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thebadboyfanclub · 6 months

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Together As One (Daemon x Reader)

So this is more a twisted love type of hype, I hope you guys like the way I portrayed this request cause I wanted to give it more of a dark edge since Daemon is definitely a gray character. Hope you enjoy!

Mothers love their children, everyone could agree upon the unconditional love mothers held for their kind with no doubt in their hearts, songs, poems, plays, and any type of art one can think of have attempted to portray such devotion. None, however, could predict that some mothers have a certain type of fear for their child, like some whisper in the back of their heads warning them about the little glimpse in their eyes that was not like the stars but more of a scorching fire threading to burn everything.

That was the exact feeling Rhaenys had for her beloved daughter, the twin sister of Laenor, it would often baffle her how her husband could not see what was clearly there, (y/n) was always in competition with everyone about everything, the finest clothes belonged to her, she had to ride a dragon first, learn Valyrian faster.

Whilst Rhaenys prayed for her daughter's thirst to settle, the others praised her for her bravery, her determination, and her intellect, something that made (y/n) yearn for more.

“I would like to raise a toast to my dear brother, a married man to our future queen, may your wedlock be blessed with numerous children and a road paved with nothing but joy and success, Prince Daemon, hopefully you are next”

(Y/n) stood with a smile of triumph dancing on her lips before she raised her cup to gently take a sip, as she sat down Daemon's eyes followed her, he was well aware of her game, though he seemed unfazed and almost amused by her comment the truth laid somewhere deeper than the surface, not a single soul in this room would have been able to guess that the delighted twin of now future king consort was playing a game of cat and mouse with none other than prince daemon behind closed doors.

(Y/n) had been relentless in her ways to seduce Daemon, sneaking out at all hours of the night, sending people after him so she could know his whereabouts just so she could magically appear, the combination of sweet wine and her alluring voice was enough for Daemon to stumble and fall right on top of her, taking her for a ride to the addictive roads of lust.

She was stunning, flawless, a true Targaryen that screamed opulence and elegance with a face sculpted by the gods, the common folk would gush over the “oceans Angel” a nickname given by the realm for her angelic features, how would they know how dark her mind could get in order to make everyone yield before her?

“Mother”

“Dearest, how are you on this fine morrow?”

“I am well, the little one finally decided to let me get some rest”

“When I was pregnant with you I remember thinking you would kick your way out of my belly, the Apple does not fall far from the tree”

(Y/n)s daughter, Leora, leaned as much as she could to kiss her mother's cheek before she sat down next to her to break her fast, queen Alicent had already taken her seat along with her daughter Heleana and (y/n)s other son Elion, Alicent and (y/n) enjoyed each others presence, a mutual bond based on respect had been build over the years that was sealed by marrying Leora with Aegon and Elion with Heleana.

“The maester said you should drink more orange juice, it will help with the fatigue”

“As well as eat more meat, pregnancy is no easy task, you must be as strong as ever”

Alicent chimed, the birth of her second grandchild was one of the most important events, Alicent adored her first grandchild, beautiful Hael, a strong boy who was just now starting to learn how to walk, still, he had everyone wrapped around his finger.

“I appreciate your concerns but I am fine, healthy as a horse”

“It wouldn’t hurt, let us not risk it dearest”

“I thought once I get older I wouldn’t have to listen to my mother”

“Well I am sorry but that will never happen, drink”

(Y/n) had stepped up and appeared as the perfect mother, loving, kind, and caring, she did love her children, however, what she loved most was the things they could do for her, her firstborn daughter was now the wife of the king first born son, and her son was a strong, skill full knight that served the realm and came back in triumph, how could she not adore her perfect creations?

“How is the king?”

“I am afraid his health is decreasing, the maesters advise him to remain abed for the day”

“Rhaenyra will be questioned, he won’t sit this one out I am afraid”

“Ugh the precious Rhaenyra, I wish I could stay in my chambers until those god-forsaken days pass”

(Y/n)s smile was wiped from her face and in an instant it was replaced with an angry scowl, in a split second her hand had grasped her daughter, Leoras' eyes went wide with fear when they met the angry hues of her mothers.

“You mustn’t speak in such a way, I’ve taught you better”

Leora only nodded frantically, (y/n) had her own opinions over Rhaenyra, she however, knew better than to voice them, not even in such a secluded area of the palace, (y/n)s hold turned from forceful to a caress before she directed her eyes back to her friend and queen Alicent.

“Besides, the king will do as he wishes and if the gods bless him with the strength to stand he should be there, isn’t it right Alicent?”

“I couldn’t have phrased it better, my dear”

(Y/n) and Alicent were each other's shadows, one compelled the other and in the end one way or the other the result was one of their favor, (y/n) was disciplined and had mastered the act of a gracious and lovely princess, Alicent was strict and slipped under everyone’s nose as she cloaked herself with the act of a pious queen, the two of them had years up on the horse of being able to maneuver their way around the kingdom so the men would not suspect a damn thing.

Viserys had seemed to get worst which made him unable to attend even when Daemon and (y/n) went to his room to assist him, the king could not even sit up let alone walk, Daemon was disheartened, thankfully for him his dutiful and beautiful wife let him rest on her shoulder and like a soothing salve her encouraging words went over his wound of his beloved older brother nearing his end.

“My Love”

“(Y/n)? What- what has happened?”

“I apologize for waking you up my dear, it is your brother”

“Viserys? What about- no”

“My dear husband, you must be strong, I am so sorry”

(Y/n) grasped Daemon's hands tightly before she brought them up to her lips to kiss his knuckles, of course, she was one of the first to know, Alicent had rushed to her chamber and delivered the news herself, she had waited patiently as the king took his last breath, Alicent told no one, not even the maester, (y/n) had to know before anyone.

“Viserys”

Daemon had been taken over by his thoughts, they’ve always had their differences but at the end of the day, they shared the same mother and father, a bond that could never be broken, no matter how many times Daemon has run off he always ended up by Viserys side.

“My love, I understand that this is too much for you, however, we must prepare our daughter”

“What does Elora have to do with this?”

“She is to be queen, she needs her father”

“Queen? Have you gone mad?”

(Y/n) bit her bottom lip in combination with her head tilting to the side, as if nothing but a mere candle lit her face Daemon could still identify the features that he so adored but now he could not wrap his head around what was his wife suggesting.

“My lord husband, King Viserys has left us, it is only natural for his son to succeed him”

“It is expected for his firstborn, Rhaenyra, to do so, not Aegon”

“Where is the princess? But in a place where she could have visited if she wished, when has she even attempted to come and visit her beloved father who was in agony all these years? She only came when her privilege was at risk and then blamed Alicent who has served by the king's side for his illness”

“This is not a matter to discuss”

“But it is, the gods know I loved Viserys and he had been good to me, but let us not forget he killed his first wife in his desperate attempt for a male heir, he remarried and Alicent gave him an heir and a spare and still it was not good enough, he passed by you and his sons to bury his guilt by calling Rhaenyra the heir, it wasn’t because he trusted her or because he saw something in her, he passed the title on to her because he did not trust you and then because he wanted to wash the blood of queen Aemmas from his hands”

Silence fell upon them, (y/n) pulled away from her husband and headed towards the door, as his hand rested upon the handle she turned her head back to lord husband who was visibly shaken, (y/n) might appear disheartened but she could detect that her monologue had started to creep on to Daemons heart.

“I love you with all my heart, that is why I shall leave you to grieve, if you wish to run to her I will…. Understand, it is not like I ever doubted the unconditional love you have for the realm delight, now might be your chance to pursue it”

Her tone was drowning in sorrow leaving Daemon with an unwavering sense of guilt in a dark room as his wife had disappeared to place her hand over a war of fire and blood, (y/n) was correct, Daemon did love Rhaenyra, still, he did not place his flame for her over what he had built with his wife over the years.

(Y/n) walked away with a smile of triumph, she had done her part flawlessly and now she was certain that Daemon would be by her side before the crown was placed on Aegons head, however, she did not have time to waste, Alicent and (y/n) were the ones to wake the new king and queen, preparing them for what they had destined to be.

“You may enter”

“Prince Daemon is asking to see his daughter and wife, alone”

(Y/n) stopped brushing her daughter's head, carefully placing the golden brush down before she looked down at her daughter who nodded in approval.

“Let him in, do not allow anyone to disturb us”

“Right away”

The girl curtsied as quickly as possible before she disappeared only to be replaced by none other than Daemon. (Y/n) took a sharp inhale through her nose once he entered the room, preparing herself for a mental battle, surprisingly when her eyes scanned for his she was met with a certain lightness, an ease to him that caught her by a pleasant surprise.

Instinctively a small smile played on her lips, her Daemon was dressed in his black attire, leather suited him, and his hair was pulled away from his face the way she always told him to do it.

(Y/n) was not made of stone, she might play like she is though her heart skipped a beat every time she was near her lord husband, Daemon was one of the very few people that (y/n) would throw herself in the fire, even though their love felt like the flames licked her back, that sweet pain of admiration and devotion that the poets would sing and the common folk would go mad.

“My dearest loves”

Daemon declared, that their daughter rose from her chair and ran to her father, she was always the one known to succumb to emotions and this time (y/n) could not scold her over it, Leora was her father's daughter, (y/n) might not have spoken over the matter only to allow the young girl the solidarity of her feelings, inside Leora was always waiting for her father to walk through this door.

“You look beautiful, a perfect gown for the queen”

“Father I-“

“Before I handed you over to Aegon I made you a promise, do you remember it?”

“I will do anything to see you happy”

“I will put myself through war if you tell me that this is what you want, all you have to do is say it”

Daemon was no fool, he was certain that the second that crown graced his daughter's head a war would nip their heels, Rhaenyra would not go down without a fight and that meant that Daemon would have to face her in battle, a battle he was willing to put for his lovely Leora.

“I want to be queen, I want Aegon to be our king”

“Very well, I wish you a fruitful reign, may the Gods smile down upon you”

‘May the Gods have mercy on us’ he thought, with a smile he brushed away those dark thoughts only to place a kiss on his daughter's forehead, a small part of him screamed that this was the right thing, his brother never thought he was good enough, now his brother was on the ground and his daughter was crowned queen and would carry on the legacy of the Targaryen name.

“Go on now, I want to have a word with your mother”

“I will be waiting for you”

Leora informed them before she gave them the privacy Daemon desired. (Y/n) stood as still as a statue, her heart pounding on her chest as her throat grew dry and scratchy, she was the master of composure up until now, faced with the only person who could make her waver.

“My beautiful, sweet lady wife, you spoke harshly last night”

“I spoke nothing but the truth”

She threw back in a cold tone. Daemon only smirked as he started to approach her, she did not dare to move, (y/n) was comforted by his light-hearted manner though there was an underlying mischief, Daemon was playing something, and (y/n) was left trying to catch up before it is too late.

Daemon stood before her, his arm finding her forearms and giving them a gentle squeeze, his eyes gazing back at hers with a glimmer that (y/n) had grown to yearn for, she despised the fact that she had to manipulate him like this, she was left with no other choice but to do this, a side of hers cursed the day Rhaenyras and Daemons fates met, this would have been so much easier had (y/n) been the only women Daemon loved.

“You are so bright, I am almost disappointed that you didn’t foresee this”

“The war?”

“No, me, you think I have not caught wind of all the scheming against Rhaenyra? The upbringing of my daughter to become the wife of my brother's firstborn son, putting our son on the sea the minute he was born to have better knowledge of anything driftmark related to gain the favor of your father, every step you so amazingly calculated with Alicent so you can get our family here”

“You have gone mad”

“I saw behind the facade and that makes you nervous, I was there with you every step of the way you mustn’t be frightened, I let you do all this for only one reason”

“Alright, let us entertain this absurd claim of yours, what is the reason?”

“Because I love you”

(Y/n) mouth slightly parted in shock, Daemon had professed his love for her on multiple occasions but the weight on this one was different, he had pulled what she thought was the perfect cover, leaving her bare in front of him, uncovering her thirst that she had kept away from everyone.

“I love you so much that I will let my daughter become the target on Rhaenyras mind, I will go against the woman that you think threatens your position in my heart, I will put myself in the sword before I let her even get one strand of your hair because you and our daughter want this”

“And you don’t? You always held a grudge over the fact that Viserys never declared you as his heir”

“My brother is dead now and because of you our child wishes to be a queen, I picked you as my second wife because I saw your strength, your determination, you need to come on top, that is the Targaryen fire through and through”

“You truly mean all this?”

“You are my lady wife, you gave me a home, now it is time to show the realm that we are the rightful heirs of the throne, together as one”

(Y/n) reached daemons lips for a passionate kiss, his hands slid down to her waist and pulled her as close as humanly possible, sharing this moment meant everything to (y/n), she had him devotedly by her side, he saw her true nature and walked straight into her fire, surrendering in her and even shielding her and her family.

“Let us find out daughter, I want us to be the ones to place the crown on her head”

“I wouldn’t dare let anyone else have that honor”

Requests are open!

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thelastairsimblr · 7 months

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Family Pack #4

I’m happy to share some sims with you all today! In this post, you’ll find 12 households (40 sims total), each with their own stories and biographies. All of these sims have additional Everyday outfits, skills, bonus traits, Likes and Dislikes, sexual orientations, pronouns, family dynamics, and Lifestyles. You can find them all on the gallery under my Origin ID: TheLastAirSimmer or in the tray files linked under the cut! As always, feel free to tag me if you end up using them.

Abreu

A respected food critic, Maria’s opinion is highly valued by all as the towns’ baked good connoisseur. Her husband Joaquin, a renowned pianist, is no exception; he worships the ground she walks on. Together, they project their creative outlooks onto their sons. Santiago, the eldest and a romantic, has the full support of his parents and wants to become a professional wedding photographer. Even though young Rémy feels he didn’t inherit his parents’ imagination, he still wants to make them proud.

Naval

Aparna owned her own restaurant while raising her two girls alone. Hema was able to help out when she was old enough, allowing Aparna to find success and receive critical acclaim by publishing her own cookbook. Today, Hema is focusing on her engineering studies while trying to find love; she’s very smart and sincere, but a bit naive. Ridhi is chasing a riskier path; she wants to be a famous musician. And while Aparna hopes that this is just a phase, she supports her youngest daughter anyway.

Monaghan

As young parents, Stefan and Marianne sacrificed a lot. Stefan became a cop to support his family, but still gets caught up trying to relive his youth from time to time. Marianne longs for the day that she can quit her job at the local diner and become a singer. Soren feels pressure to please his parents, but really just want to play videogames all day while Tatum and Aria constantly bicker, not at all concerned with their parents’ feelings or the wellbeing of Hunter, who just wants attention.

Larson

Quite the jazz singer in his day, Clive is desperate to find ways to stay relevant in the ever-changing music scene. Fiona, longing for the authentic soul who serenaded her years ago, knows she can inspire him again; she’s stood by him through a lot. But until then, you can find the melancholy art critic drinking to yesteryear at the bar. Jade dropped out of college to pursue a career in social media (much to Fiona’s discontent) while Candice is following the artistic path her parents paved.

Agawa

Ever the class clown, Yuto knew that he had a knack for entertaining people. This was only confirmed after he went viral on Social Bunny for the first time! When he told his parents that he wanted to pursue a life in the public eye, they saw it as further evidence that he couldn’t take anything seriously. He makes a decent living streaming video games and his eccentric personality is pure internet gold. Though to be fair, he should probably be a bit cautious with what he says and does online.

Hollifield

As a teen, Whitney’s future looked bright. But she forfeited a lot of opportunities to pursue a whirlwind romance with a boy who had a dangerous edge. They were happy for a time, but it didn’t last and the only thing she kept from that relationship was her daughter Emma. She now works a lowly job in fast food while taking classes at Britechester, hoping to find a career in social media. Her days are busier as a working single mom, but Emma keeps herself entertained by befriending her neighbors.

Catton

Following the loss of her son to avoidable circumstances, Dottie found herself in the care of his two children. Filled with regret for not doing more for her son, the college professor watches the kids like a hawk! She’s keen on using her connections to better their lives. Temperamental Owen does well to make her proud with his grades, but he has an artsy side that he only shares with those closest to him. His little sister Bonnie would rather spend time making friends than studying though.

Qian

After founding a groundbreaking app, Shirong found a place among the company of the rich and powerful. His charming wife Meifing, quite the schmoozer at elite parties, is constantly looking for funding for her next big venture (while also being the go-to-girl for all the neighborhood gossip). Nuo chose to move home after grad school to save money, but is ready to leave and start her own law firm. Her younger brother Haoyu adds to her restlessness by barraging her with his antics.

Sullivan

Atticus’ dad Clifford, a retired veteran, supported his sons’ musical dreams fully, having raised him alone after his wife died. While roaming the world, Atticus met Elisa; a fashion guru with a fiery disposition. The pair had three children and Clifford moved in to help with the newborn. Like her dad, Lydia also wants to be an artist (whether if it’s for her love for acting or a desire to be in the spotlight remains to be seen) while Malicia, afraid of being unseen, finds relief in her friends.

Kingsley-Ramirez

Jaime and Paxton met/moved in together before they could actually get to know each other, both having been new to the city at the time with zero connections. They found themselves compatible not only as roommates, but eventually boyfriends as well! Jaime always puts others before himself; it shows in the passion he has for social justice causes he advocates for. Meanwhile, Pax works a parttime job at a small coffee shop, but is intent on putting himself through school to become a veterinarian.

Tanaka-Murdock

Nigel and Shannon met at Foxbury and developed feelings for each other during study sessions. Though Nigel was the only one to graduate, he admires Shannon for making the decision that was right for her. He enjoys being the breadwinner while Shannon follows her artistic instincts, though he wishes he had his wife’s free spirit. Shannon is quite hard on herself and works tirelessly until she makes something she’s proud of while their son Kason, while a quick learner, really just wants to play.

Miyake

Even if he’s never been the most social person, Kenzo is a loyal and fierce friend to those lucky enough to make it into his circle. A patron of the sciences, he cares deeply about precision and perfection. However, when it comes to raising his son Akira, he wants the boy to follow his own path, even if it’s not exactly the one he would choose for himself. Akira seems to be doing just that; far more sociable than his father, he never fails to leave a lasting impression on anyone he meets.

#the sims 4 #TS4 #sims 4 #sims 4 cc free #sims dump #sim dump #sims 4 vanilla #family dump

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under-a-souwester · 5 months

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"I promised a boy a future free of fear only to watch his frightened eyes be vaporized inside his tiny skull, because he believed in me. In the dream you had me sell. How many more of your bones will pave the way to Xavier's future, where we simper like beggars for tolerance? Your professor's dream is dead. So I offer a new one. A home to replace what they stole from us. A new Genosha. We have gotten here by walking this man's path."

#magneto #erik lensherr #xmen97edit #xmenedit #marveledit #x men 97

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thesovereignsring-if · 1 year

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The Empress is dead. The Throne is free for the taking.

Demo: Prologue 2 Part 1 (08/17/24)

EDIT: IF YOU PLAYED THE GAME BEFORE AUGUST 17 2024 YOU WILL NEED TO START A NEW SAVE.

The Sovereign's Ring is an 18+ dark fantasy game filled with drama and romance.

When the Empress dies without issue, you play as the youngest out of four possible successors to the throne.

Civil war is on the horizon. The other successors will stake their claim- but you’re the one who’s in possession of the Imperial Signet Ring, the sole symbol of the Sovereign’s authority and a relic of great mystery.

Choose your loyalties. Build relationships- or don’t. Tear them apart. Sabotage your rivals and pave the path to the throne for yourself. The choice is yours to make.

There are no right or wrong choices- only consequences.

CONTENT WARNING: The Sovereign's Ring is intended for an 18+ audience. The Sovereign’s Ring contains disturbing/dark subject matter that is not for everyone, such as graphic depictions of violence, gore, death, trauma, sexism, racism, poverty, misogyny, sexual assault/violence, child abuse/grooming, suicide, depression, alcohol more.

LINKS:

✦ Itch

✦ Ko-fi

✦ Patreon

✦Pintrest

Features:

✦ Choose the heir you wish to be, customize your name, gender, sex, sexual orientation and appearance. ✦ Choose between one of three backgrounds: Warfare (Soldier), Academic (Scholar) or Politics (Diplomat) ✦ An alignment system: Follow the code of law or follow your own. Decide the future- the Empire you wish to see and the ruler that sits at the top. ✦ Build or break your relationship with your older brothers. Help them realize their goals- or don’t. There is no way to make everyone happy ✦ Romance one of four love interests(and maybe a few secret controversial one(s))…or pine for unrequited love.

(Ages as of Chapter 1)

Duke Alberich Nibel Vagnyr | He/him | 26 | Male

Alberich is your eldest brother, who raised you after the death of your parents. He's an astute and charming politician. You love each other dearly. Despite knowing him all your life, you can never tell where his true ambitions and intentions lie.

Sir Sieghardt Nibel Vagnyr | He/him | 25 | Male

Sieghardt is your second brother and Captain of the Nibelhiem Heath Knights. Unlike Alberich, Sieghardt is a like ghost, often occupying the shadows in your memory. He’s a quiet and stoic person, but is loyal to your brother Alberich above all else. There is a weight he carries with him that no one knows.

Eirik Nibel Neaera | He/Him | 23 | Male

Eirik is your only cousin, the son of your Father's twin brother. He still holds your family responsible for the death of his father and will do anything to avenge him. He's arrogant and hot-headed, but he's also resourceful. Despite being a jerk, he inspires great loyalty in the people who follow him.

Sir Griffin (Finn) Brynhildr | He/him | 19 | Male

A young boy from your childhood. He was a good friend- maybe even your first love, but you two have drifted apart over the years. Now he's a Nibelhiem Heath Knight and heir to a Great House. His passion is second to none and charges into every situation with enthusiastic sincerity- sometimes to his own disadvantage. He hates Sieghardt with every fibre of his being.

Lady Linnet Brynhildr | She/Her | 24 | Female

Linnet is Finn's older sister and childhood friend of your older brothers. She's a part of the renowned Shield Maidens and harbors a flame for Sieghardt, but due to her family's ambitions, nothing becomes of it. Above all else, she wishes to serve her country and fulfill her duties- but must it come at the cost of her own happiness?

Prince Thea ana' Isadora Brigid | She/her | 18 | Female

A young Prince from the neighboring country of Brigid. Thea is one of seven children in line for the throne. She was a good friend and pen pal- maybe even your first love, but she stopped answering your letters one day. Her short stature and demure demeanor causes most people to underestimate her crafty nature.

Medea | She/Her | ??? | Female

The Wizard Rothbart's assistant. She's a woman of many questions and little answers. A flirtatious and beautiful woman, who is easy to like, but hard to trust. There’s something about her sincerity that makes you uneasy. Her smiles never truly meet her eyes.

Helios | He/They | ??? | ???

Helios is a great sorcerer of unknown origins with great knowledge of the occult and the Wastes. Aside from that, no one knows who the fuck this person is.

#interactive fiction #IF #if wip #twine game #twine interactive fiction #twine if #twine wip #The Sovereign's Ring #TSR #choose your own adventure #chooseadventure #fantasy #romance #fantasy IF #dating sim #interactive story #CYA

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siriusleee · 1 year

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LIKE BLOOD ON IRON

Historical Executioner AU

Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

Warnings: mentions of blood, family dynamics, semi-forced marriage mention, implied age gap, future smut, future blood and gore.

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is a three part series that I intend to be pretty long - at least 20,000 words. If you want to be added to the tag list, make sure you comment below. This is a historical fantasy, however, it is not magical. spotify playlist part two

His sword carves a gorge in the dirt, dust swirling in the sunlight left behind him. The sun threatens to fall before he makes it to the center of the village, but it doesn't dare fall before he gets the chance to finish his day's work.

You watch him from the window of your family's house, lucky enough to be close enough to the center that you can see him coming for ages. Your fingers dig into the windowsill; the wind - salty from the nearby bay- blows gently through, rattling the windows you threw open the moment your sister whispered that he was coming down the road. There are only moments before Mother will storm upstairs, chastising you for trying to watch what's going down below.

"It's not appropriate for a girl your age to see this," she'll say for the hundredth time, slamming the windows shut. The wavy glass will distort his features, and leave you nothing but a hint at his form, but even then Mother won't let you continue looking. She'll pull you downstairs into the kitchen with your two sisters and set you all to work.

"Your father and uncle will be hungry when they get home; you all pitch in," she'll say, pantomiming joy when just outside a man will lose his head - your father and uncle observing from the crowd. Father will come home grim, and not speak over the dinner that you and your sisters cooked, and will go to bed silent.

In the morning when you go to the market for whatever Mother needs for the day, blood will have stained the stones paving the center of the village. And the executioner will be back in his small cottage situated far away from everyone in town, not to be seen until he was needed again.

But this time, Mother takes longer. You hear her speaking sharply to your youngest sister, about how she needs to be more aware of her surroundings and stop sloshing all that damned water all over the place. Today you get the chance to see him come closer.

He's large and cloaked - you know from the village boys whispering that he has a mask on to cover his face.

"It's covered in ashes - smeared to look like a skull."

"It's to remind those on his chopping block that he is Death."

No one accompanies him on his journey to the dias that all the buildings spiral away from; every person that will be there is already waiting for him to arrive, breath held in their throats as they hear his approaching footsteps. You watch as each house he passes draws its shutters shut to him as if they could be next if they looked at him. The sea rages down past the docks, far enough away to be just a faint chorus as he approaches your house.

The tilt of his shoulders enamors you - he's enormous, but walks with a grace you can only wish to have. You don't need to be near him to know that the only sounds are the swish of his cloak against the ground, and the sword drawing against the ground.

You startle when Mother grasps your shoulder, letting out a gasping noise, but you don't turn away from the window. As if he could hear you, the executioner's head snaps towards you. You see just a hint of the white ash smeared across his mask before you're pulled inside. Mother throws you into the room with enough strength to cause you to hit the wall behind you, rattling the porcelain that sits on a nearby shelf. She slams the window hard enough that the glass rattles before slamming the storm shutters and latching them.

"What are you doing?" Mother's voice is venomous as she rounds on you, eyes burning. "You are going to humiliate this family acting the way you do."

"I'm sorry Mother," you appease, pulling at the wrinkles in your skirt and avoiding her eyes. "I was just curious."

"Your job isn't to be curious."

"Yes, Mother."

"How would your suitors think about you hanging out the window to watch something so grim?"

You close your eyes to hide the sudden anger behind them; your head stays down and you don't answer. Anything you say won't be good enough for her. It's the same every time there's an execution.

"Come - let's prepare dinner."

You follow, slowly. Inside the kitchen it's warm, and smells of honey and meat. Your mother gestures to a lump of dough that needs kneading and you roll your sleeves up. Your sisters, still eager to get a nice word out of Mother, patter around, stirring and checking on the baking. You know you were given the dough because everything else in the kitchen fails you.

Mother had been attempting to get you some proficiency in the kitchen, giving it her damnedest, curses flying out of her whenever you burnt something. For the past two years, she tried to no avail.

"At least you're a smart girl," she'd say with a sign. "And you can do books - you'll just have to hire someone who can cook."

For three years, your father and mother had been trying to find someone for you to marry.

"Seventeen is when I met your mother, and I courted her for three years to finally get her yes. And you're her elder by three."

The story sickened you.

You'd had some luck that not many wanted to court you - it wasn't unknown in the village that you argued with your mother and father. Everyone whispered behind your back about the time you tried to smuggle yourself on one of your father's cargo ships, bound for somewhere far away and exotic. They whispered about how you fought the sailor that found you tooth and nail, leaving him a scar down the side of his face as he dragged you to the deck. No one wanted a wife that wouldn't listen.

But still, some had come knocking.

Nice young men who would wait the years it took you to be ready to marry if you would just say yes. Nice young men who winked at your younger sisters across the dining table, who pressed flowers into Mother's hands, who clapped Father on the back at the end of the night.

Nice, young, boring men who wanted a boring wife to oversee someone else doing the cooking.

Nice young men who would want their wives on hands and knees cleaning during the day, tongue out at night.

Nice young men you detested.

You'd rejected each one that came knocking - fits that included screaming loud enough that the neighbors could hear, and a few shattered glasses. Once Mother locked you in your room and threatened to send you to a nunnery if you didn't stop screeching. But your father had called on them, spinning a web that you'd been intrigued by them and to come back for dinner again in a few weeks.

You'd been threatened with the nunnery and the whip if you misbehaved the next time they came back, so you sat there, unspeaking while the men spoke only to Mother and Father.

You're broken out of your reverie by your youngest sister, Lily. She presses against your side, tugging your apron to pull you down so that she can whisper in your ear.

"Mother is going to check on you tonight."

You give just a curt nod, eyes trained on Mother and your oldest sister, Maggie. They have their backs turned to you and Lily. Lily who has always hidden your secrets and you have hidden hers. Lily who knows you sneak out at night, climbing carefully out of your window onto the trellis and down where the horse is stabled. Lily who knows you spend all night swimming in the dark ocean, imagining the merfolk and monsters that linger there.

You press a quick kiss to her temple, a thank you for the heads up, as you begin shaping the dough into two loaves of bread.

The front door opens and the sound of your father's boots on the wood breaks through the kitchen. Mother wipes her hands on her apron, flour falling onto the dark blue skirt below, and leaves to say hello. Maggie follows closely behind, leaving you and Lily behind to finish dinner. Lily does most of the work, directing you on what to do to keep everything from burning.

When everything is finished, the two of you cart it to the dining table where Maggie straightens the plates to perfection. You hear the gentle hum of Mother and Father talking, no doubt about your antics in the window. There's an extra plate at the table.

"Who is this for?" You ask Maggie, skewing one of the spoons.

"Edward. And don't mess everything up." She reaches across to straighten the spoon.

Edward the apprentice tailor, her two-year suitor who no doubt will agree to marry before the end of the year. You feel relieved that tonight you will be ignored, you and Lily can eat at the end of the table in peace, whispering jokes to each other.

You leave to wash up in your room, scrubbing at the black dirt that you collected from the windowsill. You wonder if the executioner has made it home; if he drags his sword behind him or does he sheath it. Does it drip blood as he retraces his path?

Lily waits for you at the top of the stairs, and you lace your fingers together as you make your way down the stairs and into the dining hall. You pull faces at each other across the table, and stifle giggles into your napkins - ignoring the dirty looks Maggie sends to the two of you down the table.

Dinner is tortuously slow - when it's over and you're clearing off the table you can see Edward and Maggie in the hallway, pressed against each other in a way that would make Mother blush if she were to see it. You elbow Lily and point toward them, sticking your tongue out and pretending to puke. She laughs loud enough to catch Maggie's attention and the two of you scurry out of her line of sight.

After getting ready for bed, you brush out Lily's hair, perched on the bed you share. Her hair shines midnight beneath the brush, long and thick. The most gorgeous in the family.

"Can you braid it in two tonight?" She asks, trying to turn and look at you, but you turn her head forcefully back to the front.

"If you stay still I can. Keep wiggling little mouse, and you're going to have crooked braids."

Her hair slips heavily between your fingers as you cross one strand over another. You're wrapping a tie around the bottom of the first braid when she speaks again, this time in a whisper.

"Do you think being married would be terrible?"

You concentrate on the tie, measuring out each word before saying it.

"Why do you ask, my little mouse?"

"It's just - Maggie seems so eager to marry, and you're the opposite. Mother and Father seem happy."

"Well, Maggie and I are different people. Maggie is wonderful at this house stuff, and she wants that life. I want to explore, to see more. I want to fall in love with someone that isn't a pick of Father - someone…" You trail off, unsure of what you're trying to say. "Anyway, marriage isn't terrible for everyone. And if your marriage was, I would come and rescue you myself. Even if it means killing your husband. I'd sweep you out of that house, and back with me."

Lily giggles at the suggestion.

"You would end up under the executioner's sword then."

Inside, something twists at the idea of lying down, looking up at the broad man staring down at you.

"He doesn't scare me," you tell her, finishing the second braid. "Nothing scares me."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

The two of you settle into bed, Lily tucking herself into your side. Just as she said, in the middle of the night, Mother comes in, candlelight casting long shadows across the room. You keep still, pretending to sleep until she disappears. It's too risky to leave tonight, so you let Lily's warmth and soft snoring lull you to sleep.

***

The next night, you press your ear to your bedroom door. You can hear Father snoring faintly down the hall; the moon, directly overhead, tells you it's late enough to slip out. You press a kiss on Lily's forehead and slide your legs out of the window, skirts bunched up to keep from getting caught.

The trellis groans under your weight, but you're sure it won't break underneath you. You climb down, familiar with where to put your hands, where the spiders like to build their webs, and the weak spots - you drop the last few feet down to the ground. The horse nickers softly from her spot in the small stall she's in. The village is quiet, the only sound the whisper of the sea.

You keep to the darkest spots, the shadows even the night fears as you sneak through town. It's too hot for a cloak, but you still keep yours over your head, just in case anyone other than the spiders and bats is awake to see you. The closer you get to the sand, the faster you walk, pausing just once for a drunken sailor to slip past you without noticing you are hidden just feet away from him.

The port is small - bringing in just one or two ships - nearly all of them laden down with wool your father sells. But this time of year there is only one ship, here to pick up sailors that were on leave. It bobs gently across the water in the small port, the flicker of a candle seen sporadically. From this distance, any soldiers on it look like dolls in the distance. The air is cooler rolling off of the ocean, and the salt in the air sticks to your skin. Your bare feet hit the sand and you race to a spot hidden in a cove that separates the village from the ocean - a hidden spot used by couples in the town when they wanted to get away. But at night it was always empty.

Your toes dip in the water, and the bottom of your cloak gets soaked each time a fresh wave breaks on the sand. The water in the distance is still, reflecting the moon and stars. You let your cloak slip off of your shoulders, beneath you'd laced a dress up loosely, enough that if you were caught, you could feign innocence. It comes undone and pools at your feet. Your skin erupts in gooseflesh when the ocean air rolls over it - your chemise not thick enough to block out the wind.

You wade to your hips- the water is warm and still. Beneath your feet the sand shifts, shells sharp against your skin. You turn, making sure that you're still hidden from anyone who may be walking to the port at night, and when you're sure no one is there looking at you, you dive.

Your eyes burn in the darkness, moonlight filtering down just enough so that you can see your hand in front of your face. You push farther out into the bay, not resurfacing until your lungs burn from lack of air. Breaking the surface, everything is blurry, you fall back so that you're floating on your back until your eyes readjust and the stars come back in sharp focus. You float there, watching the subtle shift.

And all at once you feel it: someone's eyes on you. You flounder until you can get your feet underneath you, eyes straining to see the shore - you're farther out than you thought you were, toes barely able to scrape the sand below. You can see your dress and cloak, still pooled on the shore, but there's no sign of anyone nearby. Slowly, worryingly, you push towards the shore, until it's back to your hips. Your eyes never leave the shore, looking for someone there.

That's when one of the shadows ripples forward. You freeze your heart stuttering in your chest as you watch someone walk towards you - you can't think of what to do. Even if you screamed, no one would be able to hear you. You realize for the first time how foolish the venture is.

When the moonlight fully covers the figure, they stop feet from your clothes. Your hands clamp across your chest, the thin white fabric covering you completely transparent now that it's wet. Neither of you moves, and you realize that if you don't, they probably never will.

Hands still clamped across your chest, you walk to the shore. With each step it becomes clear just how massive the person on shore is - it has to be a man, you've never seen a woman that tall, that broad. You're in ankle-deep water when you catch just a glimpse at them beneath the hood of their cloak: white ash, reflecting in the moonlight.

Your panic increases tenfold, but you think if you move too fast, he'll move faster. Snatch you up. So as if he were a dangerous animal, you reach down and grab your dress from the ground, leaving it over your arm as you pull your cloak around yourself. Your eyes never leave him. He waits until you're completely covered before he turns to look at you - just the barest hint of flesh around his eyes.

"Don't you think it's dangerous to be out here alone?" His voice is gravel and honey, deeper than you'd expect. You wonder if it's that way because he doesn't get to speak often.

"It depends on who's out here," your voice wavers, but doesn't crack. He seems to like that answer, letting out a short 'hmm'.

"There's plenty of monsters out here in the darkness." He speaks but still doesn't step toward you. You tighten your cloak around you, wishing for once to be back in bed with Lily.

"The merfolk and the selkies are the only things I worry about." You take small steps backward as you speak, feet shuffling over the sand.

"I've seen worse lurking in the near forest," he says, suddenly stepping towards you. You trip over your own feet, but before you can crash into the sand, his hand is around your elbow, pulling you up roughly. You don't mean to, but you let out a small squeak at his touch and recoil away; he drops your arm as if it burns him.

"You should go home," he says, nodding his head back towards the village. "It's too late for you to be out."

"I think you and my father would agree on that matter."

You can't tell if it's a trick of the light, but you see the corner of his eye crinkle for just a moment.

"I'll walk you back up, then you are on your own to get home safely."

He walks ahead of you as he talks as if he expects you just to follow without saying anything. And you do, terror and intrigue mixing inside of you. His scent wafts to you in the wind, woodsmoke, and metal, and something sweet- like rotted wood. It flashes through you, just a second long - to bury your face in his cloak and take a deep breath. Your curiosity is raging inside of you, mingling with the apprehension of being near him - the same man Mother refuses to let you even look at through the window.

You slip on the sand and rocks behind him, his boots leaving footprints that dwarf yours. It takes just moments, but the two of you emerge out of the hidden crag and onto the soft grass that overlooks the ocean.

You're panting, your heart still beating erratically in fear of him, the executioner, here at night on a dark roadside, and no one to notice the two of you. He pauses, just long enough to throw a look over his shoulder at you - you recognize his silent instructions to hurry home. You take two small sideways steps, eyes trained on him as he walks in the opposite direction, to the small cottage situated between the forest and the sea and far away from where he found you. His exile - where he never ventures out unless called. As soon as he's far enough away, you turn and run.

When you make it back to your trellis you're out of breath, a stitch cutting your side open. You ready yourself to climb up, trying to catch your breath and remember his scent and the way he towered over you.

You wonder if he'd been there with you before, hidden in the shadows.

***

"What are you doing? Are you senseless?" Maggie's voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. Your fingers slip over the apples in your hand as she grabs your wrist, pulling you back towards her.

"You're supposed to stay with me and Lily; not wander off to do god knows what?"

Her face is pinched, angry - you jerk your wrist out of her touch.

"I'm sorry Maggie, I just got busy looking at the produce."

She gives you a look that says she knows you're lying, but you fall in step behind her anyway. You had been lost in thoughts of the executioner, of how his eyes shone in the moonlight and his smell. Her hair, lighter than yours and Lily's, is pinned up elaborately; she spent two hours in the mirror this morning doing it. She didn't have to say it, but you know she hopes to run into someone who will run back to Edward and tell him about how gorgeous his future betrothed was today in the market.

Lily slips her hand into yours, and you two trail behind Maggie - ducklings behind their mother duck. Lily had whispered to you this morning between bites of breakfast that Mother had set Maggie to watch you to make sure you didn't slip off. She couldn't catch you out at night, but she knew you were disappearing somewhere.

She'd been creeping into the room for the past two weeks, only to find you pretending to sleep beside Lily. You'd close your eyes, and bury your face into the pillow, trying to sleep, but instead filled with thoughts of the executioner. Wondering if he was out there standing in the same spot, the waves soaking the bottom of his cloak, the ash on his mask shining in the moonlight. Wondering if he was thinking about you.

"I'm going to take Lily to the butcher; it's stupid for all three of us to go to the same place," you say, winking down at Lily. Maggie stops and sighs, heavy enough that you can see her shoulders heave.

"Mother said for us all to go together."

"What trouble can I get into with Lily?"

You elbow Lily just before Maggie turns to level a suspicious look at the both of you. Lily speaks up for the two of you, trying to keep her face serious.

"I can keep an eye on her - no one will get into any trouble when I'm around."

Maggie rolls her eyes at the two of you, you can see her wearing down.

"Besides if we go to the butcher, then that means you can take the long way home. And pass the tailor's shop."

That gets her - Edward will be there, working with his father, and if she doesn't have to cart you and Lily around, the two of them can meet in the alley.

"Fine. But meet me at the end of the street and don't tell Mother."

"I would never think of it."

You and Lily watch her disappear into the market vendors before the two of you turn in the opposite direction.

"What do you want to do?" You ask, nudging Lily with your shoulder. "We have at least an hour of freedom."

"Let's go by the bakery; I want something sweet."

"Something sweet? You are the best baker in the house, all you do is eat sweet food."

The wind blows your skirts around as the two of you walk across the village, dodging loose stones and puddles. You're trying to jump from one stone to the other when Lily grabs your arm.

"Look!"

Thirty feet away from the two of you, in the middle of the street, the executioner stands. People shove themselves onto the sides of the buildings, straining to get away from him. He doesn't seem to pay anyone any mind as he walks. Lily pulls on your arm, trying to pull you to the side, away from him. But you're stuck fast to the ground; even from this distance, you can see him looking at you as he walks.

Lily whines your name, pulling harder on your arm. He gets closer, close enough that you can almost make out the wrinkles beside his eyes. His eyes catch yours - you can tell recognition sparks in them. You want to say something to him, but you know if you do, it will get back to your Mother. So you let Lily pull you away from him, closer to one of the buildings, but your eyes never leave him.

He passes by, nearly silent for such a large man, black boots shining in the sunlight.

"Why is he out?" Lily hisses in your ear as he passes. You pull your attention from his broad back to her.

"I'm sure he also has errands to run."

"He's so scary."

You watch as he disappears around the corner - wondering what he thought about you, about what he'd say if you stopped and spoke to him, say hello here in public. The thoughts stick with you as you and Lily duck into the bakery. You're stuck thinking about it as she bribes the young boy behind the counter to give her two sweet rolls for free, promising that she'll pay him back next time. The two of you eat them as you walk to the butcher's, honey coating your fingertips.

You watch the butcher wrap meat in brown paper, but your mind is on the executioner: on how he refused to look at you until you were dressed, how he walked you back to the edge of the village. It takes just a short walk to make it back home, Maggie waiting for you at the end of the street so that you can all walk in together. You notice the way one of the pins in her hair is gone, a single lock of hair falling.

Inside it's a commotion - the three of you come through the door to your Mother rushing past with an armful of clothes.

"You all took your damn good time! Hurry up and go get clean for dinner. We're going to have guests tonight."

You press yourself against the wall as one of the hired girls hustles past, a tablecloth in her hand.

"Who's coming? What is this?" You inquire, as your mother shoves a dress into your arms. You try to peer at her over the royal blue material.

"Your uncle is coming to dinner, and so is Jonathan." Your heart sinks. Jonathan. A suitor hand-picked by Father for you. You've barely digested the information before your mother whirls on you, hair in disarray and fire in her eyes.

"And you will not act like a brat tonight. You are twenty years old - nearly twenty-one. Your sister will be getting married this year and I intend to announce your wedding shortly after. You will dress like a lady and act like one or so help me, I will send you to the nunnery this time.

And you," she whirls to Lily, her chest heaving. Lily shrinks half behind you, "will behave also young lady. You and your sister will not make a fool of me tonight. Do you understand?"

The two of you nod in unison together, too scared to say anything else. Mother waves the two of you upstairs - you trip over the dress in your arms, slamming your shin into one of the stairs. You emerge at the top, cursing under your breath.

The two of you rush to your room - Lily's dress laid across the bed; you shake the one Mother shoved in your hands out, nose wrinkled. It's one of Maggie's old ones: dark blue and heavy, elaborate embroidery across the bottom.

"I don't know how she expects me to fit into this," you mutter, throwing it across the bed. Maggie, taller than you by an entire head and more willowy, had never been able to share dresses with you.

"What do you think Uncle is coming for?" Lily asks, emerging from the neck of her dress, turning around in a silent request for you to lace her up.

"Probably to ask Father for money for another stupid business prospect, just like the last time."

You lace her dress, loosely.

"Can you tighten it up?"

"Why do you need your dress tighter? You're thirteen."

"The other girls wear theirs tighter."

Lily pouts at you, and you sigh at her.

"Come here; I'm only doing it a little tighter. When you lace mine, make sure it's loose, if I can even get it on. I'll braid your hair for you."

You re-lace her, just incrementally tighter, and redo the braids you did for her that morning, pinning them up in the back. From below, Mother is yelling to hurry up! You get dressed in a hurry, and to your surprise, the dress slips over you, but you know lacing it up will be difficult.

When your mother comes up the stairs ten minutes later, you have your hands braced against the end of the bed; Lily is pulling with all her might to try to get the back to close.

"Go wash your face, Lily," she says, brushing her away and taking the strings herself.

You know what's coming next; you breathe in, and she jerks the laces tight - you can feel the boning squeeze your ribs.

"Does it have to be this dress?" You ask as your mother pulls the strings again. You press your hands to your stomach, trying to breathe better as Mother ties the back, tucking the strings so they can't be seen.

"Jonathan likes the color blue."

"And that means I have to be packed into this like a sausage?"

Mother sighs, pushing on your shoulders so that you sit on the end of the bed. Her hands are soft in your hair as she pulls it down, and twists it back up, pinning it into place.

"You could do much worse than Jonathan. At this point, he's the only man that will have you."

"Have me? Like I'm a cow."

She sticks another pin in your hair, nearly stabbing your scalp.

"No. Like you're a woman; you can't do everything in this life alone. Besides," she tucks the last piece of hair in, "he travels. You could go with him."

Your hands smooth down the skirt of the dress, picking at a loose thread.

"I want to travel where I want to go, not where someone is going to show me off."

Your mother's fingers are soft on your shoulders as she turns you so she can look at you.

"We don't always get what we want in life. Sometimes we just have to take what we're given. Come on. Your uncle is waiting downstairs to say hello."

She holds your hand down the stairs; at the bottom, your Uncle Henry stands - taller than your father and thinner but not nearly as imposing. He kisses you on each cheek before moving to Mother. You leave them to talk and take your place at the dining table. It's empty except for the plates already sat down. In the kitchen, you can hear the hired girl banging around. The sound grates at your nerves, and the dress itches at your back where you can't reach.

There's a knock at the door - it sounds like a funeral cannon going off. You try rearranging your face into a smile and push yourself up from your chair. You're sure you look more like you have an upset stomach. In the hallway everyone explodes into a chorus of greetings. A moment later, Jonathan walks into the dining room.

If you're being honest, he's not the worst pick that your mother and father could have chosen. He's never been rude or forward with you, and he's not horrible looking, but as he reaches you and takes your hand, all you can think about is how small they must be compared to the executioner's hands.

"Hello, Jonathan." You try to smile at him as he kisses your hand.

"Hello, darling."

He turns just in time to miss the grimace on your face - turning to shake your father's hand when your father walks in behind him. You take your seat, waving at Lily to come sit down beside you quickly.

Dinner passes slowly; you're barely able to eat anything from the rolling in your stomach and the way the dress presses into you. The conversation is flowery and fake - Uncle Henry laughing too loudly, Jonathan smiling to politely across the table. It sets you on edge; Lily can see it because she reaches under the table to pat your knee.

It comes to a boiling point when Uncle Henry begins to describe his new business of shipping items.

"We've got a new ship; smaller and faster than the ones usually used. It can't hold as much cargo, but it can sail routes in half the time. With just two of them we can double how much cargo we're moving out of ports."

Your mother is leaning into the conversation, no doubt to know what she's going to tell Father no to later, Father is enraptured by your uncles conversation, and Jonathan leans across the table, listening in.

"You know," Jonathan says, cutting into the conversation, "I think you'd have more success using them to ferry people. Imagine how much people would pay to get where they're going faster."

Uncle Henry points at him across the table, a grin spreading over his face.

"The boy understands."

"Of course he does," Father says, pausing to take a drink, "he's already got plans to take my daughter on a cross-oceanic trip after the wedding."

Your fingers falter on your glass, it nearly spills, red drops spattering across the table like blood.

"Excuse me?"

Everyone turns to look at you, and you get the feeling that there's a joke you haven't been let in on.

"Well," Father says, shifting awkwardly in his seat. Mother cuts her eyes at him, a look you don't miss. "We were going to discuss this later."

"Discuss what?" You ask, voice rising. "Because it seems as if the decision has been made for me."

Jonathan's gaze swivels between you and your father; you bunch the tablecloth in your hands.

"Calm down dear," Mother says, rising slightly from her seat, "we will talk about this later."

"No!" You yell, slamming your hands to the table and pushing yourself up. "We won't. Because I know how the conversation will go. I will be forced to agree. This is an ambush!"

Your cup spills, staining the table red. Everyone in the room seems to hold a collective breath. Jonathan moves to stand; you turn, knocking your chair over. Across the table, Maggie gives you a look of contempt - it's enough to push you toward the door.

Everyone calls your name; you can hear your uncle laughing behind you. Someone's hand grabs at your wrist, but you jerk yourself away without looking to see who it is. Outside it's dark; windows are lit up with candle light and fires flickering. In the distance lightning strikes, grey clouds rolling towards you.

You run, slipping on the grass, towards the cove. You scrape your hands, cutting one of them on a sharp rock as you scramble down. You ignore the sting, and the sound of fabric tearing. You land hard on the sand, scrambling to pull yourself upright.

Across the cove, you see a flicker of white and a shadow ripple.

#my fics #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #prompts #mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod ghost

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shoyoist · 2 years

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any thoughts on which blue lock men would absolutely be one of the best fathers out there? <33

ﾟ+* ꔫ — 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 + 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒

content: fluff. f!reader. marriage. mentions of pregnancy, child birth. an: sobbing they are all such sweet dads nonnie it was so hard to choose </3 gave us four best dads in no particular order because i could not rank them if i tried.

featuring: kunigami rensuke, mikage reo, isagi yoichi, oliver aiku.

° 𐐒𐐚 . kunigami rensuke!

he's a caring father. a little over protective, and a little confused — but he works hard to be a good husband and a good father to your kids, and that makes him perfect<3

he's the perfect man to have as your husband & as the father of your kids. chivalrous, a total sweetheart, doesn't get swayed easily, somewhat stubborn and oh, so loving. he's patient and caring and always available during your pregnancy, and he remains steadfast with those traits when the kids do get here.

he's way more into planning the baby's rooms than you are, honestly. stresses so much over the little details — wallpapers, curtains, sheets and number of pillows, exact furniture placements, everything.

he drives your baby girl and boy to school every single day, steals your duty of fixing their bentos for them, loves braiding your little girl's hair, and cries ("rensuke, are you crying?" "n—no, i'm just feeling a little emotional, a'right?") about how one day they'll be all grown up and people of their own.

none of the blue lock men EVER miss a sports meet, that's for sure — but kunigami? he helped the school arrange it. none of those boring lemon-on-a-spoon games. he pushes the school to replace the regular games with football related ones. a dribble race. the baton in the baton relay is replaced by a football.

one teacher makes the mistake of telling him "but sir, these are football games. what about the girls?" he gave them a whole lecture on how little girls can play and be interested in football just as much as little boys.

his enthusiasm is masked by his gruff exterior, and often it's just you that's left to placate him when your baby girl and boy get tired of listening to their dad explaining football rules and positions to them over and over again.

"rensuke," you hum, walking over to share the seat with him when he flops onto the sofa in defeat. "don't look so down, honey. they're only five and six years old. they just don't have the attention span."

"just wish i knew more ways to spend time with them." he confesses, running a hand through the spikes of his orange hair. "football's all i cared for when i was a kid, y'know? so i'm not sure what else to do."

he's so sweet :( and he feels better right away too, when you kiss his forehead and tell him he could take them to the aquarium next weekend. "they've been dying to go see the penguins."

"really?" he mutters, that contemplative frown that you've gotten so used to seeing and fallen in love with creasing his brows. "hmm, i'll see if i can take the day off."

° 𐐒𐐚 . mikage reo!

he's the fun dad. the life of the party even in the family. he starts off a little rocky, but after that he's so very supportive, lifting his son up into the light and paving the way for his future with everything he's got.

reo didn't have exactly the best relationship with his parents. it was great when he was a kid, but as he grew up and became a man of his own, his dreams and the dreams his parents set for him became obviously separated from eachother — which ended with him getting estranged from them himself.

which might lead one to believe that he would avoid doing that with his own child at all costs — but for reo, it was a shock at first when he realized his son had no interest in football.

"he's into art." you stroke his hair, letting him lay in your lap and mourn the loss of his personal father/son dreams. "he wants to paint, baby. look at him. only five years old and he's already so good at it."

"maybe he'll get bored of it in a few years." reo muses, rolling over in your lap to press his face into your stomach. "maybe he'll get into football later."

"reo." you say his name sternly. "don't push your own dreams onto your son." it's a simple reprimand, but it hits reo hard. he fixes his mindset instantly after that.

he's ready to bribe Tokyo's best art schools to let his son enroll in — but with the amount of top quality supplies, world class teachers and expensive classes reo has made available for his little artist son, he gets in without a hitch.

he takes so much pride and joy in knowing that his son is an art prodigy — showers him with gifts and praise, takes front row seats at every award ceremony, takes him out on celebratory dinners, and he pays for everything.

he'd also find it incredibly funny to buy his son art-related gag gifts, pretending he's innocent and doesn't realize what he's doing. "mom, can you tell dad to quit buying me the cheesy aprons." your son complains to you, showing you the OOPS! DRANK FROM MY PAINT CUP AGAIN! apron that reo had bought him online.

you don't tell reo to quit, though. you're just glad your husband has a happy, healthy relationship with his son.

° 𐐒𐐚 . isagi yoichi!

he serves as the closest and wisest mentor for his kids. he's a little nervous about his duties sometimes, but any time his children need someone to lean on, he's there. and he's there for you, too.

isagi knows what it's like to be average. he knows what it's like to dream. and he also knows what it's like to work hard, hone himself and make those dreams come true.

when the doctor tells you both that you're going to have a child — and when the doctor confirms that it's a boy — the first thing isagi does, is teach himself that your child is going to be a separate person from him, that will have separate interests and dreams of his own.

he's fully prepared to love and support his son in every way, no matter how alike or different he turns out to be from isagi himself. takes a lot of time off for you, especially during the later months of your pregnancy. he's so antsy too, always half-awake and jerking up every time you cough or mutter in your sleep.

checks on you so many times throughout the night that it gets in the way of your sleep and irritates the fuck out of you. he's just doing his best :(

and when the baby gets here, he's so on board with making sure you get enough rest and continue to get enough to eat.

scoops your baby boy up from your arms as soon as he's done feeding and takes him to the living room, telling you to make yourself comfortable in bed and take a nap. hours later, you wake up and head downstairs to see him sitting on the sofa, dozing off with the baby swaddled in his arms.

gets super nervous at parent meets but he attends each one. listens carefully to the teachers' feedback and scolds his son as due — but so gently, in such a reassuring tone that it's impossible to throw a tantrum or get upset with him. he's a real nice dad <3

and he's so lucky both his sons (because you get another little boy two years after the first) are into football. he coaches the school teams sometimes, coming over to give pep talks and offer tips before important games.

tells his boys to stay humble no matter what the outcome, but secretly takes so much pride with each goal they score<3

° 𐐒𐐚 . oliver aiku!

he's his daughter's daddy. his happiness comes in tow with yours and your daughter's happiness. you're both the lights of his life. people say oliver was tamed when he met you — and softened when you both had your little girl. and in a way, it's true.

(dilf dilf dilf dilf) loved showing you off when you were pregnant, and he loves showing of his baby girl to literally the whole world. buys you and your daughter the prettiest matching dresses, and brings you along to every event he attends.

"meet my girls," he says, shaking the host's hand firmly, giving the man a proud smirk as he puts an arm around your waist and brings you closer. "this is my wife, and our daughter."

"everyone knows, oliver." you roll your eyes, picking your daughter up and pressing her to your chest. she clutches the neck of your dress and buries her little head into your neck, tired already of the crowd, the noise and the flashing lights. "what do they know?" he grins, pinching your cheek in response to your eye-roll.

"that i'm your wife and she's our kid." you answer, letting him lead you to the seats reserved for the aikus. "i'm sure you've introduced us at least five times already. they'd know — if the news about our wedding and our baby weren't enough."

"hey, but isn't it fun?" he leans in and kisses your cheek — you just know people are snapping up pictures. tomorrow morning, your friends will send you the latest headlines: mr. oliver aiku is such a romantic!

"hmph," you huff, because it's true, he is a romantic. a show off, but a romantic one nonetheless.

spoils your daughter thoroughly — buying her dolls, pretty clothes, the trendiest school bags, cute shoes, whatever she asks for. and he always pulls up at the school gates in his most expensive car when it's time to pick your daughter up from school.

"you're gonna give her a big head if you keep spoiling her like that, oliver." you sigh, when he comes home with yet another dollhouse set for her. "she's my little princess." he shrugs, smiling nonchalantly as you cross your arms over your chest. "and a little ego never hurt anyone — mhm?"

walking over to you, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, whispering in your ear, "and it's not like i spoil you any less, is it?"

#₊˚ପ⊹ REKHA™.#₊˚ପ⊹ IMERA.#blue lock fluff #kunigami fluff #reo fluff #oliver fluff #isagi fluff #kunigami rensuke fluff #mikage reo fluff #oliver aiku fluff #isagi yoichi fluff #kunigami x reader #reo x reader #oliver x reader #isagi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk fluff

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cera-writes · 4 months

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"Ma chère, you are mine." 🃏part 5

pairing: Remy "Gambit" LeBeau x F!Reader Tags: slow burn, angst, jealousy Remy never thought there'd be someone else besides Rogue who'd just waltz into his life, but there you were.

Days had passed. Threats were getting worse by the day as mutants and humans couldn't come to a middle ground. If Genosha had taught you anything, it was that mutants would never truly be free. Not here. Not on this earth.

The X-Mansion had been destroyed all in a matter of days too. Zombie sentinels had infiltrated the mansion, nearly killing anything they saw in their path. Luckily, you and Nightcrawler had teamed up and took down at least a room full by yourselves.

You had been trailing Rogue and Professor X that night as you walked the path towards the lake. You were in your own headspace, thinking of every event that had led you here to this moment. It seemed as things were only getting worse ever since Remy had brought you back from the dead.

You and Remy hadn't really spoken much since the day before, but you had managed to catch up with Kurt, whom you had greatly missed in the meantime, and had kicked ass during the times in between.

Just as you were kicking a pebble off the beaten path, the sky opened up. The planet's magnetic field hummed in response as flashes of lightning rained across the sky like chains. You stopped in your tracks, gazing up at the sight before you. It was Magneto. Shit.

The metallic whirring sliced through the air, shattering the tranquil serenity of the X-Mansion grounds. The aurora borealis cascaded around the sky amidst his grand entrance.. He was encased in his iconic helmet, his metallic form radiating an intimidating power.

A low gasp escaped your lips. You hadn't expected him to arrive with such dramatic flair. Below him, Rogue and Charles stood frozen, a tense conversation unfolding between them. You watched with bated breath.

The rest of the X-Men followed close behind you, making a beeline for Charles and Rogue. Remy and Kurt joined your side and the three of you ran towards the confrontation about to play out.

"Looks like the search came to us," Logan inquired, claws at the ready.

Xavier wheeled closer to Magneto, who was now standing on the pier.

"Please. Not this Magnus. Be reasonable." Charles pleaded, looking towards his old friend as if trying to reason with him.

Magneto crossed his arms, "I am not the one who needs to be reasoned with, Charles."

Charles frowned, "there is a large asteroid hovering over my home that begs otherwise."

"Your home?" Magneto nearly scoffed at his words.

Magneto started to levitate as if to gain power over Charles. "When you abandoned us for your Shi'ar Bird-Queen, you bequeathed it to me, asked me to walk your path."

A crackle of lightning flashed in the sky.

"Are you prepared to walk mine?"

Charles gestured around him. "Magnus, your path leads to total destruction for both humans and mutants. You must undo the damage you've done."

Magneto simply frowned in disagreement. "Will humanity undo Genosha?"

His gaze then flickered to yours. Your heart still ached for those that couldn't have been saved, no matter the sacrifice.

"Old friend, you should've seen it. It was just as you said that day in the bar., a promise realized."

You glanced over at Rogue, who had a look of sadness and perhaps even conflict brewing in her green eyes.

Charles spoke once more, "we have a plan to stop Bastion, but we must also repair Earth."

Magneto's eyes were closed in deep thought. "I promised a boy a future free of fear, only to watch his eyes be vaporized inside his tiny skull, because he believed in me," Magneto then flew slowly back down towards all of you, passed Charles, "in the dream you had me sell."

Then, he addressed each of you. "How many more of your bones will pave the way to Xavier's future, where we simper like beggars for tolerance?"

You felt a pang of guilt and sympathy, especially upon remembering the children that died senselessly on Genosha.

"Your professor's dream is dead. So I offer a new one."

Rogue looked up at him, as if contemplating his next words.

"A home to replace what they stole from us. A new Genosha. We have gotten here by walking this man's path. We are left but with two choices. Cling to this dying world, or rise to your future and look down upon this fallen pigsty planet."

Professor Xavier then spoke up again, "We are not gods, Magnus."

Magneto countered, "Gods abandon those who believe in them. Mutants do not. Decide... my X-Men."

What happened next really caught you off guard. Rogue. She was joining Magneto and you nearly reached for her but contemplated what Magneto was offering. He was right, in a way. Mutants would never co-exist peacefully with humans. A new Genosha sounded like paradise. But to let innocents die? You could see his reasoning, but you couldn't allow yourself that luxury. You wouldn't let anymore innocents suffer.

"Rogue, no!" Kurt protested, but Rogue was walking closer to magneto now.

"Chere! Whattaya doin'?" Remy reached out for her but she brushed him off.

"In genosha, I made a choice. To lead our kind to a new age. I stand by that choice." She admitted.

"Rogue, do not turn your back on family." Storm pleaded.

"You were gone, gal. None of you 'cept Kurt, Remy, and Eclipse were there the day Genosha fell. Hell, Eclipse even died to save more innocents from bein' killed in cold blood. I'm surprised you ain't joinin' the club sugah," she glanced at you with a look of sorrow and contempt. Your best friend was ready to leave and switch sides just like that. You almost couldn't believe it.

"Rogue, you can't just abandon the X-Men like this! Abandon us... abandon me," you pleaded, forcing back the lump in your throat.

"Sometimes, sacrifices are needed sugah. You oughta know." she answered before flying up to join Magneto's side.

"So who dies next professor? Jean? Ha. been there done that. Who knows where Bishop is? And hell, Morph was barely on the team for thirty minutes before we tossed them to the wolves. And Remy... I always thought maybe we had somethin' but some things just ain't meant to be," She glanced between you and Gambit and you felt sick. Utterly and distraught-fully sick at her words.

"Jubilee, Roberto... I will not see anymore mutants die."

Another crackle of lightning and thunder clashed ahead as if mixing with the onslaught of emotions flying around in the air.

"So...that's how it is then? What about what we talked about? I thought we came to an understanding. You're just gonna abandon us? Just like that?" You shook your head in disbelief, tears welling in your eyes.

"Some things are better off this way," Rogue answered, turning away from you. You glanced over at Remy who had just as much hurt behind his eyes as you did.

"Please don't do dis' chere." Remy pleaded.

Roberto was the next one to take a stand with Magneto and Rogue, equally catching you off guard. Jubilee, hurt, tried to stop him.

"My mom handed me over to the prime sentinels, Jubilee. They collared me, my own family. What's left here?"

You spared a glance at Jubes, who looked grief stricken at Roberto's words as he turned from her.

"Me..." she said barely above a whisper.

He flew up towards Magneto and Rogue, joining them.

"The offer was made. The door is open."

And with that, Magneto flew the three of them away, leaving the rest of you down on Earth.

The silence after Magneto's retreat was a physical thing, a thick, suffocating blanket snuffing out the vibrant life that had pulsed through the X-Mansion grounds mere moments ago.

Rogue's words echoed in your mind, a cruel melody replaying on a loop. Sacrifice. Some things are better off this way. Each phrase was a searing brand, a betrayal that left a raw, exposed nerve throbbing in its wake. You did what you had to to save everyone at the expense of your own life. But Rogue? She was being reckless.

Beside you, Remy remained rooted to the spot, his face an unreadable mask. You reached out, your hand hovering over his arm, unsure if a touch would offer solace or shatter the fragile shell of his emotions. Finally, Nightcrawler materialized beside you as the smell of brimstone invaded the air around you.

"Well, cher," Remy finally rasped, his voice rough with a barely concealed tremor, "that went about as well as tossing a snowball in the Sahara."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, the sting of unshed tears burning your eyes. "Rogue..." you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

Remy let out a humorless scoff, "Always had a soft spot for the bad boys, didn't you, cher?"

His words were laced with a bitterness that stung, but you knew his pain mirrored your own. The anger was a simmering ember beneath the surface, threatening to erupt at any moment.

Nightcrawler, ever the optimist, squeezed your shoulder gently. "We'll get them back," he said, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hand. "We just need a plan."

The three of you trudged back to the X-Mansion, tailing the others who were either walking or flying ahead. Professor Xavier remained behind, lost in deep thought.

Remy kicked a pebble across the path, the crunch a jarring counterpoint to the oppressive silence. His jaw was clenched tight, a muscle flickering in his temple betraying the storm brewing beneath the surface. You ached to reach out, to offer comfort, but the words stuck in your throat, choked by the rising tide of your own anger and grief.

"Looks like the prodigal daughter's finally come home," Kurt muttered, his voice laced with a bitterness that surprised you. "Except this time, she's brought the wrecking crew with her."

You winced. Kurt, ever the optimist, the heart of the team, even he was tainted by the fallout. A wave of nausea washed over you, a physical manifestation of the fracturing you felt deep within the X-Men.

"It ain't all sunshine and rainbows with Magneto, cher, believe me," Remy finally growled, his voice a low rumble. "But hell if I understand what Rogue's thinkin'."

You wanted to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all. But the anger curdled within you, a bitter cocktail laced with a despair so profound it threatened to drag you under.

"Maybe she has a point," you choked out, the words scraping raw against your throat. "Maybe... maybe there is no future for mutants here."

Remy stopped short, his head snapping towards you. His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were now a storm of hurt and confusion. "Whatchu sayin', cher? You think we're jus' gonna give up? Give Magneto the win?"

You flinched under the intensity of his gaze. Giving up. Was that what you were doing? But the fight suddenly felt hollow, a pointless struggle against an ever-growing tide of hate.

"I don't know, Remy," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "I just... I just don't know what to believe anymore."

Kurt placed a hand on your shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort. "We'll figure it out, Meine Beste," he said, his voice gentle despite the tremor in it. "We always do."

But the usual conviction was missing from his words, replaced by a weary uncertainty that mirrored your own. As you continued your trek back to the X-Mansion, the once familiar building now loomed ahead, a stark symbol of the shattered dream within its walls. The future you'd fought for, the future you'd believed in, felt like a wisp of smoke, fading into the twilight sky.

Reaching the mansion doors, you paused, the weight of the decision before you pressing down on you. Step inside, and you'd face the wreckage of your team, the shattered trust, the gaping wound left by Rogue and Roberto's betrayal. But turn away, and what then? Was there even a future for mutants outside of Xavier's dream?

With a deep breath, you pushed open the doors, stepping back into the remnants of a fractured family, the weight of a thousand unspoken questions a heavy burden on your heart. The fight for a peaceful future wasn't over, but for the first time, you truly questioned if it could be won.

#xmen #x men 97 #remy lebeau #gambit #gambit x reader #remy lebeau x reader #cera writes #ma chere you are mine

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kayewrite · 1 month

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Maybe this time

genre: exes to lovers (?)! angst with happy ending!! word count: 2.6k

Han Jisung x reader!! han x fem reader

wherein; Two old friends reunite and reminisce about their shared past. As they reconnect, they wonder if time can bridge the gap they left behind. Will their bond pick up where it left off, or will this meeting pave the way for a new chapter? maybe this time…

(i really want to write this before and glad i finally made it i hope you like it!!)

ps: im sorry i dont really make another part in my works because i want to leave it as open ending and let my readers continue the story on their own. but if i have time and decide to make, ill promise ill make one (especially 'want so bad')

but i hope you enjoy reading because i love making this fic. thank youu. love lots :) please love this as much i love it

Life… is beautiful.

Even if it is full of pain, sadness, and hurt.

Even if it is full of tears, there are also moments of happiness, smiles, and gladness.

Life is a roller coaster. It lifts you up, then plunges you down, only to rise again. When you step into the cart for the first time, you know it will bring a whirlwind of emotions—fear, joy, anxiety. You know from the start what to expect, yet you still take the ride because deep down, you believe it will be worth it in the end.

You smile as you finish writing the last sentence in your book, the final period punctuating months of dedication and passion. It's done. After all the hard work, the late nights, and the self-doubt, it's finally finished.

You stand up, stretching your back with a satisfied sigh, and decide that a reward is in order. You change into your exercise outfit, slip on your earphones, and set the timer on your watch.

30 minutes.

You head out, jogging through the park outside your apartment. The weather is perfect—a gentle breeze, the sun filtering through the trees, a few people scattered around, minding their own business. You focus on your breathing, your feet hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm, the world around you fading into the background.

As you reach a shaded path, you feel the need to pause and catch your breath. You slow down, resting your hands on your knees. Suddenly, a hand lands on your shoulder, startling you.

You jump slightly, turning to see who it is. The surprise on your face deepens when you see him.

He’s breathless, his chest heaving as he holds up an index finger, gesturing for a moment of silence. “I’m… sorry,” he says between gasps. “Give me… one second… to catch my breath.”

You stand there, stunned. The face in front of you is one you haven't seen in years.

It’s Han—your first love.

“Nice to see you again,” he finally says, a grin spreading across his face.

You’re speechless for a moment, your mind racing to catch up. “Han… I can’t believe it’s you!” The shock wears off, replaced by a wave of warmth and nostalgia. You reach out and hug him, the familiar scent and feel of him bringing back a flood of memories.

He laughs, hugging you back and patting your shoulder. “I saw you while I was driving and I had to stop. I called out to you, but then I realized you had earphones on.” He chuckles, still slightly out of breath.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” you exclaim, pulling back to look at him properly. “I’m so surprised to see you! How have you been?”

“I’m fine, doing well. It’s so good to see you again.”

“Me too!”

The moment feels surreal as if you’re in a dream. You find yourselves sitting in a cozy café, sipping your favorite strawberry latte while he enjoys a slice of red velvet cake. The scene feels like a perfect snapshot of your reunion, a peaceful moment in the midst of life’s chaos.

Han was your first love, the boy who held your hand when you were just 13. Back then, you both thought you understood love—childish dreams of the future, talking about getting married, and planning a life together as if you knew what it all meant.

You smile, lost in the memories of those innocent days.

“Let’s get married,” he had said one time, both of you sitting on a bench, holding hands.

You stopped munching on your favorite snack, looking at him. His eyes, filled with affection, sparkled like they held tiny beating hearts. If this were an animated movie, there would be hearts popping out of them.

“Yes, when we’re adults,” you replied with a smile, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“That’s a promise, okay?”

“Yeah, a promise.” And with that, you linked pinky fingers, sealing the promise with the innocent trust only kids have.

“How are you?” you ask now, your eyes locking with his. The happiness in his face is contagious.

“I’m doing well, healthy and living life to the fullest.” He smiles, and it’s the same smile you remember—genuine, warm, unchanging.

“I’m glad to hear that. Really,” you say, feeling the warmth of his presence spreading through you.

“I’m really glad to see you too. How about you?”

“I’m doing fine, healthy as well. Life hasn’t always been easy, but I’m at a point where I’m happy and living my best life.”

“Thank God for that,” he says, his voice full of sincerity.

Hearing those words from him makes you both sigh, a shared sense of relief washing over you.

“I saw you on TV. You’re a famous writer now. You don’t know how proud I am of you,” he says, his voice full of admiration. “I’m glad you achieved your dream.”

His words hit you deep, emotions welling up. “Thank you.”

Being a writer had always been your dream.

“When I grow up, I want to be a famous writer. I’ll write books that inspire people,” you had said, lying on the grass, looking up at the stars with Han beside you. You held your pen up like a magic wand, closing one eye as you imagined the future.

“And I hope you achieve that dream,” he had said, taking your hand and holding it tight.

You had smiled at his words, feeling the warmth of his support.

“What about you? What do you want to do when we grow up?” you asked, turning to look at him.

“Me?” He had looked at you, then back at the stars. “Aside from being with you, which is my ultimate dream, I want to become an engineer.”

“An engineer?”

“Yeah… I want to build a big house for us. A really big house.”

You had felt a pang of emotion then, knowing how much he longed for a family and a place to call home.

“And you, Han?” you ask now, watching as his smile grows even wider.

“I’m now a licensed engineer.”

“Oh my God, really?!” You can’t contain your excitement, jumping up from your seat to hug him again. “I’m so proud of you, Han! You finally achieved your dream.”

He laughs, happiness radiating from both of you as you hold each other.

“I’m proud of us,” he says, hugging you back tightly.

You pull away, a little embarrassed by your outburst. “I’m so sorry, I just got so happy to hear that, Han.” You sit back down, smiling shyly.

“It’s okay, I’m really happy for us too.”

Han goes on to tell you about his work. He’s the engineer responsible for a new apartment complex in the city. That’s why you crossed paths again. As he talks, you listen intently, your heart swelling with pride for the man he has become.

You nearly tear up as he shares his journey—the hardships, the trials, the long years of studying. He worked hard, from kindergarten all the way to college, never losing sight of his dream. And now, he’s living it.

“I’m finished talking about me. Now, let’s talk about you,” he says, turning the focus back to you.

You fall silent, memories flooding back. You remember the times when you almost gave up on your dream, when no one bought your books, and your work gathered dust on the shelves. You remember walking through bookstores, seeing your book in the corner, covers nearly torn from being ignored.

You remember the despair, the feeling that maybe your dream was just that—a dream. But then, something changed. A light entered your life, lifting you up, guiding you to where you are now. It was hard—so hard—but you persevered, and now you’re here, a successful author with stories that touch people’s hearts.

Tears fill your eyes as you tell him this, the emotions too strong to hold back.

“I’m sorry, I got carried away,” you laugh through the tears, wiping them with a tissue he hands you.

He’s still a gentleman, just like he always was.

“I’m glad for you,” he says softly.

“I’m glad for us,” you reply, feeling a profound connection to him, even after all these years.

“What will happen after we achieve our dreams?” you had asked him once, walking together along a tree-lined path. It was fall, and you kicked at the leaves, watching them swirl in the breeze.

“We’ll get married. I’ll buy you the shiniest ring in the world,” he had said, his voice full of determination.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Even if it’s not the shiniest ring in the world… I’ll still marry you.”

“For real?”

“Yes. You’re the only one I want to spend my life with. You’ll build our big house, and I’ll be the most famous writer in the world. We’ll be happy together, forever.”

“And you’ll still wear the shiniest ring in the world because that’s what you deserve,” he had said, holding your hand and kissing it gently.

“I love you,” you had mumbled, your heart full of emotion.

“I love you too.”

And under the falling leaves, you had kissed him for the first time.

The conversation between you both gradually trails off, leaving an unspoken tension hanging in the air. The café's ambient sounds—the quiet clinks of cups, the murmur of distant conversations—fade into the background. It feels as though the world outside has paused, allowing you both to be suspended in this fragile moment. You’re unsure if he remembers the past as vividly as you do, but meeting him again has stirred memories you had long buried. The memories of the happy moments you shared, the laughter, the dreams—it all comes rushing back with a bittersweet intensity.

There’s a question burning in your heart, one that you’ve held onto for years. But as you open your mouth to speak, the words falter on your lips. You hesitate, the weight of the past pressing down on you. You’re not sure if you should ask—if you even have the right to.

"Let’s break up," you had said, your voice trembling as you turned your back on him, trying to hold yourself together. The words tasted bitter, foreign, as they left your mouth.

"Why?" His voice had cracked, laced with confusion and desperation, forcing you to turn and face him. The sight of his pleading eyes, full of pain, made your resolve waver.

"I don’t know. I don’t deserve you. I don’t love you anymore…" The lie felt like a knife twisting in your chest, each word cutting deeper. You couldn’t look him in the eye, knowing that the truth would betray the facade you were trying to maintain. "And… we’re leaving. We won’t be coming back."

You forced the tears to stay at bay, but when you heard the way his voice cracked, the dam you had built burst. The tears you had tried so hard to hold back streamed down your face, unstoppable.

"Why would you do that to me?" he had asked, his voice barely above a whisper, full of hurt.

"I don’t know. You should find someone else to achieve your dreams with. I have things I need to focus on in my life too. I don’t want to spend my life tied to you," you had said, forcing yourself to face him as you delivered those final, hurtful words. The look in his eyes as he bowed his head, defeated, had nearly broken you.

He was only a boy then, but he had known what love was, what it meant to make someone a part of your life. You had been his life, his future, his everything. How could he continue when the one person he wanted to build that life with had just walked away?

And so, you had left him, without looking back, disappearing from his life as if you had never been a part of it.

But now, years later, here he is, sitting in front of you, smiling as if nothing had changed. He’s happy to see you, proud of the person you’ve become, despite the hurtful words you once threw at him. And that, more than anything, tears at your heart.

A single tear escapes your eye before you can stop it, and you quickly wipe it away, hoping he didn’t notice.

"So, do you have a family now?" The question slips out, carrying with it the years of wondering, of what-ifs.

"I…" he begins, but before he can finish, the door of the café chimes, and a beautiful woman walks in, her presence commanding attention. She makes her way to your table, and you watch as Han stands up to greet her, the fondness in his eyes unmistakable.

"Honey…" he says, and your heart skips a beat. The word echoes in your mind, heavy with implications.

Honey?

Confused, you watch as they hug each other warmly, the scene playing out before you like a slow-motion reel. It feels surreal, like you’re watching from a distance, even though you’re right there.

"Honey, this is my friend I told you about," Han says, introducing you with a smile. He then turns to you, his eyes meeting yours. "This is my fiancée."

Fiancée.

The word hits you like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of you. You force a smile, accepting her hand for a handshake, even as you feel a pang of pain in your heart

She sits down, joining your conversation with an easy grace, and you can’t help but notice how happy they are together. The way they look at each other, the subtle touches, the smiles—it’s clear that they’re deeply in love, a love that’s mutual and uncomplicated.

you look at the shiniest ring they were wearing.

You’re glad for Han. He deserves this happiness, this life he’s built. He’s finally living his dream, the dream that you once shared but were never meant to fulfill together. He’s found someone to continue that dream with, someone who will stand by his side as he builds the future you both once imagined.

The hurt lingers, but it’s softened by a genuine happiness for him. You’re happy that he’s happy, because that's what he deserve: happiness

Your thoughts are interrupted as the café owner sets your additional drinks down on the table. “Here’s your order,” he says. You murmur a soft thank you, still trying to process the whirlwind of emotions.

“No need to pay for your drinks,” the owner adds with a warm smile. “It’s on me.”

"No, I insist on paying for us," you replied, trying to cover up the flutter of in your chest.

"It's fine, babe," he said, chuckling as he gently pressed the matter.

"Really, it's okay," you laughed, looking between him and Han, who were both clearly confused by the exchange.

"Ah, by the way, I forgot to introduce you," you said, standing up with a smile. You gestured to the man beside you. "This is Hyunjin, the owner of the café."

"Hello, I'm Hyunjin," he said, extending his hand for a handshake. "I'm her boyfriend."

Han's eyes widened in surprise, his confusion evident as he looked between you and Hyunjin.

You laughed at Han's bewildered expression, and soon the table was filled with lighthearted laughter once again.

Life, you thought, was indeed full of surprises and plot twists. Just when you thought you knew how things would turn out, the unexpected happens.

But despite the twists and turns, one thing remains true: life is beautiful.

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desultory-novice · 5 months

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"Whoever said 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions' left a lot of stuff out..."

[Name:] Noir Fontaine "...It's pronounced 'fawn-tan'"

[Reference Image:]

[[Tournament Asks Masterpost]]

[Notes on Personality:]

"My pronouns are he/some-kind -of-planet-invading hellspawn, I guess."

A kindhearted teen beneath the surface, growing up amidst humanity's depressive twilight hours on a hostile, frozen wasteland, plus a lifetime of tragedies no one his age should have to bear, has hardened Noir into a sarcastic, sassy little edgelord with a bitter tongue that's as sharp as his cursed sword, both of which he'll turn on anything he finds threatening with little provocation.

Noir's oodles and caboodles of twitchy paranoia combined with him having the approachability of a flea-ridden alley cat, makes breaking the thick ice to touch the heart of the scarred boy hiding beneath a task for only the most patient (or masochistic) of souls.

...And even then, he'll still sass you.

Likes: storytelling, games, the night sky, his siblings Dislikes: violence, crowds, touch, food, opening up

[Backstory and Lore:]

"...My life had way more talking plushies playing key roles than I'd have guessed."

Son of <L.D. Violet Level Access Only> and <L.D. Violet Level Access Only> Noir is a normal (?) human (?) teen from Shiver Star and Adeleine's older brother.

After the early death of his parents under very suspicious circumstances, Noir took over as sole guardian of his little sister, giving up the little-to-nothing he had to keep her safe and happy, including his own happiness, his health, and very nearly his sanity.

His preternaturally bad luck took a turn for the absolutely devastating when–while searching for a cheer-up gift for his little sister amongst some suspicious New World relics–he just so happened to acquire a psychic blade forged of Dark Matter.

As if it knew exactly who he was and exactly who he could go on to be, the Blade attached itself to him in a rather physical (:cough: and un-removable :cough:) manner and began slowly but surely corrupting him, body, mind, and soul.

Yet, he was able to use its destructive gifts to quietly rescue his sister Adeleine from Shiver Star's apocalyptic, dead-end environs and send her off into the endless possibilities waiting in the sea of stars, guaranteeing she, at least, would have a future.

The corruption devours him soon after.

In a 'verse close to that of the canon games, Noir loses his human body upon death along with (most) of his memories, and his captive soul is reforged by Zero as the eldritch entity's elite vanguard, a position which caused King Dedede to dub him "Blade."

In this form, the emotionless(?) Dark Matter drone would go on to adopt Gooey (in place of the sister he could not fully remember) and lead the invasion of Popstar for the collective, unaware it was the very planet Adeleine escaped to. She would not discover the one-eyed shadow monster was her brother till much, much later...

Noir dies a second time, in a duel against Popstar's hero, Kirby of the Stars, having remembered his human life too late to do anything about it. Noir would die for a third time after a disappointed Zero resurrects, tortures, and brainwashes him in order to force his participation in the second, penultimate invasion of Popstar.

Tragically, even after banishing Dark Matter from Popstar and destroying Zero, Noir's soul remains trapped in darkness.

...He would've liked to see his little sister and brother again...

In another 'verse, he and Adeleine swap fates and... :cough:

Favorite Dream Landers: Adeleine, Gooey, King Dedede, Kirby

---

[Notes on Potential (???) Interactions:]

If your OC has ANY ability to sense Dark Matter, is or ever was Dark Matter, or has a grudge against Dark Matter, Noir should set them off like a particularly obnoxious car alarm. He radiates Dark Matter energy, even when he's not doing anything.

If your OC is small, cute, and harmless (ie: reminds him of Adeleine or Gooey in any way) you may earn some begrudging care from the boy. He's got a terminal case of big-brother syndrome, after all.

If your OC has been through the horrors (and specifically NOT come out a better, healthier person for it) he will probably sympathize.

Address him as "Swordsman" and watch him twitch! It's fun!

[Etc:]

For this event, Noir is visually in his "last days as a living human" form, ie: purple-black patches of corrupted flesh and veins and monster hands beneath his gloves.

He's below average height and weight for his age, but being an Earth-human like Adeleine (and taller than her) generally winds up taller than most average Dream Land-type residents

As far as physical appearance goes, Noir is still 16 (the age he died at) but he spent a sizable period of time as Dark Matter and his true mental/emotional age is difficult to calculate.

Outside of the powers he picked up from the sword (teleportation, darkness control, memory-based matter re-creation, etc) Noir, owing to his heritage, has some mild powers all of his own (pre-cognition, cross-dimensional sight, etc) though he is untrained in the use of them and remains unaware they are "powers" at all.

---

PS: You can read more about Noir [HERE]

---

Well, I have done it. I have thrown my son to the Shark-Dees! XD Shall we see how The Boy Who Always Dies does at the @kirbyoctournament ?

#Kirby OC #Noir Fontaine #Apologies AU #Noir (human-form DMS)#What if... haha... his results in the tournament had an effect on his (pending) revival haha...ha...? jk...but also what if......#Now fight (read: befriend) your way out of hell teenage boy!#I won't be able to join the Discord till next week-abouts #Dess is lowkey terrified but trying my best to be brave #Kirby #Gooey Kirby #Adeleine Kirby #Adeleine

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tmntkiseki · 2 months

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(Massive spoiler warning!) Let's talk about the TMNT 2003 oneshot from the 40th Anniversary Anthology

Ohhhhh boy, my friends, it is finally here. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 40th Anniversary Comics Celebration was released a few days ago and with it, the first comic-based piece of TMNT 2003 media in over 16 years. Whether this oneshot will pave the way for future comics set in the 2003 universe is yet to be seen, but for now, Lloyd Goldfine, Khary Randolph, and Emilio Lopez have cooked up an incredibly delicious treat for fans of the 2003 series, so without further ado, let's dive in because it's ninja time!

(Note: This post contains full spoilers for the "Splinter Forever" oneshot. If you haven't read the comic yet and want to go in as blindly as possible, please do not read beyond the "Keep Reading" and avoid this post like the plague.)

"And how could I have imagined that most incredible transformation of all?! Here, I speak not of mutation... but of my sons. Could I ever have dreamed I would become a father?"

So, before we talk about the actual story of "Splinter Forever," let's talk about a pretty important detail of the comic itself; the fact that it is only eight pages long. While it is certainly not impossible to tell a good story with such a limited number of pages (the Archie oneshot from earlier in the anthology certainly did it, and it had only four pages to work with), it certainly makes telling a deeper, more complex story that much harder since you don't have as much time to tell it. Knowing this, Lloyd Goldfine opted to play it safe and keep things fairly simple in terms of narrative—whether he played it too safe is certainly up for debate, but I personally think that "Splinter Forever" more benefits from this approach than not. What it lacks in interesting plot, it more than makes up for in its characterization and presentation (and believe me, we will be talking about the artwork A LOT in this post.)

"Splinter Forever," at a glance, is pretty straightforward in terms of story; taking place at some point after Turtles Forever, it is about Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo rescuing Splinter, who has been captured by the Shredder; he is assisted by Hun, who is still trapped in his mutated turtle form due to the events of the movie. "Splinter Forever," however, is so much more than just the turtles kicking butt and looking cool—it is a story about Splinter expressing his undying love for his four children and how he values his family above all else.

After a brief flashback to Splinter's days as an ordinary rat in the care of Hamato Yoshi, the turtles make their big entrance by crashing through one of the windows of the Foot facility that Splinter is being held in. Each of the next four pages focuses on one of the turtles, showcasing their combat prowess as they fight Shredder, Hun, and the Foot, all while Splinter... pretty much gushes over them. He highlights Michelangelo's nature as a comedian who, none the less, is the most naturally talented of his brothers at martial arts, the fact that Raphael is actually much softer than his tough, aggressive personality would suggest, Leonardo's big heart and unyielding dedication to protecting his brothers, and Donatello's great intellect and unique worldview. Splinter is just so, so, so proud of the people that his sons have grown into and while none of them are perfect, he wouldn't have them any other way.

Now, the one full page from the oneshot that I am able to include in this post is the one focusing on Michelangelo, as it was made available via IDW's social media several days prior to the release of the anthology in order to promote it. There are two things I want to draw everyone's attention to: Khary Randolph's panel composition and Emilio Lopez's use of color.

So, for starters, the composition; The panels on these four pages are rendered in such a way that they resemble broken glass. Makes sense from a narrative standpoint given how the turtles just appeared to crash Shredder's "Let's kill/experiment on Splinter" party, but I genuinely feel like there are some lines to be drawn between Leo's iconic window scene from season 1 and how this is basically the inverse of that situation; instead of one turtle being tossed by the Foot through a window after being beaten near to death, all four turtles are jumping through a window in order to lay a sound beating on the Foot for trying to harm their father. (Or maybe Khary Randolph just thought it looked cool, I don't know.)

Second; Emilio Lopez's use of color. Oh my gosh, Emilio Lopez's colors. It's amazing because the colors used for the turtles are fairly in line with how they appeared during the first five seasons, but rather than looking dark and muted like in the show, they are rendered in such a way that they appear bright, vibrant, and above all, eye catching. Combined with Khary Randolph's dynamic poses and perspective, the turtles are practically popping off the pages. It's literal eye candy no matter where you look!

Besides that though, comparing Raphael and Leonardo's pages to Michelangelo and Donatello's pages is really, really interesting, especially when done so while examining both Splinter's narration as well as the action happening on-panel. On Michelangelo's page, Emilio only really used gold/orange colors for the backgrounds; on Donatello's page, outside a single panel where Splinter catches his cane, only violets are used for the backgrounds. In contrast, the backgrounds on Raphael's page use both reds and violets, while Leonardo's page includes blues, reds, and oranges.

In terms of the action on Mikey and Don's pages, they are absolutely destroying the Foot that they're up against, and Splinter's narration is nothing short of praise for both of them. When we get to Raph's page, though, he's struggling a bit with Hun. In one panel, Hun manages to grab hold of his arms and in another, he punches Raphael away; the backgrounds of these panels are rendered in violet. But in panels where Raphael is on the offensive, the backgrounds are rendered in red. And then there's Splinter's narration from this page.

"Raphael. Always so angry...most reliably, at himself. But, in truth, he is only half as fearsome as he makes himself out to be... Which of course, is more than fearsome enough."

I don't know if this was intentional on Emilio Lopez's part, but it seems to me that the backgrounds are being used to help characterize the turtles more. In the panels where Hun has the advantage and Raphael is presented as weaker/more vulnerable, the backgrounds are rendered in violet. But in panels where Raphael has the advantage and is confident/on the offensive, the backgrounds feature his iconic red color. Raphael's nature as an "rough on the outside, soft on the inside" type of character is being represented via color! I love that!

Something similar is done on Leo's page. Panels where Leo has the upper hand on the Shredder have the backgrounds rendered in his associated blue, but panels featuring the Foot and the Shredder getting the upper hand on him are rendered in either orange or red. As we know, Leonardo's nature as a perfectionist is his big fatal flaw as a character; on one hand, he trains the hardest and is the most skilled of his brothers in terms of his overall combat abilities, but whenever he perceives himself as having failed his family, he takes it hard, and this is reflected in Splinter's narration.

"Leonardo. He trains so hard. Cares so much. All this... to ensure he never, ever fails his brothers."

Also, I think it's worth pointing out the colors used for the panels where Shredder either only barely avoids hitting Leo or manages to land a strike on him. Orange and red. Michelangelo and Raphael. Leonardo is thinking of his brothers in those moments and how he can't let them down. God damn it, Emilio.

Anyways, after Donatello frees Splinter on his page, we are treated to a gorgeous two page spread that parodies the one from the first Mirage issue; however, now Splinter is a part of the composition and... god, I really love this image. The colors are fantastic, Khary Randolph improved on the posing from the original, and it's a perfect tribute to the original comic that started it all. The box with Splinter's narration where he speaks of how proud he is of his children is even in the same spot where Leo's narration from the original image is!

The final page of the oneshot has Splinter easily kick the Shredder's ass. He breaks his Utrom exosuit and proceeds to send little Ch'rell... flying through a window. God, to do the same thing to the Shredder that he did to Leo in Season 1 is poetic justice at its finest. The four turtles embrace Splinter, and the oneshot ends with the family, now reunited, returning home. The end.

Honestly, my only real nitpick with the oneshot is the fact that there is no explanation for how Ch'rell came back after literally being vaporized during Turtles Forever, but again, Lloyd Goldfine only had eight pages to work with, so I can pretty much let it slide on that basis alone because otherwise? This oneshot is so, so good. It is not only a perfect tribute to Splinter's deep bond with Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo and the love he holds for them as their father, but to the entire 2003 series as a whole. It was certainly worth the wait and I'm definitely hoping that this won't be the last we see of the 2003 turtles in the comic books.

"Yes, mine is a life I could never have imagined for myself...and, even if given forever... I could not have dreamed of one better."

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2k3 #tmnt 2003 spoilers #tmnt spoilers #comic spoilers #spoilers #I am slapping as many spoiler tags as possible so people can avoid this post if they want/need to sfjgkdfjgkfd #tmnt splinter #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raphael #tmnt leonardo #tmnt donatello #tmnt shredder #tmnt hun

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drakaripykiros130ac · 6 months

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Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen being attacked for decisions made by members of her Council is an actual thing, I realize. And its basis is 21st century misogyny found in certain “fans”.

Here are some examples:

1. B&C was orchestrated by Daemon, as retribution for the murder of Lucerys Velaryon. Daemon sent Rhaenyra a letter from Harrenhal (in the book canon, he was already there when news reached them), in which he promised her that her son would be avenged. That’s it. She was informed that Daemon would do something in retribution, but she wasn’t filled in on what.

And somehow, Rhaenyra is responsible for B&C. How? Because she didn’t stop Daemon? (As if she could). And even if she knew what he was about to do, why should she have stopped him? Her child was murdered in cold blood. The war had not yet begun. Her innocent boy was an envoy, and he was murdered while peace terms were still being considered. Rhaenyra is a mother in pain. The only thought running through her mind at the time was that her child was murdered. She didn’t give a damn about any of the “green” children. Why should she? I know I wouldn’t if I were in her place.

Rhaenyra had no knowledge of B&C and was not in any way involved, nor did she care enough to stop it. And I repeat, why should she?

2. The situation with Ladies Rosby and Stokeworth. I am super tired of hearing how Rhaenyra is “evil” because she didn’t support the ascension of other women in positions of power at the time.

First and foremost: How is that her job? Oh, that’s right. It’s not. She had her own fight against the patriarchy and her success could have paved the way for other women to be permitted a better life in the future.

Secondly, it was Corlys, Rhaenyra’s Hand, who insisted that Ladies Rosby and Stokeworth be passed over. Corlys is the one who viewed Rhaenyra as an exception to the patriarchy.

Change doesn’t happen all of a sudden. It needs to be small, like Rhaenyra’s successful ascension on the Iron Throne. Turning the Realm into “Barbie Land” overnight would have brought down the whole system, not changed it.

Rhaenyra’s decision to heed Corlys’ advice was correct. But I also think she should have followed Daemon’s advice as well and arranged marriages for the girls with Hugh Hammer and Ulf White.

In any case, this situation is not Rhaenyra’s fault, nor was it her choice. It was Corlys’, you know, the man who’s not only her Hand but who commands the Realm’s largest fleet and finances Rhaenyra’s actual war. The fact that certain TG stans believe Rhaenyra could have done whatever she wanted in this scenario and ignored Corlys’ advice proves they don’t know shit about politicking.

3. The raised taxes in King’s Landing: once again, not Rhaenyra’s idea. It was her Master of Coin, Lord Bartimos Celtigar, who came up with this solution.

And as bad as it sounds, it is the only possible solution to the crisis, because the Greens are the ones who stole all the gold from the treasury and left the Realm impoverished (something for people to chew on, when they have the nerve to claim that TG = Team Smallfolk).

Now, when it comes to Alicent, however, she is somehow the “victim” of the decisions made by the men around her.

Hypocrisy much?

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riewritten · 2 months

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𝐎𝐈𝐋 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 · CHAPTER FOUR · AO3

˚ · .─ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: YOU, a college student in Frankfurt, start receiving emails that embarked the dim of normalcy you worked so hard to build on your own; starting from a message claiming you as the light amidst the hell of Kinderheim, who came just in time to bring a paradise of doomsday and grime, something that pleased the monster inside him. Initially, you thought of reporting the email as spam until another ding came: the monster, so pleased and full, is aiming to return the favor—something to flesh out the paradise you had granted him back at Kinderheim.

˚ · .─ 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎: JOHAN/Fem!reader | 5.8k words

˚ · .─ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: explicit language, canon-typical violence, stalking, manipulation, obsessive tendencies, paranoia, abduction, threats of sexual assault, among many things that might arise.

SYNOPSIS: The next events that transpired in your subconscious after that dinner were neither a hyperbole of your repressed childhood grievances nor a personification of your deeply rooted fears. It is an actual recollection, a flashback surging almost all at once, once forgotten but surfaced by a trigger you are to unveil at this very moment.

Grimmer had kept your father alive in his thoughts; too alive, perhaps, that he’s acting the same way your father would had he been made aware of your position as of the moment.

And just like your father did, Johan piqued his curiosity as well, almost the same way even. The only stark difference is that your father was fascinated with Johan as a tool; Grimmer, on the other hand, deems him in utter pity.

And fear.

Grimmer is running, sweat dripping from his head, to his polo, and to the edges of his sleeve. Panting and panting, reaching his hand for someone who could help you the way you deserve. Oh, you poor, poor girl, Grimmer whispers to himself as he runs while clutching the letter you've given him dear in his hands. His musings are cut off when he sees Tenma, the very person he could ask for help. He met Tenma in Prague, and with numerous talks he came to know that Tenma has a similar agenda in mind: Kinderheim 511. Albeit, with different people to find. Grimmer told him of his upbringing, about your father, and it doesn't take long for Tenma to immediately rearrange his priorities. Because apparently, this cowardly bastard of a father who led such a young boy into burning Kinderheim, had left a daughter behind.

—that very daughter being the perilous boy's dearest friend. It doesn’t take much for them to finally conclude; you are in danger.

“I'm so sorry, I was too late. Lunge and I weren't able to get her.” Grimmer hands over the letter you had delivered via mail.

Tenma takes his time reading it, slowly but surely his hold on the thin paper tightens ‘til it almost crumples.

“We have to find her. We could still find her.” He frantically flips the paper to see the letter's delivery date. “Yesterday, huh? Then that means she's still not far away from here, right?! We should go to the post office and—” It is not until the two realize they're still in public, a sidewalk no less, that they halt from talking further.

They let the grim silence pave the way for now, at least until they could have a private space with Inspector Lunge. While waiting for their turn to pass the road, Grimmer and Tenma overhear a couple of old people talking.

“News has it that Germany has been announced to be undergoing an economic crisis.”

“And the rampant cases of money laundering still aren't solved,” the other man huffs his cigarette. “Oh man, the future restaurant I've been planning through all my retirement money is now hopeless. How can an old man like me find a job? My youngest child is still in college, for god's sake.”

“My wife's sick. Almost every hospital we went to had their rates higher than before. At this point we might as well consider her dead.”

The latter pats his back and sighs, “I'm so sorry about that, pal.”

Not long after, the old man whose wife is sick starts crying. His sobs are in sync with the pedestrian stop light turning green. The two old men cross the pedestrian holding onto each other, with Grimmer and Tenma silently watching upon them.

It doesn't take long for Tenma to start again, “Many believed that this is because of the attempted assassination of Hans Schuwald, the infamous ‘Vampire of Bayern’ known to be holding the European economy under his fingers.”

“Ah, is that so?” Grimmer chuckles, “I'm sorry, I didn't know much about it. You brought me here not long ago.”

“Exactly, the attempted assassination happened half a year ago, and the money laundering schemes have been ongoing for five years or so. It's not surprising that Germany is like this right now, whether Schuwald's assassination took place or not.”

“The assassination attempt, was the perpetrator caught?”

“No,” Tenma grimly replies, “but I know exactly who had done it.”

With Tenma's face, it doesn't take Grimmer's astuteness to figure out the answer. “Are you saying it's Johan as well…?” Tenma could only nod. “But he's so young! What're you saying next, that Johan is the person behind the large-scale money laundering scheme as well? Come on!”

“You've been having doubts until now, aren't you?” Tenma’s brows furrowed. “I told you, the only way to ensure the safety of this girl is by not having mercy on the monster who endangers her!”

Grimmer seems to be surprised himself. Was that him speaking earlier, or was it a projection of your father's emotions? “I was just asking, Tenma.”

“I know because I was there! At Schuwald's assassination attempt!” he snaps.

Grimmer is surprised to see the usually stoic doctor like that. “I was holding my sniper, trembling but nonetheless readying myself to shoot, and Johan looked up at me with a smirk as if I was exactly in the place he wanted me to be! Only then did I realize that I am once again getting cornered to take the blame of killing Schuwald, if I weren't successful in saving him from that mess!”

Grimmer's rationale snaps back with Tenma's remark. A while ago it was too clouded and riddled by both worry in your situation and pity over the tragic predicament subjected upon you and Johan—basically what your father would've felt had he been the one hearing this. At least Tenma's voice woke him up; your father is finally not too alive in his thoughts anymore. The abomination Tenma is talking about is none but Kinderheim 511's pride. Their subjects, although generally programmed to be perfect soldiers, have their own characterization—a role if one might say—that if collated together, would fit the archetype of a great army. And now, Grimmer is slowly realizing that Johan was specifically crafted to be the commander, the leader. It doesn't make it better that Kinderheim is the very place that taught him to do so.

“And do you want to know more about how dangerous Johan could be? Even to those people he would've been connected with emotionally?”

Grimmer wants Tenma to expound, but at the same time his own worry for your situation stops him in cold sweat.

The urge to interrupt this blonde agent before he’s even done talking is as overwhelming as your memories. Indeed, he had excused himself last night quite coldly… but he had also suddenly showed up, unannounced, at 5:00 am. It was him you had last seen yesterday, and it's him to interrupt the vivid dream. As disoriented as you are, you're clearly not in the mood to accommodate an unexpected visitor.

You want to see Anna. You genuinely need to see Anna.

How nice it'd feel to have her gentle hands brushing your hair; the lovely croons of her voice as she lures you to sleep; going to school together and meeting halfway at dismissal; stopping by at some market for groceries or perhaps drinking coffee together; the domestic bliss of her preparing your breakfast and you washing the dishes; everything.

Oh dear god, if he’s even listening, how you badly wish to see Anna again.

When was the last time you even prayed this hard?

“Dear god, if I grow as big as Daddy and his workmates, would I finally be of use? Would I finally be able to help my dearest Johan?” Your prayers day and night were particularly stronger this moment with Johan clinging for dear life.

“T-thats why… I am always so scared whenever y-you come here…”

Tears blurred your vision further, “Is it because you're scared the monster would take me away?” Johan's tiny face flinched as though he felt the terror in that hypothetical setting, “Flower fields suit you more…”

“No, I don’t! I am a bad useless girl who couldn't even help you! Bad girls don't deserve a good life!”

“Y-you have to get away from here,” your little friend, for the first time in your sight, begged and called your name, “run away and never look back… Don't let the monster get you…”

“I will never leave you alone. You and the person you mustn't forget are still yet to meet, no? And I have to stay here so you won't forget her, right?!” Johan still wasn't coming back to you, so you tried uttering more—perhaps futile and ideal—reasons to stay. “T-then we will defeat the monsters! And I’ll stay beside you even after you reunite with the one you mustn't forget!”

“That… doesn't matter…” This time, Johan's face hollowed. “It wouldn't matter anyway… These monsters are making me forget Anna… and if you go, they will make me forget you too…” the thought of it drained the blood in your face. “But then again, you see… wouldn't that be nice? Nothing else would matter by then. The weight of your existence would no more burden me. The weight of Anna's existence wouldn't matter anymore. After all, death is the only constant thing… it's way more powerful than memories… than loved ones… than flowers when prairies get burnt by fires…”

“Still here, pretty?”

The nickname the agent suddenly drops is so off-putting you're immediately cut off your musings. Perhaps you're flustered—irked, rather—because much to your uncomfortability, this blonde agent has been more interactive and pressing after the events last night—it's as though he suddenly wants to be close with you. In such instances, you could even mistake his voice as Anna's, but instead of being endeared it just repulses you. And speaking of Anna, did she know of your identity this whole time? It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? The person your childhood friend Johan mustn't forget was named Anna!

“Were you able to catch on what I was saying? Would you mind repeating it for me?”

Perhaps the off-putting nickname served its purpose, though. Your irk subsides and you end up averting your gaze away in guilt, “S-sorry. I was spacing out.”

“Why so?”

“Can't you just continue?”

“Maybe after you tell me why you were spacing out?” the blonde agent quips. “It is my job to ensure the welfare of my clients.”

“Which you haven't done before, and I honestly prefer that. Didn't you tell me we should be wary of being close to each other?”

The agent seems unfazed with you addressing the elephant in the room. His gaze is filled with mirth, even. “Were you not the one who broke the rule first?” He stands up from his chair, walks towards you, and then crouches down until his face is of the same level as yours. His smile is as serene as ever, but a tinge of it bothered you. “When you asked me to eat dinner with you last night, wasn't that crossing a boundary we had established when we first met?”

“But you agreed so. The usual agent I know would decline to safely keep that boundary. You sound like I'm the only one at fault here.”

His smile widens quite a bit, “Do you feel like I'm blaming you?”

“Yes.”

No, you don't feel like he's blaming you; his knowing smile made you realize he's aware of it, too. It was rather you being guilty of showing him that specific vulnerability. You struggle keeping eye contact with him, yet you persist nonetheless—or so you try.

“My apologies, then. It's just that your case started piquing my interest last night,” he replies, albeit in defeat, after being silent for a while.

“I said something while sleeping, didn't I?”

“I don't know. You tell me.”

Oh god. What a headache. “Can we pretend last night never happened?”

“Would that include our deal?”

“Deal…?”

“I’ll tell you my name if you manage to finish the last step today, no?” you could almost see him pout—so unlikely of his character—until you realize that it's just him being sarcastic. “Has your curiosity subsided that quickly? How unfortunate. It made me quite happy.”

The sarcasm was successful in flustering you. Nonetheless you remain composed, “Why?”

“Because my client is interested in me the same way I am with her.”

You are silenced, then. Unable to hold it further. Eyes all over the place except his face. What a shift in the mood. As much as you're trying to keep the deal of not exceeding boundaries and shoo this visitor away, your mind is seeking comfort from someone, desperately so. Neither Anna nor Frieda's here and the only person you're with as of late is this agent. The longer it takes, the more you get fidgety at the thought of not knowing more about him. How despicable, you thought to yourself. When you say you need comfort, what exactly do you need? A fleeting crush? A physical intimacy of some sort that could fool you into thinking you're not really alone? Or do you just want to have one constant in your fleeting existence? Would a dependent, toxic attachment—projected by the desire to detach coinciding with your desperation to stay—help you? And now, tragically so, with your memories flashing intrusively, you could finally—hold on, wait.

This particular agent, one way or another, must be related to Anna. What other reason must be there for having almost identical faces?

Oh no.

“Johan! Stay with me, Johan!” you cried loudly, raw, in utter pain not for you but for the person you hold dearest. Your small stature was holding his limping one in your arms. Suddenly the room these damned-in-the-head Kinderheim supervisors put you two seemed wider—an abyss, if one might say. The large mirror, which they said they would be watching you two, swirled in your vision alongside your tears.

“Whenever you come here, I—” he cut himself off with a shaggy exhale, “—I always get scared whenever you come here.” he weakly whispered. Why? You couldn't even ask it out loud. Was the feeling not mutual? Did he actually disdain you?

“B-because… so many monsters lurk around, and—hah—”

“Monsters?”

He nodded, then his eyes strayed away from you. It went somewhere—someplace beyond the confines of this terrifying room, a place no one but him could see. “My other half was taken by a monster… the monster brought her to the west. W-we managed to escape… but the monster…” he shuddered as if this is the first time he had registered how scary it all was—much that it confused you because he sounded like it happened long, long ago, “...the monster found us again. They separated us again. They brought me to the East.”

And your fickle little mind didn't understand any of it. You realized you couldn't actually do anything about it. This is something adults could manage. One thing about sessions with Daddy's workmates is the reiteration of how useless you are because you're a kid, of how utterly futile it is to be hopeful in this huge, huge world because you are nothing but a speck of dust—a stupid one at that—because you have nothing but your tiny, little, naivety.

Oh no.

“I—uh… I wouldn't be able to accomplish it today. Forget the deal we had last night. W-we could pretend it never happened,” you feign exhaustion, trying your hardest not to stammer and collapse in front of him. You are realizing a lot of things all at once. “Sorry for crossing the boundaries we have talked about. Let me make up for it.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“I wouldn't suggest it otherwise.”

“You see, people often say the opposite of what they want.”

“What do you mean by that—” you almost called him Johan again. You reluctantly add after gulping, “—sir?”

“You're having doubts about your plan, aren't you?”

You raise your senses up, adrenaline surging deep within as if you're suddenly in danger. “N-no! I told you I was just procrastinating—”

“You just realized the name Johan isn't something you disdain.”

“What does that have to do with this?!”

“It does a lot, you see,” the agent adds. “You say you want to run away from the monster and yet you're talking about how badly you want to be with him in your sleep.”

“I—” the color in your lips dry cold, “I said that?”

“Indeed,” the agent nods as he steps closer; you stand up from your chair and step back, “while I was ushering you to the couch, you said something to that effect.”

At this point, you try to utter anything—anything that would stop you from breaking down and crying, “A-and you know about it? You know something about Johan?”

The question answered itself upon realizing; seeing the younger version of Anna in your dreams, her male version at that, wasn't because she was the amalgamation of comfort and softness amidst all these terror happening inside your head. You've always been so intrigued—no, you were not intrigued, you were just trying to put it that way. You've always felt something uncanny was up with Anna, let alone with this agent; you just deliberately ignored it thinking they mean well not only because Anna is someone you favored immediately, but also because you never trusted yourself. All this time, the lessons Daddy and his workmates are grilled in your head even if you're still yet to remember them.

Your eyes widened, hands started to tremble, and eventually the terror got too bad you couldn't even support Johan's little weight anymore. Still, Johan had something left to say. “But, before I die… could y-you—could you please—” the fresh injection wound on his forearm throbbed in pain, and thus he hissed first before continuing, “—please call me by my name.”

“Johan,” you cried. “Your name is Johan!”

“My name…” your little friend's eyes were now hollow, as if he's reliving a memory only he knew. You weren’t even sure if he could still see you, let alone if he knew where he was, and if you could even bring him back. “Call me by my name.” You did what you could, then—the measly, trivial, nonsensical things you could. “Johan.”

“My name—”

“Johan!”

“J-Johan…?”

You feel his hands, soft as ever, cup your cheeks and softly says, “Oh dear… look at that face.” You slowly turn your gaze to his eyes and it is, indeed, the last needed confirmation.

Hollow. Empty. In a place only he could see.

“Seems like you finally remember me now, huh?”

Two days before Johan had shown you the fireworks up close;

Daddy saw you crying in your room after dinner while hugging the storybook Johan had liked the most—the one with a paper mache of matchsticks and flames as its cover. Aside from the grief, your mind was also occupied with the horrific flashbacks of your best friend full of freshly inflicted injection shots, utterly lethargic, unusually talkative, and debilitated with sorrow for the first time since you two had met each other. That night, Daddy cradled you to sleep; he reminded you of the things you could do for your dearest friend which includes his proposition: help Johan show you the fireworks up close. Daddy said it was Johan's utmost wish.

You didn't even know if it was true, but with your grief-riddled mind and desperation to be with Johan again and give him the things he truly deserves, you agreed.

“I went to Kinderheim today. Would you like to know what happened after Johan and you were separated?”

“What did he say? Please! Please tell me!”

“He begged them. He begged them to not let him forget Anna. Then, he begged to see you after. Even if he were to die, he would like to see you again.”

Oh, how it filled you with bittersweet warmth. Johan just said that it wouldn't matter anymore. He sounded so defeated, so tired, so ready and willing to die, and yet he still managed to beg them thereafter. At the same time, you were filled with anger with the monsters in Kinderheim, with the monsters who took him away from the one he mustn't forget. You vehemently hoped Johan could be strong enough at least until you see each other again. And maybe, just maybe, you two would be able to defeat the monster tormenting him along the way.

More than that, you felt Daddy to be a bit more likable than usual. Was it because he pitied his useless little child? It felt foreign but nonetheless warm. You wondered why your father had never introduced you to such pleasant feelings.

Nevermind, not like you have the capacity to think about it anyway. The important thing is not only did you finally know the name of the person Johan mustn't forget (Anna is such a wonderful name!) but you also are part of his wishes. How warm. How utterly warm it is to be loved. Daddy tucked you in bed and, instead of coldly leaving you as per usual, he read you the storybook you were clinging to for dear life—the one with a paper mache of matchsticks and flames as its cover.

When you wake up, your hands are tied together on your back. You're seated on the floor, legs sore, and have nowhere else to lean on besides the cold white wall.

The last thing you remembered was Johan's remark, ‘Oh look at that face. Seems like you finally remember me now,’ then, you fainted at the overwhelming dread. A buff man squats down to your level and reaches his hand for a shake. He introduces himself as Roberto. A man behind him, however, heaves a laugh, “You bastard. How could she shake your hand when you tied her up like that!”

Roberto chuckles while scratching his head. “My bad, my bad. I’m jus’ joking, jus’ tryin' to lighten up the room.”

Another man squats to your level, “How about you? What's your name?” You keep your head down the floor, ignoring the rapid heartbeat ringing in your ears out of trepidation. You've got the urge to spit at them out of spite, but they're holding guns. There are approximately six men inside this room that could overpower you if need be.

Due to your lack of an answer, the man then tries to touch your cheek only for Roberto to slap it away. “He said you're not allowed to do that, boy.”

“But doesn't it thrill you more to touch a girl when it's forbidden? Look at how pliant she is. Look at her gaze down like that. She surely knows her place, no?”

“Ah,” Roberto let out an exasperated sigh then stood up, a silent ‘what happens next ain't my business now.’ implied. Indeed, Johan sounded serious with that command but not that Roberto cares much about you to strictly implement that. “I warned you.”

The stranger holds onto your chin to tilt your head up. “Oh, isn't she a pliant lass?” but his smile is immediately replaced with a frown upon seeing you glare. “Come on, how about a smile on those pretty lips of yer’s—”

You spit on his face. The last thing expected of a ‘pliant girl.’ The man avenged his dirtied cheek out of impulse by slapping you hard; you fell to the floor.

Roberto shakes his head, looks at his watch, and nonchalantly walks away. He's got more important things to do than guarding some trivial girl so early in the morning. His fleeting irk, however, lies at Johan's reaction once he sees the bruise on your cheek due to these men who don't know any better.

Your mind, hazy with the slap, is further blanked out after a series of punches. They said something along the lines of ‘feisty bitch,’ ‘presenting yourself meek when you're no different from whores covered with spit’ and other insults that could make even a grown man cry. And yet you couldn't mind it much due to your dissociation. “The only reason we're not killing you yet is because he could have your body at his disposal to relax himself. The moment he fucks you ‘til it’s out of his system? Oh, you'll be so dead to us.”

Is this how these deranged men see your relationship with Johan?

“Would he even know if we were to lay our hands on this girl before he arrives?”

“Don't even try unless you want your head shot!” the other man barks. “Let him have his way first. We'll pass her one by one next.”

You see, even if they were to undress you this instant you wouldn't be able to scream because of how utterly hollow you feel. Defeated. Eyes devoid of light. Just waiting for the doom to arrive.

“What an interesting proposal.”

The familiar voice is more than enough to rattle everyone inside the room. No one even senses his arrival. The wicked smiles flush into something akin to guilt and horror, as if a grim reaper came to judge them of their sins. You almost flinch at how eerily benign his voice is, but his face, much emptier than yours, answers the question of what's about to transpire in this room.

“J-Johan—Sir, that's not what we—”

“Would you mind repeating what you just said?”

Everyone, including you, looks at him in horror. Is this somehow part of his deranged eccentricities? Does he plan to have all these men demonstrate what they mean when they say ‘passing your body around one by one after Johan's done with you?’

However, the men are too scared to speak. All their bravado lost, compared to how they talked about the things they've said mere seconds ago. Johan, on the other hand, seems to be losing his patience with their silence.

“Would anyone like to repeat what he just said?” However, instead of looking around the room for answers, Johan instead looks at you; his expression perilously unreadable.

No one dares to follow.

“It's okay, it's okay,” Johan assures the now trembling henchmen, “I quite like a good show, I must admit.” Johan’s eyes glisten at his own statement—an excitement if you squint—indicating that he knows exactly what he's talking about. It fills your gut with absolute dread. Johan's gaze turns to the man who insulted you and asks, “What was it? You'd like to pass and share her body around for everyone's pleasure, you say?”

Roberto shakes his head in dismay. He turns around the wall in disgust. Indeed he had seen much during his prime, but it certainly doesn’t entail liking it.

But seems like Johan isn’t taking it. “Why, Roberto?” he quips. “Not gonna watch?”

There’s a subtle undertone in his tease that sends shivers down Roberto’s spine—one Johan usually uses to reprimand him for his inadequacies.

“S-sorry,” Roberto’s voice comes off weakly at first, until he sighs, “too young for my tastes.”

The man shakily standing beside Roberto interjects, “S-sir, we were just—”

“Now,” Johan claps his hands together with much eagerness, ”anyone who’d like to do the same… how about you raise your hand now, hm? It’s only a once in a lifetime opportunity, after all…”

Their expression softens and one of them even lets out a sigh. Turns out he's not that angry over it, huh. The person stained by your spit is the first to raise his hand. Then the one who tried to stop him earlier in fear of angering Johan raises his hand next. The other one at the corner of the room meekly follows not long after.

“Good, good. No one else?” Much to your confusion, Johan's eyes didn't leave you. Instead, he subtly takes his time noting your bruises, one on your lip, two on your swollen cheeks, and a black eye forming on your right. Typical. No doubt they’ve been too rough with you for his and your liking.

And so you counted it yourself; one, two, three, four, excluding Roberto and the other man who seems too scared of Johan—almost everyone in the room undoubtedly wants to take their turn with you. It makes you want to throw up. How did the softest friend you know grow up like this, willing to stand back and watch as each of these men do what they will, like deranged animals in heat? If Johan, your dearest childhood friend, really grew up to be someone this unhinged, this—this—sick, then he—

Bang. Bang

You let out a high-pitched gasp. Your ears are ringing—

Bang. Bang.

You hear the thud of a heavy body slam against the floor. It’s—

Bang. Bang

Something wet splatters on your cheek.

You don’t need to move your eye to notice the crimson color of it. You don’t want to see it.

Johan honestly must've known better, though, because as much as these men fear him, they still are rotten to their core; they are mercenaries drawn to violence as much as he is even in a different manner. He’s usually amused hearing human beings’ downright tendency to depravity—it’s an innate nature he could never use against anyone. Just like how he had loved listening to his war veteran neighbor’s stories while his foster parents were out back in the day. The pain human beings inflict upon each other to assert dominance. It amused him to no end.

This is the only instance he had felt an actual disgust—a normal emotional response—to depravity. How interesting.

The last man who had raised his hand starts crying apologies to Johan on his knees (how utterly despicable it is that they're apologizing to him, not to you).

Bang. Bang.

One for the aim and one for a sure death. And that's it. His hands are not shaking, eyes devoid of glint—just how many people have gone under the mercy of his bullets? You could only ask yourself.

Out of five mercenaries trying to insult you before his arrival, Johan was able to establish a point with the only man left alive because he didn't dare raise his hand at the earlier question. He is visibly shaking, looking at the corpses of his then comrades.

And, as if there's no greater concern at hand, Roberto just rolls his eyes and whispers to himself, “Great. Another mess to clean up.” Oh, the more important things he would've attended to if not for Johan's strict temper today.

“A mess indeed,” Johan kneels to you, opens up a bottle of water, and lifts it to your mouth. You were forced to gulp down a bit of it, but you swat his hand away with your face, trembling. The water spills to the ground. Johan, as much as he lacks patience with others, is far from being perturbed this time around. Instead, he gets a white handkerchief out of his pocket and gently wipes the blood off your cheeks, “Would you like me to get you another? I know how thirsty you are right now.”

“Don't touch me,” you hiss at him.

Johan smiles amusingly. If he'd be perfectly honest, he had wanted to play a bit more with the arrangement you two had. You lowering your guard at him gave him the satisfaction he never once thought he'd have. It was so lovely watching you sleep, talk to him with ease, and every other benefit given to him after you foolishly trusted his version of Anna—something he wouldn't call fake because he is Anna, and Anna is him.

With the looming silence between you two, Roberto and the trembling mercenary take it as a signal to excuse themselves, thankfully so, for Johan asked something very personal.

“Do you remember everything now?”

You do not answer, not letting him control the emotional narrative the same way he does with your physical situation right now. However, you mustn't take this man lightly for you are yet to know the things he's responsible for—let alone how much control he holds over you and every element in your surroundings.

After five minutes or so, he adds, “Apologies, I suppose that's a bit of a heavy topic to start off, no? Let's start with a small talk, then.” He sits properly, facing your tied up figure, his head level with yours. “How about we talk about the Inspector and his perpetually smiling friend?” you try your best to not let the flinch on your face show. “I wonder, have you ever told them about the lovely mother cat and her kittens that used to live below our apartment complex?”

Your eyes widen. Your hands that are tied to your back start shaking in fear. Nevermind the fact that he just called your apartment ours. That is no small talk but rather a perilous warning. The floor may be dusty white, but this is an eggshell if Johan's around. One tiny step and everything would crumble. Their lives, as dear as they are to you, could turn into dust with a snap of his fingers.

“Have you told them what happened to the mother cat? To the kittens? You seemed to hold Mr. Grimmer in a much nicer regard than the Inspector. Were you close enough? Were you able to open up your grievances about the death of those cats, regarding their survival as nothing but fleeting fortuities?”

“I��” you start, gulping down the urge to throw up then and there, “I don't…”

“Hm?” Johan's head tilts. Benign, curious, just as if he's talking to a friend. “Come again? I couldn't hear you.”

“I haven't… remembered all of it… yet…” you bite your lips, swallowing your pride, trying your hardest not to cry. You hate being overpowered like this. You feel like you're in a session with Daddy and his colleagues again. “I haven't remembered everything yet. My recollections are staggered; it cuts itself midway, and sometimes it doesn't even make sense.”

The room is silent for a while.

Johan's the one to cut it off. “No worries, no worries,” much to your distaste, he touches the corner of your eyes with his fingers. You don’t even know when you started crying. “That's not something to cry for. I'm not like them. I'm not gonna punish you for failing to answer a measly question.”

His touch is light; one could wonder if it really took place. It's almost comforting too, or so he presents, because his remark just punched you in the gut. It means he knows everything. He knows every single detail about you, about what you went through, perhaps even those you're still yet to remember. After wiping your tears away, he suggests, “Then, don't you think I could help? Where do we start…”

What he said next didn't help you ground yourself at all—it didn't help you internalize that you're not in some session with the Kinderheim crew.

“Shall we start talking about the storybook you've always brought to me? The one that has a paper mache of matchsticks and flames as its cover?”

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SPECIAL MENTION TO @suusoh who helped me with this painstakingly long chapter. this has 7k words during the first draft and it's dragging so much I couldn't even bring myself to publish it but she saved my ass. ily kween mother. check her out!! my fave work of hers is this one KJSKSJKSJ

i tried making the POV consistent by narrating through your (reader's) lenses but i realized this story would go nowhere if we were only to rely on your usual absentminded ass (much to johan's benefit). no worries tho. character development coming right up next chap! also, we're almost done folks :D thanks for sticking through and being patient despite my slow updates!

get this ugly mf away from me

#johan liebert x reader #johan liebert x you #johan liebert x y/n #grimmer x reader #grimmer x you #grimmer x y/n #fanfiction #monster fanfic #johan liebert fanfic #johan liebert fanfiction #wolfgang grimmer x you #wolfgang grimmer x y/n #wolfgang grimmer x reader

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