a contract to fake a relationship with him to repair his scandal hit image. Reluctantly agreeing for your own reasons, you face the intense glare of the public and the challenge of pretending affection with a man who’s a master at the performance — even if he claims he isn’t.

— pairing. celebrity Gojo Satoru x f!reader

— info. to join the taglist comment under this post

series mlist. — art by _3aem on twt — wc: 3k — not proofread

you didn’t save gojo satoru’s life out of affection.

you saved it because it was your job as a set assistant and if a 200 pound lighting rig crushed the talent while you were nearby, in charge of adjusting the lighting rigs, the whole shoot would’ve been scrapped — and the blame would’ve landed squarely on your shoulders.

but that didn’t stop the internet from eating it up.

the clip of you tackling the most recognizable face in asia — gojo satoru, six foot something with a jawline that looks like it's been sculpted by gods and a personality better suited for comedy than serious acting — circulated like wildfire. the way he looked at you afterward, dazed and blinking, his white hair in disarray, hands still raised in surrender — it was instant meme fuel. edits. fancams. fanfiction.

and now, apparently, it was also a pr strategy for his team after his recent scandal; just a week ago, gojo satoru’s name exploded across headlines after paparazzi caught him leaving a luxury hotel at 3am with a crying socialite wrapped around him — her engagement ring missing, her mascara streaked, his shirt nowhere in sight.

the video showed just enough to suggest scandal, and the silence that followed only made it worse. rumors took over — cheating, manipulation, something darker — but no one knows the full story. he didn’t deny it. didn’t explain. just smiled through the noise like he didn’t care. sponsors pulled out. projects stalled. his agency scrambled.

a few anonymous “sources” claimed he “crossed a line emotionally” and that she was “taken advantage of” while in a vulnerable state.

#gojoisover trended for three days.

“i’m sorry, what?” you ask flatly.

you’re seated now, across from the man himself in a too bright, glass walled office, staring at a contract that might as well be written in blood.

across the table, gojo satoru looks exactly like he does on billboards and glossy covers — except here, he’s slouched like a delinquent in a chair that costs more than your rent. one leg draped over the other, sunglasses dangling from his fingers, hair tousled like it’s been styled to look effortless. it pisses you off that it works.

“i’m not doing that,” you add, in disbelief.

gojo doesn’t even glance your way.

he stretches lazily, jaw tilting with a slow exhale, voice thick and unhurried when he finally speaks.

“it’s six months,” he murmurs, smooth as silk. “a handful of appearances. handholding. posing.”

his agent cuts in. “just enough to convince the public he’s capable of something stable. affectionate. low drama.”

gojo lets out a lazy, humorless chuckle. “in other words... boring.”

you turn to him. “then don’t do it.”

he finally looks at you. his gaze is heavy lidded, cool, like the room barely interests him.

“you ever try saying no to a table full of men in suits who know what you’re worth per second?” he says, slow and low. “it’s like screaming underwater.”

his agent interjects again. “you went viral. you’re not famous. you have no online presence and no digital footprints. the public likes you.”

you lift a brow. “i didn’t sign up to be likable.”

gojo’s head tilts slightly. he watches you now, really watches — like you’ve said something that woke him up a little, piqued his interest — maybe.

his smile slips at the corners.

“you wouldn’t have to do much,” his agent continues. “a few interviews. red carpet appearances. affectionate photos. you’re allowed to keep your private life private. this is all surface level.”

“surface level,” you repeat. “that’s supposed to be comforting for me?”

gojo exhales through his nose, head leaning back against the chair. “don’t take it personally. none of this is personal. it’s just pr strategy.”

“you don’t like this either,” you say, more of a statement than a question.

he shrugs, voice dropping quieter, lower, then he closes his eyes, probably tired from all the shootings. “i don’t fake things well.”

“aren’t you an actor?”

he opens one eye, a smirk appears at the corner of his mouth. “bingo.”

the paper in front of you doesn’t budge. it just waits — silent, oppressive, too full of zeroes for you to ignore.

your eyes drift back to the number. it's not money. it’s freedom.

your father’s treatment. your brother’s tuition. your own life — something bigger than scraping by in the shadows of other people’s fame, tossing you money not sufficient for a week. you should probably walk away, you should say no, that they can't bribe you with money.

but instead, you reach for the pen.

“you don’t get to touch me unless there’s a camera on us,” you mutter, flicking your signature across the page.

gojo’s smile returns — slow, lazy. he leans back like a man with all the time in the world, voice smooth as honey when it leaves his lips.

“mmh,” he hums, the sound low and easy. “sure.”

his voice dips a little lower, that amused lilt creeping back in. “but let’s not pretend you’ll stay that strict for long.” he winks.

you pause. your gaze shoots to him.

he’s already turning away like the conversation’s over — but then he adds, with a smirk ghosting across his mouth once more:

“i also really hope you like flash.”

you grimace.

every part of you wants to snap something back — but you’ve already shoved the pen across the table and are halfway out of your chair. your hands are stiff, your jaw tighter than it should be, your steps too fast.

if you don’t leave now, you might say something you’ll regret.

and just like that—

the contract is signed.

the cameras haven’t even started rolling, but something tells you the real performance just began.

the elevator doors slide shut with a hiss, sealing off the glass bright office out of sight and everything you just agreed to inside.

your hand is still shaking. not visibly. not enough for anyone to notice. but you feel it — in the way your fingers press too tightly around your phone, the way your thumb misses the unlock button twice before it finally unlocks.

you weren’t even going to check your messages. but you do as an instinct. and there he is. you stare at the screen.

Your boyfriend, who kissed your forehead before you left this morning after staying over, who told you not to let this industry swallow you whole — how could you forget?

you’re supposed to tell him about the meeting — but instead, you let it blur at the edges, ashamed of how much you’re hoping it slips your mind completely.

your stomach flips. hard. when you scroll down and see a whole new set of messages from him, checking in every hour like a worried mother.

you chew the inside of your cheek and tap open the message thread. Then close it. Then open it again.

should you even tell him?

the truth is ugly, even in your own head — outrageous, really: you just signed a contract to publicly date the most recognizable man in the country.

were you supposed to text him something like, hey, don’t take this the wrong way, but i’m probably a gold digger bribed by hush money for my financially unstable family — and in exchange, i’m gonna fake date another guy to help clean up his scandal and get a paycheck out of it?

would he even believe that bullshit? he’d probably laugh. it sounded like something ripped straight out of a bad rom-com.

for six months. on red carpets. on camera. in staged, “intimate” moments designed to look real.

you press the edge of your phone to your forehead and exhale like it might clear something out.

your boyfriend isn’t famous. he’s not even online. hell, he hates the whole industry you work in for the things they've done to you.

you could explain it. spin it. beg forgiveness and swear you didn’t want it — because you didn’t, but that won’t stop it from hurting him.

and besides — it’s not real. it doesn’t mean anything:

gojo satoru barely looked at you in that room. he slouched, smirked, spoke like he was only half listening. he probably won’t even remember your name after six months, and if he does, it’ll be for convenience.

he won’t ask. he won’t dig. you tap out a reply. then delete it. then start again.

you didn’t say a thing about the contract.

“sorry, got caught up in a meeting. i’ll call you tonight.”

a white lie. small. harmless. you hit send.

but the guilt lingers, low and sharp behind your ribs — even if it’s fake, even if it’s for your family…

you’re not sure what hell looks like, but you’re pretty sure it smells like too much perfume and tastes like red lipstick cracking in the corners of your mouth.

a few days ago, you received your first official duty as gojo satoru’s “girlfriend”: attending a fashion event together.

you couldn’t even remember the name — too long, too extravagant, too complicated for someone of your caliber.

or so you thought, staring at your own reflection in the mirror.

people are now fussing around you like you’re a bride on a reality tv show. someone pins a mic near the side of your chest, a bit too close to skin. what did you even need it for?

another tugs the hem of your dress into place. a makeup artist taps at your cheekbone with a beauty blender and gently angles your chin up.

“keep your eyes on him,” she says. “and smile like you’ve known him forever.”

you nod. but your stomach turns. you haven’t even seen him yet.

the hotel lobby where you’re waiting is luxurious, echoing with distant voices, but none of it registers. your thoughts are pounding too loud. you’re not supposed to be here. you’re a set assistant. a background figure. you’re not supposed to be in heels, wearing a dress someone else picked for you, about to step into a scene you didn’t audition for.

outside the hotel glass doors, the crowd roars. the screams of fans and paparazzi rise and fall in waves. camera flashes explode like fireworks. they’re already chanting his name. the pr team probably leaked the address on purpose for your debut — you picked up on that much.

this isn’t a red carpet. this is war for you and of course — your reveal.

the set assistant who went viral for saving gojo satoru. now, playing the role of his girlfriend.

fake, of course. but that detail is yours alone.

he arrives just as you’re exhaling your fifth breath. you hear him before you see him. a smooth voice, a familiar drawl.

“hey, sweetheart,” he says. “ready to pretend we’re in love?” you look up. and there he is.

he looked like he stepped out of a runaway. no, who are you kidding? — he is a model, too.

he’s wearing the dries van noten suit from last month’s paris runway. black silk lapels, tailored waist, open collar. a glint of chain at his throat. he’s undone but sharp, rumpled in that intentional way that costs thousands.

his sunglasses are perched in his snow white hair, tousled and slightly pushed back. his skin glows like it’s been professionally lit. and he’s smiling that same slow, easy smile that the internet eats alive with edits.

he’s obnoxiously beautiful. and the worst part is he knows it. you know it.

he extends a hand. you hesitate — then, slowly, you take it, only then do you notice: you're both matching, each wearing the same colours.

his grip is warm. confident. yours is stiff.

he tucks your hand into the crook of his arm as if you belong there, and just like that, the two of you are walking.

the lobby is suddenly smaller. you can feel every pair of eyes on you as you and gojo satoru approach the front entrance of the hotel. he walks like he owns the marble floors, like the flickering chandeliers are bowing toward him.

outside the revolving doors, the storm is already swelling.

and then — you step out together.

the noise hits like a wall.

flashes. shouting. the low buzz of security trying to hold people back. fans pressed up against barricades. phones in the air, capturing every second.

he lifts a hand, waving like a politician. "showtime," he mutters to you, lips near your ear. his touch doesn’t linger, but it travels. it burns. not in a good way.

in a don’t-make-this-harder-than-it already-is kind of way. the car door opens. a long, black vehicle, glossy like lacquered ink.

he lets you slide in first. you do, silently.

once inside, you sit stiffly, tucking your legs to the side as best you can in your dress. the fabric feels too tight, too short. the makeup on your face too heavy. your skin prickles with awareness.

he follows, slipping in beside you with the same ease he uses to slip through cameras and conversations. his knee bumps yours as he manspreads. you pull back instinctively.

he doesn’t seem to notice. or maybe he does. and he just doesn’t care.

he lounges beside you like it’s any other night. one hand on his thigh, the other adjusting his watch with that same idle grace that makes people fall in love with him from behind a screen.

but you’re not in love. you’re not even interested. what you are is overwhelmed — anxious, guilty for lying to your boyfriend, full of regret — but determined to make your family’s life better.

the car pulls forward. the driver says nothing. the partition rises. and suddenly, it’s quiet. insulated.

and that’s worse.

because now there’s nothing to drown out your thoughts with.

“we’ll step out together,” he says after a moment, eyes still on the passing lights outside. “walk like it’s second nature. hold my hand if you want. or don’t. just don’t trip.”

“thanks for the encouragement,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, sarcastic. his mouth twitches.

he turns his head slightly to look at you. his gaze lingers. not affectionate. not curious. just assessing.

“if it helps,” he murmurs, “you look like you belong here.”

you don’t respond. your heart is already galloping ahead of you, preparing for the next performance, the big one, this time.

the car slows down.

he steps out first. the flashbulbs go off instantly, blinding bursts that eat the night. he poses with the natural ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times. fingers splayed in a careless wave. smile lopsided. chin tilted just right.

the crowd screams. and then he turns, offering his hand to you. you take it.

the moment your heels hit the pavement, the noise doubles.

lights erupt all around you. cameras click in rapid succession. someone yells your name. another screams his.

the sidewalk feels unsteady beneath your feet — no, the world feels unsteady.

a thousand flashes strobe across your vision. people are screaming. pushing forward behind barricades. reporters lurch in with microphones like weapons.

you blink against the lights, smile faltering. your chest feels too tight.

and then — his hand finds yours again. a light squeeze. not forceful. not showy. just there.

“deep breath,” gojo murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. you try. but your inhale is shallow. it catches in your throat.

voices rise, slicing through the static:

“aren’t you the set assistant who went viral for saving gojo satoru from a light rig?”

“what’s your name? are you dating?”

“hey, gojo! what happened to that woman from two weeks ago?”

“did you cheat on her?”

the words crash over you like waves. sharp. relentless.

you flinch. fingers twitch. your free hand lifts like it might shield your face, you're not used to this, you overestimated yourself, you can't do this, you're not meant to be here — but gojo moves quicker.

he turns toward you just slightly, still smiling for the cameras. his hand slides from yours and guides it, smooth and easy, to rest over his chest.

your palm lands flat against silk and warmth. his hand covers yours — solid, grounding. he leans in, voice barely audible beneath the noise.

“they’re always like this,” he murmurs. “you’re doing fine.”

you don’t respond, you’re not sure you can as you desperately try to breathe in some fresh air, under the gaze of the blinding lights.

they're too bright. the crowd is too loud. the questions are piling on, pressing in like heat, making you overstimulated. gojo adjusts your position to pose like he's done this a million times. for someone who didn't want this, he for sure played the part just fine.

his hand grazes your hip, subtle. his fingers brush a piece of hair behind your ear. his body angles yours toward the cameras just right.

he’s managing the scene. managing you.

you focus on the rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand. because everything else is moving too fast.

his laugh cuts through the chaos — practiced, charming — as he leans in, whispering something you don’t catch.

you nod with a smile anyway. because that’s what you’re supposed to do.

another voice barks calling out for you to answer. another microphone is shoved in your direction.

gojo’s hand presses a little firmer over yours. his body shifts even closer, acting as a soft barrier between you and the crowd. you hated him, hated this whole industry from the start, but in this moment, his grip is the only thing keeping you from unravelling and running away.

so you stand there. pretending, faking. letting the noise wash over you like a cold shower in the winter.

then, in the silence beneath the shouting — the part no one else sees, the part you won’t say out loud — you realize something.

a few days ago, he told you he doesn’t fake things well. not good at pretending, he said. you were utterly fooled. he is an actor after all of course he'd handle this well.

what a liar.

and as the cameras keep flashing, his hand stays steady on yours, you wonder—

how could someone this composed, this untouchable, who handled everything amazingly so far be the center of so many scandals this past year? leaving that kind of chaos behind him like smoke trails.

you don’t know. and maybe you won’t ever get to have an answer.

but right now, under all the makeup and perfume and eyes that don’t blink—

you’ve never felt more unlike yourself.

taglist: @earth-to-mee @cherryflavoredconversationsposts @tushkiiiiiii @sanestsanstan @saanday @fawnfaer @miiikooooooo @ilovebeansyay @nanamisbbygirl @sato-suguoi @chocalycake

a/n: put act instead of chapter since they're acting ykykykyk its wayyy more fitting

[scary-grace]

The Yawning Grave - a Shigaraki x F!reader fic

Tomura and his friends might look like a team of paranormal investigators, but they're actually professional hoaxers -- every episode of their hit show has been faked. The episode they're filming in an abandoned town in a temperate rainforest is no different. At least at first. Rated T trending M in later chapters, found footage horror tropes, filmmaker!Tomura. Title/chapter headings based on The Yawning Grave by Lord Huron.

omens and signs

Tomura wakes up slowly, but he’d rather not be awake at all – and what he hears when the grogginess starts to fade doesn’t do much to change that impression. “I’m not pulling over again, Dabi. Take your Dramamine.”

“How am I supposed to take my Dramamine if I can’t stop hurling long enough for it to work?”

“Maybe we should pull over long enough for Dabi to take his Dramamine and then digest it,” Twice suggests. “No, that’s a bad idea. Let’s make him throw up until he’s empty and we don’t have to stop again.”

“How about we don’t do any of that,” Toga says. Her voice sounds sweet, but Tomura knows just as well as anybody what she sounds like when she’s about to cut a bitch, and it’s a little too close for comfort. “Dabi, keep your mouth closed. Spinner, don’t floor it around the curves. Jin, don’t laugh. Tomura, don’t –”

Tomura pretends he’s asleep. Toga reaches into the backseat and punches him in the arm, at which point he sits upright in a hurry. “What?”

“Tell Spinner to drive slower,” she says, smiling at him, “and tell Dabi to stop talking.”

“Stop talking,” Tomura says to Dabi. Dabi gives him both middle fingers, way, way up. “Spinner has to drive fast. We need to be there and setting up camp by nightfall.”

“Yeah. Otherwise our nighttime shaky-cam breakdowns won’t be anywhere near as scary.”

“Right.” Tomura doesn’t need to be awake for this. He can film a found-footage documentary hoax in his sleep.

Tomura used to be into debunking this stuff. Then he realized that he could make a hell of a lot more money faking it, and have a lot more fun in the bargain. Now, instead of trying to prove that reality really is as boring as it looks, Tomura and his friends have turned their professional skeptic side-hustle into a full-time business faking the stuff they used to debunk. And because Tomura’s still a skeptic at heart, he knows how to skeptic-proof his hoaxes.

First step: Pick a spot that’s no more than locally famous. Find some local legends – there are always at least a few. Case the joint, figure out what type of haunting or infestation would be the most believable, and then make it look and sound as real as possible. Sometimes that means wholesale making shit up, which is fine. Tomura and his crew have gotten called out plenty of times, but they’ve never been caught before.

“I don’t know, guys,” Twice says as Spinner takes another curve at slightly less than warp speed. “I feel weird about this one. That guy at the gas station acted like we were nuts.”

“Gas station guys always act like that.”

“Not exactly like that.” Dabi sounds like he’s speaking through clenched teeth. “He said it was a paper town. Named after that book. But I looked it up before Spinner started auditioning for fucking Formula One, and it’s been on the map since before the book was published.”

The book – ’Salem’s Lot, by Stephen King. Tomura read it, liked it, and then, when he was scanning maps looking for a place to plan the next hoax, he spotted it. A rain-drenched dot on the map, in America’s Pacific Northwest, labeled Jerusalem’s Lot. Same as the town in the book that gets overrun by vampires. “So he named the book after this place,” Tomura says, and Dabi twists around to glare at him. “Come on. Don’t tell me you’re getting spooked.”

“Twice is right. There was something weird about that guy,” Dabi says. “We spooked him, not the other way around. There’s something going on here that –”

Spinner zips around another bend in the road, and Dabi scrambles to roll the window down. “He does have a point,” Toga says, like there’s not rain and wind whipping through the car and Dabi gagging like a cat with a hairball. “There aren’t legends about this place or anything. We’ve gotten the dumb-college-kid treatment a million times –”

“Which is dumb,” Spinner puts in. “We’re not in college.”

Toga ignores him, too. “But that guy looked surprised at first. Then he looked nervous. And he said something weird.”

“Play it back,” Tomura instructs. Toga digs out the camera.

Gas station guy looks like every other gas station guy they’ve encountered, but as Toga plays it back, Tomura watches the same emotions she named cross his face. Surprise, then nerves. “Salem’s Lot is a paper town.” There’s a pause. “Ain’t nothing living up there that’s human.”

“Nice work getting that line out of him,” Tomura tells Toga, who was doing the interview. “It’ll be great for the promos.”

“Nothing living up there that’s human. He could just mean animals,” Twice pipes up. “The more rural it is, the weirder everybody talks. Remember those old guys with the accents?”

Even the films Tomura’s made in rural Japan has featured old guys with accents. They’re practically a genre staple. “It’s true. People use different syntax in rural areas than in the city,” Spinner says. “Still, though. It’s –”

Dabi pulls his head back in through the window and rolls it up. “It’s easy to hear that line as meaning that there’s something inhuman in ’Salem’s Lot.”

“Which is why it’s perfect,” Tomura says. “Don’t crack up on me. Any of you. If something had happened here, there’d be legends about it. Local myths. Something other than an old guy at a gas station talking about paper towns.”

“There’s one reason why there wouldn’t be legends,” Spinner says from the front seat. “If nobody made it out alive.”

Tomura doesn’t expect that kind of shit out of his crew, and for a split second, he wonders if there’s anything to what they’re saying. Then he spots the blinking red light of one of their pocket cameras, and a mic settled down in the hood of Toga’s jacket, and swears. “You all think you’re fucking hilarious, don’t you?”

“You should have seen your face,” Twice wheezes. “We got you so good –”

“How much of it did you just make up?” Tomura snaps. “Did you bribe that old guy while I was taking a leak?”

“No, he just said it,” Toga says. “All the stuff we said is true. And if it spooked you for a second, Tomura-kun, it’s definitely going to spook the audience.”

She’s right. Still, Tomura doesn’t like ending up on the wrong end of a hoax, and he’s pretty sure he knows whose idea this was. “Did you fake being carsick, too?”

“Did I fool you?” Dabi asks – and then Spinner whips around a corner too fast, and Dabi lunges for the window again. The carsickness is for real. Tomura wonders if he can convince Spinner to drive even faster.

They make it to Jerusalem’s Lot just past four o’clock, which leaves them enough daylight to poke around, record some B-roll, and get a few exterior shots in. The guy at the gas station was bullshitting them – there’s clearly a town up here. Houses, a main street, buildings, streetlights, all of it well on its way to being swallowed up by the rainforest. “How fast do you think stuff like this grows in?”

“These are all native plants,” Spinner says from where he’s crouched down, examining a nest of ferns. “This is their optimal environment. So if nobody was cutting them back, this could happen in – a few years, maybe. Most of these buildings are wood. If we came back fifteen years from now, there’d probably be nothing left.

Which means it can’t have been abandoned for very long – well within living memory. Tomura rolls his shoulders, limbering up. “Let’s find an establishing shot and get this done.”

Tomura calls the big shots, but everybody else fills in with smaller ones they think they might need in the editing process. Tomura puts up with two or three extra shots from everybody before they refocus. He should have written a script. What’s going to come out of his mouth is probably going to be pretty stupid.

“I’m Shigaraki Tomura. We’re the League of Villains. Today we’re investigating Jerusalem’s Lot, an American small town – which, according to the locals, doesn’t exist.”

They asked one local. They’ll go back with the camera on the way out and bother some people until they pick up enough footage to make it look like they’re trying to hide something instead of just trying to get away. This is where they’ll splice in Gas Station Guy with his creepy comment. “As you can see behind me, Jerusalem’s Lot is very real – or it was. Join us as we try to figure out what happened here, and if there’s anything alive in Jerusalem’s Lot after all.”

“Nice, boss,” Twice remarks. It’s a good thing it’s cold out. Tomura gets sweaty when he’s on camera, and he needs to air his armpits out. “The mic might have gotten fuzzy because of the wind, but we can dub over it in post, easy.”

“I like the lighting out here,” Toga says. “There are some holes in the canopy where sun will get through. If it’s ever sunny.”

“It’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow,” Spinner says, shivering. “It better be. I’ll freeze to death.”

Dabi rolls his eyes. “Sure you will.”

“I will. And then you guys will probably use my body to jazz up a shot, because you all suck –”

Tomura tunes them out and goes picking his way up what was probably the main street of ’Salem’s Lot. He’s visited a lot of small towns, even more ghost towns, but there’s something different about this place. Maybe it’s all the greenery. Ghost towns in other places fall to dust. It’s not usual to see one that’s actively being eaten alive – or dead – by the woods. People lived here. People either got up and left or they died here. The former, almost always. Tomura identifies a couple houses that look semi-structurally sound as potential filming spots for tomorrow, then makes his way back to the others.

Coming to Jerusalem’s Lot was the right choice, and as they set up camp and build a fire, the League’s mood is good. Unusually good, given the conditions they’re camping out in. “I think this one is going to be awesome,” Toga says, the firelight glinting off her teeth. “This place would be spooky even without the buildings. All the moss and lichen – and the fog –”

“We could do a haunting for this place,” Spinner suggests. “Ghosts and stuff. We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Yeah, the last time was that mansion in New Hampshire,” Twice says. Then he frowns. “We didn’t have to fake that one.”

No, they didn’t. They all saw things in that house, enough for them to scrap the episode and not come back. Tomura has a strict hoaxes-only rule these days. “Ghosts are easy to do in post-production, but for a town this size, we’d need to fake multiple ghosts,” Dabi says. “And if we have that many ghosts, we have to explain where they came from.”

“Maybe an epidemic?” Toga suggests. “We haven’t done disease in a while, either.”

“That would be tough to pull off, unless we invented something,” Tomura says. “They don’t have the Ebola virus up here.”

Nobody likes it when Tomura mentions the Ebola virus. He sees their expressions and decides to pay them back a bit for their bullshit earlier. “There’s always plague, though. Pneumonic and septicemic plague could both kill fast enough that they wouldn’t have had time to get help.”

“Then we should keep an eye out for skeletons tomorrow,” Spinner says. “And somebody’s gonna need to hold Twice’s hand so he doesn’t freak out and drop the camera. Again.”

“That was one time!”

“We can’t fake skeletons,” Dabi says. “We can fake creatures.”

Tomura rolls his eyes. “You know how hard it is to fake creatures. What would we even fake around here?”

“Vampires,” Twice offers. “Like that book.”

“That would be really hard to fake,” Toga remarks. “Isn’t there some kind of cryptid that’s native to this place? Something tall and furry?”

“Yeah, it’s like a –” Tomura thinks back on his notes. “Sasquatch. Or a Bigfoot.”

“We can’t use that,” Spinner says at once. “It sounds too goofy.”

“Yeah, the airport kiosks were selling it on t-shirts,” Twice agrees. “No vampires. No big furry guys. So that leaves – uh –”

“We could try crawlers,” Toga suggests, and Dabi starts to argue. “I know we’ve used them before, but – why can’t there be different subspecies? Crawlers in a temperate rainforest wouldn’t look anything like crawlers in the Andes mountains.”

It’s quiet for a second. “If you guys are going to make me wear the crawler suit again, I want overtime,” Spinner mutters, and Dabi grins across the campfire. “So what are we doing tomorrow, then – film documentary stuff in the morning, crawler stuff in the afternoon?”

“Works for me.” Tomura yawns. “I’m tired. Don’t forget to put the fire out.”

Inside his tent, Tomura sets up his personal camera to record. He’s not sure if everyone else does, too, but they’re supposed to – to pick up any weird things that happen during the night, any inexplicable sounds or shadows, whether they wake up to it or not. Usually it just catches him tossing and turning, and he deletes the footage in postproduction. Tomura unzips his sleeping bag, shuts off his camping lantern, and closes his eyes. This shoot is going to go well. There’s enough here for a solid hoax. Aside from Spinner in a crawler suit, they’re not going to have to make anything up.

Tomura sleeps solidly, straight through the night. He wakes up without an alarm, better rested than usual, and fumbles for his phone, which he’s pretty sure he left on the pillow next to him. The phone’s not there, but something else is, something small and cold and metal. When Tomura blinks sleep out of his eyes, lifts it to inspect it, he finds that it’s a heart-shaped locket, clinging to life on a frail chain.

Tomura’s friends are going to be on their bullshit for this entire shoot, it looks like. Still, the locket’s a nice touch, and if they fuck with the shot of Toga planting it on Tomura’s pillow, they can make it look like it appeared out of nowhere. Even if they’ve decided on crawlers, it won’t hurt to wave a red herring about ghosts.

But when he shows it to Toga, he gets a blank look and nothing else. “I didn’t put that there. I’ve never seen it before.”

Tomura’s about to tell her to cut the bullshit when he realizes that Dabi’s camera is on. No way is Toga dropping the story while she’s being filmed, and Tomura might as well play along. “Take a look at it. Maybe it’ll give us a clue about what happened here.”

“Hmm.” Toga lifts the locket out of Tomura’s hand and starts inspecting it between sips of coffee. “14-karat gold – not bad, but not over-the-top expensive. It’s on a box chain, which is interesting. They’re not as common as other varieties of chain, but they’re sturdy. See how tightly they’re interlocked? Something like this wouldn’t break easily. And the clasp’s still intact. The person who owned this took it off on purpose.”

She glances up at Tomura, eyes exaggeratedly wide. “What’s inside it?”

By this point, they’ve drawn Spinner and Twice over. They and Tomura hover over Toga’s shoulders as she pries the locket open. “There are photos,” she starts, and then her shoulders slump, her voice going small. “This was a kid’s. A little girl’s.”

Toga’s the best actor on the team. The rest of them need to take lessons. “How do you know?”

“On this side –” Toga holds it up, and Spinner digs up his phone to zoom in. “There’s a picture of two people. Based on their age, I’m guessing they’re her parents. And on the other side – that’s her dog.”

“Right. An adult would have photos of their spouse,” Dabi says from across the fire. “Or their kids. Parents and dog says kid. How do you know it’s a girl?”

“How many boys do you know who’d wear a heart-shaped locket?”

Dabi starts ribbing Toga for being sexist, and she argues back that he wouldn’t wear a locket if she paid him, and under cover of an argument that’s only half-staged, Tomura inspects the locket a little closer. It’s definitely a dog on one side of the locket, some goofy mutt-thing with bright eyes and floppy ears, and looking at it pulls Tomura’s vocal cords tight. He’d maybe have worn a locket as a kid, if his sister or somebody else had given him one. And he’d definitely have put a photo of his dog in it.

But Tomura’s got a couple screws loose. His family made that crystal clear. He snaps the locket shut, then cuts off Toga and Dabi’s stupid argument. “Hey. How old do you think this is?”

“Um –” Toga studies it. “Not an antique. More than ten years, less than thirty.”

“That’s within the time frame,” Spinner says. “How did it end up on your pillow?”

Tomura’s getting tired of this bit. He waits a second or three, then calls cut. “We have a lot to do today. Let’s get going.”

They have an evidence bin for stuff that shows up on shoots, but since the locket’s a joke his friends are playing, Tomura doesn’t feel bad about pocketing it. They left it for him, anyway. Tomura wonders what’s gotten into his friends. They’re a lot more into this shoot than they’ve been on other ones, but maybe that’s a good thing. If there’s one thing Tomura’s work has taught him, it’s that every good hoax needs a small piece of truth at the center of it. The expression Dabi’s camera probably caught on his face when he opened the locket is a good start.

taglist: @shigarakislaughter @lvtuss @deadhands69 @xeveryxstarfallx @cheeseonatower @agente707 @warxhammer @handumb @atspiss @f3r4lfr0gg3r @shikiblessed @evilcookie5 @dance-with-me-in-hell @babybehh @boogiemansbitch @baking-ghoul @minniessskii @issaortiz @aslutforfictionalmen @lacrimae-lotos @stardustdreamersisi @koohiii

[spoonfulofmilo]

Could you do fic for Peter 'Bono' Bonnington with wife reader? (No age gap) He sees her talking to another guy and he gets really jealous, but instead of him being all angry. He becomes more insecure and sad and she assures and shows him how much she loves him. Just a little angst and fluff ending. Thanks!! :))

of course!

my masterlist can be accessed here

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

peter 'bono' bonnington x wife!fem!reader

Bono smiled politely at the other engineers as he slipped off his headset and closed his laptop, already plotting how he might steal an extra five minutes with his lunch… and more importantly, with his wife. He gave a few nods, exchanging quiet jokes as he weaved through the controlled chaos of the paddock toward hospitality. It was a small ritual now, meeting her in their usual booth, tucked away from the bustle. She’d ducked out ten minutes before the end of the session, like always, to claim it. So when he stepped into the hospitality suite and found the booth empty, his brow furrowed. He scanned the table, thinking maybe she’d marked it with a bag or a scarf, run to the restroom. But no, nothing.

He slid into the booth anyway, setting his phone down as he scanned the room casually.

That’s when he saw her.

And him.

The new mechanic was sitting across from her, a little too close, too comfortable, all youthful charm and wide-eyed awe. Y/N was leaning in, engaged, smiling, more than she had when Bono had tried to explain ERS deployment strategies last week, anyway.

Something twisted in his chest.

Some ridiculous, unspoken part of him wanted to march over there and stake a claim, drape an arm around her shoulders, maybe kiss her cheek, just enough to remind the kid exactly where she belonged. But Y/N wasn’t a trophy to display, and he wasn't the kind of man who treated her like one. Still…

Instead, he chose a table nearby. Close enough to hear if he leaned slightly, far enough not to draw attention. He told himself it wasn’t jealousy, it was just curiosity. But the tension in his jaw said otherwise.

From his seat, he could see she'd ordered her favourite lunch: miso-glazed chicken breast with steamed jasmine rice and roasted baby carrots. She’d also had a caprese salad, the plate still dotted with remnants of tomatoes, mozzarella, and a swirl of balsamic.

The mechanic? Tuna tartare with avocado, sesame seeds and soy sauce. Same main course as hers, maybe just following her lead. He wasn’t even eating, really. Just watching her with the kind of fascination that made Bono’s stomach knot.

He looked down at the glass of water in front of him and picked it up with trembling fingers, sipping just to have something to do. His wedding ring glinted in the light as he twisted it absently.

He checked his email. Again. And again. Almost begging for someone, anyone, to give him a reason to leave the room. Or for her to look at him. Anything.

Then he heard it: her laugh. Loud, full, unguarded.

She was laughing at something the kid said.

He slumped further in his chair, unable to stop himself from watching. She looked so happy. Happier than she’d been during their hurried dinners after long race days. Happier than she’d looked in weeks.

The doubts crept in slowly. Maybe he wasn’t exciting anymore. Maybe she wanted someone younger, funnier. Someone who wasn’t always buried in spreadsheets and strategy calls.

He was so deep in his own head that he barely noticed her walking over until she was standing right in front of him.

“Bono,” she said, exasperated. “For crying out loud, your lunch was literally sitting next to me.”

He blinked, speechless.

She gestured back to the booth. “I saw they were about to run out of the chicken breast, so I grabbed it for you. And your tartare, obviously.”

He stared at her, the weight in his chest not lifting just yet.

“And him?” he asked, his voice soft.

She rolled her eyes. “Babe, seriously? He asked me about the salad bar and then we started talking about travel. That’s all.”

He still didn’t look convinced.

She crouched beside his chair, resting her chin on his knee, voice softening. “Bono, hey… look at me.”

He did, finally. She smiled.

“He’s not my type in any universe. I like my nerdy, sexy, brilliant husband, who occasionally wears questionable socks but could probably rewire a power unit in his sleep.”

He laughed, a broken, grateful sound.

“You really think I’d trade all this,” she added, giving his knee a playful squeeze, “for some bubble-butted baby mechanic?”

She reached for his hand, kissed the wedding band. “This ring? This means forever. I’m yours. You’re mine. No rookie is changing that.”

His eyes misted. “I’m sorry. I just… I saw you laughing and…”

“And I laugh with you more than anyone else,” she whispered. “You just don’t notice because it feels normal. Comfortable. But it’s love, Bono. You. Me. No pit stops.”

Later that day, when Lewis crossed the finish line in first place, his final race for Mercedes, Bono’s voice cracked over the radio. Years of pressure, pride, and emotion poured out.

He joined Toto and Lewis on the podium, blinking through tears as silver and black confetti rained down. But even through the chaos, his eyes found her.

Y/N stood just beneath the stage, a small figure in a sea of celebration. She wasn’t jumping, wasn’t screaming. Just clapping, looking up at him, her face lit with pride, love, and something so steady it made his knees weak.

And when he finally stepped down from the podium, if he ran straight into her arms, kissing her like the world had stopped turning for a moment, no one said a word.

Because every person watching knew:

That was Bono’s forever.

taglist: @leosxrealm, @pear-1206, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3

[icycoldninja]

hi!! This is my first time requesting from you! Could you pretty please do a dante x m! Reader where reader has like a revive/cloning ability? Dante doesn't know about it and then boom reader just 💀 and then BOOM hes alive (angst and fluff please hehe)

Oho yes

Dante x Male!Reader with the ability to revive himself headcannons

-Dante is always extremely protective of you, but not in the harsh, grouchy way that you might expect.

-He doesn't restrict you from doing things, but rather follows you everywhere, from the grocery store to a simple, local mission, making comments and jokes that no one asked for along the way.

-He only does this because he wants to make sure he's never absent when you're in danger. He knows keeping you completely safe is impossible, since demons are constantly hunting relatives of Sparda and their associates, but he still wants to protect you as best he can, and the best way to do that, in his mind, is to hover over you wherever you go.

-One day, you two were dispatched to a particularly nasty battlefield where literal droves of powerful demons immediately set their sights on you the moment you showed up.

-Dante had never been so powerless. One second, you were there, weapon at the ready and on the verge of attacking the nearest creature; the next, you were gone, swallowed up by a flood of snarling, bloodthirsty beasts.

-Panic quickly overtaking him, Dante hacked his way through the throng, trying everything he could to get to you, but no matter how hard he fought, the sea of bodies was seemingly endless. He couldn't see you anymore, couldn't hear you, and was afraid he'd lost you forever.

-Seeing a piece of fabric lying on the ground—a piece of fabric that looked oddly like your clothes—scared him even more. He completely forgot about the things clawing at his back and raced towards it, barely managing to swallow a choked scream when he saw you lying in the middle of the stampede, surrounded by demon corpses, badly beaten and bleeding all over.

-With trembling hands, he scooped you up into his arms and searched for a pulse. There wasn't one. He lowered his ear to your nose and mouth, hoping to feel a weak puff of air, but felt nothing.

-Fully convinced that you were dead, Dante gently laid your body back down on the ground, gave you a tender kiss on the lips, whispered, "I love you", and immediately went berserk on the swarm of demons behind him.

-One Devil Trigger and about twenty seconds later, the battlefield is littered with the corpses of demons, and a blood-soaked Dante is slowly making his way back to where he left you, just in time to watch you stretch your legs, plant your feet firmly in the ground, and rise up like you're fucking possessed.

-Dante just stands there, frozen in place and capable only of watching as you brush the dirt off of your clothes, looking around, catching sight of him, then approaching.

-He can't believe you're actually alive—and doesn't, not until you smile at him and hold your arms out as if you were expecting a hug. His whole body trembling, he decides to take a few heavy steps forward and feels you slump into his embrace.

-He holds you close, stunned and unable to formulate a greeting, a witty joke, or anything in between. He doesn't even move until you pat him on the back and go "Miss me already? I was only gone for a few minutes."

-He doesn't understand how you're even alive and talking to him right now when he remembers so clearly having checked and confirmed your death. It's not until you kiss him on the cheek and explain you had a special ability did he finally put two and two together.

-So, you apparently had the power to resurrect yourself? Well, that's convienent. It's also terrifying, knowing that he might have to watch you die day after day, only to have you run back into his arms a few moments after.

-After squeezing you so tight you thought you might die again, Dante made you promise to always be careful, even if you could come back from the dead, because there was always a chance that one day, your powers would stop working.

-Of course, you're happy to humor him, because honestly, seeing your Dante, who is normally so bright and always ready with a corny quip, shaking like a puppy that had been left out in the rain broke your heart. You don't want to do that to him again.

[lostintransist]

Chiseled Heart | Part 10

When a Heart Hates

AO3 | Part 1

Waking to the sounds of birds, and the quiet shifting of other living things, is one of the most gentle awakenings you have ever experienced. The warmth still lingered in your flesh from König’s hold on you from the fire pit last night. He had delivered you to your room with such soft strength it took so much energy not to cry right into his shoulder that you loved him. The famous line from Mr. Darcy drifted through your mind now, “I never wish to be parted from you from this day.”

Alcohol turned you into such a sap. You couldn’t chance bleeding all over him if he didn’t feel the same. Losing the incandescent joy of his friendship? Unthinkable. All you needed was a sign, something to push you violently into the wind. Hope to god you can fly.

A knock sounds at the door.

Pushing out of bed you shuffle to the door. Pulling it open you find König dressed in slacks and a relaxed-fit long-sleeved t-shirt. He glances up and down your bedtime leggings and overlarge tee slipping off one shoulder and folding his arms. Staring pointedly at his tits and not yours, he speaks.

“Walk?”

“I could use a short walk.” You rub both hands over your face as you say more, “If we handle breakfast today we don’t need to make food again for another two days. That work for you?”

“Ja.”

Blinking the clarity back into your vision you find König’s face is red and still staring at his arms across his chest.

“I need maybe ten minutes. Should I meet you downstairs or knock on your door?”

With a sigh that brought to mind a put-upon pup, König muttered something you thought was downstairs. It didn’t matter though because he turned around and silently walked to the stairs.

Fighting back the giggle tugging at your lips you do your best to meet the timeline you gave yourself. Hair settled, as much as is possible with hair, sunscreen applied, workout clothes on, and shoes in hand you find König waiting for you on the porch. Someone must have dragged a few chairs from the fire pit because you didn’t remember seeing them on your way in yesterday.

Sitting next to him in the cool balm of the morning sun you tie your laces and stand with a stretch. He watches. The scrape of his eyes on the sliver of your soft bits sends shivers down your arms. Okay, body. Enough of that. You have another week before ovulation hits, knock it off.

Turning you offer him a hand.

“Ready to go and look for cool bugs?”

König sighs, a smile toying at his lips, as he settles his hand in yours. It should be noted that several cool bugs were found on the walk.

Breakfast of omelets came together easily and the small touches you could sneak in? Spectacular. König manned the stove and the pan. You would rest a hand on his back and lean around his side to set a bowl of chosen ingredients for the next one being made. Might as well take advantage of the stationary man.

He gets you back though. Him and those fucking pecs.

After breakfast is cleaned up everyone heads to their rooms to change and grab towels and head to the lake. Amara and you chat on the way down the stairs and out the back door. When you make it to the back porch you set your towel along the rail and turn at the exact right moment to get a show.

König, standing alone and closer to the fire pit, takes off his shirt. Your jaw drops.

Firm muscles ripple under scar-littered skin. His back is broader than any of his semi-tight shirts led you to believe. You could stand behind him as he knelt and hid the width of your hips in his shadow. Watching his arm flex as he lifted a bottle of sunblock nearly had your eyes popping from your skull to bark after him like a dog.

Amara is giving you a hard side-eye. “You’re drooling.”

“You’re damn right I’m drooling, you can see him right?” The wide-eyed glace you send between those biteable back muscles has the drool pooling harder.

Danielle appears, leaning across her girlfriend’s shoulders. “Gotta say the lack of ass is a bit of a put-off for me,” she prods casually.

“Good thing he’s not into polyamory then huh?” You stick your tongue out with a glare before moving to join him near the chairs.

You offer to spray his back. König smiles, the scar on his cheek pulling all your attention. Sticking to him like the sunblock you blast over his spine, the morning slips away. He helped you into your life vest after you buckle it wrong three times trying to figure out where each strap went after it disappeared behind your back. He did not require help for his life vest. Granted, he did bring his own.

The two of you were the first ones dragged behind the boat. And the first ones launched nearly into space before hitting water that turned to concrete. The distance between you meant you couldn’t chat. You waved and blew König a kiss instead. Then panicked when he went face down in the water for several long seconds. He doesn’t answer your question when you are both settled on the boat.

He bumps your head lightly with his while muttering something in German you choose to take as ‘don’t worry about it.’

The morning slips away with laughter and the alternating experience of shockingly cold water and baking in the sun. When lunch finally rolls around everyone from the boat changes places with the group of late risers. König is limping. You know he has a bad knee and only now realize he shouldn’t have gotten on the tubes with you.

“Hey, let’s get you some painkillers and a nap, yeah?” You slot yourself under his arm, pulling him close with a hand on his other hip.

“That,” he winced as he shifted his weight forward, “might be wise.”

Settling him in bed after hearing his grunts and groans of changing out of his swimsuit settled something in your chest that ached at his struggle.

Letting your fingers drift over his cheek, you whispered to his already-closing eyes.

“Sleep well.”

The silent ‘I love you’ stayed in your chest, thrashing like a trapped songbird.

König freezes, hand on the doorknob, as your voice drifts in from the porch’s open window. He did not nap often and only managed an hour of rest. You did not know he was awake.

“König? I really like him.”

Your words are full of soft meaning that slaps at him; beating against his skin like the hands of the children who would laugh and pinch him. Even when he was small he had been too big.

“What about him though?” It’s your friend, Danielle, “While, yes, he is built, he doesn’t say much.”

“He seems to treat you well. I guess what we are saying is that we are concerned. He is nothing like your usual type and I want to be sure this isn’t a rebound.” That is Amara, Danielle’s girlfriend.

His hand is starting to cramp around the round knob. He relaxes his hold—nothing in life was built with him in mind. König knows he should move, leave, make his presence known, something. The deepest parts of him, those bits hidden that would flourish if only a spare drop of love could find its way down, made him stay silent and still. No one else had been in the house when he’d woken to use the restroom. The openness of the floor plan would alert him to anyone entering the back door. And so, he stayed.

An annoyed huff leaves your mouth as you must shift in your chair, cloth shifting against the wood. He can imagine you, arms folded tight as you force your shoulders down.

“He is kind, and not only to me. Mara, just yesterday he paid for a stranger’s tank of gas when we stopped to fill up. I hopped out to use the bathroom. There was someone in there so I happened to glance outside and see him getting hugged by a sobbing man with his hand still pressing something to the machine. The two receipts for gas confirmed what happened. He buys gift cards every time he goes to the grocery store and leaves them with the cashier to use for the next needy person who has to put things away.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath before continuing.

“My usual type is pretty. But pretty men only bring pain. König isn’t pretty.”

König had been stabbed several times, your words punched him with the same force. He shifted his weight to move away, deepest soul shriveling further at the imaginings of your harsh words.

“Have you ever had someone become beautiful before your eyes?”

Your friend must nod or respond in some way he can’t see because you go on.

“He is striking. König’s face is my favorite thing to look at because every time I look he has become more beautiful to me. There is a scar here,” you must be pointing somewhere on your face. Lord knows how many scars he has mapping the landscape of his. It is one of the reasons that he wears a mask even now, though leaving it at home this weekend had been a personal challenge. “That whites out when he smiles big. It’s beautiful.”

Something unfurls in his chest, a desert plant tasting rain.

Danielle again, “But this isn’t a rebound?”

“I don’t see how it can be? He doesn’t know I like him this much; honestly, I would be happy being his friend. If he got a girlfriend I would sob myself to sleep for a few weeks as I make friends with her,” you sniff and clear your throat.

“Ah, hun,” Amara croons at you, “You’ve got it bad for him.”

The watery laugh you let out trails König as he slips away to the front door and away from the private conversation.

Your apartment is empty. Seething rage fills him. It wasn’t supposed to be empty. Your calendar had you home. Home. Home. HOME.

YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE HOME.

The shattering of glass pulls him back. A plant has been sacrificed to his rage. Adding to the insult of your missing presence he pees all over the soil and your plant. Should teach you to not update your calendar like you should.

Masterlist | Chiseled Heart Masterlist | Taglist

Dividers

@ang3lc @warlike-morning @demothers-empty-blog @comat0se @littlelovebug98 @adriennepoison @MedievalPersephone2 @fool-0nthehill @ohdearestmimi

[ellswritings]

You Never Noticed Pt. 2

Drew McIntyre (Andrew Galloway) x reader

TW: Regular wrestling violence and angst. That’s all <3

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling, @mightypocketcow, @mortimertheduck, @mimisweetz, @lilywitchcollective

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

They say time heals all wounds, but Y/N wasn’t sure that was the only reason why things healed. If she had left it all to time, she would still be wallowing in the fact that she lost the love of her life. That she had to walk away from a life she worked so hard to build with a man she loved more than anything in the world. But she refused to be some sad story. She refused to let people look at her like a victim from a sad romance movie.

So while time has helped ease the ache, her determination to be better for herself, to continue moving forward also helped start repairing the gaping hole Cody left in her heart.

Y/N smooths over her royal blue pantsuit, just a sliver of her stomach showing from where her shirt and pants split. Her heels are silver, only about three inches tall so she didn’t risk breaking her ankle. She felt good, put together. They had a show in a few hours here in Chicago and she wanted to make sure everything was perfect. With the Royal Rumble and Elimination Chamber coming up, she had to make sure everything was in order. That storylines were ready, qualifying matches went smoothly, and that confrontations got the necessary pop needed to bring more ratings to the show.

A knock at her office door pulls her attention. She barely glances up, gathering papers and checking something off her clipboard. “Come in.”

A small creak as Andrew steps in with a bouquet of dark dahlias and different assortments of darker flowers to accompany them. Y/N stops what she’s doing, a small smile taking over her face as he walks in. “Hey, what are you doing here?” She asks, rounding her desk to give him her undivided attention. “You’ve got at least forty-five minutes before call time.”

“I know,” Drew nods, his own smile forming. She looks good. The iconic SmackDown blue looked absolutely stunning on her. He could finally feel the warmth she always emanated coming back to her. She might not be fully at ease, but something definitely changed, and it was for the better. “But I figured I could come in a bit early and drop these off,” he gestures to the flowers in his hands. “I saw them and they reminded me of you.”

Drew holds out the bouquet and watches as Y/N’s eyes soften, the tension in her shoulders melting like ice under sunlight. She takes the flowers delicately from his big hands, lifting them to her nose to inhale the subtle, dark sweetness.

“These are beautiful, Drew. Dark dahlias?” she asks, voice bright with surprise. “You know those are my favorites, right?”

“Aye,” he says, a little smug, a lot fond. “I pay attention, lass. Not like some people.”

She lets out a real laugh at that, the kind that lights up her whole face — the kind Drew has been trying to coax out of her more often lately.

“Thank you. Really. They’re perfect.” She glances around her office — a pop of vibrant blue and black flowers now cradled against her crisp white shirt — and Drew follows her gaze.

His eyes catch on the trash can tucked behind her desk. He tilts his head, peering inside. A handful of other bouquets are stuffed down there, petals bruised, stems bent, satin ribbons half-crushed.

“Christ…” he mutters, flicking his eyes back up to her with a teasing glare. “You openin’ a funeral home I dinnae know about?”

Y/N huffs out an exasperated laugh, rolling her eyes as she carefully sets his flowers on her desk. “Yeah, I wish. Wanna guess who they’re from?”

Drew doesn’t need to guess. He’s heard enough voicemails and seen enough desperate texts flash across her screen during flights to know exactly who keeps trying to buy his way back in.

“Right,” he growls, his smile thinning. He crosses his arms, filling the room with protective heat. “One day he’ll learn you can’t fix a shattered heart with overpriced roses, eh?”

She watches him — the faint glint of possessiveness in his eyes, the stormy edge he only ever shows when he talks about Cody. It makes her stomach flutter in a way she’s still learning to trust again.

“Don’t worry,” she says, voice softer now. “I won’t let him manipulate me with pretty things. Not anymore.”

Before he can answer, there’s another knock. A young production assistant sheepishly pushes open the door, balancing yet another bouquet — white lilies this time, with a gold ribbon.

“Ms. L/N, um, delivery for you. Again.”

Y/N raises her brows, but Drew’s jaw ticks so hard she swears she hears his teeth grind.

“Just — here, give it,” she sighs, taking the arrangement with more annoyance than emotion. She marches it right past Drew, lifts the lid of her trash can, and drops the whole thing in without ceremony. The assistant stares wide-eyed. Drew just shakes his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his clenched fists.

“You’re a menace, lass.”

“I’m resourceful,” she corrects, smug. She turns back to him, plucking his bouquet from her desk and carefully arranging it in a clear vase she keeps for exactly this reason. “Yours stay. The rest? Garbage. I hate wasting pretty flowers — but I hate wasting myself more.”

Something flickers in Drew’s eyes then — respect, warmth, a fierce promise she knows he’ll keep whether she asks or not.

She places the vase next to her computer, the deep, inky blossoms standing proud and lovely against the mess of scripts and call sheets. It makes her office feel softer. Safer.

“There,” she declares, brushing her hands off like a job well done. “Now I can actually enjoy the ones that matter.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice so it wraps around her like a secret. “You deserve more than flowers, Y/N.”

She tilts her head at him, heart tripping a little at how sincere he looks. “You think so, huh?”

“Aye,” he says, his accent thicker now, eyes bright but steady. “Deserve more than what he gave ye. More than the scraps he left behind. Deserve someone who sees you. All of you.”

She swallows hard, her throat tight with something that feels dangerously like hope.

“Drew—”

But he breaks the moment with a boyish grin, his big hand coming to rest warm and wide on her hip — just for a heartbeat. “But we’ll save that talk for another day, aye? For now — come see me kick some arse kicked, will ye?”

She laughs, grateful for the tease. For the way he never pushes, never demands. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Did you get new gear?”

He puffs out his chest dramatically. “Custom made. Might show off a wee bit of thigh, just for you.”

“Oh, please,” she teases, rolling her eyes as her smile tugs wide and genuine. “Chicago’s not ready for that much pale Scottish leg.”

He laughs, rich and warm, and leans in just enough to press a feather-light kiss to her temple. It’s the kind of touch that asks nothing, but says everything.

Just then, another knock — but this time, a production hand calling for final checks.

Drew squeezes her hand once, rough thumb brushing her knuckles before letting go. “I’ll see you out there, (e/c) eyes.”

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N feels something like excitement in her chest instead of dread.

Flowers or not — she’s blooming again.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Y/N walked through the halls of the backstage area with a newfound confidence in her step. She stopped, answering questions people had for her, telling people where they needed to be, sending her assistants to run out the freshly printed call sheets and scripts so the Superstars had enough time to adjust to the last minute changes.

“Ms. L/N, did you approve the pyro changes for Solo’s entrance?” one tech asked.

“Already done. Check your email. If it’s not there, come find me in Gorilla in ten,” she said, patting his arm before moving on.

Her assistant jogged up, slightly out of breath, handing her a fresh stack of call sheets hot off the press. Y/N flipped through them, making sure every name was where it should be, every cue tight.

“Go. Hand these to catering and props first. Then go track down creative in the truck — tell them I’ll sign off on the last run-through myself,” she instructed.

“Look at you, boss lady,” Tiffany teased, holding out one of the cups. “Vanilla sweet cream cold brew, extra shot — because I know you’ve been up since five.”

Y/N chuckled, taking it gratefully and letting the cold cup press into her palm. “You’re a lifesaver.”

They fell in step together as Y/N took a sip, her clipboard tucked under her arm and her fingers already shuffling through the new scripts Tiffany had spotted. She squints at all the papers, “More rewrites? Seriously?”

“Just minor stuff. Timing tweaks for Cody and Solo’s face-off, a promo change for Madeline,” Y/N said lightly, almost too breezy — the only hint she wasn’t as untouched as she pretended. “I want to deliver these myself.”

They turned the corner — and the warm ease in Y/N’s face flickered for a split second before snapping back into place.

There he was. Cody. Hood up, hunched forward on a production crate like he’d forgotten how to sit up straight. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks — haunted eyes rimmed red, a fading bruise on his cheek from Monday’s brawl still dark under the lighting. Next to him, perched so close she was practically breathing for him, Madeline leaned in, her voice syrupy and useless.

“Cody, so I was saying if we shift my entrance pyro it’ll—”

But he didn’t hear her. He only saw her — Y/N, bright and commanding, Tiffany laughing at her side, life and light he hadn’t touched in months. His heart stumbled in his chest at the easy warmth of her smile — even if it wasn’t for him anymore.

“Y/N—” He stood too fast, scripts nearly toppling from his lap.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. She stepped up, business-like but somehow painfully gentle — the softness that used to be just for him now cool and distant.

“Script updates,” she said, voice smooth as glass. She handed Madeline’s first, careful not to look at her longer than necessary, then turned to Cody — and this close, he could see the faint shimmer in her eyes. Not tears. Not anger. Just gone. The last tether between them, cut clean and professional.

“Kevin’s cue moved up by forty seconds. You’re hitting the final spot alone. Make sure you’re clear on your marks. Got it?”

He swallowed, trying to find words. “Y/N… can we—”

But she was already shifting away. “Don’t be late for your cue, Cody. We’re tight tonight.”

Her hand brushed his knuckles as she passed the paper to him, and for a heartbeat, he almost begged her — right there in the hallway — to forgive him. To despise him. To come home. Anything but this polite distance.

But she was gone, drifting back to Tiffany’s side. And before she and Tiffany could take two steps, Drew emerged from catering, all confident shoulders and that easy grin that used to be Cody’s trademark.

“Hey, lass,” Drew rumbled, the affectionate lilt just for her. He bent his head to greet her, the warm hush of his brogue low and private as Y/N’s smile bloomed wide — wider than the polite one she’d just given Cody.

He watched her lean into Drew’s side without thinking. Watched her tension dissolve, her laugh bubble up unguarded and real.

And it shredded him.

Beside him, Madeline tsked under her breath. “Pathetic. Look at her with him. Did you really think she’d sit around waiting for you to crawl back? She’s not stupid, Cody. Drew’s been there every second you weren’t.”

He shot her a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Shut up, Madeline.”

But she just lifted her chin, vicious in her hurt. “No, you shut up. You want to hate me, fine. But I didn’t make you ignore her. I didn’t make you chase ‘understanding’ when you had a woman who would’ve given her life to see you happy. She’s his now — maybe not officially, but soon. And guess what? He deserves her more than you ever did.”

He barely heard the rest. His eyes stayed locked on Y/N, laughing up at Drew, her clipboard forgotten as she gently swatted Tiffany for making some teasing comment. For a heartbeat, her head tilted back the way she used to with him — that soft, unguarded trust that once made him feel like a king.

His throat closed up. His hands shook around the script he suddenly didn’t care about.

He’d given that up for the cheap thrill of being understood by a girl who didn’t matter. And now he was a ghost at the edge of the warmth he once called home.

Madeline’s voice cut through the fog, sharp and final. “You’re gonna watch him win, Cody. And you won’t even be able to blame anyone but yourself.”

And for the first time, he didn’t argue. He just watched Y/N walk away with Drew — and understood that maybe losing her forever was the price for never seeing what he had right in front of him.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The show was going well so far. They were about thirty minutes in and all of the changes have gone over smoothly. Y/N stands in Gorilla, closely watching one of the monitors as The Motor City Machine Guns finish their confrontation with DIY for the tag titles.

Y/N smiles at how well the promo is going, setting them up for their match at the rumble in a few weeks. The Machine Guns music hits and then they move to a quick commercial break.

The Machine Guns and DIY duck out of Gorilla, clapping each other on the back and thanking Y/N before heading off to peel off their tape and grab water. She watches them go, pride swelling in her chest as the next segment’s countdown pops onto the monitor.

“Alright, people, let’s tighten up!” she calls to the headset crew, shifting her clipboard under her arm. “Melo and Jimmy, you’re up next — five minutes to curtain, you hear me?”

A voice crackles back in her earpiece, “Copy that, boss lady.”

She grins at the nickname, jotting a quick note on her copy of the call sheet. She barely has time to check the next camera feed before a junior production runner — Justin, fresh out of Full Sail — jogs up beside her, slightly breathless and clutching a freshly printed call sheet that looks like it’s been triple-checked.

“Uh, Y/N? Can I…? Sorry—” he pants, then holds up the paper between them. “Am I losing my mind, or did the main event change? Because Kevin and Cody’s confrontation is showing up for the second hour, not the final segment. And then it says you’re… you’re closing the show? And that you’ll also be interrupting Madeline’s promo?”

Y/N lifts her brows innocently, the edge of her mouth twitching with mischief as she flips through her clipboard to her own master script. “Everything’s correct, Justin. Kevin and Cody are getting their thunder earlier tonight — they’ll still set up the Rumble spot. But I had something better in mind for the last twenty minutes.”

Justin squints at the new music cues highlighted near the bottom. Y/N L/N — entrance theme. His eyes flick between the paper and her, mouth falling open a little.

“But… you? Are you doing a promo? Or—”

She just shrugged, grin lazy but eyes sharp, cutting to the monitor where Madeline was in makeup getting final touches for her big moment.

“You’ll just have to wait and see with everyone else,” she said, brushing past him with a conspiratorial pat to his shoulder.

The crew member stared after her, slack-jawed, as she strode off — a woman on a mission. If only they knew:

She’d trained every sunrise, stayed late every night, took every test and pushed every boundary. She’d traded tears and blood and her own fear of stepping back into that ring — all for tonight.

Because tonight wasn’t just about running the show. Tonight, she was the show.

And Madeline had no idea what storm was about to hit her.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Gorilla was buzzing with producers and road agents trying to keep the show tight, but Y/N hardly noticed any of it.

All she could see was him — Drew McIntyre — tearing the roof off the building with Damian Priest in the ring. The crowd roared with every power move, every lariat that rattled Damian halfway across the mat. Y/N didn’t even realize how close she was leaning to the monitor, lips parted in quiet awe.

Somewhere behind her headset, Jess murmured, “You’re drooling,” but Y/N just shushed her, never taking her eyes off the screen.

She adored watching him like this — untamed and commanding, every inch the Scottish warrior they built him to be but somehow still hers in the stolen moments between the chaos.

In the ring, Priest hit him with a South of Heaven chokeslam — only for Drew to kick out at two and a half. The entire arena popped as Drew rose, face storm-dark with resolve. Y/N bit back a grin when he hit the ropes, Claymore out of nowhere, nearly decapitating Damian clean.

The ref counted — one, two, three. The bell rang. The crowd lost its mind.

Backstage, Y/N let out the breath she’d been holding, her hands resting on her hips, a giddy laugh spilling out before she could help it. Drew’s music thundered through the monitors as he stood on the turnbuckle, roaring back at the fans, every bit the king they deserved.

Minutes later, the curtain parted — and there he was: sweaty, breathless, championship weight replaced by pure pride. He barely glanced at anyone else, ignoring the stagehands congratulating him as his eyes found only her.

She crossed her arms, trying to hide how she was beaming. “Took you long enough. I was about two seconds from getting in there myself.”

Drew wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with his wrist tape. “Oh, aye? That what you’d call it? A rescue mission?”

She cocked a brow. “Someone has to make sure you don’t embarrass us on live TV.”

His laugh rumbled out, warm and sharp as he crowded her space just a little — enough to make her pulse skip. “Darlin’, if you’re planning to wrestle again, at least warn me first. I’ll get you new gear. Something with my name on it.”

She smacked his arm, fighting a smile. “Yeah, because that’s the biggest problem with me jumping back in — the wardrobe.”

Drew didn’t flinch; he just looked at her with that impossible fondness that made her stomach do a foolish flip. “For what it’s worth, you’d look lethal in black and blue.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her cheeks warmed betrayed her. “Stop. You did amazing out there. Seriously. You make this look easy.”

He dipped his head, voice softer now, just for her. “Means more coming from you than anybody else out there.”

Her breath caught, and she hated how easy it was — how easily he got under her skin, how easily she wanted him to. Before she could answer, a voice cut through:

“Yo, Drew! Interview in five!”

Drew held up a hand without tearing his eyes off her. “One sec!” Then, to her — “I’ll see you after?”

She nodded, fighting the grin tugging at her mouth. “Yeah. Go do your thing, superstar.”

He leaned in like he might kiss her temple — then seemed to think better of it, brushing a knuckle along her jaw instead. “Try not to fall for anyone else while I’m gone, eh?”

She gave him a pointed look, stepping back with a laugh. “You wish you were that irreplaceable.”

He only chuckled, shaking his head as he jogged off toward his next segment — leaving her behind with warmth in her chest she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Meanwhile, behind a stack of flight cases, Cody watched it unravel — the easy way she leaned in, the mischief in her grin, the way Drew looked at her like she was something precious. Something worth fighting for.

Once, that was him. And now he’d give anything to feel it again.

It wasn’t long before Madeline’s music hit. Her segment was next and Y/N couldn’t hide the small smirk that covered her face. She quickly hid it before anyone noticed as the newbie finished her journey to the ring.

Madeline strutted lazy circles in the middle of the canvas, her smug grin practically trademarked by now. The audience buzzed with a sour mix of jeers and half-hearted claps — the rookie’s arrogance had become a weekly irritation fans loved to hate.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, mic propped under her chin, soaking in the cheap heat like it fueled her.

“Y’know what I love about SmackDown?” she purred, pacing closer to the ropes. “It’s my show now. I am the hottest thing to happen to this division since ever. And don’t get me wrong — Tiffany Stratton is cute. Blonde, marketable, all that. But we all know she’s not in my league. No one is. Not on Raw. Not on SmackDown. No woman in this company could even come close to my level of greatness.”

Corey Graves rolls his eyes, “Someone cut her mic, please. For my sanity.”

A few fans booed louder. Madeline mocked a pout, then flicked her wrist dismissively. “Aw, hush. You’ll thank me when I save you from another glittery promo about how ‘prettiest gets the belt’ or whatever. Unlike some people around here—” she paused dramatically, smirking toward the hard cam, “—I don’t hide in an office pretending to still be relevant.”

Michael Cole tenses along with the rest of the crowd, knowing exactly who she’s referring to. “Ohhh, she better watch herself now…”

Madeline leaned over the top rope, sneering at the front row. “Face it — this entire locker room is soft. The so-called ‘queen’ of SmackDown? Paper crown. No guts, no hustle, just riding old stories and bigger names to keep her paycheck fat. If she had any backbone left, she’d be standing right here with me—”

Graves shakes his head so aggressively that even the live audience who can’t hear what he’s saying know how much he disapproves. “Don’t say it, rookie. Don’t poke that bear.”

“—but we all know she doesn’t have the guts to lace up and do this anymore.”

The booing got loud enough she had to raise her voice. “So get comfy, people — because when I take that title off Tiffany? You’re gonna see what a real champ looks—”

BOOM!

The speakers cracked like thunder as the opening riff of “Welcome to the Jungle” ripped through the arena — a low, dangerous guitar that made spines straighten and the roof nearly fly off.

The tron flashed: Y/N — The Boss.

“OH MY GOD— WAIT A MINUTE— IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING?!” Michael Cole practically leaps out of his seat, professionalism be damned.

The crowd erupted. Grown men leapt over each other for a glimpse as Y/N strode onto the stage — not in a business suit, but in her custom gear, hair down, eyes locked on Madeline like she’d found her next meal.

Corey stares on, jaw slack, “No way— no way. Nobody said she was cleared! She hasn’t wrestled in years!”

Y/N didn’t hurry. She high-fived fans along the ramp, pointed at a sign that read ‘Y/N RUNS THIS HOUSE’, and smirked when the camera caught the absolute chaos her mere presence caused.

Madeline’s eyes were saucers, all color draining from her face.

Cole’s chuckles manage to make their way to Y/N’s ears “Madeline just realized she booked herself a one-way ticket to hell.”

Y/N circled the ring once, savoring every second of the roar, then slid under the ropes and sprang to her feet like she’d never missed a day.

A stagehand tossed her a mic — she caught it midair without even glancing. She stepped close, so close Madeline flinched backward.

Her tone was soft, lethal:

“Hi, Maddie.”

Madeline swallowed, voice squeaking: “Wh-what are you doing? This isn’t your—”

Y/N leaned in, grin sharper than any blade: “Shhh. Let the grown-ups handle this.”

“I’m getting chills, Cole. Absolute chills.”

Y/N circled her prey, slow and deliberate, her words crisp enough to hush every seat in the arena. “You’ve spent weeks barking from this ring about what this roster lacks. How you’re its savior. How there’s nobody left with enough fire to put you in your place.”

She paused, tilting her head, eyes bright with mischief and venom both. “Well, princess — surprise. You ran your mouth so loud you woke up the one bitch who built the house that you’ve been stomping through like you own it.”

Madeline tried to cut in — Y/N flicked her hand dismissively, the crowd popping.

“You think I’ve been hiding? No. I’ve been working. Healing. Getting ready. And tonight? I’m not your boss. I’m not your headline. I’m not your cautionary tale. I’m your main event.”

The crowd exploded. Chants of “Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” rattled the barricades.

Y/N stepped in close again, lowering her voice just enough to make every front-row fan lean in: “You want respect? You want my spot? Earn it. Because for one night only, doctor’s orders be damned — I’m cleared. And I’m gonna remind every single person here what happens when you mistake kindness for weakness.”

She flicked her mic to the mat with a satisfying clunk, never taking her eyes off Madeline’s horrified face.

“Main event. Me. You. And when I’m done? You’ll remember exactly who made this ring worth stepping into.”

Cole’s fist shoots in the air as he celebrates along with the crowd. “SHE SAID IT! Y/N IS FIGHTING TONIGHT! THE BOSS IS BACK, BABY!”

Y/N backed up, arms wide, a cocky grin blazing as she basked in the roar — then turned her back on Madeline with absolute, deliberate disrespect. She paused at the ropes just long enough to mouth to the nearest camera:

“Watch this.”

She dropped to the floor and strode up the ramp as Madeline scrambled to pick her jaw off the mat, the arena chanting her name like gospel.

The second Y/N stepped back through Gorilla, the world seemed to slam to a standstill.

Producers, camera crew, stagehands—everyone turned in a ripple of stunned silence, part disbelief, part raw, unfiltered awe. She didn’t pause to drink it in; she just handed off her mic to a frazzled assistant, gave a tight nod to a flustered producer whispering “Holy shit, you’re actually cleared?”, and kept moving down the hall like she’d just clocked out of a board meeting, not turned the main event upside down.

A familiar voice thundered down the corridor before she even rounded the next corner:

“Y/N! Lass—what the hell did ye just do?!”

Drew appeared out of nowhere, boots scuffing the floor as he skidded to a halt in front of her. He still had his match tape on one wrist, a half-crushed water bottle forgotten in his other hand. His eyes flicked wildly from her face to her ring gear to the crew peeking over crates behind her.

“Oh my God, Drew, breathe,” she teased, but the laughter in her chest trembled under the residual adrenaline.

“Breathe? Breathe?” He spluttered, voice thick with his rolling burr as he herded her a few steps out of earshot. “Woman, ye told me ye were doin’ segments tonight—segments, not headline brawls in front o’ fifteen thousand rabid maniacs screamin’ yer bloody name!”

She bit her lip, trying to suppress a giggle that slipped through anyway. “I mean… surprise?”

He gaped at her—then dragged a hand down his face, huffing a half-laugh half-growl. “Aye, surprise. Ye nearly gave me a heart attack, ye know that?”

He glanced around them, lowering his voice, eyes locked to hers with that earnest concern only he could pull off in a hallway full of chaos. “Y/N… ye can’t pretend this is nothin’. This is big, lass. It’s… it’s personal, aye? And that worries me.”

She softened, her fingertips brushing over the edge of his jaw, just enough to ground him. “Drew. It is personal. But it’s not reckless. I needed this. I needed this—me. Not for him. Not for anyone. Just to remind myself that I can still do this, that I’m not some sad story stuck behind a desk forever.”

His shoulders rose and fell with a frustrated exhale, but his hand came up, covering hers on his cheek. “I know. God, I know, darlin’. I just… ye know I hate seein’ ye hurt. And if I thought—”

She cut him off with a soft, crooked smile, leaning in to press her forehead gently against his chest. Her voice muffled against the cotton stretched over his solid heartbeat. “If you thought I was still tangled up in old ghosts? Drew… look at me.”

She tipped her head back up, catching the storm behind his eyes. Then she rose on her toes and pressed a quick, warm kiss to his cheek—just shy of his lips, deliberate, soft enough to steal his next breath.

“It’s you who makes me feel safe enough to do this,” she murmured. “It’s you I want waiting for me when I come back through Gorilla. Understand?”

His throat worked around her words; his free hand found the curve of her waist, big palm splayed wide like he could shield her from the whole damn world.

“Aye. I understand. Just… promise me ye come back in one piece, aye? So I don’t have to climb in there after ye and break every rule that was ever wrote.”

She barked out a laugh, high and bright, the tension crackling between them as warm as it was charged. “Deal, Big Man.”

He didn’t move when she started to step away—his hand lingered at her hip, thumb rubbing a quiet circle that made her heart squeeze in a way she hadn’t felt in too long.

Then, over his shoulder, she caught a flicker of movement: Cody Rhodes, half-hidden behind a curtain of crates, eyes locked to hers and Drew’s hands on her body. Regret carved into every exhausted line of his face.

She met Cody’s stare for half a heartbeat—then turned her back on him without another thought, her focus already on Drew again.

“Go on, then,” Drew rumbled, a wicked gleam returning to his eyes. “Go show the wee gremlin what happens when ye poke a lioness.”

She winked, curling her fingers around his wrist for one last squeeze, and as her good friend Liv Morgan always says, “Watch me.”

And she slipped away, her grin sharp and sure, leaving a smitten Scottish giant watching her like she’d hung the stars herself—while a man who’d once held her heart realized he’d lost far more than he could ever win back.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The arena lights dipped low as Madeline’s theme hit — glittery pop with an edge, echoing her cocky rookie swagger.

But tonight, something was off. She stepped out onto the stage with her usual smirk, soaking in the half-boos, half-hyped reactions... but there was a twitch at the corner of her mouth that betrayed her nerves.

She’d read the updated run sheet — MAIN EVENT: MADELINE vs. ??? — but not even in her wildest nightmares had she pictured this.

Her eyes darted toward the ring crew, the commentary desk, anywhere but the curtain behind her. She jogged down the ramp anyway, tossing her hair, climbing into the ring with a forced flick of confidence.

She perched herself on the second rope, rolling her wrists, her pretty mask of smug confidence pulled too tight to hide the jitter in her eyes. She glanced once more at the ramp as the ref checked her boots — but no amount of pep talk could steady the quiver in her gut. The rumors said Y/N hadn’t wrestled since she broke her back all those years ago. There was no way she’d risk it for her. Right?

Then the arena lights dropped to a simmering hush — a single beat of silence before the familiar guitar riff hits the speakers like a thunderclap.

Thousands of people lost their minds at once.

Y/N walked out through the blinding spotlight, a storm wrapped in gear she’d sworn she’d never wear again. No one in that building — no producer, no script, no roster sheet — had this on their rundown. Only she did. And it was hers alone to give.

Michael Cole’s voice rose above the thunder of the fans: “Corey, this is happening — the boss, the heartbeat of SmackDown, is stepping back in the ring after so many years on the shelf—”

Corey Graves could barely be heard over the roar. “And with a broken back in her history, Cole! This is insane. This is reckless. This is... God, this is perfect!”

Y/N didn’t jog or grandstand. She stalked to the apron with a single-minded focus, pausing only to slap palms with fans pressed against the barricade, one little girl bursting into tears when Y/N bent low to ruffle her hair. She hit the apron, locked eyes with Madeline, and vaulted over the ropes so smooth you’d think gravity liked her best.

Madeline’s mouth moved around a curse, but the bell rang before she could find words.

They circled. Slowly at first — an unspoken dare between two women who couldn’t be more different: one all bluster and borrowed status, the other forged in agony and years of lost time.

Madeline lunged first, predictable and sloppy. Y/N side-stepped, spun on her heel, and whipped her into an arm drag so clean it drew cheers all by itself. Madeline popped up only to catch a stiff forearm to the jaw — then another. Y/N forced her into the corner and lit her up with a machine gun flurry: elbow, elbow, backfist, snap kick to the gut.

Corey barked through a grin, “Look at her move, Cole! There’s absolutely no ring rust in sight! No hesitation — she’s calling every second in real time!”

Madeline, in a flash of desperation, raked her eyes. The crowd booed viciously as she yanked Y/N into a DDT attempt — but Y/N twisted free, rebounded off the ropes, ducked under a wild clothesline and slammed a running knee flush against Madeline’s cheekbone. The rookie crumpled to her back, dazed.

Cole nearly wheezed into his mic. “This is a masterclass — years out, and she’s teaching the kid what it means to fight for your life!”

Backstage, Drew McIntyre stood stone still beside the curtain, arms folded so tight his knuckles blanched. There was a tremble in the corner of his mouth — equal parts pride and pure dread. Not far away, alone in the shadows, Cody Rhodes leaned against a crate, hollow-eyed, watching the woman he’d once called home carve her legacy back open without him.

Madeline crawled for the ropes, desperate to bail. Y/N was on her before she could think — grabbing a handful of hair, whispering something venom-soft against her ear that turned the girl’s face to stone. Then she hurled her halfway across the ring with a snap suplex, the canvas rattling under the impact.

Madeline tried to swing wildly again, panic in every twitch. Y/N ducked, scooped her up across her shoulders in one smooth deadlift. The crowd rose to their feet as realization spread like fire.

Corey’s voice cracked. “She won’t— that’s her spine, Cole—”

She did.

Y/N planted her boots, hoisted Madeline’s dead weight, and spun into a rolling Death Valley Driver so clean the front row physically recoiled. Madeline bounced off her shoulder, hit the mat hard, and flopped to her stomach.

Cole could barely be heard: “She said she wanted closure — this is surgical, Corey. This is personal.”

The arena rumbled with the pulse of thirty thousand stomping feet, chanting her name like gospel.

Y/N didn’t waste time. She hauled Madeline up by her wrist — no wasted words, no mercy. She spun her in tight, hooked both arms behind her back in a butterfly clutch, then lifted and twisted, driving her into the mat with a vicious corkscrew sit-out driver that rattled the ring ropes.

Corey all but screamed: “EULOGY DRIVER! THE EULOGY DRIVER! COVER HER, Y/N—”

She did.

One.

Two.

Three.

The bell rang so sharp it sounded like a starter pistol, but no one moved except Y/N. She stayed sitting for a heartbeat, chest heaving, hair damp and sticking to her neck — staring at her own hands like she wasn’t sure she’d ever get to feel them do this again.

The ref grabbed her wrist and hoisted it high, but she was already rising, climbing the second rope and bracing one boot on the turnbuckle. She scanned the ocean of faces and pointed at her heart — once, twice — then out at them.

Drew backstage pounds his palm against the wall and laughing through gritted teeth, relief and awe tangled on his face.

Cody sank down against the crate he’d been leaning on, hands buried in his hair, a man watching every ounce of warmth he’d thrown away return stronger without him.

Back in the ring, Y/N stood on the ropes, a storm in human form, a lesson in survival and rebirth — living proof you don’t bury a woman like her.

Not while she still breathes.

She could still hear the final three-count echoing in her bones. Madeline had crawled out of the ring minutes ago, battered and shell-shocked, escorted by medics who barely bothered to hide their smirks.

But Y/N didn’t see any of it anymore.

She stood alone under the blinding white of the spotlight, chest rising and falling, strands of hair sticking to her sweat-slicked cheeks. The ref pressed her championship mic into her palm — the house lights dimmed except for one golden beam that followed her as she stepped to the center of the ring.

The noise was deafening, but somehow she found a hush in her chest big enough to fit every word she’d carried for years.

She brought the mic to her lips, voice still rough from grit and adrenaline.

"I know what some of you are thinking," she began, pacing a slow, deliberate circle so the whole building felt her eyes on them. "Why risk everything for this? Why fight tonight, when the doctors told me I'd never walk right again, let alone run these ropes?"

The crowd roared — YOU STILL GOT IT! chants bouncing off the rafters like thunder. She cracked the smallest grin, eyes glassy, soaking it in.

"I spent years telling myself the same things you told me: that I was better off behind a desk. Safer. Smarter. That this — this ring, this life — was something I could just bury under paperwork and fancy suits."

Her voice caught for a heartbeat, just enough to draw the entire arena closer.

"But the truth? The truth is... I was scared."

A ripple of silence fell, so heavy it almost hurt to stand in it.

"I was scared I wasn’t enough anymore. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not worth enough." She laughed, bitter but free, as if she couldn’t believe she’d ever been so small in her own mind. "I let people decide what I deserved. I let one person make me forget who I was — not just in here, but out there too. And I won’t do that again."

Drew backstage was frozen mid-breath, eyes shining in a way no man that big should ever let people see. Somewhere off to the side, Cody buried his face in his hands, shouldering the truth in front of millions.

Back in the ring, Y/N planted her boots firm against the canvas, lifted her chin, and looked straight down the lens like she was staring right at every person who’d ever lost themselves.

"So hear me when I say this — whether you love me, hate me, or don’t know my damn name: Never let anyone decide your worth. Not your boss. Not your family. Not the person you share a bed with. Because the second you do, you forget how to stand alone."

She jabbed a finger into her own chest, voice rising above the roar.

"I broke my back. I lost everything I thought made me… me. And tonight? I took it all back — not for them. Not for him. For me."

The audience was on their feet now, stomping, screaming, some wiping tears they’d never admit to.

She lifted her free hand, palm open, showing the hard lines and faint tremble of a fighter reborn.

"This is proof. Proof you can fall apart, and build yourself back better. Proof you can lose yourself, and find a version so unstoppable, they’ll wish they’d buried you deeper."

Her grin sharpened, that old spark back like a wildfire behind her eyes.

"I’m not your victim. I’m not your boss tonight. I’m not your heartbreak or your pity story. I’m the woman who survived the worst days of her life— and walked back in here on her own two feet to remind you that you can too."

She paused, let the storm of cheers crash over her, then added one last promise, quiet but razor-sharp.

"And if you ever forget it—" She smirked, a dare in her teeth. "You know where to find me. I’ll remind you every damn time."

She dropped the mic at her feet, the final thud swallowed by the roar of her people — their people. She threw her arms wide to the sky, every vein alive with the ache and the triumph of being enough.

Somewhere just beyond the barricade, a kid lifted a hand-painted sign that read simply: “She’s Still Here.”

And she was.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Backstage felt like a living heartbeat the second she stepped through the curtain.

Crew members clapped her on the shoulder as she passed, a few newer recruits beaming like kids who’d just met their favorite superhero. A veteran ref barked, “Hell of a return, boss — didn’t think you had that left in ya!”

Y/N just laughed, breathless, raw in the best way. She let them slap her back, let them tell her she hadn’t lost her edge — and deep down, for the first time in years, she actually believed it.

Her eyes found Drew first. He stood just beyond the crowd, arms crossed, looking equal parts awed and ready to wrap her up in bubble wrap forever. But beside him, half-shadowed near a stack of flight cases, was Cody.

He looked out of place, older than he’d looked an hour ago. His hoodie was still up, but it couldn’t hide the bare grief on his face. The second her eyes met his, something old and splintered twisted in her chest — but it didn’t drag her down this time.

She knew what she had to do.

She offered Drew an apologetic smile, soft and fleeting, before she angled toward the man she’d once thought she’d grow old with.

Cody straightened, like he’d been bracing for this moment and failing miserably all the same. His lips parted, no words ready.

She beat him to it, voice gentle but firm. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His throat bobbed. “You— you were incredible out there. You always are.”

She huffed a small laugh, tired and tender. “Thanks.”

A beat. His hands flexed helplessly at his sides. “I… I’ve been trying to find the words for weeks. I don’t even know where to start. I—”

“You don’t have to.” She didn’t mean to cut him off so gently, but her heart wouldn’t let her do it cruelly. Not to him. Not after everything.

“I do, though,” he insisted, eyes pleading, rimmed red. “I messed up, Y/N. God, I messed up so bad. I thought… I thought you’d always be there. I thought what I felt for you couldn’t fade — but I forgot how to show you. And now—”

She stepped in, close enough to smell the same shampoo she’d bought for him, back when they were a home and not strangers.

“Cody…” Her voice cracked but didn’t break. “A part of me will always belong with you. You know that, right? I thought you and me… we were it. The forever kind.”

A breath caught in his chest — agony and hope tangled together.

“But…” She swallowed, forced herself to say it. “I can’t do forever with someone I don’t trust. I can’t give you everything when I know deep down I’d never believe I was enough again. I’d question every smile. Every late flight. Every new face. And you don’t deserve that, Cody. Neither of us do.”

His mouth opened but nothing came out. So she kept going — she had to.

“You want me to believe you’d never stop loving me again. But I can’t. Because I know now you can. And I can’t spend the rest of my life bracing for when it happens next.”

A flicker of defiance flared in his eyes. “You think he won’t screw up? That he’s perfect? He’ll let you down too—”

She laughed, low and sad, cutting him off with a shake of her head. “Drew’s not perfect. God knows he drives me insane. But he listens. He notices. He doesn’t flinch when I break apart. And he never makes me question if I’m enough. Even when he’s angry, I feel safe with him. When’s the last time I felt safe with you, Cody?”

He had no answer. His jaw worked silently before he rasped, “So that’s it? He wins?”

She stepped closer, voice gentle but unyielding. “No. I win. Because I chose myself for once. He didn’t win me — I’m not some prize. He’s just… here. Steady. If he stays, he stays. If he goes, I’ll still be whole.”

He followed her gaze over her shoulder. Drew waited, pretending not to stare but failing miserably — protective and patient, a stone fortress with soft eyes only for her.

And for Cody, it all clicked. The way she stood taller now. The way she smiled more. The way she didn’t shrink from her own worth anymore.

He swiped at his tired eyes. “You deserve that. All of that. I should’ve… God, I should’ve seen you before I lost you.”

A ghost of that old warmth passed over her face. “A part of me will always wish you had. But I’m done building homes in people who don’t know how to hold them. I hope you find peace, Cody. Real peace. Not just someone to fill the silence.”

He laughed, a broken exhale. “And him? He’ll give you that?”

She looked at Drew again, really looked. “I hope so… but if he doesn’t… I’ll be fine. Because now, I know I can stand on my own.”

Cody’s eyes glistened with defeat and reluctant gratitude. He laid a palm over his heart like he could hold her ghost there forever. “Tell him… tell him thank you. For taking care of you the way I should have.”

She squeezed his arm once, soft but final. “Tell him yourself someday. I think you two could stand to be friends again.”

And then she stepped back, leaving Cody to his ghosts and regrets — and walked toward the man who’d been her soft place to land when everything else burned.

Drew didn’t ask what was said. He just opened his arms and let her melt against his chest, his voice rumbling in her hair: “You good, sweetheart?”

She smiled, eyes misty but sure. “Yeah. For the first time in a long time… I really am.”

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The hotel lobby hummed with the usual late-night shuffle of staff and a few bleary-eyed travelers dragging luggage, but for Y/N, Drew, and Jess, it felt like walking through a bubble — safe, glowing, almost dreamlike after the adrenaline of the show.

Y/N’s hoodie was zipped to her chin, hiding the ring gear still peeking out at her hips. Her hair was damp from the quickest post-match shower of her life, and she looked fresh-faced and tired all at once — but alive in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

Jess kept glancing between her and Drew like she was watching the final scene of her favorite slow-burn movie. She nudged Y/N’s shoulder, unable to hold back her grin.

“Seriously, I’m never gonna shut up about tonight,” Jess said, hugging the catering coffee cup she’d snagged on the way out. “Seeing you in the ring like that… it was everything. I used to sit on my bedroom floor in my mom’s old T-shirts pretending I was you.”

Y/N laughed, nudging her back. “Well, now you get to see the chaos up close, so be careful what you wish for.”

Drew barked a laugh beside them. “Chaos? Nay. That was art. Ye made her look like a fool and kept yer back intact. If I wasn’t already terrified of ye, I’d be now.”

Jess snorted. “Speak for yourself, Highlander. I’m still scared of her.”

Y/N shoved her lightly. “You’re scared of spiders, Jess.”

They reached the elevator, waiting as it hummed down. Jess peeked at the glowing floor numbers and sighed dramatically. “Ugh, my room’s like five floors up from you two. Who did the booking this week, Satan?”

“Blame the travel office,” Y/N deadpanned, then she hugged Jess, squeezing tight enough to feel the younger woman’s giggle against her shoulder. “Go sleep, you menace. And hey — thank you. For everything tonight. You’re a pain in my ass but you’re my pain in the ass.”

Jess smirked, eyeing Drew pointedly over Y/N’s head. “You take care of her tonight, okay, big man? She’s got a bad habit of bottling things up and pretending she’s titanium.”

Drew, without missing a beat, rumbled, “She’s no titanium. She’s diamond. But aye — I’ll mind her. Off ye pop.”

Jess made an exaggerated “aww” face, then waved them off as the elevator dinged open, carrying her to her own floor and leaving the two of them alone in the hush of the hallway.

The walk to their rooms was slow, both dragging their feet like neither wanted to reach the inevitable parting. Drew carried her overnight bag even though she’d protested twice.

“You know you don’t have to baby me, right?” Y/N teased as they turned the corner toward the quieter wing of the hotel.

Drew glanced down at her, amused. “Oh, lass, I’ve seen ye suplex a woman half yer age. I ken ye don’t need me tae carry yer bag. But let me, aye? Humor me. Makes me feel useful.”

She laughed under her breath. “You’re more than useful. You’re… you’re too good to me sometimes.”

Drew glances at her, his eyes softening as they met hers. “Ye say that like ye don’t deserve it. Like it’s a favor, treatin’ ye well.”

Y/N didn’t respond, just a small smile being painted across her lips. They ended up pausing at a vending machine; Drew eyed the options like he was solving an ancient riddle.

“You know you’re not actually hungry,” she teased, folding her arms.

“Aye, but I like pretendin’ I am. Stalls the moment I have tae say goodnight.”

She laughed softly, nudging his hip with hers. “You’re a sap.”

“And you love it,” he fired back, eyes sparkling as he finally gave up on the vending machine entirely. He shouldered her bag again without asking and resumed the slow stroll down the quiet hallway.

Y/N caught herself studying the veins in his forearms, the gentle slope of his nose, the little cut near his eyebrow still taped from tonight’s match. It made her chest ache, sweet and sharp at the same time.

“You were brilliant tonight,” Drew murmured, breaking her quiet inspection. “At Gorilla, I kept thinkin’… ‘That’s her. That’s the woman I’ve always seen — even when she couldn’t see it herself.’”

Her steps faltered; her throat worked around a knot. “Drew…”

“Nay, lemme say it. Ye were more than brilliant. You were fearless. Brave. And I don’t mean just in the ring — though, you nearly gave me a heart attack with that suplex— but afterwards. The way you spoke, the way you owned what was yers. I can’t tell ye what that did tae me.”

She smiled shyly, fighting the burn behind her eyes. “You’re making me blush, Galloway.”

He lifted a hand, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. “Good. Ye should. You deserve to feel worshipped a bit more often.”

The warmth in her gut tangled with something like fear — fear of messing this up, of leaning on someone again, of letting herself need him too much too soon. She caught his hand, squeezing it as she pressed it to her cheek.

“Drew… I just– I need you to know that I don’t want to run from one thing straight into another. I gave everything to someone who… who didn’t know what to do with it. I can’t do that again — not to you, not to me.”

His thumb traced her temple, tender. “Then don’t. I’ll wait. I’ll be whatever ye need me tae be. Friend, shoulder, bodyguard. Hell, I’ll carry yer bags forever if it means I get tae walk beside ye like this.”

Her breath hitched — a tiny, startled sound she barely managed to muffle with a quiet laugh. “How are you real?”

He shrugged one shoulder, playful, but his eyes were earnest. “Not real, love. Just yours. Whenever ye want me.”

She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, feeling his heartbeat under her palm where it pressed against his chest. The hallway was so quiet she could hear their breaths mingling.

Then, a whisper: “I do want you. More than you know. Just… let me want you slow. Let me get this right.”

His mouth curved into a promise and his hand slid to cradle the back of her neck, reverent. “Aye. Slow. Careful. No rush. But right now—” His voice dropped, warm and husky as the edge of dawn. “Right now, I need tae kiss ye, lass. Tell me no and I’ll stop.”

She opened her eyes, let him see all the gratitude, the fear, the hope glimmering behind them. She didn’t say no.

Instead, she pushed up on her toes and found his mouth with hers — soft, searching at first, then deeper, her fingers twisting in the collar of his hoodie as if she could memorize the feel of him this way. Drew sighed into it, a low rumble that made her whole body lean closer.

When they parted, breathless, their foreheads stayed pressed together. She giggled, cheeks flushed, voice raw but happy.

“Okay. So much for slow, huh?”

His grin was boyish and so heartbreakingly gentle. “Ach, we’ll pace ourselves tomorrow. Tonight… tonight I just wanted tae know how ye taste when ye choose me.”

She gave him a playful shove, still tucked safe inside the circle of his arms. “Spoiler alert — pretty sure I like you, Galloway. There’s nobody else I’d want to pick.”

He chuckled low in his throat, brushing his lips across her temple. “Aye. Good. Because next time? I’m not askin’ permission.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, light and mischief dancing in her own. “I can’t wait.”

In that moment — hallway, exhaustion, adrenaline and all — they both knew: whatever pace they set, they were already exactly where they were supposed to be.

[athomeinrivendell]

Inspired by @falpiancaraxus I started to write on a bus while getting a mild heat stroke but who cares, for Elrond and Aragorn I will suffer anything.

Elrond looked down at the small child, curled up and pressed into his side, the tiny face relaxed, unbothered by anything as he knows even unconscious that he is safe, that the one who is watching over him will keep him from harm. Ever so slowly he stroked the soft tangled hair on the boy's head, his fingers catching in a knot every now and then but he managed to untangle every single one without waking the child up. Everything was quiet and calm and Elrond was loathe to move himself or move the child as he did not wish to disturb either the kid or his no doubt already sleeping mother. So he stayed put and moved his attention to the heavy book in his lap, but every time the tiny figure beside him shifted he stoped in his reading just for a few seconds, to ensure that the child was well.

Time passed by, and the quiet peace of the Hall of Fire was disturbed by Erestor throwing the doors open. The usually stoic and immaculetly presented elf looked dishevelled which might be caused by the late hour but it definitely gained Elrond's attention.

"My lord you are required in the Healing Halls." Erestor said.

Elrond immediately closed the book and stood up, the young boy cradled in his arms and handed him to Erestor. "Please take Estel to his room and make sure that he stays asleep. I will be in the Halls immediately." he said, and Erestor nodded his head at the order.

The next morning Estel woke up, feeling a little disoriented. He remembered falling asleep in the Hall of Fire, but he had no recollection of coming back to his room. He shrugged his tiny shoulders. It did not matter. The sun was up so it was time to play and explore and evade 'Restor who was always insisting that he learns all boring stuff.

"Good morning Nana!" the little boy chirped as he skipped into his mothers room, fighting with his nightclothes then smiled brightly as his mother helped him pull off his sleepshirt. He was so excited. 'Ro and 'Dan were supposed to come back today and he simply couldn't wait to play with his brothers again and show them all the things he had learned and found out while they were gone. In his excitement he did not even protest when his mother washed him though the cold water prickled his skin.

"Are you ready for breakfast, Estel?" Gilraen asked his son when he was dressed, and his hair (more or less) brushed.

"Yes Nana. Will Ada be eating with us?" he asked.

"I don't know if Lord Elrond will be eating with us today Estel." Gilraen answered.

Estel furrowed his brows. He did not understand why his Nana called Ada that. He was Ada, wasn't he? "Why do you call Ada that?" he looked up at his mother.

"Because that is his name my son. If you want to address him properly you should call him Lord Elrond."

That's confused Estel even more and thinking was anything but pleasant on an empty stomach for a little boy so after nodding his head a tiny bit he stood on his tiptoes and opened the door.

Mother and son started walking towards the terrace where they usually broke their fast. Or more accurately Gilraen walked and Estel skipped ahead which became running when he spotted Elrond.

"Ada!" he cried, already forgetting everything his mother told him as he sprinted towards the elf and threw himself into the awaiting strong arms.

"Good morning to you too pen-neth." The elf lord chuckled as he picked the child up, then he inclined his head towards Gilraen.

"I apologise for my son's behaviour Lord Elrond. He seems to be full of energy this morning." Gilraen said when he reached the pair.

Elrond smiled. "You have nothing to apologise for Lady Gilraen. I have children of my own and fostered many. I know the energy of the youth well and it is to be admired." he said as he set the wriggling child down.

On the way to the already set table many of the Household greeted their lord and Estel observed quietly as he did onwards through the day, his quiet observation disturbed only by the arrival of Elladan and Elrohir which was a cause for much happiness.

When nighttime fell he looked up at the tall elf who was sitting at his bedside. "Are you Ada or are you Lord Elrond?" he asked.

Elrond was taken aback by the question. "What do you mean Estel?"

"Nana says that I should call you Lord Elrond. And everbody else calls you so. Only 'Dan and 'Ro don't. They call you Ada. So are you Ada or Lord Elrond?"

Elrond now understood where the question was coming from and why the situation seemed strange to the boy. He patted his knee. "Come here Estel" he said and the boy crawled onto his lap immediately, snuggling into his arms. "Do you know what 'Ada' means little one?" he asked and the young boy shook his head. "It means "father." Elladan and Elrohir call me Ada because I am their father. The rest of the valley cannot call me that because I am not their father." he explained.

"Are you mine?" the child asked innocently.

Elrond closed his eyes for a moment before answering. "No, Estel I am not. Your Ada was hurt very badly and nobody could help him. And thats's when Elladan and Elrohir brought you and your Nana here."

Estel furrowed his brows. "But 'Dan and 'Ro said that I am their little brother."

"You are their little brother by heart. They love you so strongly that they couldn't love you more even if you were brothers. That's why they say that. Though not by blood but you truly are brothers."

The child was quiet for a few seconds. "If 'Ro and 'Dan and me are brothers and my Ada is not here can you be my Ada?" he asked huge blue-gray eyes looking up at him so hopefully that Elrond found it hard to swallow past the lump that suddenly formed in his throat.

"Yes, ion-nín." Elrond said, pressing a kiss to the boy's head.

"Okay." Estel smiled as all was well in his world again and snuggled into his Ada's arms. "Good night Ada".

...

Time passed by days turned into weeks into months and every time the blue-gray eyes lit up, when they saw him and Elrond heared the silvery laughter followed by the joyful cry of "Ada" he was overcome with joy. He loved his children more than he loved anything, and there was not a thing he wouldn't do for either the twins or Arwen. They were everything for him. But they were all grown up now, and though their love for him as his for them was never a question for him, through the years, and experiences it became more quiet though not less strong. Yet now as he got the chance to experience it once again, he realised that there was something about the unbridled expression of love of a young child that he did miss.

...

Weeks turned into months into years and Aragorn had grown. The memory of him leaving the Valley of Imladris when he was twenty years of age lived in Elrond's mind painfully. He remembered as he wished his son, for the boy was a son to him, safe journey and the boy looked at him, his eyes no longer twinkling with happiness as he inclined his head and said "Thank you Lord Elrond." The words weren't harsh nor were they cold yet they still pierced his heart. He kissed the top of his son's head and watched as he left, a single tear leaving his eye and running down on his cheek.

...

Aragorn watched the tall elf, dressed in gold and red robes, dark hair combed back and he felt like a young boy about to admit that he did something wrong again and not as a king like he was. The elf of course noticed him and raised a brown and Aragorn took command over his body and walked over to him, calming his heart. He now stood in front of the figure who raised him, bowing his head slightly in respect. He had been crowned as King. Arwen was his. But without his father's approval it wouldn't feel right, he knew that. "Lord Elrond." he said, swallowing past the instinct to call him his father.

Elrond looked at his son standing before him, both every inch a king he was always meant to be and a child looking to his father. The unruly dark hair was largely kept in place by the crown that sat upon his son's head, but a single strand managed to escape and hang in front of the beloved face. His hand moved on it's own, fatherly instincts taking over and he smoothed the stubborn piece of hair back, the touch gently stroking the fair face, then cradling it. Blue-gray eyes met his a look surprised and relieved in them and before long he had his arms around Aragorn.

"Ada…" Estel breathed and Elrond closed his eyes, founding hard to swallow past the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. He cradled the back of his son's head as silent tears rolled down on his cheek. He was Ada again.

[ckret2]

So is Scaramouche more loyal to Aku than Demongo?

Do you think Demongo has aspirations to overthrow Aku which is near impossible, he'd need to have Jack's sword for that?

Guess if Scaramouche is loyal, then no wonder Aku prefers him to Demongo and why you do a Aku/Scaramouch pairing in some of your art.

"Who is more loyal to Aku," "who does Aku prefer & why," and "why do I ship scaraku" are three ENTIRELY different topics that have nothing to do with each other.

Who's more loyal:

I do personally headcanon that Scaramouche is 100% loyal to Aku thanks to robot programming—he's not capable of disloyalty—but I don't necessarily think he's more loyal than Demongo.

We don't know how loyal Demongo is. We don't see a single sign that he isn't loyal. He happily does what Aku says; he likes the orders Aku gives him, and he likes the prize he'll win for obeying it.

He implies he considers himself more powerful than Aku—"You are a powerful foe. Perhaps too powerful for my master… but not for me."—but he never implies he plans to do anything about it.

We know he must never have demonstrated disloyalty, or else Aku wouldn't trust Demongo with the essence of the one person & weapon capable of killing him.

("Demongo secretly plans to overthrow Aku" would be interesting, sure—"I'm more powerful than him, and once I have Jack's essence I can finally kill him"—but interesting in a "someone should write that fanfic" way. I don't think it's true in canon.)

It's entirely possible he's physically-incapable-of-disloyalty loyal, just like Scaramouche. He might be something Aku created, just like the shadow soldiers we see him use sometimes, and thus magically bound to Aku's will. We just don't know.

For the purposes of your implicit question (who does Aku prefer?), I think that Aku considers Demongo 100% loyal. And so I think Aku's opinions on the two of them have nothing to do with loyalty.

Who does Aku prefer:

In season 5, Scaramouche is powerful enough to single-handedly slaughter an entire village and then go toe-to-toe with Samurai Jack.

Meanwhile, in season 5, Demongo is trying to rebuild his essence army. That means he's currently weak—and thus useless. He's worth enough to Aku to have been set loose to rebuild his army rather than killed outright, so Aku thinks he could be useful again in the future—but he won't give Demongo a new army.

Aku prefers Scaramouche because Scaramouche is useful. It's that simple. He's got no affection for failures. Failures get crushed in his hand and/or exploding heads.

If they were both full power at the same time, who knows which one Aku would "prefer." Since Aku has to summon Demongo from the pit of hate, it seems like Demongo isn't used very often; and since Scaramouche is Aku's #1 assassin, he must be killing a lot.

I imagine Aku would see Scaramouche as a tool for day-to-day assassination jobs, to kill as many people as possible; and Demongo as a tool for special occasions, to be used only against enemies his normal assassins can't handle—enemies that would make nice additions to Demongo's army. Useful for different tasks.

Why do I ship scaraku:

For reasons that have nothing to do with who's more loyal or who Aku considers more useful. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

A few characters, Demongo included, are comfortable around Aku, but not a single character in the entire show acts happy & eager to be near Aku—except for Scaramouche.

When Aku's so depressed he'll hardly get out of bed, turns away visitors offering him tribute (he loves tribute!), brushes off his scientists (he loves new war machines!), and barely bothers to fight a rebel army (he loves crushing his enemies!)—he still accepts Scaramouche's calls.

Scaramouche repeatedly ignores Aku's orders to leave him alone—something Aku would kill most people for. Scaramouche isn't afraid of Aku.

And: Aku doesn't kill Scaramouche for repeatedly ignoring his orders. He never acts annoyed at Scaramouche's very annoying personality; he only gets impatient with Scaramouche's chatter once, because he's trying to hear Scaramouche's news about Jack.

Scaramouche never suggests he's trying to kill Jack or to tell Aku about Jack's sword for personal gain. He mentions Aku rewarding him to bribe people to take him closer to Aku, but he shows no interest in collecting any bounty himself. He's already #1 assassin, can't climb any higher, and doesn't suggest he's trying to. He's doing all this for Aku.

During the same episode that Ashi is adventuring across the world to reach a deeply depressed Jack and tell him something that'll restore his hope and determination to kill Aku, Scaramouche is adventuring across the world to reach a deeply depressed Aku and tell him something that'll restore his hope and determination to kill Jack—and Scaramouche is decapitated the whole time.

Lots of characters are loyal enough to obey Aku. Scaramouche is the only one devoted enough to disobey Aku, risking his own life in the process, because he thinks it'll make Aku happy.

Nobody in the show appears to like Aku but Scaramouche, nobody in the show demonstrates as much care for Aku as Scaramouche, Aku doesn't tolerate as much defiance or nonsense from anyone else as he does from Scaramouche, and Aku never acts as casual and friendly with anyone else as he does with Scaramouche.

That's why I ship them.

Also Scaramouche is a sassy gay robot with a purple coat. I like that.

[1moreff-creator]

Hey there!!

Since we know that Despair Time's Chapter 3 is in the works, I wanted to ask: who do you think is more likely to be a victim?

Personally, I want to start by listing a few characters I think aren't too likely to die. (Excluding Teruko)

Nico. I know that they're a popular victim choice for Chapter 3, but I kinda feel like they won't die yet. They are indeed in an uncomfortable position due to their murder attempt on Ace, but that could be setting them up for development rather than tragedy. Plus, I kindaaa feel like that killing both Ace and Nico off consecutively feels a little bit like and odd choice. It'd be interesting to see how the story unfolds with one of them living to carry on the burden of the consequences for an additional chapter (Not saying that this can't happen tho! Just my opinion). In addition, Nico has actually proven themselves to be quite useful during trials, but not to the point of being too smart and making themselves a target. Also, yeah, I will admit that they give me survivor vibes, but maybe that's just bias.

J. I literally have no evidence for her. She just gives me strong survivor vibes. Sorry if I don't have much to say about her. I genuinely think J is the only character who would absolutely shock me if she ends up dead.

Whit. I think that, among the entire cast, Whit is the least fleshed out character so far, which in hindsight, seems to be hinting at him lasting for a long while. Long enough to get more screentime, at least. I personally don't like Whit, but I can totally see why he's a popular survivor pick. There are quite a few mysteries surrounding him, and he seems to tie into the themes of the show quite well, with his intuition and whatnot, and he's a lot smarter than he seems, so he might be a key player later on down the line.

Ace. He's gonna be a survivor, trust me.

I'm not gonna talk about the rest of them because... I'm conflicted, honestly. In my mind, so many characters could die in Chapter 3, but people such as Veronika, Arturo, Eden, David and Hu confuse me. I could see them die now, but I could also see them lasting a little longer. And I admittedly don't have much to say about them personally. Plus, I could see a few of them working as the killer, but I don't feel comfortable predicting that one.

So with that said, I have three main picks. I'm gonna assume that DRDT is gonna have a double murder for simplicity's sake. If it doesn't, uh, whoops 🙇🏻.

Charles. I don't like repeating what the majority already said, so I'll make this short, but I do think he will die soon. His character developed quickly, and his relationship with Whit seems to be an important point for both of their characters. Obviously, he might still get even more development in the future if Whit dies, but I see it working better if it's the other way around honestly.

Levi/Rose. I'm split between these two. I've been set on Levi being a victim ever since the end of Chapter 2. Now, I did see a lot of arguments about how Levi dying immediately after Ace's sacrifice might feel a little underwhelming, especially after Arturo was ""motivated"" by Ace's words. This is a good argument, and it could totally be the case, but the main reason why I don't see Levi surviving is, partially, because of his injuries. I understand that this is Danganronpa, and that characters can survive insane circumstances. I won't deny that it's not impossible for Levi to pull through. But he received so many injuries from that failed execution, that I wonder if Levi would even recover at all. Even if he does make it past Chapter 3, would Chapter 4 be enough to get him to move? Or Chapter 5? The way I interpreted it at first, is that Levi getting heavily injuried was a way to allow weaker characters to kill him. Normally, if anyone tried attacking him, I think he would just breathe a chill "Oh dear" and beat the living hell out of whoever tried. However, he's a very easy target now, and I wonder if that was on purpose. I don't really think he'll be a killer personally, so it's either survivor or victim, and I'm leaning much more towards tragic victim for now. As for Rose... vibes. Well, not only vibes, actually. Her photographic memory is really messing her up, and I wonder just how much more she can endure. Teruko did point out how her not being careful enough might lead to a murderer easily taking advantage of her, and yeah, she is right. I don't really know what kind of development Rose will receive next chapter, so I could see her becoming more careful as a way to avoid a similar situation to the Ace-Nico one, but I could also see this draining her even more, to the point where she forces her mind to focus, and combined with her excellent memory, this could cause some huge problems for her.

Remember that these are all nothing but guesses, so take them with a mountain of salt. I'm curious to hear your opinion if you want to share it, but anyone can join in if they want to!

I’m sorry it took me so long to answer this, I kinda forgot the ask was there sorry T_T Anyways, those are a lot of very interesting thoughts, so let’s get right into it! 

Spoilers for DRDT CH2. CW: Murder, poisoning

I’ll start by going over the characters you covered, and the points you brought up:

Nico: I totally get the sentiment that a lot could be done with Nico’s attempted murder, and that it’d make sense to have them survive a bit longer to fully explore that, but I’ll say that people (myself included) tend to underestimate just how much can happen in one chapter. Nico’s entire attempted murder arc could technically be resolved in a satisfactory way in CH3, I believe, especially since a lot of the groundwork already got laid out in Trial 2. Now, I don’t necessarily believe Nico will be a CH3 victim either, but they’re more so in the “I have no idea when they’re gonna die” camp for me that a lot of other characters fall into lol. 

J: Fully agreed on the survivor vibes. In fact, in my survivor prediction post, I actually listed her as my second most confident guess for survivor only after Teruko, mostly because Themes. You can read my thoughts there lol.

Whit: Again, talked about this guy in my survivor predictions, for many of the same reasons you listed, so. You can imagine I agree with you on this one lol.

Ace: Hey, I’ll accept Ace being a survivor as long as Min gets to be one too x)

Charles: Here’s my actual guess for victim! I actually already talked a bit about it in an old post of CH3 predictions which I wrote shortly after CH2 ended, but like you said, Charles has already had a lot of development, and as long as the Elliot thing gets resolved in CH3, there’s not much else we need for his character to die in a narratively cohesive way. And of course:

Whit: Charles Cuevas, pronounced dead at 3. Cause of death: fatally unfunny. 

Our favorite foreshadowing boy continues to accidentally doom the narrative! And to repeat what I said in my old predictions post, I specifically believe Charles will be poisoned with strychnine, because the list of custom weapons Whit shows the class doesn’t list Charles’ weapon (given it was likely written by Charles himself), seemingly setting up some kind of trial conflict when Charles dies to (or kills with, I guess) strychnine, leaving Teruko as the only person confirmed to know about the thing. 

So, yeah. And if CH3 has two victims…

Levi/Rose: Levi’s a tough one, because while physically he very much is weak and vulnerable, he might have a lot of supervision with Arturo or other people constantly on watch in case his condition deteriorates. But it is true that his character already got explored a decent amount, so it’s not unbelievable that he’d die this chapter. I kinda feel like he has a shot at survivor… if he survives this chapter. I also mentioned him in my survivor predictions actually.

And I feel the same way about Rose, who I also brought up in the survivor prediction post, funnily enough. She’s in my top three mastermind guesses, and with how the themes of the story are working out she’d work as a survivor even without that. So she could certainly make it all the way… if she survives CH3. Because the other option is that her mental state cannot recover from its rapid deterioration, and we’ll just get a couple of scenes in CH3 to fully develop her character so she can die before she stops being able to really contribute much to the plot. Couple that with the possibility this chapter will have something like THH’s money motive, as the previous two motives followed that pattern, and it makes sense that this could end up being the chapter Rose dies, as a victim or as a killer. 

As for other characters, I kinda feel like you. I firmly believe anyone could die if the chapter focuses enough on them, which makes guessing this kind of thing very hard for me.

I think David’s probably safe for now, if nothing else because his knowledge of Teruko’s real secret (“the killing game is all your fault” blah blah blah) feels like something that can drive the plot in later chapters a lot. Eden feels like she should be safe for similar reasons; though I get the appeal of killing both Charles and Eden in the same chapter to fuck Teruko up a lot, I think she'll get to be involved in a bit more plot given she is both Fork Girl and has the weirdest Mai Quote by far.

I could see Vero dying either here or in CH4 to leave some of the more grounded characters for the end game, but if I had to place money on it, I'd bet on Veronika outliving Arturo rather than Arturo outliving Veronika, just based on how interesting their respective reactions to the other's death would be. So maybe Arturo’s next to go.

I’m just spitballing, though. Other than Charles, I have zero confident guesses (not that I'm 100% on Charles either). While I think as of CH2 people like Eden and David might be safe due to plot relevance, said plot relevance could also get speedran in CH3, or it could be explored post-mortem like Xander's own relevance is being treated now, at which point they'd be right back to the chopping block. And characters like Hu, Nico, Vero, Arturo, all have decent enough groundwork that they could easily get fully explored and killed off in CH3. Basically I'm just as un-confident in my guesses now as I was when I made that old prediction post lmao.

In any case, I hope that was a good enough answer, and I’m again sorry for being so late on answering this T_T Additional apology to anyone with asks in my inbox, especially the people who’ve asked me stuff about Tetro Pink. I swear I’ll answer them when I catch up, but honestly that might take a while with all the shit I got going on :/ See ya’!

[estro-gem]

The not-so-much essay about the relationship drama in TADC episode 5

Warning: Spoilers, overthinking, opinions and headcannons about TADC episode 5. This is not a fact-based essay and this is polluted by my biased idiologies. I will not try to predict what will happen, but I will speculate about what had happened.

There are so many things packed in this episode – so many loose ends revealed.

I’ll just treat the episode like a breakdown:

Start: The common area.

This sets the scene very well. Everyone (besides Zooble) is tired. Exhausted. Overwhelmed. Pomni’s flopped on the floor. Jax repeatedly says that he wants to sleep. Ragatha, doesn’t think Kinger’s statement through when offering to help him count eggs (then again, this might also just play into her people-pleaser, agreeable character) and she appeared to have bags under her eyes at one point? Looking downcast the next. Gangle’s mask effortlessly breaks. Zooble is tired in general, ect.

If there is one thing TADC set early on, is that the cast shows their true colours when they are tired and overwhelmed. Think about Gangle’s manic episode (literally) and Kinger feeling helpless when he didn’t know how to help Pomni in “hell.” How Jax acted at the end of the day at episode 4 and actually showed a sliver of his true self to Pomni – that’s important – more on that later.

It's clear that the team is sent into Caine’s shenanigans without time to recoup – which is why I adore the pacing of how Jax and Pomni’s relationship is developed.

Side note: Gangle lighting up at seeing Zooble waiting for them melted my heart!

Anyway, with that out of the way, we now have context.

Jax’s adventures:

I don’t think there is much to say about the first one, other than the fact that he doesn’t take adventures and whatever happens within them seriously – and I don’t think he thinks that what he does has a lasting effect on anyone. Also, I think this kinda set’s Jax and Gangle’s dynamic in stone.

It’s a game to Jax and he’s here to play. That being said, I don’t think he likes to be on the receiving end of what he’s dishing out either because he’s petty like that. Gangle is rolling with the punches, I presume, and that’s part of the reason why I believe that Gangle is one of the few people Jax would consider closest to being a friend – or at least someone that wouldn’t deliberately abandon him. He can be mean all he wants, but she doesn’t pull away, even when she’s at her worst. In fact, she retaliates and she’s still open to doing things with him, like in episode 4 when they were playing softball.

Jax shoots Gangle first (and goes absolutely feral) – and I believe it’s out of spite, not hatred. Jax and Gangle has a cat and mouse thing going. They go at each other any chance they get. Jax picks on Gangle. She talks back. He takes her binoculars without asking. She tells him of all people to go clean the toilet. He brushes her off. She ?tortures him (in private, if I may add) He shoots her. She puts him in a maid outfit. Odd relationship, but I’ll groom myself into believing there is some weird form of affection there, or some level of relation/mutualism.

However, it’s also clear that there is at least an arm’s length between them.

Now that there’s a new person with no attachment or prejudice to anyone, Jax set his eyes on Pomni. I mean, think about it – in episode one, he had Ragatha join him to take Pomni to Kaufmo’s. His opposite.

Then the President Pomni thing, I believe that is one of Jax’s many tests of Pomni’s character. All throughout the season he made little comments and ask for her input/opinion. Poke at her and see how she reacts. He outright says he ‘wanted to see what she’d do.’ And he honours the fact that she is a blank slate to the team – not giving her a script.

In his mind, the others are set in their ways in their opinions about him, but he realized that Pomni doesn’t have her set opinion on anyone just yet. (yes I believe Jax overthinks and over analyze things, ok, bite me. Did you SEE Kinger’s character brief and how it was thought out? Jax did that!) That’s why, of all people, he opens up to her the most.

Pomni remembers things he did to her, but she doesn’t seem to hold resentment. She just goes with it, a little like Gangle – so I think he finds her amusing at least.

Gangle’s adventure (I died at the intro XD):

Again, not much to say, but there’s an honourable mention of, again, Jax reaching out to Pomni. He also seems to be very neutral about Zooble. They’re genuine and tend to brush him off and he reflects that back. He takes another chance to jab at Gangle – someone I theorize him to see as some weird mutual, so he doesn’t thing twice to use Gangle’s demise to get a rise out of Pomni, which only responds dryly about what he did to her in the past. This sets Jax’s perception of Pomni in stone. She doesn’t care what he does if it doesn’t affect her – at least that’s how he sees it. Nothing fake, no showboating, just Pomni being herself – confused and over it. Getting through the next event. Just like him.

He can relate to her… And that carries over to the stargazing adventure.

The Stargazing adventure

I don’t know who’s this is, but it feels serene – everyone is relaxing. Also, Ragatha spawned in the corner, off to the side.

Gangle and Zooble are acting all cute and close and Jax noticed this. His eyes are glued to them before he notice Pomni beside him. (Damnit, this scene makes me want to believe he’s a bit protective of Gangle)

He opens up to Pomni again – it never hurt before, right? He looks worried, talking about how he notices that Gangle is happy to hang out with Zooble and that he wonders if she’s capable of true happiness.

This is huge.

The moment is huge – because with him being vulnerable to Pomni as he’d been inching towards before, Ragatha takes the chance to berate him when he shares his concern about Gangle seeing her relationship with Zooble being a ‘quick fix.’ He defends his badgering by saying that Gangle likes it.

I don’t think Jax meant ‘she is a masochist.’ I believe that Jax thinks that Gangle likes Jax giving her a reason to be sad. And it may be true! Consider that, along with what I mentioned before about them going at each other and her not ever abandoning him. Guys, I think he is protective of Gangle in his own little messed up way.

Ragatha’s presence and comments – sharing things about him that wasn’t hers to share when Pomni finally tried to reach out to Jax, that almost shut him down and he reverted back to acting aloof and like a douche, but Ragatha leaves and he can open up again to Pomni’s gentle prying with no judgement.

Other note, he say’s it feels like Ragatha is trying to take advantage of them. First, I thought that statement was weird. Like, how is that the conclusion?? But think about it, everything he said up until this point indicates that Jax values friendship deeply and anyone trying to fake and ditch when the going gets tough, is robbing him of his trust, time and commitment.

Jax is alone and he lost a friend before, as Ragatha so insensitively put it, running away when she realized that she overstepped, instead of apologizing and acknowledging that she hurt him by bring up the past and his loss.

A huge reason why I think Jax behaves the way he does is because he believes he has no one left to lose. He’s in the most powerful position to be in, but with that, comes loneliness. That’s why he doesn’t want to get any closer to Gangle. That’s why he’s so cautious about opening up to Pomni. He conditioned himself into thinking that he doesn’t need anyone, when, in fact, he yearns for connection – he can’t help it.

Then the magic happens.

He goes back to being aloof – but Pomni doesn’t pry, she plays into it. She listened and didn’t push. She didn’t give him a reason to tell her to back off. So he stays.

Now, he likes her; she’s cool (I think).

Zooble’s adventure:

I have the least to say about this, actually. Everyone got a chance to open up. This segment mostly alludes to Jax and Zooble’s relationship. Jax is an untouchable obstacle to Zooble. Jax enjoys their banter. Zooble seemed to only really show interest in him when they discovered his fear, when he picked on Gangle or when he tried to lure Pomni into a sense of comfort by apologizing. Pomni, going against Zooble’s advice, accepts his apology.

There was, again, some weird tension between Jax and Ragatha.  It definitely runs deeper than whoever is closer to Pomni. It also highlights the disconnect between Ragatha and the rest of the team. It was so sad to see Ragatha open up and all the others did, was stare. No inquiry, no one relating. Just plain staring, then moving on as if nothing happened.

There was a moment with Jax looking sad and another where he drunkenly told Ragatha to be mad – it’s funny. I think he perceives ‘funny’ as ‘interesting’ or ‘intriguing’, but he sucks at expressing himself on a good day, so the gentle nudge he gave when reassuring Ragatha after she apologized for being a jerk to Gangle, may have been him poking at her, still sour that she rudely brought up is lost friend, but maybe, just maybe, it was him just as desperate to connect with ‘the real Ragatha’ as Ragatha was to connect with literally anyone else.

Ragatha’s adventure:

Let’s talk about the elephant in the room: Ragatha’s trauma.

In this episode it’s made very clear that Ragatha had, at least, a very strained relationship with her mother, who seems to have criticized her every move and berate her for not acting “appropriately.” The reason I say so is the way she apologized to Jax. She was PISSED, and going overboard in chewing out Jax for his behaviour, her eye was twitching, she was frazzled, but she was able to pull herself together very well and actually apologize. It even left Jax stunned – or whatever that blank expression was he was sporting. For the first time she was being genuine and yet she swallowed her pride and apologized.

Ragatha’s trauma made her to be one of the most mentally strong characters in the circus, if not the strongest. And it’s a shame it was born from trauma, but I love what a queen she really is. The problem is that she is desperate for connection and the only way she had known to connect is by appeasing other’s expectations, the way she had to appease her mother’s expectations.

While meeting other’s expectations can give you praise from others, it’s seen by others, and yourself, as a box being ticked. There was a need that was met and you were the tool to achieve that.

It does not necessarily make you appreciated, because the burden of offering yourself up to be the reliable one is that people will begin to see it as a given. In the stargazing adventure, Jax said that (I’m paraphrazing) ‘being told you are loved and appreciated every day make it lose it’s value’ – and in this case, Ragatha solidified herself as the nice one, who others expect to be nice and supportive no matter what.

There is no depth. She gave herself a function and others accept that. Since that role is solidified, no one has the desire to pursue anything more from her, like a deeper connection – and that is what she desperately wants. She just doesn’t know how to pursue it herself without doing things that would earn her praise instead of appreciation.

I think that is why, when she sat next to Pomni, disappointed in herself for not batting as well as she personally wanted – according to her own expectation, Pomni was able to see a small true part of Ragatha. The doll is competitive. Pomni then proceeds to reach out to her. It’s beautiful. Then Jax uses Ragatha’s vulnerability to push her too far and with the doll’s inexperience in handling conflict, she goes overboard, fueling Jax’s fire.

Ragatha rained on his parade by pulling herself together again and I desperately want to believe that there was some level of respect in his gaze, but eh, I’m biased. Point is, she shut him up.

There were many scenes in Ragatha’s adventure highlighting Ragatha’s isolation from the group. Jax warmed up to Pomni and Evil Pomni, which may or may not be the worst part of Pomni – or at least, that’s what Ragatha believed the Evil versions to be. The fact that the most disliked person didn’t want anything to do with her or even the worst part of herself? Ouch.

Then comes the part where Pomni offered Ragatha to bat in her place. Pomni did that to be nice and possibly extend an olive branch for their earlier fallout, thinking that would make the doll happy. I theorize that Ragatha agreed, because in her mind Pomni wanted her to make her proud, like she had to make her mother proud. So when all was said and done, when she ‘won’ (did nothing) the other members came to praise her, which was nice, but it wasn’t what she wanted.

She wanted Pomni to notice her, but instead, the jester was chatting with Jax, with no care about what was happening on the field. Pomni reflected what Ragatha had been doing all along – she was being nice. Ticking a box to make others happy. To meet Ragatha’s expectations.

That wasn’t connection, and I believe that realization made her realize just how isolated she really was.

She had no one left to lose, because she didn’t have anyone to begin with – and that’s why she didn’t chase anyone down at the end of the episode.

I don’t know how to end this off, so bye!

No wait! Side note, I believe Caine can't control minds, but he can weaponize their own minds against them.

He can do anything under the guise of it being their own choice. This is why the voting thing was able to make Jax vegan, despite him not wanting to be vegan.

Also, when Zooble opened up about their problems and feelings they had about their body, they told him to 'forget it.' AND HE LITERALLY FORGETS IT.

Kay, bye!

Also, I was asked for this: @zeeboomblebee

I wasn't asked for this but you are getting tagged anyway:

@d-jevil @realifezompire @lizeliz

My TADC episode 5 experience

I'm actively resisting to write a essay about organic friendships vs situational relationships, praise vs appreciation and both the power and dread of knowing that you have nothing to lose - or no one to lose.

[necroticboop]

THE LAST TRIAL : ↳ Отречение ( легенда Чародея ) / Denial ( Wizard’s Legend )

[sysig]

Damned Masterpost

Original run

ZEX wasn’t there for that, Dex!

Getting started

Kissing Strangers 💋

Captain Dating Sim

If I become lost...

It started with a whisper

Perfect comedy routine

Flowers for you!

ZEX loves wild horse!

Dexter’s first visit

Pivotal bright spot

Sunshine Captain ☀️

But ZEX loves humans!

Uniform ♥

Hard learning curve

Big Guy Teisel

VUXisms

ZEX’s hair <3

Haunted by Kayako

Zelnick has two hands

Zelnick’s gone :(

ZEX’s MU (blood)

Them (blood)

Leaving weird impressions

Last man standing

Wake up somewhere better (blood)

Despite everything, he’s still ZEX

New Daay

DAX profile

DAX Expressions

VUX duo Expressions

Lover’s tiff Expressions

Action heroes Expressions (blood)

Roughed up VUX Expressions (blood)

Too busy flirting

The Little VUXmaid ---

What if DAX was there

DAX’s Special Counseling

Homesick

After ZEX’s MU

Hope we die (blood)

Max’s visit

Karaoke Night

The girlies are fightinnggg

Different sensibilities

ZEX’s hair, again

Protect him, please

VUXémon

The three of them

Wander I mean Dr. Doran

More Dr. Doran

“Wake up” configurations

More VUXémon ft. Larry and Kabu

Dismissed ---

First re-meeting ♥

Chill, Sub-Commander

Each other’s VUX

Pyramid Head fight (blood)

Dr. Vargas

VUX silliness

Therapy went great

Nightly squabbles

You must snuggle

Obeying commands

Locked In

Damned, but make it Osmosis Jones

Wants to fight so bad

Some familiar faces

Drix Uniform

Main three’s profiles

Other

Stanley profile speculations

Max wants out

Crystal Gem VUX

All those missing eyes

2024 Sketchdump

[ramuterasu]

Having stewed on it for a bit, while there are certainly things to like about Everhood 2, I don't think it quite reaches the same highs as the original Everhood.

I can, however, commend its restraint from making a 'deez nutz' joke.

[swagging-back-to]

ok update i decided im gonna introduce mochi, sushi, and jasmine to the main colony and I'm going to sell both ten gallon tanks and the 30 gallon, keeping the 15 gallon for a quarantine tank.