#simply here to observe. no seizing for me

[excelsior9173]

sleep token i love you and your penchant for puzzles but… someone come get me when the next single drops i can’t keep up with this shit 😅

[chuluoyi]

✎ sick days

- gojo satoru x reader

who holds the fort when you fall sick? of course, it's your lovesick husband and baby!

genre: fluff, fluff, fluffff. basically, your baby is adorable, gojo is your husband and not only is he lovesick with you, he humors your baby so much it’s making me— sighs

note: based on this post! hi hi chu is back from vacation and here’s another dad!gojo fluff indulgence and we stan domestic men okay🤭

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

It's plain sight that Gojo Satoru is a highly attractive individual, and now that he has a son, it's fair to say that he’s the hottest dilf on the block.

With one hand twirling a famous brand of flu medicine box and the other propping his baby son at his hip, he garnered curious eyes, even in drugstore near his home.

“Hmm, why is it so cheap? Suspicious…”

Satoru let out a light hum, studying the orange and pink boxes, as well as glancing at the other purple box with bold labels claiming its effectiveness in halting cold symptoms, and then looked at his son.

His baby's big, crystal blue eyes blinked in wonder at the vibrant colors, and he reached out with grubby hands towards them. “Bwah!”

Suddenly, he got an idea.

“Hey, kiddo. Which do you think is better for mama?” he asked the baby, gesturing at the all three medicine on the rack with his jaw. “You choose.”

As if on cue, the little ball of fluff that was his son immediately reached out for the purple box, the more expensive out of all three displayed before him. Without missing a beat, he also seized both the orange and pink boxes in quick succession, holding them close to his chest.

Satoru broke into a hearty laugh, a wide grin split his face, as he affectionately tousled the boy's head with pride.

“That's my boy! Splurging is allowed—after all, we're rich!”

When the first signs of cold manifested in you, Satoru was already worried. He had warned you to take more rest, but typical you, you brushed it off as a mere fatigue.

And when this morning, you woke up to sudden coughing fits and hot-and-cold spells, which ended up with kicking him out of your shared bedroom in fear of spreading the virus, like the doting husband he was, Satoru promptly headed to the pharmacy with your baby in tow to get you some help.

"Oh my, sir, your son is so adorable!" the female cashier gushed when he got over to pay, finally voicing what other customers thought in their heads. He could sense the discreet glances from those around him even now.

As the baby clung to his shirt, Satoru tightened his grip on him and responded with a self-assured grin, ensuring those nearby heard his words, "Of course he is! My wife is pretty as heck too, shame she's down with fever today."

"Aww! Such high praise, you must adore your wife!"

"Mm-hmm!"

Ah, so he still has a wife. The other customers went about their day, some disappointed that the dilf was still evidently devoted to his wife. They could only wonder just who could the lucky woman was.

Moving on— after the short trip to the drugstore, Satoru went back home. He promptly checked on you in your master bedroom, inquiring, "Hey, how are—"

But he immediately halted upon seeing you nestled so comfortably under the blankets, sleeping soundly. For a moment, he simply stood, blinking and observing your serene slumber.

Strange that something inside him both softened and lurched at the sight. You were just that precious in his eyes. Stupid as it was, he was quite miserable to go through the day without your nagging and nitpicking. And above all, he never liked seeing you in any kind of discomfort—it made his protective instincts soar.

Hence his thought— there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, even if it means sacrificing heaven itself.

“Myah!” A hard shove on his arm and his baby’s babbling snapped him out of his trance. Satoru shifted his baby to his other hand, let out a questioning hum, and affectionately pinched his mochi-like cheeks.

“Hmm? You can’t be hungry, I—oooh,” a sheepish expression of realization appeared on his face, his blue eyes widened slightly as his baby glared at him. Then, chuckling like the goofball he was, Satoru patted him on his head to appease his grudge, “I haven’t fed you since this morning, eh?”

“Fwah!”

“Pfft! There, there… Me is sorry~ Now let me whip something up for you and mama, yeah?”

Now, he wouldn't claim to be the best chef, but he could certainly cook to save himself. Rolling up his sleeve, he went to the kitchen after leaving and stuffing his baby boy with a pacifier on his high chair.

“Hmmm, baby food for the minion and… congee? Yeah, congee should be good.”

Next task was feeding his already seething baby after he mixed together his baby food. He was a fussy eater—mostly with him, but surprisingly not so much with you (apparently, that's just his way of showing who he favors between his parents, heh). But when he managed to get the food in, with every spoonful, his son’s smile gradually widened, and so did his happiness.

Satoru thought then that he was the cutest thing he had ever created. His son was clearly a mini-him, but his reactions were definitely so you.

“Is it tasty? It is, isn’t it?” he cooed with baby voice, earning a delightful giggle in response from his son. Pushing his luck, he added with a suggestive grin, “Papa is the best, isn’t he?”

“Bwah...” The joyful expression on his baby's face faded instantly, dissolving into an unamused pout, prompting Satoru to righteously click his tongue.

“Why are you so against me?!”

After he was done with his fill, Satoru picked your baby up to the master bedroom to bring you something to eat. Seated on the opposite edge of the bed, he silently adored your sleeping form once again.

Right at that moment, the baby in his arms wriggled, reaching out for you. Acting on a sudden impulse, he put him on the bed, facing you.

“Now, go to mama, would you?” he whispered gently, grinning and giving his bum a light pat. “Go!”

Your son was also Gojo Satoru’s son, therefore he was an adept crawler even at barely seven months old. With remarkable agility, the little soldier steadily moved towards you, his diapers jiggling with each motion. He stopped right in front of your face, clearly recognizing you as his mother.

And your husband swore that even his logic-driven heart melted at the sight of your cute baby suddenly leaned in and clumsily smooched your nose.

Simply just the two most treasured loves of his life.

“Mm?” you let out a soft grunt, feeling the dryness in your throat as you cracked your eyes open, surprised to find yourself face-to-face with your baby. “Oh… why are you here? Don’t get too close…”

“He’ll be fine.” Satoru picked your son up, placing him on his knee and steadying him with one arm. Having moved next to you on the bed, he brushed hair from your forehead. “What about you, hmm? Feeling better?”

Your eyebrows creased into a frown. “Yeah, I think, but more than that, Satoru, I’ve told you, don’t let him—”

“Yes, yes, sweetheart. He won’t get sick, look, he’s as healthy as he can be~” and to make a point, he turned his baby over and lightly smacked his bottom, prompting a whimper from the little one and a gasp from you.

“Don’t spank him!”

“Ehh? Then can I spank you instead?”

“Satoru, you’re a little piece of—!”

Just you and him, as well as the little treasure that was your son. This little family was enough reason to live. To win.

And Gojo Satoru once again thought, that being the strongest didn’t really mean that much anymore because with his world in his hands, nothing else matters.

Epilogue

“You’re so silly, why did you buy so many?” you grumbled at the sight of three different brands of cold medicine your husband displayed in front of you. “One is enough, do you want me to overdose?”

Satoru snickered. “Don’t blame me, blame your kid. He’s the one picking all of them.”

You totally didn’t get what he meant at all, but yeah, your husband was the silliest human ever and that’s that.

“Hey, don’t you think it’s a bit smelly here?” Satoru suddenly asked, wearing a quizzical expression.

You took a sniff of the air, glancing at your baby blinking innocently and sitting calmly on your husband, and a realization struck you. “Uh, Satoru...”

Following your gaze, as if sensing an omen, Satoru hastily scooped up his son, letting out a bewildered gasp as he felt a slight wetness where the baby had been sitting on him.

“Did he just poo on me?!”

[harunayuuka2060]

*Maleficia and Baul arrived at Night Raven College and immediately asked to be escorted to Ramshackle Dorm.*

Crowley: I wouldn’t wish to trouble Her Majesty if this matter can be resolved by—

Maleficia: You may consider this matter trivial, but time is of the essence—I must act immediately.

Crowley: ...

Baul: By Her Majesty’s order, take us to the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm!

Malleus: Grandmother, you're here.

Maleficia: Have you received my message?

Malleus: Yes. I was unaware such a curse existed.

Maleficia: ...

Maleficia: This conversation can wait. At the moment, your friend requires my attention.

Malleus: *nods* Lilia and I—along with all of Diasomnia—stand ready to assist you, Grandmother.

*Maleficia and Baul anticipated resistance, but Grim simply observed as they stepped inside.*

Baul: ...Your Majesty—

Maleficia: They must have made an exception, knowing I would come to visit.

Baul: But Your Majesty, this is too—

Maleficia: *walks in*

Baul: Wait! Your Majesty!

*MC bowed in respect the moment Maleficia came into view. Yet when they raised their head, their expression turned to one of confusion—as if wondering why the Queen of Briar Valley had come all this way to see them.*

MC: What a privilege to see you again, Your Majesty.

Maleficia: ...

Maleficia: I as well, though I never imagined I would see you in such a situation.

MC: *smiles* I don’t believe this concerns Her Majesty.

Baul: You—! Have you no concept of Her Majesty’s distress?!

MC: Why the concern? My presence here harms no one.

Maleficia: My dear child, what is it you hope to accomplish? Perhaps we might discuss this together? Know that I am here to listen.

MC: ...

MC: Listen?

Baul: !!!

Maleficia: ...

MC:

MC: How unexpected to witness Your Majesty showing concern for another. Could time have softened your legendary resolve~?

Maleficia: ...

Baul: Their voice changed— No... Who are you?!

MC: Maleficia, an introduction would have been courteous, don't you agree?

Maleficia: The name of a demon shall never pass my lips.

MC: How this wounds me… I cherished our friendship, only to discover it was but my own fancy.

MC: *then lets out an unrestrained laugh*

Baul and Maleficia: ...

Maleficia: You've sunk too low—exploiting the vulnerability of an unsuspecting human.

MC: Look at them - they're painfully naive! After all they've done to help, no one valued their efforts. As a demon, perhaps I should… enlighten them to their true worth. *reached for the mirror behind them, revealing MC's reflection.*

MC: Kufufu~ A soul without escape is like a gem… polished by its own desperation.

Maleficia: !!!

Malleus: *shocked to see his grandmother wounded—though relieved to find the injury wasn’t fatal*

Maleficia: ...

Malleus: Grandmother... Did the child of man cause this?

Maleficia: Your friend would never wish me harm, Malleus.

Baul: Your Highness! A demon is seizing control of their mind!

Silver: Demon...?

Lilia: Are you saying this is more serious than we thought?!

Baul: Yes. Since our encounter, I've come to realize that human possesses powerful mana.

Malleus, Silver, Lilia, and Sebek: !!!

Sebek: Th-That can't be!

MC: ...

MC: *their eyes glazed over—the scene before them not quite registering* Have I done... something?

Grim: Grr...

MC: Queen Maleficia was here... Where is she?

*The mirror showed the fallen angel's reflection curling into a sinister smile.*

[greengoblinswifey]

Consume Me- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader

warnings: praise kink, unprotected sex, oral sex(f receiving) sub rafe kinda.(nth too crazy in this for now)

In the dim glow of Topper's party, Rafe stood like a moth drawn to the flame, watching you laugh, a kook like him but somehow, radiating warmth and light, effortlessly weaving through the crowd, your spirit a wild dance that captivated him. You were everything he wasn’t—free, vibrant, surrounded by friends, yet you remained a mystery, a beautiful enigma who kept your distance from him, tethered to Kelce’s side whenever they would hang out and he would be present.

As the music pulsed, Rafe felt his heart race, each beat echoing in his chest, probably a result of about two lines. The moment you glanced his way, his world shifted; you consumed his thoughts, your essence wrapping around him like ivy, pulling him deeper into infatuation. He was a tangled mess of longing, wishing for just a moment to bridge the gap between your worlds, to be the one who took you home, who had you at his fingertips in more ways than one.

But as the night unfolded he was left standing in the shadows, a silent admirer caught in the whirlwind of your laughter, desperate to break free from his own insecurities. Rafe knew he was entranced, completely lost in your charm, yearning for you to see him not just as Rafe, but as someone worthy of your light.

“Kelce,” you groaned, the strong Vodka beginning to do a number on you, “I’m ready to go home.”

“Well I'm not ready,” he groaned back, nudging you towards Rafe, the shy observer longing to unravel your mystery. “Let Rafe take you.”

You were caught off guard, a flicker of uncertainty in your eyes, a silent plea for companionship in the depths of the night. Rafe, seizing the moment, stepped forward, a glimmer of hope in his gaze, ready to bridge the gap between your worlds, to finally break through the barrier you've unknowingly placed.

“It’s not a problem really,” Rafe said, instinctively rubbing his nose. You rolled your eyes, he’d definitely done a line or two but he seemed capable enough to take you home. Well, what other choice did you have. You couldn’t avoid him forever anyway.

As Rafe guided you through the thrumming crowd, his hand rested gently on your back, the touch electrifying. Inside, a whirlwind of emotions swirled, happiness bloomed in his chest like a flower breaking through the cracks of concrete. After months of longing, he finally got to be near you, to bask in your presence, the princess of the island, radiant and untouchable, yet somehow here beside him.

You’re everything he could ever dream of—rich, vibrant, a kook just like him, yet embodying a kindness and grace that seemed worlds apart from his own struggles. The two of you slipped into his vehicle, the air thick with unspoken words and electric tension. As you entered your address, he stole glances at you, memorizing the way your eyes reflected the streetlights, the way your face softened in the glow of the dashboard.

The journey unfolded in silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the distant sounds of the night. You stared out the window, lost in thought, while Rafe wrestled with the words that dance just beyond his reach, each one heavy with the weight of his feelings. He wanted to bridge the chasm between them, to share the thoughts that swirled in his mind, but for now, he simply reveled in the moment, the thrill of being so close to someone so extraordinary.

The gates of your mansion opened, Rafe driving up the driveway, deciding this was the night. You turned to him, your voice soft yet unexpected, "Do you want to come in for some water?"

Both of you paused, surprise flickering across your faces. He nodded, a smile breaking through the tension as he steps out of the vehicle, the night air wrapping around him.

Inside, you grabbed a glass and filled it with water, the cool liquid a stark contrast to the heat of the moment.

Turning to face you, he took a deep breath, his heart racing. “You have no idea how consumed I am by you," he begins, his voice steady but filled with urgency. “I’ve wanted you. Craved you for months. It’s like... I need you. I’ve never felt like this before, and honestly, I feel like I’d die if I didn’t have you in my life. I don’t know what this feeling is.”

As he spoke, he couldn’t help but notice how your melanin glowed under the soft light, a radiant warmth that drew him in further. Your skin seemed to capture the light, illuminating the room with an ethereal beauty that left him breathless. He watched as your eyes widened slightly, the weight of his confession hanging between you like a fragile thread, waiting to be woven into something more.

“Baby.” Your voice trembled slightly, revealing a vulnerability that made you feel withdrawn, as if you were scared of what he represented. But he knew he needed you, and he stepped closer, the tension between you palpable.

Sitting around the island, your eyes were on him, a mix of longing and hesitation hanging in the air. He lowered himself to his knees, resting his head in your lap, looking up at you with dazed, needy eyes. “I need you so bad,” he whimpered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I crave you Y/N. It’s like I- I can’t.”

His words hang in the air, filled with desperation, and you could feel the weight of his longing pressing against him, hoping you could sense just how deeply he felt for you.

You pulled him up by his shirt, your small hand then snaking around his neck and his eyebrows furrowed. His lips parted and you took the opportunity to press your glossy ones against his. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in the moment. Your lips met softly, a gentle brush that felt electric. It was filled with a sweetness and need that spoke volumes. There was no rush, just a lingering connection as you both savored the warmth and tenderness of the kiss.

His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as you deepened the kiss, exploring the unfamiliar territory of each other’s lips. It was a dance of innocence, where every touch felt new and exciting, and the world outside felt distant. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and in that moment, everything felt right.

The kiss ended and he whimpered at the loss. You pulled him by his shirt towards your room upstairs, on the other side of the mansion and he followed obediently like a loyal puppy.

As you entered your room, the atmosphere shifted, filled with a mix of anticipation and excitement. The soft glow of the lamp casted gentle shadows on the walls, creating an intimate space just for the two of you.

You sat close on the edge of the bed, hearts racing as you leaned in, sharing a tentative kiss that gradually deepened. It started slow, a sweet exploration of each other’s lips, but soon turned into something more passionate, a need that could no longer be contained.

Hands began to wander, tracing the curves of each other’s bodies. The moment felt electric as you removed each other’s clothes, each layer falling away, revealing more skin and vulnerability.

You audibly gasped, staring at the erection revealed in front of you. God, he was big.

“I’m so hard for you,” Rafe whined.

“I know baby.” It was obvious.

He went on his knees once more, opening your legs and revealing the heaven that resided between. “Am I allowed to touch you? Have my tongue inside you?”

At a loss for words you nodded, just desperate to feel him in some capacity.

“Oh- oh my, god.” Whines, the sound of your juices and Rafe’s tongue filled your once silent room and you gripped onto the little hair he had on his head. Curse that hot ass buzz cut.

The feeling of his tongue against you was heaven, he was so skilled, sucking on your clit, flicking it with his tongue as his eyes bore into yours, a moment so intimate you almost wanted to hide your pretty face.

He took his time, savoring every moment, every taste. His tongue moved with precision—gentle, deliberate. Each motion ignited something deep inside, making your breath catch, your back arching slightly off the bed. You couldfeel the pressure building with every lap of his tongue, every flicker of heat against your most sensitive nerves.

“Baby, fuck, Rafe, oh my- Rafe, please.”

Rafe’s hands gripped your thighs tighter as he deepened his focus, his tongue pressing harder now, more insistent. He was relentless but tender and more soft moans escaped your lips. He responded with a low groan of approval, the vibration of his voice adding to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

Your body betrayed you, trembling under his touch as he pushed you closer to the edge. He knew you were close—he could feel it in the way your thighs trembled and tightened around his head, and the way your breath quickened. His tongue circled in a final, deliberate motion, and the world around you blurred.

When it hit, it was like a storm breaking loose. Your body surged with pleasure, a pulse that started deep inside and spread outward, consuming every inch of you. Your fingers tangled in the sheets, gripping tight as the sensation washed over you, a cry slipping from your lips as you came undone under his mouth. He didn’t let up, drawing every last ripple from you, not stopping until your body finally collapsed, spent and trembling in his hands.

Rafe pulled back slowly, his lips glistening with a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he looked up at you, your chest heaving, your body still buzzing in the aftermath.

“Did you like that pretty girl?” he inquired, panting and buzzed out, drunk off your savory taste.

Nodding frantically, you pulled him on top of you by his neck, capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss and sucking the remnants of your taste from his mouth and tongue.

“Need you Rafey, please, fuck me, just put it in.” It was your turn to be a needy mess. Seeing his hard cock in front of you right after you came was like an addict seeing drugs.

“Anything for you pretty girl.”

The air between you crackled with tension, every touch sparking something deeper. Rafe hovered over you, his body pressing lightly against yours as he lined himself up, his gaze locked onto your face. The heat of his skin against yours was electrifying, and anticipation hung thick in the air.

You felt him slowly push the tip in, just enough to make your breath catch. A gasp escaped your lips, his size stretching you, testing your limits. His brow furrowed with restraint, the muscles in his arms tensing as he held back, waiting for you to adjust. His eyes searched yours, intense and burning with something primal, yet laced with care, checking to see if you were fine. You nodded slightly, biting your lip, and he moved again, pressing in just a little more, but it’s so much—he’s so much. That goddamn cock.

Your body tightened instinctively around him, and he groaned, low and guttural, the sound sending a ripple of need straight through you. He was so big that every inch was a slow, deliberate stretch, each movement making your breath hitch in your throat. His eyes never left yours, his lips parted slightly as he panted softly, the strain of holding back evident on his face. You were both gasping, lost in the feeling of him filling you inch by inch, the overwhelming sensation forcing you to arch your back slightly into him.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he was fully inside, and you could feel him throbbing deep within you. The moment hung in the air, both of you frozen in awe, the sheer intensity of the connection leaving you breathless. Your fingers gripped his shoulders as he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, and for a moment, all you could hear were your ragged breaths mingling together.

Then, slowly, he began to move. His hips rolled gently, sliding out just enough to make you gasp before pressing back in with a smooth, deliberate thrust. The friction was perfect, every inch of him dragging against you, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. Rafe Cameron was fucking you.

With each thrust, your nails dug into his back as you both got lost in the sensation, the pressure building higher and higher. His eyes never left yours, even as his moans deepened, becoming more desperate with every movement. You felt yourself slipping closer to release, every thrust pushing you closer, until you were both gasping and moaning in unison, bodies trembling as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Rafe,” you moaned. The sound of you moaning his name was just enough to make him cum inside you but he had to hold back, just a minute.

“I know baby, I know, let it out,” he cooed, feeling how you clenched and pulsated around his rock hard cock.

Rafe’s thrusts became more deliberate, more precise, as if he knew exactly what you needed. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, every nerve in your body alight with sensation. You could feel the tension building deep inside, coiling tighter with each stroke, and he watched you, fully aware of how close you were to falling apart beneath him.

Your moans turned into desperate whimpers, his name slipping from your lips. His hand slid down between your bodies, fingers pressing gently against your clit, rubbing in fast, circular motions. It was too much, the combination of his cock buried deep inside you and the steady pressure on your most sensitive spot sending shockwaves through your body.

Your legs trembled, your thighs tightening around his hips as the pleasure peaked. He thrusted into you harder, each motion pushing you closer to the edge until you couldn’t hold on any longer. With a gasp, your body clenched around him, the tension finally snapping, and the release flooded through you all at once.

You felt it, the rush of liquid escaping you as your orgasm ripped through every muscle in your body. You cried out, your back arching off the bed as you squirted around his cock, the slick wetness coating him. His name fell from your lips again, but it was barely a sound, lost in the overwhelming ecstasy that took over.

Rafe groaned, his hips faltering for a moment as he felt the wet heat surrounding him. His cock twitched inside you, still moving as he rode out your orgasm with you, his own breath coming in sharp gasps.

Your vision blurred, the intensity leaving you dizzy, but Rafe didn’t stop. He kept thrusting, slow and deliberate now, letting you ride out every last wave of pleasure until you were finally left panting and spent beneath him, your body limp and trembling in his arms.

“C-can I? Inside you? Please baby,” he whined, his thrusts becoming more desperate and sloppy.

“Mhm, yes, fill me up.”

You could feel the way his cock throbbed inside you, the tension in his body coiled tight. His breathing grew ragged, each exhale punctuated by a low, guttural moan. He was so deep, filling you so completely that you could barely breathe.

His eyes were locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze burning through you as his hips move with desperate precision. Every thrust sent another surge of pleasure coursing through your body. His grip on your hips tightened, and his pace grew uneven. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, each movement more frantic than the last.

You wrapped your legs tighter around him, pulling him in deeper, and he let out a strangled groan, his forehead dropped to rest against yours. His lips brushed against yours as he panted, breathless and overwhelmed, on the edge of losing control.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice low and strained, “I’m so close baby, so goddamn close. Gonna fill this pretty little tight pussy.”

His hips stuttered and you can feel the heat pooling between you, the friction building until it was unbearable. His hand gripped the sheets beside your head, muscles straining as he finally gave in. His eyes fluttered shut, his jaw clenching, and with a deep, shuddering moan, he thrusted into you one last time, burying himself as deep as he can go.

You felt him pulse inside you, his cock twitching as he spilled into you, filling you with a hot rush and you came once more, this time, with him. His body tensed above you, every muscle taut as he let out a ragged groan of release, the sound vibrating through the air. His warmth flooded through you, his orgasm drawing out in long, throbbing waves as he rocked against you, riding out every last pulse of pleasure.

He collapsed against you, his breath coming in harsh gasps, his body trembled from the intensity of it all. You could feel him still throbbing inside you, his release mingling with yours, the heat of his cum filling you completely. For a moment, neither of you moved, both of you lost in the sensation, hearts pounding in sync.

Slowly, he pulled back just enough to look into your brown eyes, his expression softening as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. His breathing was still heavy, but there was a look of contentment on his face, a quiet satisfaction in the aftermath of the overwhelming pleasure and the need he felt for you over the past few months.

He collapsed beside you, bringing your frame close to him as you continued staring into each others eyes. Rafe Cameron fucked you in your bed.

“Are you okay beautiful, I didn’t hurt you did I?” he whispered.

“More than okay.”

He smiled and kissed your sweaty forehead, your bodies intertwined on your pink sheets that were wet with your arousal.

“Can we stay like this all night?” he asked, sounding shy.

“As long as you hold me throughout.”

Rafe was satisfied with the answer, he would hold you that night and the many other nights he would ditch his friends and his family to come see you and vice versa. He finally got what he wanted. You. Nothing else mattered.

A/N: Put my whole ass into this since it’s the second time i’ve written for Rafe, requests are open!

[batsovergotham]

Chapter 4 Part 4: A Dance on Divided Ground

"In order to be in control, you have to embrace your power, not reject it. I know your abilities can frighten you at times. But you're not seeing the beauty in them. With our unpredictable gift, we can create a greater world. But we must take responsibility for how this gift affects others."

Main!Mark Grayson x Psychic! Reader

warnings: unprotected sex, major character death, murder, angstrom is his own warning, mentions of cheating, rex is a good friend, angst

w/c: 7.4k

a/n: much more plot. i hope you enjoy <3

You won't see Mark for three days.

Not exactly.

Physically, he is there. In the hallways. At briefing tables. Walking across the training deck with his shoulders set like stone and his gaze fixed straight front. When someone says his name, he nods. He answers questions when Cecil asks them. He gets dressed, emerges, vanishes into space, returns in one piece, cleans the blood off his outfit, and does it all again.

Still, he hasn't once looked at you.

Not since what happened.

Not since the instant he woke awake, clutched his own chest as if he couldn't believe it was whole again, and said your name like it was a lifeline he didn't realize he'd seized.

A party was not what you anticipated. You didn’t want thanks. But you didn’t anticipate this either.

You convince yourselve he’s healing.

That it’s normal.

That maybe he simply needs time.

But each day that goes without a single word, without acknowledgment, starts to seem like a cut that won’t stop bleeding.

And when you finally see him again, actually see him, standing in front of Cecil’s desk, arms crossed tight, his mouth clenched like it may snap, your stomach drops.

Because you know that position. You know that tone.

It’s his I-can’t-fall-apar* voice.

It’s the one he used after the Mars mission. After his dad.

Cecil observes him carefully, brows low, hands folded in front of him like he’s already ten steps ahead.

Mark doesn’t flinch beneath his scrutiny.

“I’m ready for missions again.”

Cecil doesn’t answer straight away. “Already?”

“I’m fine.”

“You died, kid.”

Mark’s eyes don’t move. “But I’m not dead now.”

Cecil leans forward. “And we both know why.”

Silence.

You’re outside the room. You weren’t intended to hear this. But you’re not hiding. You’re just standing in the hallway, invisible by absence, just as you’ve been since it occurred.

Mark’s voice is low, scratchy. “I didn’t ask her to do it.”

“No. But she did.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Mark-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, harsh this time. “She saved me. Great. Fine. I should be grateful. I am. But what happened out there? That wasn’t right. That wasn’t natural. I shouldn’t be here.”

Cecil’s silent for a beat. Then, carefully. “But you are. And she’s the reason for that. You need to talk to her.”

Mark shakes his head, jaw clenched. “She brought me back from nothing. Do you not understand that? There wasn’t anything. I was dead.”

“She didn’t mean to,” Cecil adds, voice calm. “And you know that.”

“I felt it,” Mark continues, calmer now. “Like… everything had ended. And suddenly it didn’t. You don’t understand.”

There’s a pause. Long. Heavy.

Cecil sighs. “I do understand. More than you think. But ignoring her won’t reverse what happened.”

“I know,” Mark says, too fast.

But he still doesn’t move.

He stares at the wall like he wants it to devour him whole. Like if he maintains standing there long enough, time will rewind and this whole thing will never have occurred.

You back away before he turns. Before he could see you in the hallway and pretend he didn’t.

You don’t want to see that again, that quiver in his eyes. That way he tenses when you're near, not out of fear, nor disdain, but… something heavier. Something that suggests he’s caught between everything he can’t confront and everything he owes you.

Because it wasn’t just a second chance.

You broke something bigger than time.

You bent reality for him.

And he doesn’t know how to live with that.

So he doesn’t.

He pours himself into Guardian work. Patrols double the length they used to be. Late evenings. Emergency call-ins. He’s never in the Tower for more than five minutes. He won’t train beside you anymore. He doesn’t sit next to you in mission briefings.

He doesn’t look at you.

And if someone brings you up?

He shifts the subject.

Every. Single. Time.

It’s not unkind.

It’s not even furious.

It’s just avoidance.

 Pure, classic trauma.

He’s drowning and believing he can breathe.

And you… You let him.

Because you don’t know what else to do.

You sit with the weight of what you done and you try to feel okay with it. You tell yourself you made the right choice. That anyone who loved him would’ve done the same. That you rescued him. You didn’t ruin anything.

But late at night, in the solitude of your own thoughts, that humming inside you, the one that dragged Mark back, the one that remade him…it still hasn’t faded.

It waits.

And you’re afraid.

Because if he won’t look at you now, What happens when he finally does?

The hush stretches on for months.

Not weeks. Not days.

Months.

It’s not loud, this silence. It’s not an eruption. Not a fight. It’s not harsh around the edges like rejection or contempt. It’s just… there.

Persistent. Quiet. Heavy.

You still see him. All the time, actually. In the hallways. In the control room. On roofs. Suiting up for missions. Floating over Guardian HQ in the early hours before daybreak, shoulders tense, studying the city like it may offer him some type of answer if he just stares long enough.

But he never talks to you.

He doesn’t avoid you in an apparent way. He doesn’t make scenes. Doesn’t flinch when you enter into the room. He just… turns away. Leaves early. Answers someone else. Stares too long at the floor when he knows you’re there and yet won’t look up.

It’s Mark. It’s always been Mark.

But something in him feels further away than light-years.

And even if no one else notices, you do.

He’s still doing the job. Still rescuing lives, striking through concrete, grabbing skyscrapers like they weigh nothing. He’s powerful than ever. Faster. His reports are clean. His recovers very immediate.

But he looks tired. Not physically. Not in a way Viltrumites show because they can’t.

But he’s tired underneath.

Like it doesn’t matter how fast his body heals, his mind can’t keep up.

You catch it in tiny things. The way he clenches his jaw too long after a mission. How he zones out as the team debriefs. How he lingers behind as the rest of the Guardians leave the room, looking at his hands like he doesn’t recognize them anymore.

He still laughs sometimes. Smiles at jokes when Rex becomes too loud. Nods at Eve when she chats to him, courteous but not near. There are days where you nearly think he’s okay.

But then your eyes meet, briefly, unintentionally, and he looks away so swiftly, you feel it like a smack.

It isn’t hate.

It isn’t fear.

It’s too much.

Too much anguish. Too much memory. Too much of what you did.

Too much of what you mean to him now.

You don’t push him. You stopped trying to chat after the first few weeks, after the way he kept hesitating mid-sentence, or giving you these broken half-smiles like he was trying to be alright and failing regardless.

So you started maintaining your distance too.

You take different patrols. Different sparring partners. You learn to breathe through the anguish when your shift finishes and he’s just coming, eyes flickering toward you and then right through you.

The worst aspect isn’t the silence.

It’s the absence of everything that used to be there.

The way he used to look at you like you were the last stable thing left in the world. The way he always uttered your name when he saw you, even if it was only a gentle “hey” beneath his breath. The way he’d check in after battles, after missions, after bad days, even if he was bleeding himself.

All of that’s gone now.

Replaced by this cautious, measured version of Mark who grins just enough to get by and never stays long enough to be asked how he’s really doing.

You know he’s afraid.

Not of you. He’s never been terrified of you.

He’s terrified of what happened.

Of what it means to have died and come back.

Of what the alternate Mark said, “She’s going to die in your arms, and you’re going to let her.”

You know that sentence lingers in his brain like a scar.

And you know he believes it.

So he keeps his distance. He stays back.

He feels that by ignoring you, by keeping his love secret and untouchable, he’s protecting you.

Because if he doesn’t let himself fall, if he doesn’t let himself want you, then maybe he can keep you safe.

Maybe he can rewrite the ending that the variant witnessed.

But you?

You’re still here.

Waiting in the silence.

Grieving a man who isn’t gone, yet never truly came back.

And some days, you worry how long it’ll take before he realizes that he’s trying so hard to protect you from pain…

That he’s progressively becoming it.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

It’s late when he goes to her.

Later than he meant. Later than he should have. The type of late that wraps over your shoulders like a weight, makes your feet heavy, your breath thin. He waits on the doorstep for a full minute before knocking, hands buried deep in his jacket, jaw tight like it’s holding something back.

He could’ve flown in. Let himself in. He’s swift enough to be undetectable, powerful enough to burst any lock. But this isn’t a mission. This is home. His mother’s home, rebuilt. It’s his first time back. And something about it feels too delicate for all the strength he has.

So he knocks like he’s still just a kid.

And when the door opens, there she is.

Debbie Grayson. Tired eyes. Wrinkles deeper than they were a months ago. Sweater sleeves pulled up, a book in one hand, her look serene.

She doesn’t ask why he’s here. Doesn’t demand an explanation or act startled.

She just opens the door a bit wider.

And says, “Come in.”

The place smells like jasmine tea and ancient books. It always has, despite being rebuilt. The floors still squeak the same way they did when he was twelve, sneaking in after curfew. His old sneakers are still beside the entrance. 

Some things never stopped hurting.

Debbie doesn’t give small talk. She turns the kettle on, pours him a mug even though she knows he won’t drink it. She takes her normal seat on the sofa and leaves the armchair for him, as always.

He doesn’t sit.

Not straight away.

He stands there, arms crossed, shoulders tense, eyes roving across the room like he could discover a version of himself still hidden in a corner, young, unscarred, full of hope that the universe made sense.

Finally, he continues, voice low, “I died.”

Debbie doesn’t blink. Doesn’t drop the cup. Just places it softly on the table and folds her hands in her lap.

Mark doesn’t look at her. He paces. Just once, across the rug.

“She brought me back,” he whispers, softly, saying your name.

A pause. He swallows hard.

“I mean…I think she did. I don’t know how. I don’t think she even knows. But one second I was…there was nothing, Mom. Nothing. It wasn’t dark or light or anything. It just… ended. And then suddenly I could feel her. And I was alive again.”

He stops pacing.

Stands with his back half-turned to her, head bent.

“I haven’t talked to her since.”

Debbie says nothing.

Not because she doesn’t want to speak. But because she knows better.

Knows that sometimes the only way to help is to make room.

Mark’s voice drops lower.

“I keep thinking maybe if I stay away, she’ll be safe.”

There it is.

He sits down, eventually, elbows on his knees, face in his hands.

“She’s strong. Smarter than me. Braver. But I kept remembering her face when I woke up, how terrified she looked. Like she didn’t even realize what she’d done. And I-”

He shuts himself short, breath catching.

“I think I love her,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know it before. Or maybe I did, and I just wasn’t ready. But now that I do… all I can think about is how she’s going to die. That version of me, he said she was going to die in my arms. And I’d let her.”

His voice cracks on the word let.

“I can’t do that again, Mom. I can’t allow someone I love die. I barely survived it with Eve. And if it’s..if it’s her…”

He hides his face in his hands.

Debbie is silent for a long time.

Then she leans closer and lays a hand on his back. Just enough weight to ground him.

“Mark,” she adds quietly, “you didn’t let anything happen. You didn’t choose it. And you’re not cursed.”

He doesn’t lift his head.

“I keep thinking about what happens if I stay close to her. What if I become that version of me? What if he was right?”

“Then be different,” she advises simply. “Be better.”

He does gaze at her now. Red-eyed. Exhausted.

“You think I can protect her?”

“No,” she says. “I think you’ll try. And that’ll matter.”

Mark lets out a breath he’s been holding for months.

“I’ve been so afraid of messing this up.”

Debbie grins sweetly. “That’s how I know it’s real.”

He blinks.

She says, “Love isn’t clean, Mark. It’s messy. It’s scary. And it’s worth it. Every time. Even when it breaks you.”

Mark looked at his hands. His palms remained stained with ancient blood, with strength, with remembrance. With affection he never expressed out loud.

“Do you think she hates me?”

Debbie’s hand squeezes his shoulder.

“She waited this long,” she says. “I don’t think hate ever had a chance.”

He doesn’t answer immediately away.

But when he does, it’s a whisper.

“I think I’m ready to talk to her.”

And for the first time in a long time…

Debbie grins. 

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The knock is hardly there. Three quiet taps, like maybe he’s hoping you won’t hear it.

But you do.

You feel it in your chest before your feet even move. Months of silence rush back to meet you, the distance, the stolen looks, the things left unsaid. You open the door carefully, cautiously, not knowing which version of him may be standing on the other side.

But it’s just Mark.

Soaked with the night air. Jacket moist, hair messier than normal, eyes rimmed red like he’s been holding something in for too long.

He glances at you for only a second before lowering his sight.

You stand aside.

He walks in like your home is made of glass.

Doesn’t sit. Doesn’t talk. Just stands in the midst of your living room like he doesn’t know how to live in it anymore.

You give him time.

Eventually, he breaths out a wobbly, bitter chuckle. “I thought about this moment a hundred times. What I’d say. How I’d apologize. And now I’m here, and I can’t even look at you.”

You step closer, but you don’t talk yet. You let him keep unraveling.

“I screwed up,” he admits. “I shut you out. I made you feel that what you done was something to be ashamed of. Like you hurt me. But you didn’t. You saved me. You…you brought me back, and I didn’t say thank you. I didn’t say anything. I just left.”

His voice cracks.

You feel it before you see it, the way his shoulders start to wobble. The way he turns away from you like he doesn’t want you to watch it happen.

“I didn’t think I deserved you after that,” he continues, barely audible. “I still don’t.”

You step closer then. Quietly. Carefully.

He flinches when you touch his arm, not because he doesn’t want it, but because he does. And it cracks something open.

He turns toward you slowly, his jaw wobbling, his eyes filling with tears he’s been swallowing for months.

“I was so scared,” he chokes. “You brought me back and I didn’t know how. And I kept thinking, what if you paid for it? What if the universe takes it back? What if I’m not meant to be here and next time, it’s you who dies?”

You reach for his face, delicate and steady, your thumbs stroking under his eyelids. He leans into it without trying to, like gravity's finally prevailing.

“I thought if I stayed away, I could protect you,” he says. “That if I loved you from a distance, maybe nothing else would go wrong. But it did. I hurt you. And I didn’t even look to see how bad.”

“I love you,” he murmurs. “God, I love you so much it terrifies me. And I guess it always did. I guess I was already in love with you when I kissed you. I guess I just didn’t want to say it out loud  because I knew… I knew I’d mess it up.”

You bring him into your arms.

He doesn’t resist.

He sinks into you like he’s been drowning and you’re the only solid thing left. His arms wrap around you tight, his forehead buried in your shoulder, his whole body shaking as the weight of all he’s been carrying finally hits the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he says, again and over, voice trembling, breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

You hold him. 

His throat functions, but the words don’t come out clear.  “And I woke up, and I should’ve said something.  I should’ve said everything.  But I panicked.  Because I knew.  I know what you did.  What it meant.  And I didn’t know how to handle it.” 

His voice cracks. 

“I didn’t want to mess it up,” he continues, gentler now.  “So I ran.  I believed if I remained away, if I could just avoid myself from getting too near, then maybe it wouldn’t reoccur.  Maybe if I pretended like it didn’t happen, it wouldn’t matter as much.” 

You blink back tears.  Because you know what it meant to you. 

“I was lying to myself,” he admits.  “I’ve been lying this whole time.  Avoiding you.  Avoiding anything.  Because I didn’t think I deserved to look you in the eye after that.” 

He shakes his head, and his voice sinks to a whisper. 

“I died. And I came back because of you. And I didn’t even say thank you.” 

You lean closer.

He looks you, still not sure if he’s ready to handle everything. 

“I was so afraid I’d lose you if I got close again,” he says. “And the worst part? I think I loved you before I ever admitted it. I think it’s been there for a long time. But I couldn’t let myself believe it. Because every time I do, I lose people. My mom. Eve. You.”

His voice is trembling now, and so is he. 

You reach for him, gently. 

But he flinches.

“I didn’t know what to do with that,” he says, louder now, not angry—just breaking. “I didn’t know how to be the guy you brought back. I kept thinking maybe the version of me that died was the last good one. And now I'm just... this. This scared, guilty mess who doesn’t know how to fix anything.”

Mark wipes at his face violently, like he hates that he’s sobbing.  Like maybe if he goes quickly enough, he can believe it’s just rain. 

But it’s not. 

It’s the agony of someone who’s been carrying the weight of survival and doesn’t know how to let it down. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, cracking. “God, I’m so sorry. For everything. For leaving. For going quiet. For not saying it sooner.”

He leans against you, eventually, forehead to yours. 

“I love you,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I love you and it scares the hell out of me. But I’m done running. If this breaks me, it breaks me. But I want to try. With you.”

You draw him close. 

And this time, when Mark Grayson cries… 

He doesn’t do it alone.

You should say something. Anything.

Instead, your fingers twitch. Then your hand moves, hesitant, like it might be a mistake, and rests gently on his. 

His hand turns under yours and he laces your fingers together.

You breathe.

“I love you too,” you say, barely audible. “I think I’ve been in love with you for longer than I can care to admit.”

He leans in slowly, gives you time to pull away, and when you don’t, he kisses you.

It’s not demanding. It’s not greedy. It’s soft, and real, and terrifying. His lips are warm, his mouth gentle against yours. You don’t move at first, unsure, but he’s patient. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw and you lean into it instinctively, letting your mouth open for him.

You’ve never kissed like this. You’ve never been kissed like this. It’s not like before.

Every nerve in your body feels like it’s waking up for the first time. His tongue brushes yours and a soft, unfamiliar sound leaves your throat.

You don’t mean to climb into his lap. You don’t remember the moment you shift your legs across his, straddling him on the couch. But you’re there now, his hands steady on your hips, yours buried in his hair. Your breathing is sharp. Your body is hot.

He pulls back slightly, eyes meeting yours.

“We can stop here,” he says, voice hoarse. “Whenever you want.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to stop.”

His hands move, down your sides, under your shirt, thumbs grazing your ribs. You gasp. The contact is electric. Your hips roll against him, shy and slow, and the friction makes your head spin.

You bury your face against his shoulder, clinging tighter. You’re overwhelmed. You want to merge with him. To never be apart again.

His cock is hardening against you, thick and undeniable even through both layers of clothing. You rock your hips again and this time he groans, a deep, guttural sound that makes your stomach clench.

You whimper. Quiet. Embarrassed. But he kisses you again and your shame evaporates.

This isn't just sex. It's knowing. It's closeness you were never allowed, never taught. But you’re learning now.

And he’s showing you.

You keep moving. He guides your rhythm with his hands, steady and firm on your waist, pulling you into him. You gasp with each grind, your thighs shaking.

“Let it happen,” he murmurs, breathless. “You’re safe with me.”

And for once, you believe it.

You don’t recall how you went from the couch to the floor.

It’s all scraps. The delicate push of his mouth at your jaw, timid, respectful. The guttural sound he made when your hips rolled up against him. The strain eventually cracking between your legs like the crack of ice shattering under pressure. It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t pretty. He grinded against you with frenzied, almost clumsy rhythm, and you grasped at his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring you to this instant, this shaking, too-warm pocket of the world where time had finally granted you compassion.

Mark's breath is heavy as he draws away slightly, holding himself above you on quivering arms. His black hair falls on his face, sweat shining at his temple. His eyes are wide, raw, like he’s frightened he dreamt all of this. Like if he blinks, you’ll withdraw back into that frigid, unreachable zone you typically reside in.

You’re terrified too. Not of him. Of what you let him feel.

Of what you let yourself feel.

He observes your face for a second longer, like he’s seeking for permission in the twitch of your lip, the flutter of your eyelids, the little hitch in your breath. You don’t deliver it verbally. You don’t know how. But your legs are still locked around his waist. Your hand snakes around the back of his neck, bringing him down just enough so your foreheads touch together.

You feel him swallow.

“I mean it,” he says, and it’s so fucking quiet you could’ve missed it if you hadn’t been holding your breath. “I love you.”

It knocks something loose inside you. Something harsh and ancient, something that resided in the hollow spots they couldn’t train out of you. You hear your own voice, weird, strangled, say, “I know.”

And you do. You’ve known. You just didn’t know how to hold it.

Then your voice cracks again, quieter this time. “I love you too.”

His body shudders over yours. You can feel it. All of it. Relief, longing, dread, something deeper behind it, that persistent aching you’ve both been carrying since that fucking day you don’t speak about. The one that changed everything. The one that made him avoid looking you in the eye.

Now you’re nude.

And he's lowering himself, inch by inch, pressing kisses down the column of your throat like he’s trying to remember the feel of your skin with his lips. You stiffen, out of habit. But your fingers don’t push him away. They travel to his hair, threading through the silky black strands, keeping him there like you need him tethered to you or you’ll drift away into that cold again.

He kisses lower.

Your shirt’s forced up, breasts still heaving beneath your bra, nipples erect from the friction and the tug of his shirt earlier. You’re already soaking, your thighs slippery from where you rutted on his cock like an animal, frantic and overwhelmed. Mark’s hands are shaking a bit when he runs them up your sides, respectful, like he’s scared of frightening you back into your shell.

“You don’t have to-” you begin, but your voice breaks halfway through.

“I want to,” he says. His voice is low, not like before when he was panting into your neck. This is deeper. Thicker. There's a quiver in it, but not from fear. “Let me.”

You let your head fall back. You nod.

His kisses trail lower, past your sternum, the dip of your navel. His hands hook around the waistband of your shorts, the awful black ones that you never noticed rode up your thighs, and peels them down slowly, along with your underwear. His breath catches.

You clench your thighs on instinct. You weren’t meant for being seen. Not like this. You’re weaponized, toughened. Not soft and open and moist, quivering beneath the weight of someone’s love.

He kisses the inner of your thigh.

Not once. Over and over. Each contact of his lips softer, deeper. Like he’s admiring every scar, every stretch of muscle, every fragile bit of you you’ve never let anybody this near to. You feel your gut twist. Your hands tremble at your sides, unsure of where to go, what to do with all this sensation.

And then he breaths against your pussy.

Your breath stutters. His hands spread your thighs wider, thumbs delicate on your flesh, and he stares at you, not your face, not your eyes, you. The way you’re slick and rosy and open, swelling from grinding against his cock, a thin sheen of your own excitement catching the light.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, more to himself than to you.

He dips down and licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your cunt.

You jerk. Your breath punches out of you. He gasps deep in his throat like he’s tasting something precious, and dammit, it shouldn’t make your eyes tear the way it does, but you’ve never been touched like this. Not even close. You’ve been used. Controlled. Managed.

But this is worship. This is heat and caring and despair woven together.

He sucks softly on your clit, and your hips buck instinctively.

“Oh—fuck—Mark—” You hadn’t intended to say it. You hadn’t even meant to make noise. But it flows out of you like something shattering.

He moans, jaws clamping around you again. His tongue works with slow, thorough strokes, exploring, persuading, drinking every spasm and scream out of you like he needs it. Like it nourishes him. His hands keep solid on your hips, pinning you to the floor while his mouth devours you gently, then hard, his nose shoved into your mound, lips working with skilled care that’s making your thoughts go white.

You clench your eyes shut.

You don’t want to cry. You won’t cry.

But your hips won’t stop moving, pursuing the rhythm, grinding against his tongue. His fingers tighten tighter, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold you as your voice breaks into a groan.

“You taste so fucking good,” he murmurs between licks, voice husky, intoxicated on you. “Been thinking about this. So long. Couldn’t even touch myself without thinking of you.”

You whimper. It’s a sound you don’t recognize.

He licks deeper, his tongue flattening against your folds before pushing within, slow and strong, and you arch, one leg flung over his shoulder now. Your thighs shake, clasped tight around his head. You feel your body twisting, knotting with something unbearable.

Then he sucks your clit again, this time with rhythm.

Every muscle in your body locks. Your breath catches. Your back arches so hard it lifts off the ground.

And suddenly it happens, not like the rapid, furious friction before. This is profound. Slow. A wave surging up from your gut, slamming down all at once, tearing you apart from the inside out.

You scream, full-throated, shivering, your thighs clamping hard around his head, your fingers tugging his hair. You sob through it, jerking with aftershocks as he keeps licking, not pausing, not even hesitating, letting you ride every pulse of it until you can’t take anymore.

Only then does he ease off. His mouth glistening with you. His face flushed.

He creeps back up your body, arms shaking, chest heaving like he just flew through a war zone. And when he kisses you this time, you taste yourself on his lips. You open to him reflexively, your hand slipping into his hair, the other grabbing his back.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you mumble against his mouth, voice raspy.

“I do,” he murmurs back. “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

You feel that aching again. That perilous hope.

He stays above you, peering down at your face like it’s something special. His hand grips your cheek, kind, warm, not attempting to repair you, just there.

He groans like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole fucking life. And you feel him, hot, hard, thick, pressing against your thigh through his pants, and you know this is only the beginning.

He doesn’t do it alone. 

You feel him pulsating through his pants, hard as a rock, his hips twisting just slightly like he’s fighting to hold back from grinding into your thigh again. His hands are on either side of your head, shaking slightly. You can see it, how much he wants you. But he’s not pressing, not forcing. 

He’s waiting.

Your voice is quiet. “I’ve never…”

He stills completely. His eyes search yours, wide, softening, something flashing beneath the brown that wasn’t there a second before. “You haven’t?”

You shake your head once.

Mark swallows hard. Not in that performative, porn-star way. It’s real. His throat works like his heart’s caught in it. Then he nods. Slowly. As if something inside him just clicked into place.

“Yeah.” A breath. “Okay.”

You don’t tell him what Cecil used to say about love. That it was a weapon. A weakness. Something to exploit in others, never let grow in yourself. You don’t tell him how many nights you put your fingers between your legs in a dark room, not for pleasure, not really, but because you just needed to feel something you controlled. Something that didn’t belong to anyone else.

But now Mark is staring at you like you’re sacred. Like you’re worth waiting for.

And you want him. You want this.

Your hands reach for his waistband. You’ve never done this. Never even seen someone like this in real life, only on video monitors during debriefs, where sex was data and nothing else. But now he’s here. And when you touch him, he sucks in a breath, his whole body responding like a live wire.

“Are you sure?” he says, voice almost a whisper. “I need you to be sure.”

“I’m sure,” you say, and it’s not robotic, not filtered. It’s your voice. Yours.

His lips press to yours again, slower now. Less frantic. He kisses you like you’re glass, but not the kind that breaks, the kind that cuts. Carefully. Reverently. Like he knows this is the most important thing he’s ever going to do.

Then you feel him unbuttoning his jeans.

Your heart pounds.

He pulls back enough to slide them down, underwear too, and then he’s back over you — naked now, his cock hanging heavy between you, flushed and stiff, pre-cum slicking the tip. You look down instinctively. You can’t help it. You want to see him.

He’s thick. Long. More than you anticipated. And for a second, your breath catches.

“Too much?” he whispers.

“No,” you murmur. “Just… give me a second.”

He bends down again, kissing your neck, your collarbone, your jaw. His hand travels down your side, relaxing. “We’ll go slow.”

Your legs part for him again. Automatically this time. Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind’s trying to catch up.

He lines himself up with you, tip pushed to your entrance, and stops.

You nod.

He pushes in, slow. So slow it’s almost unbearable. You gasp, your fingers clawing at his biceps, because he’s stretching you in a way you’ve never felt before, your body fighting and yielding at once. It doesn’t hurt exactly. It’s pressure, intensity, fullness that borders on overwhelming. Like you’re being split open in the best, most terrifying way.

“Jesus,” he moans above you. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Your nails burrow into his skin.

He doesn’t bottom out straight away. He gives you inches, then stops, lets you breathe, lets you adjust. You feel every heartbeat in your core, every twitch of his cock as he restrains himself.

“I can’t—fuck, you feel—” He’s shaking.

You’re not crying, but your chest is heaving. Your body is feeling in a way it never has. There’s no protocol for this. No mission report. Just the burn of stretching open around someone who loves you.

He pushes in deeper. A gradual, delicious invasion. And when he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, your mouth falls open.

You’ve never felt so full.

So wanted.

You whisper his name. Not loud. Just enough for him to know you’re still there with him, that you’re not drifting away.

He moves.

Tiny thrusts at first, just to test how your body responds, and you respond fast. You start to tremble again, your hands moving to his back, pulling him closer, deeper. Every slide of his cock inside you sparks something electric in your spine. Your walls pulse, learning him, gripping him, fluttering with the strange, primal instinct to keep him inside.

“Is that okay?” he murmurs.

You nod hurriedly. “Don’t stop.”

His rhythm builds. Grows deeper, steadier. Every thrust a little more confident. The sound of him sliding into you, wet, rhythmic, obscene, fills the room. He grits his teeth, jaw clenched, sweat beading on his forehead as he tries not to go too fast. But your body is greedy now, hips rolling up to meet his every time, the slickness between you making it easier, hotter, needier.

Then he hits something inside you.

Your back arches.

You cry out.

He whines. “There. Fuck, right there.”

He starts angling his thrusts to hit it again and again, and your vision starts to blur. Your hands claw at his shoulders. Your legs tighten around his waist. Your cunt clenches so hard around him he curses into your ear, his rhythm stuttering.

“You feel—fuck, I’m not gonna last—”

You kiss him. Hard. Mouth open, tongues tangling. You’re not experienced at this, but it doesn’t matter. He’s groaning into your mouth, hips hitting you harder now, and you’re getting louder. Moaning. Whimpering. It’s primal. Desperate.

Then his thumb finds your clit.

You jerk.

“Come for me,” he pants. “Please. I need to feel you come.”

You do.

You shatter.

Your walls spasm around his cock, and he groans like he’s been punched in the gut. You scream his name, legs locking around him, whole body shaking as the orgasm rips through you like a goddamn explosion. Your cunt milks him, pulling, begging, and he can’t hold back anymore.

He buries himself to the hilt and comes, deep, hot, twitching hard as he spills inside you with a hoarse cry. You feel every pulse, every throb. It fills you. Warms you.

You cling to him like you’ll fall apart without him.

For a minute, neither of you move. Just breathing. Just existing in one other’s arms.

Eventually, he shifts, kissing your cheek, your shoulder, your throat. Whispering soft things you don’t catch, too wrecked to process language. Your fingers are still trembling as they stroke down his back, like maybe if you stop touching him he’ll disappear.

You’ve never allowed someone this close.

You’ve never wanted to.

He lifts his head. Eyes catching yours. He’s still inside you, but softening.

“You okay?”

You nod.

Then, quieter. “I think I’ve never been this okay in my life.”

He kisses your forehead.

You don’t say the other part aloud, that you didn’t know what it meant to feel human until now. He already knows. Because his arms wrap around you like he’s never letting go.

And for the first time in your life… you believe him.

You stay entwined together like that, his cock still warm in you, his hands drawing leisurely, circles along your back. Sweat slicks both your bodies, your skin warming where it meets his, and your lungs feel like you just run a thousand miles, but it’s a nice ache.  A necessary one.   The type that only comes once you allow something real take you over entirely. 

The silence between you isn’t awkward. It’s thick. 

Full.  

Like the room itself is holding its breath with you, hesitant to interrupt the moment. 

Your heart won’t stop hammering. Not out of fear, not adrenaline, not even from the orgasm that’s still ghosting through your limbs. It’s something deeper. Something you haven’t felt until today. 

You think it might be peace. 

Mark doesn’t say anything at first. His hand slips down, knuckles brushing across your hipbone, then smoothing back up again. Reassuring. Not greedy, not demanding. Just… present. Here. And every time he breaths out, his chest rubs against yours, a cadence that makes you feel anchored in a way nothing else ever has. 

“You didn’t tell me,” he adds finally, voice raspy. Not accusatory. Just quiet.   “That you’d never-” 

 “I didn’t know how.” You hear your own voice like it’s someone else’s. Raw. Honest. “It’s not something I talk about.” 

He nods. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask why, though you know he wants to. You can see it in the wrinkle between his brows, the way his thumb stills mid-stroke. But he lets it go. Because he’s him. Because he loves you. 

 Because you said it back. 

You close your eyes and breathe him in. He smells like sweat and something warm, something safe. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to this kind of intimacy. You don’t know if you’re supposed to. But it’s not terrifying. Not right now.

He moves just little, groaning a bit as he pulls out of you. You wince at the abrupt emptiness, a gentle ache left in his place, and he catches the sound in your throat quickly. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

“No,” you murmur. “I didn’t think you would stay.”

He goes still. And then he leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. His fingers brush your cheek. Your chest. Your stomach.

“I’ll always stay.” 

The words hit you harder than they should. You swallow around the lump developing in your throat. Because it’s too much. Too big. You’ve spent so long living that you don’t know how to grasp anything this gentle. 

Your voice trembles. “I’m not used to someone meaning that.” 

His hands tighten on your sides. “Then I’ll say it again. I’ll keep saying it.” 

He pulls you against his chest. You let him. You let your head fall against the hollow of his shoulder, arms draped over his back. He’s warm. Strong. 

“I used to pretend I didn’t want this,” you murmur against his skin. “With you.” 

“I know.” 

“You were always so… normal.” You almost laugh. “Smiling. Joking. Like you didn’t know how easy it was to get hurt.”

“I did know,” he says. “I just did it anyway.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

You pull back just enough to see his face. His mouth is soft. His eyes even softer. There’s no suit on him. No mask. Just Mark. The man who used to make you clench your fists under the table every time he ignored you. The one you pushed away yourself, a hundred times more than he ever deserved.

“I’m fucked up,” you say. “You know that, right?” 

He smirks. “Yeah. So am I.” 

“You’re not. Not like me.” 

“No.” He strokes your hair. “You’re not fucked up. You’re wounded. That’s different.”

You gaze at him. Then blink. Then look away, because the way he says it, like it’s just a fact and not anything to be embarrassed of, makes something within your chest constrict hard. 

He pulls you back into him, pressing lips on your hair. 

The stillness returns, but it’s not empty. You feel his heartbeat under your face. Strong. Steady.   Like the beat is matching with yours. 

Then he murmurs, “What now?” 

You pause. You don’t have an answer. You’ve never had a next before. Everything’s always been in phases. Orders. Controlled exposure. Mission goals. And now you’re laying naked in the faint afterglow of sex with a man who loves you, who you love, and there’s no instruction. No handler observing from a screen. 

“I don’t know,” you concede. 

“That’s okay.” He pulls the sheet over your bodies.   “We’ll figure it out.” 

You lie there for a little longer, skin cooling, limbs entwined, the aroma of sex still strong in the air. You’re sore in the way that feels nice. Used but not violated. Taken care of. 

Eventually, Mark moves, slipping a hand down your thigh.“You want to shower?” 

You hesitate. Then nod. “Yeah.   With you.” 

He smiles. It’s broad. That same goofy, innocent grin that used to drive you insane. 

He helps you up. You’re wobbly on your feet. He sees, wraps an arm around your waist, and steadies you like it’s second nature. Your body leans into his without thinking. 

You make it to the bathroom together, and when he puts the water on, the steam starts to fill the space. It coils around you both, easing everything. He steps in first, then puts out a hand. 

You take it. 

The water is warm. The type of warmth that soaks deep. Mark stands behind you, his hands soft as he gently rinse you clean. He doesn’t grope. Doesn’t leer. Just holds you while the water pours down your bodies, tracing the spots he’d visited just minutes ago with reverence. 

His fingers in your hair. 

His lips at your shoulder. 

You lean into him, and for once, you don’t feel like a weapon or a case study or a statistic in some sterile report. You feel real. You feel alive. 

You wash him too. Slowly. Touching every inch of his skin with something near to amazement. You study his chest, his arms, the minor scars you never noticed in combat. You cup him gently, watching his cock twitch in your palm as you rub the soap over him. 

He kisses you again. Slow and unhurried. 

You stay in the shower until the water runs cold. 

When you eventually climb into bed together, you don’t even grab for clothing. He embraces you in his arms, skin to skin, the blankets curled up over your bodies. Your head finds its way to his chest again, and this time, when you feel the steady throb of his heart, you realize yours is matching it exactly. 

He doesn’t ask for more. 

You don’t need to speak. 

Sleep comes slow and deep, wrapped in heat and breath and the first silence you’ve ever been able to trust. 

 And for the first time in your life, you dream of something other than escape.

[screamingcrows]

Notes: Pure fluff. Do not steal >:| Tags: Veritas Ratio x reader, fluff, established relationship Minors DNI

While not exactly unprecedented, you could count on one hand the number of times Veritas had left without kissing you goodbye.

But then again, he had seemed almost stressed as of late. Not that you'd been able to pry the reason from those delicately sculpted lips anyway. When brute force (or inquiry in this case) was ineffective, the obvious solution would be to subtly coax him into speaking.

Unfortunately, playing mindgames with Veritas had a tendency to backfire. So here you were, alone and disgruntled beneath the plush covers, with nothing but the fading warmth of his presence beside you.

In lieu of better, you rolled onto his side to bury your face into his pillow and inhale the familiar scent of his favored shampoo. With your eyes closed, it was easy to imagine that the soft sheets were instead the planes of his abdomen, the weight of your blanket the press of his arms when he would pull you close and kiss the top of your head.

Perhaps it was for the better that he'd seemingly left for work early. The grey clouds looming outside the window combined with the fog in your mind from a night of less than stellar sleep - you weren't entirely certain either of you would've left the bed today if you could've gotten your way.

A smile tugged at your lips while imagining how fussy Veritas would've been at the mere thought of cancelling his classes for no good reason. With his admirable, if at times annoying, sense of responsibility in mind, you pulled yourself from the little nest.

Goosebumps spread across your skin as you stretched, curiously studying the trail of water across the bedroom floor. He truly must have been in a hurry to not dry off properly in the bathroom.

Another conundrum was waiting in the living room, proper posture thrown aside in favour of a hunched back and tense shoulders. Droplets of water glistened against his bare skin as it steadily dripped from the tips of his hair.

Wanting to continue observing, you barely managed to stifle a chuckle when he cursed under his breath, tip of the pen lifting from-

That wasn't his usual notebook?

And wasn't it past the time he would normally leave by now?

The questions stuck at the tip of your tongue when he snapped the book shut and nearly threw himself on top to hide it, expression tinged with panic for just a moment.

For a moment, you stared blankly at each other, locked in some childish game where the first to make a sound had lost.

When the silence became too much (or perhaps in an effort to pull your attention from his pink ears), Veritas cleared his throat and slowly straightened. "Has no one taught you to knock?" Too much effort went into his nonchalance, leaving his usually smooth voice sounding almost strained.

You shifted against the doorframe, curiously trying to eye the book peeking out from beneath his broad forearms. It was ridiculous. Even with two hands, reaching around one was a tight fit.

"You want me to knock when I enter my own living room?" You made certain to grin, not at all worried about whatever he was hiding and instead enjoying the frustration creeping into his eyes when he realised his mistake. Moving to his study had been the obvious choice for anything truly sensitive.

"Getting up quietly isn't usually your forte," he let the statement hang between you, frowning when you knowingly remained quiet. This time, he wouldn't be allowed to seize control of the conversation, "neither is getting up early on your days off."

"Mhm, and you're being unusually sloppy."

Months of study had your eyes immediately recognising the slight clench of his jaw, how a muscle in his neck briefly shifted beneath the skin. Your choice of words had the desired effect.

"I simply had something to finish before-" his throat bobbed when you stepped closer, "before you got up."

You came to a halt, huffing at the vague admission - a last ditch attempt to satisfy your curiosity. Veritas appeared uncharacteristically defeated, and the way his fingers pressed against the pen certainly wasn't normal either.

Usually, he was one to handle his tools much as he did you, with a care that easily bordered on reverence.

Restraining your curiosity when the book - bound in fabric the colour of his hair, you mused - was pushed towards the edge of the dining table, proved difficult after noticing how he turned his head away, going so far as to run a hand through his damp hair.

"You mentioned wanting to go back and experience our first night after my-" butterflies fluttered in your chest, feeling laughter rise alongside tears when he continued, "declaration. Thus, I reasoned having a written account of events would be beneficial as the memory fades and details inevitably escape," oh he was nervous, the hurried ramble making your heart ache, "not to mention that experiencing it from a different perspective might also prove entertaining."

"Veritas…" Your hands were trembling a little when you opened on a random page, eyes skimming down rows of carefully penned letters. The paper was off-white as well, fitted to a preference you'd never uttered aloud. "Did you?"

"I did. Would have, at least, if someone hadn't decided to get out of bed early for once. The last page might be a little smudged given how I closed it before letting the ink fully dry-"

He went quiet when you wrapped your arms around his bare shoulders, a sigh of relief leaving his lips in time with a fond chuckle from yours.

"I love it."

The feeling of his palm sliding underneath your shirt to rub against the small of your back felt familiar enough by now that you easily relaxed, pressing your lips against the top of his head.

"I've cancelled my lectures today and would have made us breakfast in bed…"

"I don't mind going back."

It truly was amazing what time could accomplish, already now having your bodies working in tandem to press closer, his head against your chest as your cheeks began to ache from smiling. You'd take time to read his account later. Maybe have him read it out loud just to hear if his voice would crack on the words this time as well.

The faintest whisper accompanied by a kiss to your sternum drew your attention to your lover, "happy anniversary."

[reixtsu]

hello! how are you? I dont know if you do multi characters, but if not, then one of these characters is alright! ^^ i like to request wanderer, tighnari, wrio, and neuvillete (separately) witnessing/dealing with nice guy who's hitting on their partner (gn! reader) and what they would do if the nice guy doesn't get the hint that the reader is taken, please. ^^ thank you and have a nice day!

Hi anon! I’m sorry that it took me a long time to respond to this request, and the fact that I’m still working on the second half is kinda bad… but your request will be fulfilled first. Please enjoy!

Wanderer, and Tighnari dealing with a nice guy hitting on their partner.

(Wriothesley and Neuvillette coming soon)

Warnings: jealous boys alert, Wanderer is a tsundere

Wanderer

It’s been far too long now -an eternity, really- of you chatting with some random student from the academy. From his spot in the distance, Wanderer watched in silence, taking slow, deliberate sips from his bitter tea. Each sip did little to ease the tight knot forming in his chest. His frown deepened as he observed the student's overly cheerful demeanor, the way his eyes lit up when you laughed at his every joke. Wanderer’s grip tightened around his cup, the edges of his irritation sharpening with each passing moment.

Wanderer continued to down his cup of tea, one after another, as if they were bottles of beer. Setting his last cup down with a jarring thud, he looked down, glaring at you with his peripheral vision.

"It's impressive that you managed to make the journey all the way from Inazuma to Sumeru, Hajime," you praised the student, your voice warm and sincere as you flashed that irresistible smile of yours. "I'm really glad you're here.”

"Me, impressive? I beg to differ."

"Why is that?"

"Well, you are very accomplished," Hajime said simply. "Helping everyone, so intelligent. You are a role-model for all." he winked at the end.

Wanderer nearly choked on his own spit, his breath catching in his throat. How on earth were you tolerating this man—and giving him compliments, no less? (And why wasn’t he the one receiving them?) His mind buzzed with disbelief and irritation, the questions swirling in his head. What right did this plain, insignificant nobody have to be so close to you? He let out a shaky breath, struggling to silence the spiraling thoughts before they consumed him entirely.

"Aren't you nice," You chuckled.

"Say..." Hajime hesitated, shyly placing a hand on your shoulder. "Would you like to join me at the tavern one of these days, dear?"

Wanderer instantly shot up from his seat, his eyes narrowing into a piercing glare directed at Hajime. How could he? Had he completely lost his mind? The audacity! Wasn’t it blatantly obvious that you were spoken for? His disbelief simmered into a potent mix of anger and possessiveness, the intensity of his emotions threatening to boil over.

You smiled awkwardly, not too sure how to approach the situation. "Um, I'm sorry."

"I know you have a partner, but I heard that he is very rude. Let me treat you for a day."

You chuckled, sweating a bit as you stepped away. "Oh, uh... He's really nice to me though, so there's no need to worry."

Hajime's eyes softened. "There's no need to lie. If a guy is toxic, why stay with him?"

“Hands off,” came a gruff voice, as Wanderer seemed to materialize out of thin air, his presence sudden and imposing. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and he leveled a glare of pure disdain at Hajime, as if he were nothing more than an irritating pest. And in Wanderer’s eyes, that’s exactly what he was.

Hajime raised an eyebrow at him, curious as to why he was acting so protective of you. "And you are...?"

"Their partner, obviously," Wanderer spat, his voice laced with venom as he roughly seized your hand, gripping it with a possessiveness that bordered on harshness, as if you were a dog being yanked by its leash. Hajime frowned at the scene, his expression hardening as he crossed his own arms, clearly displeased by Wanderer's aggressive display.

"You're the one who is rude to them, no? Even after all of what they've done for you."

“Don’t talk like you’ve known them their whole life,” Wanderer sneered, his voice dripping with disgust. “Those are just baseless rumors, idiot. You’d have to be a fool to believe any of that.” Hajime’s eyes flashed with irritation, as if the mere suggestion was an insult to his intelligence.

You nodded, leaning your head on Wanderer's shoulder. "Yeah. Besides, Wanderer here is like a black cat. Sure, he's rude, but he actually is really sweet." You kissed his temple for emphasis."

Hajime frowned, his mouth opening and closing like a fish struggling to find the right words, clearly wanting to protest but ultimately deciding against it. With a reluctant sigh, he offered a small, respectful bow before turning away, choosing to leave without uttering another word.

Wanderer let out a relieved sigh, one that was barely audible. "Finally. That pest was getting on my nerves."

You smirked, feeling Wanderer's grip on your arm . You watched as he looked away, a small pout forming on his perfect lips. "Why were you so interested in him anyways? He was a nobody.

In your mind you translated that to 'why were you being sweet to him and not me?'. You smiled, leaning forwards to kiss his forehead. "I was just hearing his stories of his journey here. That's all."

All you heard was a small hmph. "Whatever," huffed, lowering his hat down with his hand. "Let's just go home now."

"Does my baby want cuddles?"

"You goober, I hate cuddles!!”

Tighnari

You and Tighnari were busy gathering flowers for the upcoming banquet in honor of your friend when you encountered a fellow forest ranger. He was tall, friendly, and exuded a natural charm that seemed to radiate from him effortlessly. As you engaged in conversation, everything seemed pleasant—light-hearted jokes and genuine compliments flowed easily. However, the atmosphere took a sudden turn, escalating into a situation that Tighnari could only describe as disgraceful.

"You've actually seen an aranara? That's so cool!" The random guy said, impressed.

"It's not a big deal, really," you said with a touch of humility, though you couldn’t ignore the enthusiastic reaction you’d provoked. With a polite smile, you continued, "By the way, what’s your name, sir?”

"Ah, the name's Arash, but you can call me yours," He winked. "What's your name, lovely?"

Tighnari visibly cringed, his ear twitching and his tail flicking in irritation. He watched with growing dismay as you smiled at the ranger, chuckling at his so-called 'funny' behavior.

"Y/n," You said, extending your hand in the graceful way you always do. "A pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine," Arash extended his hand, attempting to shake yours before a hand got in between.

Tighnari had his eyes closed, his ears twitching in annoyance as he wore an irritated smile. "If I may interrupt, my dear here is already taken."

Arash's eyes widened, surprised. "Really? By whom?"

"Me," Tighnari said, his voice firm as he wrapped his tail possessively around your legs. "So enough with the flirting. We were in the middle of picking flowers, so if you have nothing else to do, you may leave." He offered a tight smile, clearly signaling for Arash to go.

Arash looked at Tighnari, at you, then back to Tighnari. "Right. I apologize. Have a nice day." He bowed his head and waved, turning around to leave.

Tighnari let out a sharp breath through his nostrils, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. "When someone starts flirting with you, you should tell them to stop! You're already taken," he said, his tone stern and unyielding.

You chuckled, bringing your hand up to scratch his soft hair. "Ha! Sorry, I just found him interesting."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly displeased by the response. "Excuse me?" he said, his tone sharp.

"Not as interesting as you, of course," You scratched his ear lovingly.

Tighnari, of course, leaned into your touch, a sense of relief starting to wash over him as he subconsciously began to relax.

"...Let's continue picking flowers, shall we?”

[charmwasjess]

time travel DO write it!!!!! 👀👀👀👀

I'm sorry this is so late, Boli. I went to grab a snippet of Time Travel (Not Writing It) Fic and accidentally, uhh, started writing it again.

Teenaged Dooku and Sifo-Dyas touch the wrong artifact and get plopped into the end of the Clone Wars where they make an escalating series of predictably horrible choices! :D Here's Sifo-Dyas making some now:

“What do you mean mine?” Sifo-Dyas’s voice rose in an alarming way. 

Dooku sensed the movement coming in the Force before he even did it: the odd, loud crash of feathers against air, a bird burst into startled flight. 

–And then Sifo-Dyas was shoving past Master Kenobi, almost knocking him over, and running for it.

“Hey!” Master Skywalker grabbed for the young seer, but Sifo-Dyas dodged and opened his long body into a sprint. A flash of color as the Togruta Padawan took off in pursuit, and Dooku found himself running too, chasing them both and yelling pointless, desperate things.

“Sifo-Dyas! Stop!”

Panic thudded in his chest as he watched him tear off down the corridor into the depths of the huge ship, his dark Padawan braid whipping behind him. If Sifo-Dyas was trying to truly escape, he appeared to be headed in the wrong direction from The Negotiator’s massive hanger bay. 

…why was his whole stupid life running after Sifo-Dyas?

“Don’t chase him, it will just make him run further! I’ll get him!” Dooku yelled to the girl. 

She shot him a very defiant look for a Padawan his junior in age who should, technically, be following his lead. 

“He’ll come to me! He’s my best friend!” 

The Torgruta still didn’t seem precisely convinced, but the words “best friend” seemed to decide something for her. She peeled off the chase; Dooku ran on. He touched the Force to accelerate his speed. Sifo-Dyas might be quicker than him, but he had the endurance. 

At a Y in the corridor, Sifo-Dyas hesitated between options just long enough. Dooku turned his run into a slide, crashing into his legs and bringing him toppling down. They rolled together, scrabbling around on the metal floor to see who would come up on top.

“Sifo-Dyas! Stop!” 

“Let go of me!” 

Dooku straddled him, and Sifo-Dyas drummed blows on his chest and stomach. Retaliating without thinking, Dooku smashed the heel of his palm into his nose. A yelp, a spray of fine blood, and Sifo-Dyas's body, his answering crash against him. They fell to fighting in practiced silence. 

Sifo-Dyas’s teeth closed down on the thin skin of his wrist. Dooku jerked back, more startled than hurt. That was all the opening needed. His knee wedged up into the new space between his body and Dooku’s chest and he kicked himself free.  

Sifo-Dyas leapt up, blood flowing from his nose, stumbled, regained his footing, and threw himself forward again. Not far. Through a swishing doorway. Dooku lunged after him, closing the distance.  

They spilled out onto an observation platform, looking down into a huge bay. Dooku seized him, but Sifo-Dyas didn't struggle this time. He stood was frozen, staring. He sank to his knees. 

Dooku raised his head to see what he had seen. 

Sifo-Dyas hadn’t been running away. He had been running to them. 

“Mine…” he breathed through the blood, his eyes traveling down row after row of identical men in their identical white armor. Black eyes, huge and wide, brimming over with either love or agony. Unbearable love. Unbearable agony. 

Dooku wrapped both arms around him, holding his shaking body hard. He didn’t know if he was trying to restrain him, to offer him comfort, or simply squeeze him until everything made sense again. Until Sifo-Dyas dreamed the galaxy back into proper order.

“Mine,” Sifo-Dyas stammered again, and bent to throw up.

[marsi-is-depressed]

You're remarkably nice to hug

Platonic-ish eleventh!doctor x anxiety ridden reader

Given how severe your anxiety can become, the doctor developed signals that you can send to him to let him know when your anxiety is becoming out of control despite the medication you are taking.

That is until you simply gave up completely.

The TARDIS hummed softly, its light casting a soothing glow on the curved walls. Your breathing shallow and fast. You couldn’t seem to get enough air, and your mind raced, tripping over itself with thoughts that wouldn’t slow down.

"....y/n, are you even listening?"

You looked up. The Doctor, Amy, and Rory were all gazing at you.

"i...what?"

You felt your face heat up. You'd been feeling weird all day, unable to concentrate, preoccupied with your breathing. Of course, you realised why this was developing, but you tried not to notice it.

"Forget it," the doctor whispered. You two—" he indicated to Amy and Rory—do whatever partners do. Amy looked at the doctor cautiously, and Rory seized her hand and drew her away. And you—" he moved to you with narrowed eyes. You're coming with me.

Feeling as if you were on your way to a death chamber, you followed Doctor out of his control room and down the TARDIS corridor. He entered a peaceful room that was strangely empty of everything, simply a white space.

"you've stopped taking your medicine." He spoke passively. "why would you do that, you know how bad your anxiety can get."

"You know how hard it is for me to take those ghastly pills, I can't even swallow them without breaking them in half, do you have any idea how hard it is barely being able to swallow a small tablet without going into panic, overthinking you might choke?" You enquired, getting angry for no good reason but honestly a little surprised he didn't find out sooner.

"Look, settle down. When we get to the next planet, take your prescribed medications. I'm going to try a thing to help calm you down."

“Alright, well, first things first,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Do you trust me?”

The question cut through the noise in your head like a lifeline. You managed a small nod.

He removed his brown blazer, placed the sonic screwdriver on the vacant bed, and walked forward. "Can I hug you?"

Now, here’s the thing,” he said, locking eyes with you. “Panic is a clever trickster, isn’t it? It makes you believe the worst. But we’re going to outwit it."

You gasped and surged into a giggle. He understood what you needed, so you nodded. He gripped you hard, wrapped his arms around you. You grinned into his shoulder and felt your breathing relax.

He stops and observes that you appear to be more relaxed now.

"Are you with me, sweetheart?" You nod thoughtfully when he asks.

Yes. I apologise for that.

"You're remarkably nice to hug." now. Do you feel better? He backed backward, staring at you with childlike wonder. You nodded.

"yes. I might need more embraces later. "And maybe supper?"

Doctor grinned, although he appeared embarrassed. "certainly, dear."

[enmasae]

Desire of the fittest - Part 1

Self Aware Genshin Alternate Universe - Guide AU (my own take on sagau)

Next

Warnings :

Adult content (such as violence, bullying, toxic relationships, cursing, angst, nsfw, and others) and yandere behavior (such as obsessive and possessive display)

Theories and lore informations

Since this is my take on an alternate version of Genshin Impact, I've taken the liberty to include elements that may not align with the game's lore but will make sense in this particular story.

Content : Kaeya and Diluc's wonderful sibling dynamic, Pantalone's charisma, Ningguang and Beidou making me question things about myself, Venti's poetic rumbles, Aether's sister issues

As it is a "x Reader", i use the pronoun "you" and wrote the protagonist as gender neutral.

In the city of contracts, one might never sleep admidst the lights adorning the starry night. The milliths exhibit strong commitment to the protection of their people and, to some extent, their alcohol. Priorities vary, with some indulging in their duty while others drink to their heart's content. For example, a reckless young knight in training sneaks in the few dim alleys the town might provide, a risky task considering his bright red hair. However, this detail doesn't dissuade him from neglecting his duties and following his own sense of justice.

"I hope you got a good excuse for this one, you know. I'm running out of ideas to give Varka and Jean to save our badges."

The knight's face betrays little surprise as he observes the other man leaning on his shoulders. The redhead stares at his coworker and gives him a forceful shove, clearly irritated by his mere presence. The other knight raises his hands as to surrender, a quirky smile growing on his features.

Seizing the man by his collar, the redhead forcefully pins him against the nearest wall. One hand silences the sweet talker, while the other firmly grips the weapon's pommel at his belt. Despite this, the knight's focus remains fixed on the pair strolling past the concealed alley. Only when the target disappears from his view does the redhead shift his attention to the restricted man.

"If you're so afraid to lose your career, why do you keep following me ? Tell me Kaeya, is it funny for you to stick your nose in my business ?"

Kaeya, as he's called, emits a dry laugh before forcing himself out of the redhead's grip. He brushes off his shoulder pads and arranges his hair to his preferred style, tidy yet with a hint of wildness.

"I care about you Diluc, is that so hard to catch on ? You're the only family i have left. You know ? Your brother ?"

The red hair is quick to rectify the man.

"Adoptive brother."

Unfazed by the knight's irritable mood, Kaeya crosses his arms and nonchalantly toys with his nails. Diluc, rolling his eyes, shifts his attention to the pair he's been tailing. He silently curses upon spotting them entering one of the numerous restaurants lining the main street.

"Fantastic, just splendid. Now, either you willingly return to Varka and the Tianquan, or I'll simply knock you out and leave you here until I'm done."

"Or, I could help you get to the bottom of your self-assigned heroic mission, because I know troubles come when you get impulsive like that."

Diluc grunts in his breath, accepting the situation as it is, much to the patched eye knight's delight.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

In the Liuli Pavilion, customers savored their meals in tranquility, engaging in cheerful conversations about their day and the latest gossip. However, an air of tension hung over the staff tonight. While some attributed it to the festivities taking place, little did they know that the luxurious VIP room, a privilege only accessible to a select few in Teyvat, had been reserved for the evening by one of the renowned harbinger.

Raising his wine glass, the ninth harbinger subtly toasts the occasion with his present partner. Sipping the drink, he places it meticulously on the table, ensuring his actions meet the standards of the person sitting across from him. As his lavender eyes gracefully meet yours, he can feel his smile growing fondly.

"Now that I think about it, you never gave me one of your intertwined fate, hum~?"

His comment makes you scoff in slight mockery, amused by his phrasing.

"You know very well that's not how it works."

Sadly for you, he isn't one to back down easily, he tends to lean more towards negotiation. Despite having performed numerous deeds for you, the unfortunate truth is that you've settled every debt owed to him. Your shared appreciation for fairness is a quality he respects. Even if he loathes the lack of any blackmail's materials he could use against you, it's very unlikely that he will take action to remedy this fact.

"Even if I generously provide the goods~?"

Setting aside your chopsticks, you emphasize your point. Normally, engaging in a debate with him would be enjoyable, but at the moment, you don't have the mind for such mental games.

"Pantalone."

Considering his personality, you should have known that such a small display won't faze him.

"[Name]."

You sigh and focus your attention on the meal he graciously covered for you. Though you could have easily afforded it, you appreciate the care. While savoring your food and avoiding prolonged eye contact, your pointed ear twitches at a sudden yet subtle sound.

"Is something disturbing you ?"

Glancing discreetly at one of the open windows, you reassure the man, hoping to lessen his keen interest in your every move. His meticulous gaze is bound to make you uneasy. It would be in your best interest to change the subject.

"A war is brooming."

The revelation doesn't appear to surprise the man greatly as he gestures for you to carry on.

"Hum ? And, what kind ?"

"I cannot see what the future unfolds, Pantalone, I'm no seer. It could be harsh, fierce or treacherous, I wouldn't know."

Chuckling, the man runs his finger along the rim of his glass before indulging in another sip.

"I'm gonna need more information, my dear. I'm afraid I can't do much with only an assumption."

Seizing your food in a more aggressive manner, you point your chopsticks towards the man's face.

"It's far from a possibility, it will happen."

Pantalone leans to eat the food held between your utensils with a rather teasing smile. He finishes his mouth while whipping any condiment that might have clung to his lips.

"Hm, quite salty if you want my opinion. Anyway, how come one who can't grasp the future like you, your words not mine, seems so convinced that a war will occur, hum~?"

As a way to turn back on him, you snatch a portion of his food directly from his plate. Deliberately savoring each bite at a slow pace, your resentful gaze remains fixed on his. You're not one who likes to share.

"I didn't know you could be childlike, it's quite cute~."

Clearing your throat, you refuse to get embarrassed by such words.

"As I was saying, I am sure it will happen because it concerns my kind."

As you finish your plate, you fold your hands together, creating a makeshift headrest. You catch the curious gaze of the harbinger as he gestures you to pursue.

"They have started to show an interest in this world. And believe me that it will get ugly once they come here. After all, Teyvat and its people are one of a kind."

Pantalone appears to think for a moment, his usual smile shifting in a subtle frown.

"I understand now the kind of problems such scenery could cause... What about you ? What would you do if- I mean, when the time comes ?"

You smile brightly, seemingly eager to answer this specific question. The man cannot help but notice the subtle glimmers of light shining softly around your head. While you may view it as an annoying flaw, he appreciates the element's reactions to your mystical presence. These manifestations are a giveaway on your feelings, making it easier for him to read.

He chuckles to himself while reminded of that one time steam literally came out of your ears.

"I already planned everything to the last minus detail, you don't have to worry about me."

Pantalone returns your smile and not so subtly extends his hand toward yours. He smoothly intertwines his fingers with yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

"Oh I'm not worried, I know you're capable~. I was merely curious if you would be more... open at the thought of fulfilling your role as a guide, especially in this context. After all, you still lack a main vessel, don't you ?"

You swiftly withdraw your hand from his grasp before standing up. Your gaze shifts to the open window where a little wick of red could be seen next to a soft looking lock of blue.

"Our time together was pleasant, but i'm afraid you'll have to excuse me."

As you take your leave, Pantalone's smile fades as he too stands up from his seat. It seems he took things too personal again. He approaches the staff member, seemingly waiting for the dinner's payment, and gives him the right amount via a lavish bag full of moras.

"H-hope to see you again, s-sir."

Disregarding the pitiful display, he leaves the establishment , wondering when he might have the opportunity to see you once more.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

"Ningguang, please, i beg of you to listen to reason. This kind of threat doesn't loom over Mondstadt alone, all of Teyvat is at risk."

The grand master of the Knights of Favonius searches fervently for any signs of concern in the reddish eyes of the woman before him, yet her smile remains calm and unfazed. Her presence commands respect as she speaks to the man in an eloquent tone, dismissing his concerns with a flick of her fan.

"I am well aware of the situation in the north and the peril it poses, Varka. However, I feel the need to remind you that our capabilities are limited in addressing this issue."

The towering man forcefully slams his fist on the woman's desk, causing some paperwork to flutter down gradually. Under normal circumstances, Varka isn't someone to easily lose his composure. Yet, with the recent surge of problems, even his usual calm begins to falter.

"Stop beating around the bush !"

Displeased with the man's tone, Ningguang rises from her seat and strides toward the irritated knight. She seizes the man's cheeks, causing him to grunt from the pressure made by her claw-like jewelry.

"The Qixing and I are currently deeply engaged in the construction of the Jade Chamber, i cannot allow half of the millith's forces to join the knights of favonius in a perilous mission doomed unsucessfull. Do i make myself clear ?"

Varka attempts to free himself from Ningguang's grasp by reaching for her hand, but the noblewoman prevents him from doing so by stepping back herself. Seated elegantly on her desk, she discards her fan to take a slight inhale from her pipe, attentively observing the resentful gaze of the man.

"I came to Liyue believing that the Tianquan would be the most understanding. Unfortunately, it seems that selfishness plagues all nations."

"Cut her some slack old man, not everybody is willing to die for some greater good. Here, have a drink."

Varka looks at the half-naked woman slouching on the expensive couch while presenting him an opened flask, most likely containing alcohol. The man averts his eyes, embarrassed by her shameless behavior.

"Oh archons, please, have some decency."

The woman slowly rises from the couch and approaches the man with an unusual sway. As she walks towards him, she struggles to maintain balance on her two feet. Her body moves uncontrollably, resembling the unsteady motion of a boat. Stopping uncomfortably close to Varka, to his displeasure, she fervently pokes his chest.

"Well, look who's talking! You're the one who barged in uninvited in the middle of the night while this elegant lady and I were enjoying a wonderful night of passion."

Ningguang observes the interaction closely but takes no action to intervene as the woman keeps on intruding the man's personal space. However, her passive behavior changes abruptly when her loved one begins to slide her hand under Varka's uniform.

"Beidou, i must advise you to refrain from teasing him, the gentleman appears to be on the brink of mortification~."

The sea woman gives the man some space without making a fuss, returning to the couch. Flopping onto it crudely, she sips her beverage while muttering inaudible words to herself. Ningguang lets out a sigh as she glances at the drunk woman pouting.

On the other hand, Varka straightens his knight's uniform, choosing to close the topic and avoid dwelling on it any further.

"Your nocturnal escapades are not on my list of interests and i'd like to keep it that way. Spare me the details and we'll all sleep a little more soundly, thank you."

Just as Beidou was about to voice her mind, the door to the private room burst open. Two young knights hurriedly entered, slamming the door shut as if sealing themselves off from a pursuing threat. Judging by Kaeya's heavy breathing, he seemed as if he had just sprinted for his life. Diluc, though equally exhausted, maintained a more composed demeanor.

"Care to explain where you two were ?"

The brothers instantly straightened from their slouching forms, standing at attention, fists over their hearts. Varka folded his arms, seemingly awaiting a response. Diluc broke the silence, his eyes challenging the Grand Master's gaze as he spoke first.

"On duty."

Kaeya scoffs dismissively, adding a sardonic remark to punctuate his disdain.

"I'm not sure discretely following a harbinger and a guide, getting discovered and almost dying on the spot was part of the mission we were assigned to."

The Tianquan's ears perk up at the mention of such individuals by the young knight. If his statement proved to be true, then troubles were brewing right under her nose. The prospect doesn't sit well with her.

Diluc quickly retorts with a tone laced with disdain, his brother's attitude getting on his nerves more than it already has.

"Would it kill you to shut your mouth once in a while ?"

"Would it kill you to respect the knight's code once in a while ?"

Beidou erupts into a loud laughter as it slowly fades into amused chuckles. In her inebriated state, the interaction between the two unfolds as a hilarious spectacle. Varka doesn't appear to find the situation funny as his facial expression twitches with carefully concealed anger.

Interestingly, Diluc appeared to share a similar state, albeit for different reasons.

"You don't even know what you're talking about."

Kaeya makes a concerted effort to maintain formation as he turns his head to look at the redhead.

"Oh, forgive me ! All you ever do is chase your damn heart's desires in the guise of justice, and that's precisely how you put not just yourself but everyone around you in danger ! You're downright inconsiderate and recklessly hot-headed."

Sensing a headache starting to form, Varka decides to finally intervene.

"That's enough, both of you. Childish bickering is unbecoming of knights. Now, I want to know where you were and what you were doing. Keep it brief."

The bluish knight keeps his eyes shut and mouth silent. His brother decides to confront the Grand Master, seemingly unimpressed by his towering composure and the fact that he could send him flying with a flick of his wrist.

"It doesn't matter what we witnessed, you couldn't possibly do anything about it anyway. Just like your expedition in the north, they won't amount to anything in the end."

The fiery attitude of the knight briefly snaps the drunk woman out of her clouded mind. She cheers with her nearly empty bottle before sleep reclaims her once more.

"Ah ! The kid got some spunk ! Reminds me of... what was his name again...?"

Diluc coughs as smoke wafts into his face. He glances at the woman responsible, who smiles while inhaling from her pipe again.

"It would be in your best interest to learn what to keep to yourself and what should be shared, boy. If a guide is indeed involved with a harbinger, something serious is looming. Trust me, you don't want the weight of people's lives on your shoulders."

The knight ignites the remaining essence inside the pipe, allowing it to burn and depriving her of anything else to smoke. The woman scoffs at the man's use of his Pyro vision. It's akin to witnessing a child throwing a tantrum for not being taken seriously. Yet, unlike the hollow threats of a kid, the fire in his eyes dared the Tianquan to change his mind.

Surveying the remaining people, he briefly locks eyes with Kaeya. Sensing his concern, yet dismissing it, he storms out of the room.

"I know what i must do, and it doesn't concern any of you."

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　a few years later 　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

A loud shattering noise brings Diluc back to his senses. He glances at the culprit and frowns upon seeing the local bard laying on the floor with a broken wine bottle. Giggling to himself, the drunkard appears to be in his own world, thoroughly enjoying himself. The bartender grabs him by his shirt, hoisting him back onto his stool.

With the late hour upon him, Diluc finds himself with only the lonesome bard as a customer. Eager to begin his journey home and well aware of this specific client's penchant to be annoying when it comes to alcohol, he decides to employ a different strategy than his usual approach.

"So, when do you think i should kick you out ?"

Venti continues to giggle slightly, leaning on the bar counter. He toys with the glass Diluc so gracefully served him, mischief forming in his eyes as he glances at the redhead. Strangely enough, he doesn't seem to be that drunk anymore.

"Let's say... If you tell me why you were lost in such a thoughtful row, i might let you know~."

The bartender dismisses it with a simple shrug, clearly not in the mood to satisfy the bard's curiosity.

"I was just reminded of something."

As the breeze softly wafts through a small crack in the bar's window, Venti's smile takes on a more knowing gleam. He slides his empty glass playfully along the counter, a silent request to get a refill. Unfortunately, Diluc only takes the glass to clean it, refusing to pour more alcohol for him.

As he resigned on getting more of the sweet beverage, Venti sighs and settles on trying to decipher the bartender's thoughts.

"Well, I don't mind to guess~."

Diluc scoffs, skeptical of the drunkard's boastful claim. While he doesn't feel the need to engage in Venti's game, a hint of curiosity lingers. Who knows, perhaps the bard might have something intriguing to say.

"I've caught wind that the traveler's back from their journey. We haven't crossed paths, but rumor has it that their tale isn't quite cheery."

As Venti's concern reflects in his eyes, Diluc can only wonder what's hidden behind those poetic rumbles.

"I've known about their return in Mondstadt for quite a while now, but i haven't gotten the chance to meet them yet."

The bard contemplates the redhead's words with a thoughtful hum. Determined to get under his skin, he retrieves his lyre, creating a gentle tune that pierces the silence in the tavern. His expression bears the weight of sorrow as he poetically expresses his thoughts.

"Let his story be a lesson.

One learned from past takes,

To steer clear of repeating mistakes.

Beware of ones who claim as guides,

for their path conceals deceptive tides.

As stories have shown,

they cannot be trusted to bring you home.

Truth easily brushed aside with vows so sweet,

Yet, remember, once humans, their hearts did beat.

Let their story be a lesson,

Unspoken, like an untold confession.

One that shall not be named,

so it may never repeat again."

As the melody gently fades away, satisfaction spreads into the bard upon witnessing surprise on the man's features.

"Hehe, told you i was good at guessing~."

In his silent contemplation, Diluc gazes at the sword that once symbolized his knighthood, now relegated to a mere wall ornament. There was a time when he wielded it with pride. These days, when confronted with his nocturnal 'duties', he opts for heavier armaments. Regrettably, without his claymore in close reach, his former sword remains the sole option should the need for self-defense arise.

"Such strange beings... Aren't they fascinating ? While not being from these lands, it feels as if they've existed here long before life itself."

Venti follows the redhead's gaze, unbothered by his cautious demeanor. After all, he, too, once felt intimidated by the mere mention of guides. Nevertheless, his past fear primarily stemmed from his unfamiliarity with them. Having personally witnessed their exceptional powers, he understands that while one should avoid provoking them, it's quite simple to earn their favor.

"Some cruel, some benevolent, they only share their pride. Powerful yet feeble, to survive, they are reliant on what they term a 'vessel'. To their host, they may seem divine, yet in truth, they're nothing but a parasite."

Observing the bard rise from his stool, Diluc steps away from the counter to obstruct the main entrance of the tavern. Crossing his arms, he challenges Venti to take another step, his pyro vision blazing brightly as a silent warning.

"How do you know so much about them ?"

Amused by the situation, the not quite inebriated individual appears unfazed by Diluc's fiery demeanor, lifting his arms in mock surrender. His eyes emit a faint glow as a gust of wind forcefully opens the window, extinguishing all the candles illuminating the tavern. Irritated by the incessant noise of the window slamming against the wall, Diluc promptly closes it. Turning his attention back to the bard, he furrows his brows upon realizing that Venti hasn't made a hasty retreat. It's peculiar since the bard is renowned for employing cunning tactics to escape undesirable situations. Venti nonchalantly shrugs in response to the accusing gaze from the redhead, as if he weren't the one responsible for the sudden gust of wind, despite the 'anemo vision' resting on his belt.

"That's a tale for another day~. What's more important is why you seem to hold such an interest in them."

Realizing the bard has no intention to utter another word, Diluc sighs and clears the path to the exit. He gestures to Venti with a nod, signaling him to leave while he allows it.

"I have my reasons."

Entertained by the fact that he didn't need to be forcibly kicked out, the bard chuckles to himself before making a swift departure, leaving his parting words to resonate in the air.

"Hehe, fair enough. But if you do wish to learn more about them, heed my advice. Fools seeking aid from those with selfish desires rarely find anything good in return."

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

As waves gently caress the shore, a symphony of memories, both ancient and recent, courses through them. The gentle cadence of the sea does not drown out the melody hummed by the young man standing in the water. Unfazed by the sea reaching his knees or the cool night breeze, he stands with eyes open but vacant, bathed in the ethereal glow of the moonlight.

With utmost care, he places on the water's surface a leaf-crafted vessel bearing a delicate arrangement of flowers, a tribute to his sister. As the final notes of his haunting melody linger in the night, a lament of anguish and sorrow, he releases the makeshift boat to be carried away by the current.

Soft tears flow down his face as his voice gently wanes. Upon arriving for the first time at this shore with a solemn vow to reunite with his sister, his ignorance veiled his eyes. Admidst the new sights this world had to offer, a strange familiarity embraced him. As the wind tousled his hair down to the way the soil felt beneath his feet, it was as if he had returned home.

He reflects on his past as a soldier, an obedient one who never questioned orders, devoid of a sense of morality, discerning neither good nor bad. He was merely following commands.

He recalls about her once gentle nature, a soul averse to causing harm, adorning herself not for personal satisfaction but for others' admiration. Her explanations of right and wrong were delivered calmly, never raising her voice.

They both changed so much, left with nothing but themselves and memories to nurture. Their relationship was at the time a delicate balance, with even the smallest mistakes sparking intense fights.

With time, she developed a stronger personality, becoming more reserved and secretive. He, however, found a way to articulate his feelings, expressing himself in ways he couldn't comprehend before. She loved to tease his newfound soft side.

But someone had robbed him of that. When he encountered her again at the end of his journey, he realized he was too late. In their final meeting, although her body was still breathing, there was no soul inhabiting it, no mind radiated from her mortal shell.

As she was no longer herself, he had no option but to end her suffering.

"Well, it's not often i get to meet with you alone. Where is that little fairy friend of yours ?"

As he feels tender hands cupping his face, a smile graces his features, whispering your name. To him, it has been too long since the last time you two shared such a peaceful moment. The infrequency of your meetings only heightens the value he places on them.

"Paimon is currently receiving care from the sisters of Mondstadt's cathedral. She got quite injured during our latest adventure. As for why i am here, I needed some time alone to bid a proper farewell."

He opens his eyes, savoring the sight of yours. Their intricate hues bear untold secrets that he longs to unravel. The patterns on your skin accentuate the natural bioluminescence of your body, preserving tales from times long past. Gently, he raises his calloused hand to your own, relishing in the comfort. As he senses your delicate fingers wiping away the tears from his face, more flows out.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

As his guide, he understands the price to pay for the honor bestowed upon him. Deep down, he understands the strength and knowledge you provided were for your own survival. The love he receives depends on the satisfaction he brings to you. He doesn't care if you use him as a vulgar puppet, as long as he remains by your side. He can't lose you, not you too.

"My sister liked to say that home is wherever we are together. Since we were all that were left of our home, i guess it was true."

His voice is parched and laden with sorrow as he clings to you like he would for a lifeline.

"She was the one determined to find somewhere for us to settle. But everywhere we went, troubles came. Either we had to flee or we were chased away. Times were hard, but at least we had each other. She was the only one I could rely on."

"But times have changed; you don't have to flee anymore, you don't have to follow orders, you don't have to live in her shadow. You can listen to your heart's desires."

In the silent exchange of glances, Aether notices the profound emptiness in your eyes, a void untouched by the shared sadness or comfort he seeks. The weight of realization descends upon him, as denial attempts to cloak the newfound awareness. The touch that he craved for earlier radiated no warmth. A sense of betrayal settles over him, sending chills coursing through his body.

"... you knew."

With the guilt slowly making itself evident on your face, he pushes your hands away from his. Stumbling on his feet, the world around him spins as if he has just awakened from a profound dream. The thought of you betraying his trust unsettled him. After all, the bond you shared wasn't a trivial pinky promise but a deep connection where he lived for you, and you for him.

"... you knew it would happen... you knew and yet... you did nothing ?"

He retreats slowly toward the shore, and as you follow, your hands gently signal him to calm down, much like one would soothe a frightened animal.

"It was already too late the day i saved you from that shade."

His heart aches as your words sink in. Closing the distance between the both of you, Aether decides to listen. He allows you to take his hands in yours, feeling the squeeze accompanied by a sudden cold. It's a familiar chill that he's come to associate with your moments of sadness.

"Then why did you save me ? Why didn't you save her ? Why. Me."

You guide him gently to the dry sand, ensuring his gaze follows your movements. As you start drawing shapes on the ground, they soon come to life in a light green hue, dancing around both of you. Aether recognizes himself in one of them and reaches out to touch it. Luminescent particles spread apart at his sudden movement, only to reform elsewhere near them. The scene changes, depicting the fateful day he lost Lumine.

"... you were both destined to die. I chose you because you reminded me of my old self."

He witnesses the divine being capturing his sister only to target him next. Aether perks up by the appearance of another shape. He observes how you protect him from the deity before the scene changes once more. Nostalgia fills him as he watches you forge the bond between the two of you. A soft laugh escapes him at the sight of Paimon being fished out, breathing life into your dynamic.

"You were quite stupid and ignorant."

Beads of sweat flow down his face as the shapes replays some of his past mistakes. In an attempt to avoid further embarrassment, he raises his hand to dispel the particles. You intervene by gently seizing his hand and guiding it to his heart.

"Yet, I could sense your determination to protect what you hold dear."

His ethereal counterpart proudly raises his blade against the final obstacle in his journey. It appears fearless, prepared to confront what he believed would be its greatest foe. However, that confidence crumbles when the monstrous shape morphs into the likeness of his sister. He observes as his particle self thrusts its sword through her, taking her life. As the particles slowly disperse, he meets your gaze, bitterness filling his throat.

"If I were to apologize for all the secrets i kept from you, that would be a lie. For all I did was solely to protect you."

You embrace the boy one final time before fading away. Aether's arms linger in the air before he wraps them around himself, trembling slightly. Shivers run down his spine as he comprehends what you've left behind. He gingerly picks up the small gemstone on the sand and clenches his fist. Anger wells up within him as he gazes at the cracked little starshaped orb, a symbol of your shattered bond.

You abandoned him.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

"Ugh, are you done yet ? Witnessing your sickening sweetness with him is making me nauseous."

Upon opening your eyes, you sense cramps crawling through your body, as if emerging from a deep coma. You snatch the helmet-like device off your skull and shove it away. The man attending to you utters an annoyed "watch it" in response.

"Deal with it."

The man assists you in exiting the machinery, disconnecting various tubes and electronics that monitored your health and body state. He grunts upon witnessing your attempt to straighten up quickly, and he gently compels you to lay back. Muttering additional curses, he likely expresses irritation at your impulsive actions, fully aware of the associated risks.

"Do you really need to go to such lengths? First, you toyed with his memories, and technically, you're the reason why he lost his dear 'sister.' And now, after all the efforts you put into him, you're just giving up ?"

You forcefully pull his hands away from your body and swiftly rise to your feet. Letting out a grunt, you massage your temples as a headache begins to intensify. Moving slowly, you skip a few steps, struggling to stand on your own but determined to reach a proper bed for some rest.

"I know what i have to do and i don't need your concern."

Depriving you of the chance to take another step on your own, the man hoists you onto his shoulder and carries you like a sack of potatoes. With no strength left, you acquiesce, but in silence, you mentally note to make him pay for this humiliation.

"Ugh, guides. I would never understand your kind."

You snarl and swiftly retort to his remark, delivering a quick hit to his hips.

"I am nothing like them."

The man appears unfazed by your punch, softly placing you on a very comfortable bed. He sighs at your angry gaze and flicks your forehead. It perplexes him how careless you can be when it comes to taking care of yourself, yet how gentle you are when it comes to your vessels.

"And yet, here you are, acting like one."

"And yet, here you are, taking care of me."

You lock eyes with the man, urging him to look away, but he continues to relish the moment. He neatly folds the cozy blanket atop you and tenderly traces the features of your face with his fingers. Despite his harsh and unyielding tone, his facial expression reveals another narrative, one where he could have been more sincere about his feelings.

"We just have a common enemy, nothing more."

Frustrated by his contradictory tenderness and attitude, you opt to usher him out.

"You never know when to shut your mouth do you ? I wonder where you got that."

The man scoffs and exits the room, clearly offended by your words. Finally relishing a peaceful moment, you close your eyes and envision the starry sky you've come to know by heart, one you hold dear, even if it's a mere fabrication. You identify a few constellations and recollect which ones align with your favorites.

After spending countless years in these lands, your meticulous preparations are on the verge of paying off. All the accumulated resources, weapons, and artifacts are about to prove their worth. Finally, you'll have the opportunity to engage in a game that truly fulfills your desires. One marked by chaos and unforeseeable events, where rules are broken and laws cease to matter.

Anticipation builds as you look forward to witnessing the expressions of newcomers when things deviate from their expectations, struggling to survive in a world they believed they knew.

It's going to be a gameboard where, finally, you hold the advantage.

Doesn't it sound fun ?

{Words : 5629}

Thank you for reading the first part of the series !

I hope you enjoyed :D

Next

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Legendary Black Cat

Selena de la Rosa, known across Marley as the Legendary Black Cat, is the world's deadliest assassin—a master of agility, precision, and deception. When Marley turns against her, she is shipped to Paradis as a living weapon, chained and drugged, with her survival all but assured to be short-lived. But Selena is no ordinary prisoner.

Bound by no one, loyal to none, Selena plots her next move, determined to seize her freedom by any means necessary. Yet, her plans are complicated by the Scouts who captured her, particularly Captain Levi Ackerman—the so-called Humanity's Strongest Soldier. Selena is intrigued by his strength and reputation, but her pride refuses to acknowledge him as her equal.

Caught between Levi’s unrelenting gaze, Selena plays a dangerous game of manipulation. She’s biding her time, but when the moment comes, will her calculated escape bring her freedom—or will her path collide violently with Levi’s unwavering resolve?

The Black Cat has always landed on her feet, but for the first time, she might meet her match. (Levi x OC)

Chapter Ten

Selena stepped out from behind the curtains, the fabric brushing aside as she strode into the room with a newfound confidence. She was no longer clad in the ragged, oversized, and frankly hideous brown dress she had been wearing when she first escaped. Now, she was dressed in a simple but well-fitting white button-up shirt tucked neatly into brown trousers that hugged her frame. The clothes were plain by Survey Corps standards, but on Selena, they looked anything but ordinary.

She turned on her heel, hands on her hips, and gave a little spin as if she were on a runway. “Well?” she asked, her voice laced with mock arrogance. “How do I look?”

Hange was immediately beside herself with excitement, clapping her hands like a child at a festival. “You look amazing, Selena! I knew these clothes would suit you perfectly!” Hange circled her, gesturing wildly. “See, Levi, doesn’t she look great?”

Selena smirked at Levi, her poison-green eyes gleaming with mischief. She placed a hand on her hip and shifted her weight, subtly accentuating the curves the tailored trousers now revealed. “What do you think, Capitán?” she purred. “Do I pass inspection?”

Levi, who had been leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, gave her an unimpressed look—or at least, that’s what he was aiming for. In truth, his eyes had already roamed over her form, taking in every detail. He noted how the clean white shirt fit snugly across her shoulders, how the tailored trousers highlighted her long, lean legs, and how she moved with that same feline grace that had earned her the codename "Black Cat."

He begrudgingly admitted to himself that Selena was beautiful. Stunning, even. But he wasn’t about to let her know that.

“Don’t get used to it,” Levi muttered, his voice low and disinterested. “You’re not here to model.”

Selena tilted her head, her smirk widening as she sauntered closer to him. She walked on the balls of her feet, he noticed, almost as if she were prowling. It was so natural, so fluid, that it was hard to tell if she was doing it on purpose or if it was simply ingrained in her. She truly was like a cat, every movement deliberate and precise, as if she were ready to pounce at any given moment.

“Aw, Capitán,” she said, her voice dripping with mock hurt. “And here I was thinking you’d be a little more appreciative. After all, I’m finally dressed like one of you now. Doesn’t that make me a part of the team?” She batted her eyelashes dramatically.

Levi’s brow twitched, and he exhaled sharply. “Hange, stop hyping her up,” he snapped, turning to glare at the scientist, who was practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

Hange grinned. “Oh, come on, Levi! Admit it, she cleans up nicely! Don’t you think so, Commander Erwin?”

Erwin, who had been quietly observing from the other side of the room, offered a diplomatic smile. “It’s good to see her looking more comfortable. But remember, Selena,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, “you’ve joined the Survey Corps now. This isn’t a fashion show. There’s still a lot of work ahead.”

Selena turned her smirk toward Erwin, giving him a mock salute. “Of course, Commander. I’ll try not to outshine the rest of your team too much.” Her words were teasing, but there was a glint of sincerity in her eyes.

Levi clicked his tongue, his irritation barely contained. “Tch. Don’t flatter yourself. And stop walking around like you own the place.”

Selena leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so only Levi could hear. “Careful, Capitán,” she whispered with a playful smirk. “You keep staring at me like that, and I might start to think you’re interested.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but the faintest flush of color rose to his cheeks. He quickly turned away, muttering something about “annoying stray cats” under his breath.

Selena straightened, watching him with a satisfied grin. She had won this round, and she knew it. But as her gaze lingered on Levi for a moment longer, she found herself intrigued. His reaction wasn’t just annoyance—there was something else there, buried deep. Something she wanted to uncover.

“Alright,” Erwin said, interrupting her thoughts. “Now that you’re ready, Selena, let’s move on. We’ll introduce you to the rest of the team properly.”

Selena glanced at Erwin, then back at Levi, before giving a casual shrug. “Lead the way, Commander,” she said, her tone light. But as she followed him out of the room, her mind was already working. This place, these people… they were different. And for the first time in a long time, she felt something stir in her chest. Something she wasn’t quite ready to name.

As they walked toward the main tent to reintroduce Selena to the other scouts, Selena fell into step beside Levi. Her mischievous green eyes sparkled with amusement as she tilted her head to look up at him.

“So, Capitán,” she purred, her voice teasing as always, “what’s my role going to be on your team? Am I going to be your second-in-command? Your shadow in the field? Or maybe your personal bodyguard?”

Levi stopped abruptly, his steel-gray eyes narrowing at her. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You’re not on any team yet,” he said flatly, his tone clipped. “Erwin might have let you join us, but you’ve got a long way to go before anyone here trusts you. And that includes me.”

Selena placed a hand over her heart, feigning offense. “You wound me, Capitán!” she exclaimed, though the smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her mock sincerity. “After everything we’ve been through together? I saved your life, you saved mine—it’s practically a partnership.”

Levi clicked his tongue in irritation. “Tch. Partnership, my ass. You’ve got a lot to prove before you’re anything more than a liability. Starting with spilling the real truth about Marley. Not the half-baked bullshit you fed us the first time we questioned you.”

Selena’s smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by a brief flicker of annoyance. But before she could retort, Erwin chimed in, his voice calm yet firm. “Levi’s right,” he said, glancing back at her. “If you want to earn our trust and truly join the Survey Corps, we need full transparency from you. No more half-truths, no more evasions. We need to know everything.”

Selena sighed, brushing a strand of dark hair out of her face. “Fine,” she said, her tone less playful now. “What do you want to know?”

Levi didn’t waste a second. “How many more assassins does Marley have?” he demanded, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. “When we questioned the Marleyans, they said there were ten of you. Showtime, Shadow, Salamander, Hummingbird, and you—that makes five we know about. What about the other five?”

Selena’s eyes glimmered with something unreadable—was it annoyance, pride, or perhaps regret?—before she answered. “Three of them are dead,” she said, her voice steady. “I killed them myself when I fought back against Marley. Viper, Power, and Night. They were ranked five, six, and seven.”

“And the last two?” Erwin pressed, his tone measured but curious.

Selena shrugged. “Sparrow and Manta,” she said, almost dismissively. “They’re the youngest and the least experienced. Ranked nine and ten. They’re more like trainees than actual assassins. Marley wouldn’t bother sending them here because they know those two wouldn’t last a day.”

Levi’s expression remained skeptical, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Convenient,” he muttered. “But even if they’re as weak as you claim, Marley might still send them eventually if they get desperate enough.”

Selena leaned closer to him, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, trust me, Capitán, you’d take them out in less than a minute. They’re not worth the effort.”

Levi didn’t move, didn’t react, but his sharp eyes stayed locked on hers. “We’ll see,” he said simply, his tone as unreadable as ever.

Erwin, however, nodded thoughtfully. “It’s good to have this information,” he said, his gaze steady. “But there’s more we’ll need to know, Selena. You’ve been inside Marley’s walls, trained by their best, and seen their inner workings. We’ll need every detail you can give us if we’re going to use you as an asset.”

“The two you should really worry about are Hummingbird and Salamander,” Selena said, her voice steady but tinged with a hint of tension. 

Hange raised an eyebrow, immediately intrigued. “What makes them so special?”

Selena exhaled sharply, as if bracing herself for the explanation. “Aoi Fujisaki—Hummingbird—is ranked third. She’s the fastest of all of us. Faster than me,” she admitted, glancing at Levi as if anticipating a reaction. “Her speed is her weapon. She’s so fast, you’ll never see her coming. Aoi doesn’t waste time on theatrics. She’s in, out, and you’re done before you even realize what happened.”

Levi remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. “And Salamander?” he prompted.

At the mention of Salamander, Selena hesitated for a fraction of a second before her usual composure returned. “Kwasi Ngozi—Salamander—is ranked second,” she began. “He’s not just strong; he’s a force of nature. His punches feel like fireballs. He hits you, and you don’t get back up. Period. He’s also ridiculously durable. It’s going to take more than speed or strategy to bring him down.”

Hange whistled lowly. “Speed and strength, huh? Sounds like Marley’s been busy creating quite the lineup.”

Selena gave a bitter chuckle. “Busy creating weapons, you mean,” she said, her voice sharp. “That’s all we were to them. Tools to do their dirty work and be discarded when we were no longer useful.”

Levi’s eyes stayed on her, his usual unreadable expression unwavering. “And you know them well enough to be certain of their weaknesses?” he asked pointedly.

Selena tilted her head, her smirk returning slightly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I know them better than anyone,” she said. “We trained together, fought together—hell, survived together.”

She deliberately left out the detail that Salamander, Kwasi Ngozi, was much more than a former comrade. He had been a toxic presence in her life, an abuser she had fought hard to overcome. But she wasn’t about to let that vulnerability slip through now. That part of her past was hers alone.

“And their weaknesses?” Erwin asked, his tone calm but commanding.

“Aoi’s strength is also her weakness,” Selena explained. “She relies entirely on her speed. If you can slow her down, even for a moment, she’s vulnerable. As for Kwasi…” Her voice trailed off slightly, and she clenched her fists unconsciously. “His ego is his weakness. He likes to toy with his opponents, show off his strength. It makes him predictable if you know how to bait him.”

Levi studied her closely, his sharp eyes catching the subtle flicker of unease when she spoke of Salamander. “Sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot,” he said, his tone neutral but probing.

Selena’s lips curved into a tight smile, deflecting the question. “Let’s just say I’ve had plenty of time to plan for the day I’d have to face them again.”

Hange’s curiosity was piqued, but they wisely refrained from pressing further. “Well, at least we have some intel to work with,” they said, their voice lighter in an attempt to ease the tension. “Not that it sounds like it’s going to be easy.”

“It won’t be,” Selena said bluntly. “But if we’re lucky, Marley won’t send them both at once. Separately, they’re dangerous. Together…” She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Erwin nodded, his expression thoughtful. “We’ll be ready,” he said firmly. “And so will you.”

Selena glanced at him, then at Levi, whose gaze was still locked on her. “I always am,” she said with quiet conviction, though deep down, she knew the fight against Kwasi would be the most personal one of all.

But Levi didn’t miss the slight hitch in Selena’s voice when she mentioned Salamander’s name, nor the subtle tightening of her jaw as she spoke about his abilities. It wasn’t like her. Selena, for all her flamboyant confidence and sharp tongue, rarely showed discomfort. It was a crack in her armor, and Levi wasn’t going to let it slide.

As they walked through the camp, Levi slowed his pace, letting Erwin and Hange move ahead. Selena noticed and raised an eyebrow, clearly aware that Levi had something on his mind. She didn’t say anything, though; she just kept walking, her posture as graceful as ever, her head held high.

“Stop,” Levi said suddenly, his voice low but firm.

Selena halted mid-step, turning to face him with her trademark smirk. “Something on your mind, Capitán?” she asked, her tone dripping with feigned innocence.

Levi crossed his arms, his sharp eyes boring into her. “You’re hiding something,” he stated bluntly.

Selena tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Hiding something? From you? Never.”

Levi didn’t flinch, his expression unchanging. “Don’t play dumb,” he said. “It’s about Salamander. There’s more to the story than you’re letting on.”

Selena’s smirk faltered for a split second, but she quickly recovered, shrugging nonchalantly. “I told you everything you need to know,” she said smoothly. “Kwasi is dangerous, strong, and has an ego the size of a titan. What more do you want?”

Levi stepped closer, his presence unyielding. “The truth,” he said simply.

Selena’s eyes narrowed slightly, her playful demeanor slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of irritation. “I already gave you the truth,” she said, her voice sharper now. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“No,” Levi said flatly. “I don’t.”

Selena’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she looked like she might lash out. Instead, she let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that,” she said. “But trust me, Capitán, whatever you think you’re going to find out, it’s not worth your time.”

Levi didn’t budge. “You’re deflecting,” he said, his tone colder now. “If we’re going to fight these assassins, I need to know everything. That includes whatever it is you’re keeping to yourself about Salamander.”

Selena’s eyes flashed, a mix of anger and something else—something closer to fear. But she quickly masked it with her usual bravado. “Fine,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You want to know the truth? Salamander and I used to be teammates. We trained together, fought together. We were good at what we did, and Marley loved us for it. Happy now?”

Levi’s gaze didn’t waver. “Not good enough,” he said. “There’s more.”

Selena crossed her arms, mirroring his stance. “What more do you want, Levi? Do you want me to spell out every gruesome detail of my life? Do you want to know how Marley turned us into monsters? Or is this about you trying to find some weakness in me?”

Levi took a step closer, his voice dropping even lower. “I want to know if you’re going to be a liability when Salamander shows up.”

Selena’s expression hardened, her smirk completely gone now. “I’m no liability,” she said fiercely. “I’ve fought bigger monsters than him, and I’ve survived. Whatever you think I’m hiding, it won’t stop me from doing what needs to be done.”

Levi studied her for a long moment, his piercing gaze searching hers for any sign of weakness. Finally, he stepped back, his arms dropping to his sides. “If you’re lying,” he said, his voice like steel, “it’s not just your life on the line. It’s everyone’s.”

Selena’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she looked like she might say something. But instead, she simply turned on her heel and started walking again. “Noted, Capitán,” she said over her shoulder, her tone light but her posture rigid. “Now, if we’re done playing twenty questions, I believe we have work to do.”

Levi watched her go, his expression unreadable. He didn’t believe her—not entirely. But whatever she was hiding, he’d figure it out eventually. He always did.

Hange turned to Erwin, her brows knitted together in confusion. “What just happened?” she asked, her voice tinged with disappointment. “She was fine a second ago. Did Levi say something to her?”

Erwin looked equally puzzled, his gaze following Selena as she stalked off, her shoulders stiff with tension. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, his tone thoughtful. “But something clearly upset her.”

Hange huffed, crossing her arms. “Levi, what did you say to her?” she demanded, turning to the stoic captain. “We were just about to introduce her to the rest of the scouts! Now she’s walking off like that.”

Levi didn’t respond immediately. His eyes were still locked on Selena’s retreating form, his sharp mind turning over the conversation they’d just had. He wasn’t sure what exactly had set her off, but one thing was clear to him now—there was something deeply personal between her and Salamander.

Finally, Levi sighed and crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “I pressed her about Salamander,” he said bluntly. “She’s hiding something.”

Hange raised an eyebrow. “And you thought now was the best time to interrogate her?” she asked, exasperation clear in her voice. “Levi, she just agreed to join us. We’re trying to build trust here, not make her feel like she’s under constant suspicion.”

Erwin frowned, considering Levi’s words. “Do you think she has a personal connection to Salamander?” he asked.

Levi nodded, his jaw tightening. “It’s more than just knowing his tactics or fighting him before,” he said. “The way she reacted when I brought him up... it wasn’t just about strategy. There’s history there.”

Hange groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Great. So, instead of introducing her as our new ally, we’re dealing with whatever emotional baggage she has with one of Marley’s top assassins. Fantastic.”

Erwin’s gaze turned serious. “We need to tread carefully with this,” he said. “If Salamander does have a personal connection to her, it could complicate things when we eventually face him. But that doesn’t mean we should push her too hard right now. She needs time to process.”

Levi’s frown deepened, but he didn’t argue. He knew Erwin was right—pushing Selena further right now would only make her more defensive. Still, his instincts told him that whatever she was hiding could be crucial when the time came to face Salamander.

Hange sighed and waved a hand toward Selena’s direction. “I’ll go talk to her,” she said. “Try to smooth things over before we introduce her to the others. Maybe she just needs someone a little less... intense.”

Levi gave her a pointed look but said nothing.

“Good idea,” Erwin agreed, nodding. “We’ll wait here and give her some space.”

Hange jogged off after Selena, leaving Levi and Erwin standing in silence. After a moment, Erwin glanced at Levi, his expression calm but probing. “You suspect more than just a professional rivalry, don’t you?”

Levi’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “And if I’m right, it could make things messy.”

Erwin nodded, his face grave. “Then we’ll need to prepare for that possibility. But for now, let’s focus on bringing her fully into the fold.”

Levi didn’t respond, his mind still lingering on Selena’s earlier reaction. Whatever she was hiding, it wasn’t just a minor detail. He could feel it in his gut—it was something big, and it would come to light sooner or later. The question was whether it would help them... or tear everything apart.

~

Masterlist | Patreon

Join my Taglist

Note: I am three chapters ahead on patreon :)

Tags: @Thirstyb-ches @spaghetticarbs @demonslayeranimex

[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

December 18 - Aurora Borealis | Jegulus | word count: 844 | @taylorswiftmicrofic

There is a long list of things Regulus Black never thought he would get to do.

Live passed his eighteenth birthday. See a world without his Mother looming over him. Be unshackled from his enslavers. Walk in public in trousers. Mend his relationship with his brother. Have a life’s purpose of his own. Have a boyfriend. Leave the Black legacy behind. Get to travel the world to the places he has only read about. Experience love. Become a poet. Start a family of his own. Fill the empty shell of his body with life. Be more than a broken boy. Be Regulus Arcturus Black.

But here he is, freshly nineteen, hand in hand with his boyfriend, wearing trousers. He knows it isn’t much, but to fifteen-year-old Regulus, it means the world. He never thought he would be anything more than a scared boy hiding inside a girl’s body, forced to play dress up by his Mother every day. Forced to fit into a mold of somebody he is not. But, even the simple things—having a boyfriend his mother would not approve of, wearing trousers and a hoodie instead of an intricate lace dress, away from that house and its overbearing and mostly impossible expectations—make it easier to breathe. They mean that he was able to summon the courage that mother tried to hide from him, and follow in his brother’s footsteps.

And while he would like to claim all the credit for himself, he knows none of it would have been possible without James. It’s because of James that he goes most days without feeling the hollowness creeping at his chest. It’s because of James that he knows what it is like to love. It’s because of James that he knows how much of life he was missing out on. It’s because of James, that he gets the opportunity to make up for so much lost time.

It's because of James, that instead of cuddling in front of their fireplace trading gentle kisses and ice cream, they are bundled from head to toe as they trundle through heavy drifts of snow. He long since gave up swiping the snow from his eyelashes, instead observing the world through a faint haze.

“Close your eyes for me, Love.”

“Why?”

“It will be worth it. I promise.”

Reluctantly, he lets his eyes flutter closed. It’s not like he could see much anyway. As much as he hates not being aware of his surroundings, he knows James is there, hand on the small of his back to guide him. Besides the eagerness in James’ voice is enough to get him to comply even if he’d rather not. James simply has that affect on him.

Seconds later, he feels the familiar yet discomforting tug of apparition. The dizziness and disorientation is amplified by his closed eyes, but he still keeps them pressed closed. He won’t ruin this surprise just because he was uncomfortable, he’s been through worse and he’s still here.

“Alright, Love, you can open them now.”

When he does, he is convinced he must be dreaming. There is nothing for miles. A white expanse of snow and glaciers interrupted only by the mountains in the far distance, stark white against the satin purple of the night sky. But it isn’t the stunning landscape that steals his breath away, but rather the sky above.

The dark purple is cut through with bolts of greens and blues, swaths of pinks and purples rising like silk from them. The light twists and bends through the air like sunlight in water, stars shining through like diamonds. This must be what muggles feel like experiencing something so natural and so wonderful, it feels like magic. Because as much as he knows this is perfectly natural, his brain keeps searching for a spell that could have made this possible.

He spins around, flinging himself into James’ arms. The motion brings him to the perfect spot to seize a deep kiss. There is cold in his lungs, warmth in his chest, and love in the air. This is what the poets write about. About feelings so intense they will simply burn up if they don’t get the words out. This is what he was missing out on. Love.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” He gasps when he finally pulls back. When he does, he can see the love shining in James’ eyes, the depth of it enough to break down those final walls he had been clinging to. Because as much as James said he wasn’t going anywhere, a part of him was still seeking out conclusive proof that was the case. “I love you.”

James’ breath punches out of him. “I—you—oh that’s not fair.”

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” He says, accentuating each proclamation with a kiss.

He does, because James placed the world in his hands. This is the love of the poets; this is the love many people chase after their entire lives. For Regulus, this kind of love chased after him.

[cecilysass]

Beacon (2/6)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic and my poangpal @libbytxf

“And where did you say you saw this?” Scully is distracted, briskly unpacking her suit jackets, quickly pivoting between the suitcase on her bed to the modest closet.

“In the hall,” Mulder says impatiently. “Outside the room, like I said. Come on, Scully,” he urges. “Let’s go sit out there for a while and wait. Let’s see if she comes back.”

Scully gives him a look. “Mulder,” she says, like she’s trying to be patient, “we made an eight hour drive today. It’s seven-thirty, and we haven’t eaten. I propose we find some dinner and get some sleep. Ghosts can wait until morning.”

Mulder resists an urge to groan. “I take it you don’t believe me.”

“That you saw a ghost?” Scully widens her eyes in flat disbelief, folding one of the previously discussed sweaters. “Of course I don’t. I think you probably saw another guest going into her room, and you’re just … overtired from the drive.”

“Overtired? I’m not a five year old, Scully,” Mulder says, irritated. “She spoke directly to me. I very clearly observed her. I know what I saw.”

“She spoke to you?” Scully looks up in mild interest, then begins putting folded items in dresser drawers. “What did she say?”

He gnaws on his lip, feeling strangely self-conscious. “Uh, something about, ‘Come to me… my love,’” he mumbles.

Scully raises her eyebrows in amusement. “Pretty intimate, Mulder,” she says, folding another shirt. “Do you know this ghost?”

“It doesn’t sound like something a random living guest would just … say to a stranger, does it?”

She shrugs with a tiny smile. “Maybe the guest found you attractive. Maybe some nice lady was inviting you into her room.”

He feels the tips of his ears growing very warm, but smiles in an attempt to appear unruffled. “Well, admittedly it’s been a while, but I'm pretty sure you scare people off when you start talking about love right out of the gate.”

She shuts the dresser drawer and turns around to face him, folding her arms. “So is what you saw consistent with what this ghost is said to be like, Mulder? From the reports and the stories?”

He shifts positions uncomfortably. The truth is that he doesn’t know. He is much less informed than usual about the details of this case. He’d seized on this impulsively, based on Scully’s state of mind, and he didn’t take the time to do his normal deep dive into research beyond what was in the file. He didn't really read anything about the history of the inn.

“I’m not sure,” Mulder says. “I’m a little light on details, like I said, until we talk to Duncan.”

She fixes him with a searching look. “All right. Then let’s wait and talk to him,” she says.

Mulder huffs. “May I remind you that what we do know about this case is that people who reported seeing this ghost were dead from heart failure within the week?”

He’d think maybe she would want to check him out as his doctor at the very least—express some concern for his well-being—but she’s not even looking his way now. He feels petulant, even though he knows that Scully simply doesn’t believe in ghosts who can cause hearts to stop. That’s who Scully is.

“Yes, and speaking of, I had a thought about that,” she says, pulling her shoes out of the suitcase. “I was going to take some samples of the piles of renovation materials outside and send them to a lab. I was wondering if maybe some of the building materials being used might be aggravating pre-existing heart conditions in some guests.”

“Really?” Mulder thinks this over. “So… guests stay here, they inhale some dust or something, and it causes a heart attack?”

“Only if they had some unknown underlying cardiac issues already,” Scully says. “So it wouldn’t be that common—it would only affect a select few. This isn’t completely unknown in the literature. It seems like a possibility worth looking into, anyway.”

“Hmm,” agrees Mulder. “Yes. If the timing works out. If the renovations were happening at the same time as the deaths.”

“That’s the kind of thing we’re here to investigate, right?” Scully says with a wry smile. “Why they put the I in FBI and all that?”

She’s moving briskly back and forth from her suitcase, all energy, all purpose. And it hits him: he didn’t notice it before in his excitement over seeing the ghost, but Scully is in a much better mood. She’s practically bustling. A little flirty, a little argumentative, a spring in her step, a theory on the tip of her tongue.

The case has her, he thinks. Being in the field has her. He knew this was a good idea, even if it has already put him in the crosshairs of a murderous ghost.

“The toxic dust wouldn’t explain the ghost sightings,” he points out to her, in part because it’s true and in part because he craves her engagement again.

“No,” she admits, “it wouldn’t. But we’ll have to wait until tomorrow to learn anything else.” She points a firm finger towards him. “No ghost hunting tonight, Mulder.”

“Fine,” he acquiesces, raising his hands in surrender. “Fine.”

He sees her pull what certainly looks like some lacy scraps of underwear out of the suitcase. His eyes track hungrily as she places them in the drawer, and then he quickly looks away so she doesn’t notice him watching.

There is a moment’s pause. He quietly clears his throat.

“What are we doing for dinner?” he asks.

“Banoy said there was pizza delivery.” She looks at him hopefully, shutting the drawer. “Pizza in your room in 30 minutes?”

“It’s a date,” he says lightly. ***

They eat the pizza sitting side by side on his bed, looking out the large window into the black Vermont woods. Lamplight outside bounces off the falling snowflakes, each one flickering and sputtering against the dark canvas of the night. Mulder tells her a ghost story he remembers from the Vineyard, one about a whaling captain’s widow. She listens and rolls her eyes in the right places.

He walks her back to her door—just to be safe. She gives him a strange, bemused look as he does. Maybe because it’s exactly a three step walk.

That night he dreams of Scully with a flashlight in a field on a snowy night, Scully cracking jokes with flushed cheeks in the light of the moon, Scully calling out his name with snowflakes all around her. “Come with me, Mulder. How I miss you.” ***

“So you’re here to learn about our ghost,” Banoy says eagerly, pouring coffee at the stone counter. “All the way from Washington. All the way from the F.B.I..”

In the morning they meet Duncan and Banoy in the inn’s large and airy country kitchen. There is a breakfast nook with a round table and a cushioned bench seat surrounded by windows. Scully gazes admiringly at her surroundings as she sits down. Some of her best memories are of time spent in comfortable, cheerful kitchens like this. She thinks of cooking for the holidays in her grandmother’s large kitchen in California with all her female family members: mother, aunts, grandmother, cousin. Sister.

This kitchen is filled with bright white winter sunshine, the kind of light that has a pure, clear quality, like it was refracted through ice. She glances at Mulder’s face as he slides in next to her on the bench. His expression is serious, and the diffuse light gives him an ethereal look.

“I have lots of questions, as a matter of fact,” Mulder says.

“But we’re actually here to investigate the three deaths,” Scully corrects Banoy, trying to steer the conversation on track. Actual human deaths, not ghost stories. “Three deaths in six months, correct?”

“Yes,” Duncan says sadly, setting a platter of pastry in front of them on the table. “And it’s never happened like this before, has it, Banoy? I can’t understand it. That’s why I called you.”

“Maybe it’s not connected,” Banoy says, setting their coffee down on the table. “I have always said that. Maybe the deaths and the ghost are just a coincidence.”

“I’d like to talk through the deaths,” Scully says. “When did the first—”

“I saw her,” Mulder interrupts her, leaning urgently towards Duncan. “Last night, almost as soon as we arrived. Is that common? Do all guests see her?”

“Saw …?”

“The ghost,” Mulder says eagerly.

Well, Scully thinks with some irritation, there goes our opportunity to cling to the illusion of professionalism.

“Did you?” Duncan says, visibly taken aback.

Banoy smiles sympathetically and leans over to fluff Mulder’s hair. “Oh, you sweet boy.”

Scully frowns, failing to understand this reaction.

“What does that mean?” Mulder says, his eyes darting between the two men, apparently equally bewildered.

“Nobody’s explained about our Hero? Who she visits?”

“No,” Mulder says. “All we know is that she’s allegedly visited some people who later died of cardiac arrest.”

“No, no,” Duncan says, taking off his glasses to wipe them on his shirt. “She has been appearing for years. Decades. Long before the heart failures.”

“Hero is her name?”

“It’s what she called herself,” Duncan says. “Her real name was a mouthful, Sophronia Younge, a daughter of one of the town’s founders. The family built the original house we’re in, although it was expanded in the later nineteenth century to its current size and layout, of course.”

“And Hero has appeared to others?” Mulder asks, a crease deepening between his eyes.

“Well, not just to anyone…” Banoy says, winking at Mulder.

“By legend, she only appears to the lovelorn,” Duncan says. “Only those who hold deep and abiding love, like Hero did in life herself. You’re sure you haven’t heard this? It’s a reasonably famous local story.”

Scully’s gaze had been shifting out the window, to study the bird’s eye view of the town’s streets, but now her head swivels and her eyes lock on Mulder. She finds herself very curious to see his reaction.

“No, I had not,” Mulder says, raising his eyebrows. He straightens his posture in the seat, shifting uncomfortably. “But I’m a single guy, so she’s obviously wrong in this case.”

“Is she?” Banoy says.

“I’ve never heard of her being wrong,” Duncan says, amused.

“It’s not about being single,” Banoy says. “Single people can have longing in their heart. No lucky lady you pine for, Agent Mulder? Or man?”

“Sorry,” Mulder says with a tight smile. “I’m going to prove a pretty disappointing romantic hero.”

He picks up a piece of pastry and shifts his full attention to taking a bite.

Feeling inexplicably discomfited herself, Scully lets her eyes wander back to the window. The town’s streets are visible down the hill, and she can see two children marching down the road, dragging toboggans across the newly fallen snow. She stares at them like they are suddenly very interesting.

She knows Mulder has dated women before, and she even saw him interact once with an old paramour. But it’s hard for her to imagine him pining. It’s hard to imagine him giving that much thought to anything besides work, honestly. She can’t imagine him thinking about anything besides the Truth, besides some esoteric case he’s read about, about some work-related puzzle.

She tries to imagine him sitting at his desk thinking about a romantic partner with those kind of feelings. Or waiting in his apartment, sitting on his couch eager to see someone, eager for someone to come over.

The idea of him wanting someone—of having some walled-up secret desire—well, it unsettles her. It makes her ache to think of it, something so human and vulnerable inside of him that he’s intentionally holding back. Probably it’s because she isn’t used to thinking of him as an ordinary man, she tells herself.

Being so close to the windows gives her a little chill, makes goosebumps rise. She rubs her arms to warm them.

“Of course now you should be careful,” adds Duncan, his tone growing serious. “It used to be that seeing Hero was just fun, just local color. But it’s become so dangerous.”

“How’s your cardiac health, Agent Mulder?” queries Banoy.

“What do you mean?” Scully says, her attention now fully engaged.

“That’s exactly why I called you,” Duncan says. “Because lately people have … perished after seeing her. At least some people.”

“You should tell us all you know,” Scully insists.

“Starting with Hero?”

“Yes,” Scully says, making quick affirmative eye contact with Mulder, who looks stunned. “Starting with Hero.” ***

Her name wasn’t Hero. Her name was Sophronia, from the Greek for wisdom. Her father was a scholar, a classicist like all good 18th century educated men. He must have been some sort of eccentric to end up in Vermont, which was the frontier back then, but he was well-to-do enough to get some land and farm and start the town. At one point, Duncan tells them, their house—this inn—was the biggest, most impressive in the region.

Duncan recounts this with the precision and storytelling flair of an amateur historian, pausing to wipe his glasses with care.

“This is where the story becomes more local legend and less history,” he says. “Sophronia had a lover, a young man. But legend holds that her father disapproved, and so Sophronia had no choice but to meet her lover secretly. When she wrote him letters, she called herself ‘Hero’ and her lover ‘Leander.’ You know. Like the famous lovers in mythology who couldn’t be together.”

“I don’t recall that myth, as a matter of fact,” Scully says. She glances at Mulder, who is not asking the many questions he’d initially claimed to have. He’s listening, but his face is stone.

“Oh, it’s a tragic one,” Banoy says. “The ancient Greek lady Hero lives in a tower on an island, and her beloved Leander swims across the sea at midnight to meet her. She puts a beacon light in the window so he can find his way. But one night the light goes out, poof, and Leander is lost in the stormy sea. Hero is wracked with grief and throws herself out the window to join him in a watery grave soon after.”

“A beacon light,” Mulder says, speaking for the first time in a while. “Like the name of the inn?”

Duncan shrugs with a smile. “The drama of this story has been good business for us,” he says. His expression grows serious. “Until the deaths, that is.”

“So what happened?” Scully wonders. She gestures to the town and snowy Vermont landscape outside the window. “There’s no stormy sea here.”

“Well,” Duncan says, “somehow Sophronia’s father found out about her carrying on with her own personal Leander, and he kicked her out. Sometimes you hear he kicked her out in a snowstorm, but more often, it’s mild weather, which makes more sense given what happens next.”

“Just tell them the story,” Banoy urges with an eyeroll. “You say I’m the dramatic one.”

“The following morning, the two of them are found, Sophronia and her lover—Hero and Leander—drowned in the center of town. Soaking wet and completely dead, caught tragically in one another’s arms.”

“When you tasted the water saturating her dress,” Banoy says theatrically, “it was salty, even though we are seventy miles from the sea.”

There’s a pause, as though Duncan and Banoy are waiting for their tale to be fully appreciated by their audience. Scully clears her throat impatiently.

“A compelling story,” she says, “but what about the ghost?”

“Oh, well, ever since, people have occasionally seen Hero in the inn,” Duncan says. “Sophronia, really, although we always refer to her as Hero. She traditionally appears to people in love, and she speaks to them like they’re her Leander. It was a common ghost story, growing up here in Hellespont. In those days, members of the old family still lived in this house.”

“You’re from Hellespont originally?” Scully asks.

“Yes, I’m a local,” Duncan says. He looks around the kitchen with a look of wonder on his face. “I grew up adoring this house from afar. Used to sit on my bike outside and stare at it as a kid, make up fantasies about it. Eight years ago, Banoy and I were living in California, and I heard this place was up for sale. By that time, I had the money we didn’t have when I was a kid. I couldn’t resist coming back to make it ours.”

“We couldn’t resist,” Banoy adds softly. “A historic inn in Vermont? Please, it’s like living in White Christmas.” He smiles adoringly at Duncan. “With my very own Bing Crosby.”

Duncan smiles back at Banoy and reaches out to take his hand. Scully feels a pang of something that she worries might be envy.

“At first, some members of the Younge family—the descendants—were somewhat … hostile to us moving in,” Duncan says. “You know, years of the original family owning the place… and then a kid from a nobody family and his gay Filipino lover move in to make a bed and breakfast. Not everyone’s favorite thing. But … I think they’ve warmed up to us now. Don’t you, Banoy?”

Banoy smiles thinly and shrugs. Scully makes a mental note to follow up on that—local resentment of current inn owners. “Tell us about the deaths,” she says.

“The first was maybe six months ago,” Duncan says. “Right, Banoy? The beginning of summer. June. That first one was Austin Spantikow, a young man, in his twenties, vacationing with a girl he was looking to impress.”

“They started talking about seeing Hero at breakfast the first day. We teased them about his feelings,” Banoy says regretfully. “We thought it was cute.”

“Two days later we called for an ambulance, but it was too late,” Duncan says. “He was so young. No previously known heart problems. But if it had just been that one incident, we wouldn’t have thought anything about it. We definitely wouldn’t have thought Hero and his death were related.”

“I’m still not sure Hero and the deaths are related,” Banoy sniffs. “I’ve said it a thousand times. The other two people who died didn’t mention seeing her.”

“Mr. Knight, Jim, a guest in his fifties, staying here on a fishing trip to give his wife some space. Elena Denney, thirtysomething, who was talking to someone online the whole time she was here for a girls’ weekend,” Duncan continues. “Both of them dead within a few days – almost exactly the same situation as Mr. Spantikow. No prior heart conditions, found in their beds already unconscious by our staff.”

“Has anyone else mentioned seeing Hero?” Mulder says.

“A local couple, Gary and Pam Kromkowski, stayed here for a romantic night at Halloween,” Duncan says. “They claimed they saw her, too, and they left with no incident. But … Gary proposed that night, and I wondered if saying they saw the ghost just made for a good engagement story.”

Scully nods, making a mental note of that.

“Did any of the victims report seeing anything else unusual? Besides the ghost?” Scully asks. “Anything else that you might say would qualify as a hallucination?”

Duncan and Banoy look at one another, squinting in thought. “No,” Duncan says. “I can’t remember anything like that.”

“Me neither,” Banoy agrees. “And Mr. Knight and Ms. Denny, we don’t know for sure that they saw the ghost.”

Duncan has still been holding Banoy’s hand, and Scully sees him squeeze it. “It’s been upsetting, of course,” he says. “We love this place. We don’t want anything like this associated with it.” Banoy places his hand on Duncan’s forearm comfortingly.

“Please forgive me for asking such a potentially personal question,” Mulder says suddenly, his face very serious, “but have you seen Hero?”

There’s a pause as the two men look at one another again. “No,” Banoy says mournfully. “And we don’t know why.” Duncan shakes his head.

“Maybe she’s homophobic,” Duncan suggests with a shrug.

“Bigoted 18th century bitch,” Banoy adds wryly.

“I have another theory, too,” Duncan says. “I personally believe she doesn’t appear to people who are happily partnered, reciprocally in love. I think she appears to people who are yearning. You know. Looking across the water for the beacon.”

“Unrequited,” Banoy agrees with a judicious nod.

Mulder nods distractedly. Then, unexpectedly, he stands up.

“Mulder…?” Scully begins.

Without warning, he spins on his heel and walks out of the kitchen. Scully and the two men sit behind staring blankly after him.

“Oh no,” Banoy says in a hushed voice. “Did we… strike a nerve?”

Duncan turns to Banoy. “God, what if he had a recent break-up or something?”

“We’re over here practically saying he’s unloved,” Banoy says, shaking his head.

“I apologize.” Duncan turns to Scully. “I sometimes say too much.”

“No, no,” Scully says inadequately, “he doesn’t … no. No recent break-up.”

“He just seemed upset,” Banoy says.

Scully suddenly feels a bubble of frustration well up inside of her. How typical, for Mulder to be upset for reasons she doesn’t entirely understand, by a ghost story, of all things. No doubt there’s more to this story she didn’t know in advance that has caused him only to rush off to some unknown location.

“It’s just how he is,” she explains. “He’s … an unusual man.” Her voice sounds more exasperated than she expects.

“Hmm,” Banoy says, nodding at her appraisingly.

Swallowing back her annoyance, she makes her apologies and goes to search for Mulder.

She can’t think of where he could have possibly gone, and she has a well-earned suspicion he might have gone off investigating on his own, possibly seeking out his precious ghost.

But she rounds the corner from the kitchen to find him standing in the living room, staring at the open door that leads to the staircase, his expression frozen.

“Mulder?” she says.

He doesn’t move or respond, like he’s been hypnotized.

“Mulder.”

He startles, swiveling to face her suddenly. His face is ashen.

“Hey,” she says in concern, walking to his side. “Are you okay? Did you see something?”

He turns to look back at the staircase, and her gaze follows his. There’s absolutely nothing to see. Just empty wooden stairs, old-fashioned wallpaper, a well-worn hand rail. It’s the same staircase they came uneventfully downstairs on this morning.

“What’s wrong with you, Mulder?” she asks him.

He’s still staring at the empty stairs, his face expressionless. “Uh, nothing,” he says. “I thought I saw something. Probably just my mind playing tricks.”

“Something like before? What you thought was ….?”

“Maybe,” he says. He scratches the back of his neck. His eyes and mouth show no sign of his emotion.

Scully peers at the stairs again, seeing nothing but the most commonplace details. “Maybe? You’re not sure?”

“I don’t know,” he says suddenly. “Maybe.” He shrugs violently. “The truth is … having heard what Duncan said, I don’t know about before either. Maybe you were right.”

Scully blinks, somewhat taken aback.

“I guess it is possible … I misunderstood what I saw,” he says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Maybe I did just see another guest and I somehow just misinterpreted.”

“You misinterpreted,” she repeats incredulously. “You were so confident earlier.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking away awkwardly. “But … well…”

He doesn’t finish, but in a bolt of certainty she realizes what this change of heart is about.

He believes Duncan’s tale. And he really doesn’t like what being able to see Hero’s ghost reveals about him. To him, it uncovers something private. Something he’d preferred others not know, not even his partner.

This idea shocks Scully into complete silence. Her mind races furiously as she tries to process this, the possibility that Mulder actually could be harboring some kind of secret feelings of love. Which would mean Mulder could be actually seeing someone. She remembers in the car earlier when he said he had a hot date for Christmas. She’d taken it as a self-deprecating joke, but why did she assume that? Why wouldn’t he have a hot date for Christmas? He’s single, good-looking, capable of wit and charm.

And apparently … capable of deep and abiding love. According to a ghost, anyway.

Maybe it’s only me who lives outside the boundaries of ordinary human life.

“Anyway,” Mulder says, apparently eager to change the subject. “I was thinking maybe we should do some research this morning, then meet up later and check in. What do you think?”

“Okay,” she says, trying to match his businesslike, conversational tone. “I should go to the medical examiner and check into their records on the victims.”

“Yeah,” agrees Mulder. “I was going to check out the town’s historical archives. See if I can look further into the inn’s history.”

“All right,” she says, falsely cheerful. He still isn’t meeting her eyes. “Should we meet back here for lunch? One?”

“Sure,” he says. “I’m… going to go upstairs and put on a sweater before I go.” His eyes rise to the stairs again, and he looks hesitant.

“Me, too,” she says, after a beat.

He doesn’t respond or look at her, but walks up the stairs decisively. Scully, left standing by herself in the living room, is suddenly aware of being entirely alone.

Maybe that’s what a ghost is, really, she thinks, looking around the inn’s living room lobby slowly. An absence. A form given by our minds, by our subconsciousness, to what is simply a lack of presence. Isn’t that the tragedy of the dead, after all? The negative space left by what we once cherished. It’s the most cruel that nothing can be.

But the dead are not really nothing, she reminds herself. They’re merely unseen. And what’s unseen isn't necessarily what’s unreal. That’s precisely what faith is, belief in the God of things seen and unseen, like the familiar words of the Nicene Creed say. Just because you don’t see someone with your physical eyes doesn’t mean they’re truly gone. Just because you’re looking at a lump of flesh in an autopsy bay doesn’t mean you’re seeing anything real or meaningful about that person.

This has been something she’s been holding on to as of late. Since Melissa, since she came back to the church.

She stands there a moment, hyperaware of absence around her. The dead, the unborn, the lost, the unrealized. In her imagination all of the absence in her life seems to be congealing in the air, growing thick and oppressive, making breathing impossible, choking the life out of her.

She shakes her head, impatient with herself. This is silly. There’s work to do. After a moment she follows Mulder upstairs to get ready to go. ***

[alissasrandomstuff]

Echoes of Starcourt: A different fate

Okay, so this is my first post here on tumblr. I've recently been rewatching Stranger Things and I'm not ready to deal with Billy's death at the end of season 3 once again... So I decided to write this little thing to make this more bearable for me... and maybe you as well :) English is not my first language, so please be kind and ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes! Word Count: 2.5k Content Warning: angst, blood, description of blood and injuries, violence, language

Plot: You know about everything regarding the Upside Down and its creatures. But when you see how Billy wants to sacrifice himself to save Eleven, you simply can't let him do that and decide to step in.

The last thing you remembered was Billy hitting you hard enough that your head hit the wall and knocked you out - just that it wasn’t Billy, he was possessed. Possessed by the Mind Flayer and forced to work for the Spider Monster, the thing that attacked you and your friends only a few minutes ago inside of Starcourt mall. You were with Mike, Eleven and Max, trying to escape Billy that had found you.

It took you some time to regain consciousness, you sat up only slowly, leaning against the wall behind you. Your head hurts, the spot where Billy’s hand had hit you still feeling a little numb. Someone kneeled next to you and when you look up, you recognize Max, with a small bruise on her cheek as well. She looks at you worried.

“Are you guys okay?”, you instantly ask. You take a deep breath to regain your composure and focus on the situation.

“We’re okay, what about you?”, Max asks and makes you look at her. You quickly nod and brush a strand of hair from your face, when you notice that neither Eleven nor Billy are still around.

“Where is Eleven? And Billy?”

“He must’ve taken her with him, to bring her to the Spider Monster. The Mind Flayer wants to eliminate her”, Mike tells you and your eyes widen.

“Shit, we need to save her!”

With that, you get back on your feet and tell the two kids with you to follow you. The three of you run back the hallways, looking for a sign about where El and Billy went. When you reach the main hall of Starcourt, you are greeted by a scene of horror and only just manage to avoid attracting attention and hide behind one of the store's platforms. Shocked, you watch as Billy stands behind the floored Eleven and simply looks up at the Spider Monster, who has come back to get El. Just as the monster is about to attack Eleven, fireworks are suddenly set off to distract the monster. The rest of the troupe, split into groups, throw fireworks from the 4th of July downwards at the Spider Monster: Lucas and Will on one side, Steve and Robin on the other and Jonathan and Nancy from yet another side to cause as much chaos and confusion as possible. Eleven tries to seize the moment and crawl away, but Billy gets hold of her and drags her back. He holds her forcibly on the ground and stares into her eyes, from a distance you can only just make out that the girl is talking to him.

You are in shock, for the moment you can only observe what is happening, but at some point... at some point the fireworks stop again. Billy slowly straightens up as the Spider Monster turns back to Eleven. Your eyes widen as you realize he's trying to stop the monster, see that the old Billy is back. Eleven has somehow managed to stop the Mind Flayer's possession of Billy.

The monster opens its mouth and finally tries to grab Eleven, but Billy grabs the tentacle and struggles against it with all his strength. Both you and Max pause in shock, paralyzed for a moment as this happens.

"No... No, no, no..." you mutter to yourself, and as you see the monster slowly spinning off more tentacles from its fleshy arms, it dawns on you what Billy will face if no one does anything. Your body switches to autopilot, you simply react instinctively.

"You grab Eleven as soon as you can," you say in a surprisingly firm voice to the two kids next to you.

"What are you going to do?" Max asks immediately, but you don't wait any longer, every second counts from here on in. The spider monster wants to sink its claws into Billy, while you now climb out of your cover and simply sprint off. Behind you, out of the corner of your eye, you can see Mike and Max doing the same, but unlike you, they run straight to Eleven and help her get to safety. You, on the other hand, sprint straight towards the danger, your eyes focused solely on Billy. The spider monster seems to notice you, but just as it is about to stab Billy, you finally reach him. Using all your physical strength, you throw yourself against Billy, pulling him with you and out of the tentacles' field of fire. Not a second too soon, the spider monster misses Billy by a hair's breadth.

It doesn't hit Billy, but it does hit you in the shoulder. A searing pain jolts through you as you fall to the ground with Billy, and you immediately feel the blood from the wound start to run down your arm. Nevertheless, it is more important for you to get to safety with Billy, at least for the moment. You crouch down behind a large pot of flowers, both completely out of breath, and press your bodies against the cool material of the pot.

“What the hell did you do, Y/L/N?”, Billy asks and you look at him. For the first time for hours, you can see his normal skin again, not covered in black veins anymore.

“I saved your ass, Hargrove”, you reply and take a first, brief look at the wound on your shoulder. It doesn’t seem to be that deep, but still, it bleeds more than expected.

“Fuck”, Billy curses under his breath when he sees your wound as well, but you’re quick to shake your head.

“We can deal with it later, for now we have to survive this”, you say and look around for a way to escape. Suddenly, you feel something on your leg, and when you look down at it, you see one of the Spider Monster’s tentacles wrapped around it. Your eyes widen, when the monster already pulls you out of your hideout and right into the air. Billy tried to grab you, but he wasn’t quick enough, so now the Spider Monster got you instead of him. It guides you towards its mouth, and you panic once you realize what its about to do. You look around, franticly looking for something to either hold on to or defend yourself with.

Your eyes lock on a flagpole, the flag of the United States ripped apart almost completely. When you reach out, your hands only get ahold of the flag, and it’s quick to rip apart completely, making you yell in distress. Luckily, Steve was quick enough to figure out your plan, he yells your name.

In the next second, he throws a broken flagpole your way, luckily far enough for it to be in your range. Your breath is rapid, and you try everything to wait for the right moment once you caught the pole. You can hear your friends screaming for you to do it, but it’s not the time yet. Right when the Spider Monster opens its mouth to let out its biggest tentacle, you take all of your strength left, ignore the tremendous pain in your shoulder, and sling the pole right into the mouth of that monster, throwing it like a spear. When the broken tip of the pole hits the mouth, the monster roars out a horrifying scream, lets go of your leg and stumbles back, obviously in pain. You fall down onto the ground, screaming in pain yourself when you land right on the wound of your shoulder. Still, you’re quick to turn back around and you see how the monster stumbles right back at you, threatening to tramp you down. In the last second possible, you throw your body to the side, trying to use your injured arm now as little as possible while still escaping this situation. You hide behind one of the pillars supporting the second floor of the hallway, looking through the main hall, breathing heavily. Your eyes lock with Billy’s for a moment and you realize that he made it to where Max, Mike and El are hiding, before you look back at where the Spider Monster is still faltering around. It’s still screaming, but it turned into a scream of frustration rather than one of pain.

You watch as the creature trips and falls, flinching every now and then, before finally becoming quiet, its limbs completely slack. Silence takes over Starcourt, nobody dares to say or do anything, nobody is sure whether it’s over or not.

A few minutes later, the military barges in, securing the area and the body of the Spider Monster. Afterwards, they escort everyone out of the mall, closing it for good. Outside, various ambulances and firetrucks are already waiting, paramedics immediately taking care of everyone visibly injured. You sit down in one of the ambulances and they take a look at your shoulder, making sure nothing is either infected nor are any bones broken from your fall. They put your shoulder in a bandage and your arm in a sling so you don’t move it anymore. It’s obvious that they wanted you to go to the hospital, but you’re quick to decline, wanting to know whether all your friends are safe. So, they reluctantly let you go, insisting that you go to a doctor if your pain gets worse. You only nod and leave the ambulance again, looking around for your friends. You’re quick to find Max, the bruise on her cheek was the only than that had to be checked on, and when she sees you, she quickly runs over to throw herself into your arms.

“It’s alright Max, we’re all okay”, you whisper to the young girl and return her embrace with one arm, feeling how she relaxes again.

“Thank you. For saving Billy, I mean, and for still being alive”, she quietly says and looks up at you, to what you only smile and nod. You always got along well with the small Mayfield, she always told you how she sees a big sister in you, so you can only imagine how relieved she feels that her ‘big sister’ is still alive. And saved her big brother.

You look around for Billy, but can’t find him in the crowd, instead, your eyes land on Eleven. And she looks sad.

“You should go and look after El, something’s wrong”, you say to Max and gesture towards her friend. Max looks at Eleven and then back to you, before nodding and running off to Eleven. You look after her, taking a deep breath.

Suddenly, someone gently puts a blanket over your shoulders, careful about not hurting your injured one. You look to your left, kind of expecting Nancy, but when you see Billy, you raise your eyebrows. He looks a lot better already: his eyes got back this sparkle he always had, his skin looks a lot more rosy and human again, no sign of those black veins left. He doesn’t sweat much as well, he looks healthy again.

“You risked your life back in there for me”, he states after looking at you for a moment, as well. He points at your bandaged shoulder.

“Got hurt because you didn’t want me to die.”

You shrug one shoulder and smile gently.

“Of course I didn’t want you to die. Nobody deserves to die, especially not in a brutal way like this”, you reply and look back front for a moment.

“I was an asshole, to everyone, to you as well. I never treated anyone good, I even hit you there in the mall!”, he tries to argue, but you shake your head.

“That wasn’t you, Billy. It was that thing, it made you do things you didn’t want to. So don’t worry”, you reassure him and look into his eyes calmly. You can see his confusion, his guilt and most of all… fright.

“I can explain you everything you want, but we can do that later. You’re scared, I understand and it’s completely normal. For now, we can be happy to all still be alive, it’s alright”, you say in a soft voice. When you found out about the Upside Down and everything around it, it was a lot for you as well, but Billy was thrown into the picture in a completely different way, a way darker one.

“I can help you, a little at least. If you want to, of course”, you offer and wait for his answer. Billy being Billy, he’d be too proud to accept any kind of help, but maybe… maybe this time it’s different.

Billy is silent for quite a while, averting his gaze from you, clearly thinking hard. Finally, he turns back to you and looks you in the eyes, real and honest.

“I did a lot of bad things, both before and during this… possession, but… if you’re really willing to help me- I’ll gladly take your help”, he answers and you raise your eyebrows, a little surprised at how easily he gave in. But then, you smile gently at him.

“Of course, Billy. I’ll help you.”

He looks at you, his eyes never leaving your face. You look right back at him, seeing something else in his eyes, something you’ve never seen before: Gratitude.

“Thank you. Nobody ever saved my life before. Let alone risked their own life for it.”, Billy whispers and leans in a little closer, making you gulp with both his words and his actions. He’s close, you can already feel his breath on your skin, and instantly, you feel hot. It’s not that you’re inexperienced or too innocent for a kiss, it’s rather… Billy’s history with women and how he treated them. Billy seems to notice about your hesitation, a gentle smile appears on his lips and he brushes a strand of hair away from your face.

“I know what you think, but it’s nothing like that. I’m grateful for what you did for me, and I want to give you at least something back.”

He examines your whole face, a softness in his gaze you never saw before. Billy never acted like this.

“So, can I kiss you?”

You gulp again, taking a deep breath.

“Play with my feelings and I might just kill you myself”, you say, the threat in your words at least partly serious. Billy laughs softly, nodding.

“Understood, hot stuff. I won’t play with your feelings”, he assures you and gently wraps an arm around your waist to pull you in closer. You take a deep breath and nod, finally giving him the signal he wanted. He doesn’t waste another second, leaning in and softly kissing you. His lips feel soft and gentle on yours, not like you always thought they would. Billy’s whole body language speaks nothing truth and affection, he really is thankful for what you did for him. And it makes you just all the more attractive for him. Way more than you already were before.

And he really means it this time.

[thevanillerose]

ARTPIECE | STEFANO x READER | THE EVIL WITHIN

~ WRITING COMMISSIONS ~ ~ PATREON ~ ~ KO-FI ~ ~ NOVELS ~

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators.

Content Warning: Yandere themes, abuse/violence, unhealthy relationships.

“I've never laid eyes on someone as wonderful as you...and you'll be here with me forever now...”

Stefano was enamored with you. You were...quite simply...perfection.

Flawless. Beautiful. Something that ought to be framed and preserved for eternity.

That was his intention.  

His photography was usually reserved for capturing moments of death, pain and torture. Of course, he had considered putting you through that too.

However...if he got too carried away, you would be ruined. What then? It would be such a waste, a sorrowful waste of a pretty face, a gorgeous body.

He didn't like to waste things.

So, he avoided it. Instead, he opted to keep you.  

Your cage may as well have been a picture frame. On all sides you were surrounded by flat, cold panels of glass. It encased you, left you feeling like there was truly no way out.

And...quite honestly, there wasn't.

Stefano had it all under lock and key. To make the door budge even slightly was impossible, and smashing through it would have simply lacerated your arms and legs. If you didn't want to harm yourself then you were stuck here, standing and looking pretty for him. Which was exactly what he desired.

All he truly wished for was to observe you.  

But at times, the door would open, and he would step inside. It was always incredibly tense, because you worried and wondered about what he was going to do to you. At times he would pull that sharpened blade from his pocket and gouge it upon your face, scratching and etching marks into your skin which would linger on forever like scars.

In other moments he would embrace you and assure you of his love.  

“I have only marked you a little after all, isn't that true? A simple cut above the brow is nothing to cry about...”

When you did cry, in those vulnerable moments, he would dab your eyes delicately with the corner of his handkerchief.

It was hard to really feel loved though. You struggled to believe that he cared when he was capable of being so undoubtedly cruel. He would at times turn on you so harshly that you would be left begging and sobbing for any kind of mercy. Stefano could have you fallen at his polished shoes...and still, that wasn't always enough.  

He seemed to take joy in seeing you suffer. He would snake a gloved hand beneath your jaw and tilt your head up, gazing into your eyes with almost alien ones of his own, how sharp and crystal clear they were, be they natural or a lens. Any hint of reluctance on your part and he would simply dig his fingers in harder than ever, like he intended to crack it completely.

If you cringed or you grimaced, he would smile. He always looked so relaxed about it, too relaxed. His amusement was always tied to your misery.

Sometimes you would ask him. Sometimes when your courage was up, your faith was strong, you would dare to ask if he might give you some freedom.

He laughed. He always laughed at that. Never too hard mind you, to risk ruining his classy facade, but enough to mock you thoroughly nonetheless.  

At times he seemed sickened when he heard it, and he would boot you in the side until you were curled at his feet, crouching on his haunches over you, knife at the ready. Some threat would filter down to your ears but you would be too numb, too seized with pain to even really register it.

Eventually you dropped the notion entirely. It did seem to register that it was a pointless endeavor. One that would only serve to get you killed if you kept on asking about it.

Though maybe death would be a mercy at this stage. He kept you fed, and bathed you himself. You never strayed too far from that cage you were kept in, but Stefano would do the necessities to keep you alive and in good enough shape. If you needed sleep he would drape a thick cloth over the box for a few hours and allow you that privilege.

You almost didn't want it though. You almost wanted to die, because then it would be over. You'd no longer be trapped here as a marvel for this twisted man, who you would sometimes see killing innocents right in front of you. Trapped behind the glass, you'd be able to do little but bang on it, and your protests would either drive more laughter out of him, or drive you into the ground by his hand.

There was no crossing this man.

No escaping him either.

Ever.

“...Because, [Y/N]...”

His red gloved hand pressed to the outside of your eternal prison, and he looked in at you with amusement…

“You're my artpiece.”

Like my writing? I can write for you! Check out my WRITING COMMISSIONS!

[branwyn-the-half-witch]

The Wall and the Waning of Magic: 2/2

(this was originally a Twitter thread; re-posting here for ease of reading)

Why Do We Build The Wall?

There are three possibilities I would offer regarding the nature of the Wall on the basis of these observations. Firstly, due to the sheer age of the Wall and the scarce-remembered events, one tantalising possibility is that everyone is wrong, and the Wall was not built as a defence against the Others, but BY them as they fled North from the powers of the Last Hero, Azor Ahai, the monkey-tailed girl, the choirs of the Rhoynar and every other half-remembered hero.

This seems absurd, but the Wall is made of ice, and described often in the same terms as the ice-swords of the Others.

It plainly does not keep out the Others or their servants, as we have indisputably seen, but does potentially cut off the magic of a skinchanger, blocks the agent of the 3EC (allied to the singers) and drains and distresses dragons.

In short, it has a negative effect on all those who could feasibly be described as the enemies of the Others. And yet, when Jon Snow sees it, he is seized with the necessity of keeping the Wall up.

He knows that if the Wall falls, the world falls; but what, famously, does Jon Snow know?

This may be a magical compulsion to ensure the Wall remains, whilst the enemies of its makers are drained by it, weakened to the point where they cannot thwart another Longer Night. It is often asked why the Others woke now, why are the dead marching now? Perhaps it was simply finally time; the dragons gone, the singers and giants barely a memory (and forced closer to the Others geographically than to anyone who might help them). The last great greenseer old, fading and unable to flee.

If Azor Ahai took dragons to war against the dark, if the singers aided the Last Hero...those things seemingly could not happen this time.

Another option is that the Wall – which does have foundations of stone, even if it is largely ice by now – was not initially thus but became corrupted. And we have a ready-made candidate for who may have done that. The Night’s King is a contemporary of Joramun, whose horn can allegedly bring down the Wall (more on him in a moment), married an Other (so they must have still been there) and held the Night’s Watchmen in thrall.

Perhaps his great sin was building or infecting the Wall to begin with, and once it began to drain the magic, magic was not strong enough to throw it down. This man, an enemy of humanity in much the same way as Craster and Euron, chose his side and aided it well, if so. And this may explain why the Black Gate, a creation of the singers, looks decayed, has been blinded and appears to be grieving.

Giants and the Horn of Joramun

However, if either of the above were true, then we should have heard of it by now from someone, surely? We have met some surviving singers, and a greenseer who all have access to the knowledge and memories of their ancient comrades. Surely this would have come up?

So suppose the Wall was build as described and is functioning as designed. Does that mean it isn’t draining magic, and this is all just very coincidental? I think it still is draining the world, because such an enormous ward must require something to power it.

But let me offer a solution: the Wall was always intended to come down.

Joramun was a King Beyond the Wall who joined with the Starks in throwing down the Night’s King. His Horn, sought by Mance, is allegedly capable of bringing the Wall down.

Now, Mance found a horn, which Mel burns, but that horn was assuredly not THE Horn. Its suspected that the actual horn maybe somewhere Old, soon with a side helping of squids.

But why was the fake horn convincing? Tormund tells us that this was because the fake horn was found in a giant’s grave – and the Horn brings down the Wall, we are told, by waking giants from the earth.

The ‘horn that wakes the sleepers’ if you will. My contention is therefore that Joramun was a giant, one of the very ones who helped build the Wall, and that his horn was fashioned as a failsafe to destroy what was made when it was no longer necessary.

Perhaps the hope was, with the singers and giants and First Men closer than ever, with dragons in the East and heroes aplenty the world over, the threat would be held at bay and the gifting of their combined magic to keep the defences strong was a willing sacrifice on all parts. But men forget, and war destroys records, and Doom came upon the dragons.

Conclusion

We are shown at length that, from a humanitarian standpoint, the Wall is evil. The Free Folk are demonised in ways that cannot possibly be true, they are hunted like beasts and left in horrible danger when the real threat arises. What are they if not the men the Night’s Watch swear to defend, as Jon comes to ask? What original sin did they commit, other than living on the other side when it was built?

The Wall also dehumanises and destroys those who serve upon it. The world would be better without the Wall, physically and magically. GRRM has said that the seasons will be restored to normal by the end, and whilst we don’t know the details of what is going to happen, but we all agree – that wall is coming down.

JRR Tolkien posits, through King Theoden, that ‘oft evil will shall evil mar’; if Euron Greyjoy, the Night’s Pirate King, does indeed bring down the Wall and lets winter in, perhaps he shall have done a greater good than he would ever had intended, and given us a chance for spring thereafter. Let’s not thank him for it, though.

Original thread here: https://x.com/BranwynHlfwitch/status/1768776863961243700