#striking fear into the hearts of nobody with a name like that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whaledenwtf · 4 months

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Hello! This might be a weird request but what about Gale, Halsin and Astarion with a s/o who's super cute and friendly and overall just a gigantic sweetheart who also happens to canonically be horrifyingly powerful. Like potentially even more destructive than Gale and the orb. Enemies who know their lore turn and run just at the mention of them and their name strikes fear into many hearts but then the camera pans over and it's this short sweetheart of a person. Literally this post basically

Thank you so so much, I really love your writing! Also Happy Holidays sweetie! ☺️

I love this idea!! I made it headcannons so it wasn't too long to read! REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! Please ask more, I love writing things for people <3

REQUEST HERE

Headcannons: Astarion, Gale and Halsin with a super cute friendly S/O who's horrifyingly powerful

Warnings: None, this is just indulgent FLUFF, Minor Spoilers for Act 1 and for Gale and Astarion's Lore

Astarion

You were always sweet with Astarion, and only made him feel comfortable and safe.

After he told you he was a vampire, you accepted him despite everyone else telling you not to!

When you told him you could beat Cazador, he didn't believe you at first because of your sweet nature.

The first time he realized you were a legend was when you guys raided the Goblin Camp to save Halsin.

You initially told everyone your name was Tav, so nobody really knew who you were.

Every Goblin met their end with a swing of your weapon, gutting them before they blinked.

It scared your companions, honestly.

When you got to Minthara, you told her your name was (Y/N), and she backed away from you.

Astarion was confused until Karlach, Wyll and Lae'zel spoke of your legendary moniker.

Wyll may be known as the "Blade of Frontiers" but you were known as "The Walking Death" and that was thrilling for Astarion.

Every monster, creature and being met their demise when face to face with you.

Astarion was a slave for 200 years, only knowing the bare minimum from Cazador. But knowing you were on his side, and under his thumb, that thrilled him!

Once you apologized about lying to your companions, they all welcomed you in their arms, especially Astarion.

As he slowly falls in love with you, he realizes that he likes knowing his significant other is not only powerful and showed no mercy, but showed him life through another lens.

You show him that love doesn't make someone weak, but stronger.

You're powerful, and having you by his side makes him feel unstoppable as well.

He is very grateful for you. You will pull him from Cazador's clutches and stay with him through it.

Despite your sweet nature, you kicked ass. You saved everyone you could, which annoyed Astarion. But he loved you despite it, and always will.

After all, why would he run away from the first good thing to happen to him?

Gale

He was also confused about who you were right away. As a scholar he spent most of his time in books, rather than the battlefield.

Honestly, his mind was distracted between the Netherese Orb in his chest and Mystra.

When you pulled him out of the portal, he was struck by your kindness.

Then he was struck by your beauty when you fought valiantly for your companions.

He was excited seeing someone so powerful near him, and honestly fell harder.

After telling you what Mystra did, you told him you'd kill her.

He laughed you off, until he saw what you could do.

Now he's worried he won't have a goddess to worship.

Your battle prowess is astounding, and he can't help but admire you as you shout commands to your companions.

You always were gentle with Gale, soft touches and sweet nothings between you two.

He always finds it difficult to associate you with your title.

"The Slayer of Man and Beast" he's heard Lae'zel and Shadowheart call you.

You always chuckle and tell them "soon you'll have to add gods to that"

Now he's even more worried about his goddess

Over time, he considers you his goddess. After all, you've protected and respected him much more than Mystra ever had.

When he tells you about the Netherese Orb, you shrug him off.

"Nothing will keep me from you, not even a bomb."

Wow

When you two are alone, he caresses your muscles and your hands. He's in love with the idea of his significant other being this battle-worn individual set to protect him

Throughout your adventure, you remind him that you would protect him with your life.

"All for little old me?"

"Nobody will stop me from protecting you. No monster or goddess."

Man you really hate Mystra for hurting Gale so bad.

You dream about smiting her and protecting Gale in your arms.

While adventuring, you always keep Gale by your side. Everyone teases you for it until you shoot them a warning glance.

You're so so good to him. You take hits for him, heal him in battle, and heal him in the privacy of his tent.

"You're too good to me." He muttered once, eyes closed.

"You've never been treated right. It's my personal duty to make sure you never doubt yourself ever again." You replied, kissing his eyelids.

He just fell harder.

Halsin

He actually knew who you were before you saved him.

When you said your name, he bowed his head in respect.

"An honour to put a face to the name" He said to you.

You told him you loved how big and safe he was.

"You're the one who would keep me safe, little one."

He wasn't wrong. You've saved him multiple times throughout your adventure.

You were very sweet with Halsin, always leaning against his arms and closing your eyes when you sit together in camp.

He found it amusing, seeing such a feared individual be so innocent and kind with him.

In his 350 years of existence, he's never been so captivated by someone like you.

When he tasked you with eradicating the Goblin Camp, he enjoyed seeing the fear in Minthara's eyes when you said your name.

Despite being a druid, he knew that with life also came death. He accepted your past.

He found the juxtaposition of your personality endearing.

One day, he was in wildshape lounging around as a bear. You laid on him and spoke about different topics regarding your life.

In that same day, he saw you obliterate 20 goblins on your own.

He never thought he'd be aroused by someone killing goblins, but you did that.

You also knew all the spots to scratch when he was a bear??

Yes that's the spot. Right behind his ears.

He liked seeing the way you treat your companions with such kindness.

You showed respect and compassion to those who you find deserve it. You helped people find safety, and feel safe.

It was beautiful, the way you showed such love to those who were close to you.

He always compared you to the ocean.

"Why the ocean?" You asked him once.

"You can be calm, bring peace. But you are also wild, strong in the most beautiful way." He replied.

He enjoyed the way you blushed.

One time, you asked him to wildshape and you rode him into battle. Nothing is scarier than seeing (Y/N) "The Tempest" riding onto a bear.

Even your companions were scared

Ever since then, you always did it. It was like couple bonding, somehow??

Gods, he loves his little tempest

Hope this is as enjoyable for you guys to read as it was for me to write!!

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soapoet · 7 months

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how are you, october?

+3 Taylor Swift songs each because she's striving and so should you.

like & rb if it resonates ♡

Soapy scribbles: I already did a general energy reading for this autumn season here, but there's quite a bit of energies at play this autumn, so I felt the need to look at October specifically as it feels very important.

01.

Shufflemancy: Taylor Swift ‐ Don't blame me, I did something bad, Red.

How long have you kept the light on? Sitting there, staring at the door, waiting for someone who never seems to come? The radio is on, playing two stations at once. The flower petals all say maybe, not he loves me, he loves me not. You are frustrated and confused, yearning for clarity but outside the sun just won't rise and the only light is the one lit outside your house. Have you given your time at a discount, or is the free trial still running? Someone needs to draw the line in the sand further from the waves that keep washing them away. You want more, and for love to not feel like agony. Red is the colour of passion, both love and hate. I see you wearing their white t-shirt, your heart bleeding and staining it red as you watch them sleep. Safe and sound, whilst you howl to the moon. You're growing territorial. A desperate act to ward off the wolves that prowl your prey. You saw them first, but they don't seem to see you.

It seems as though your thoughts and feelings are silly until somebody else echos them, word for word, and then they're liquid gold. You're not a ghost, but you feel your outlines blur. Where do you end and where do they begin? You haunt their halls, but they're fast asleep and never notice a bump in the night. You've felt powerless, like the quietest poltergeist, unable to move and shake the silverware, never able to rattle the cupboards or the picture frames. Somebody treats you like they would give you their last name, yet make no such commitments, not a single step in that direction. It is all up in the air, and you feel like the rug beneath your feet will get pulled at any moment. Is it not tiring to lie awake, watching the shadows, wondering what beasts may strike if you let your guard down in slumber? Without certainty, you're the one in fear under the covers, certain it wasn't just the wind. Because in your experience, it never really is.

Do not sign the dotted line without examination of the fine print. Better yet, do not sell your heart and soul to someone who will keep you on a shelf, saved for a rainy day, but will not puncture breathing holes into the lid and care for you truly. Do not let yourself be kept for a season, wings clipped and left to asphyxiate in a jar. You have given enough benefits of the doubt, but nobody is so daft, so oblivious, they would not embrace love they find worthy and good. Do not let yourself be kept as an option or as something good enough until something better, new and shiny, comes along. Close up shop and demand full subscription for your time and effort. If they won't pay the price, you'll find better in no time whilst karma chews them out. Especially if you feel like you can't do better, or have felt like love keeps avoiding you and you're somehow faulty and too broken to be loved, there really is someone around the next few corners who won't play you like a game or stick around only in fair weather but your storms too. So don't settle, you deserve better than okay and fine and good enough. For a select few, there really is love here, but may be drowning in addiction or fears of some kind. Remember that you can't help someone who doesn't want help, because change is made when they want change. This change may very well be coming up in the near future, and wrongs may be made right slowly. If this is somebody you love, whether romantically or platonically, even in a familial sense, make sure you keep your head above water and put your own oxygen mask on first before helping another. You can extend a helping hand, but do so when they ask, not because you're expected to do it because you always have. New beginnings in old relationships are possible if you want it.

Additional details: Amethysts, Ayurveda, moths, mixed signals, love languages, uquizzes and other such tests, purple, blue, red, bus rides, tattoos, job offers, writing, poetry, thesis, message in a bottle, missing an ex, addiction, healing, birds and squirrels, starting over, second chances, reminiscing, old photos or journal entries or ig posts, synastry charts, girl in red, Phoebe Bridgers, Noah Kahan, Bishop Briggs, YA book series, maladaptive daydreaming, BPD, lighters, short trips, parties or other get togethers, double dates, life path 8, birthdays, sanrio, studying, Scorpio/Aries/Virgo/Capricorn/Pisces, 3H/4H/5H/12H, Saturn/Mars/Uranus, Lilith/Chiron, 25/89/222/555.

02.

Shufflemancy: Taylor Swift - Gorgeous, Paper rings, I think he knows.

Luck seems to be on your side, or it soon will be. After a long drought, you have stumbled upon an oasis. Prayers whispered in the dark, sometimes choked out by tears, are now proven to have been heard after all. Endless night and harsh winter is over, even though seasonally speaking it's right ahead of us in the northern hemisphere. In your life, however, you're coming out of a very long and hard winter. You have felt cold and lost, sometimes frozen in place, as though your icicle bones and frosted skin wouldn't let your body decompose when you thought you were dead. You were stuck up to your thighs in snow. Every step was a challenge, and harsh winds threatened you like frail branches bending and snapping in storms. Now the snow is melting, trampled into slush beneath your boots and making way for spring flowers to bloom.

Forward movement is happening in many areas of your life. New beginnings are popping up like wildflowers in a meadow for you to frolic in. You're making changes and changes are making you. Immovable objects begin to roll down the hilltop where you've felt stranded like a lone celltower sending and receiving signals. You may have felt in your heart and soul that the winds are changing. Your intuition has been wide open and receptive for some time now, hasn't it? But rooted in place unable to move you have felt unable to take action. That is changing now as not only can you move forward, but things you have wished for begin to arrive like ships to your shores. You sowed and nurtured the seeds and it is time to harvest your crops. If you have dealt with mental terrors and grief, you should see those slowly begin to heal, circumstances improve, and help becoming available to you and you finally feel ready and able to take it.

If you've been engaging in some good old fashioned yearning, know that it's a case of mutual pining. Someone whose freckles, birth marks, or scars you have mapped out like an astronomer the night sky in stolen glances has stolen just as many of you. Either one of you, perhaps both, have been closing doors as of late, gone through endings and made space for the new and found the keys to the doors once shut and chained and locked. There is a distinct sense of leveling up here, like entering a new region in a game at last when the requirements have been met, and you're now free to explore new and unknown territory. I see unwavering eye contact where before it was a game of cat and mouse. I see a church, two people side by side in the pews sharing quiet confessions. Words previously only thought find a voice and get spoken, not to the moon but the heart they were meant for. There can be some secrecy involved, but less like the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet it's keeping something sacred between two souls, keeping each other like an oath. Sheltering a flame, for some of you one rekindled, between four hands and promising to meet in the woods at night. This secrecy is not one grown from shame, but one of dedication. A solid foundation, a home and sturdy fortress is being built or rebuilt in the dark of the night so its eventual beauty and intricacies may be admired by all in the sun. You may have manifested this, or simply known this was inevitable. All you really had to do was accept it as fate and wait for it to unfold. This is a cozy kind of love, but also devout like two souls looking upon each other in reverence. It feels as close as it feels free. There's something to lean on but also room to grow. You hold each other tightly, but loosen the grip as needed, and always ready to catch the other if they fall. For some of you this marks the end of a third party situation, an entirely new love, and for others this is reworking an existing or past love with a new set of rules and making magic together after tough challenges.

Additional details: Full moon, abundance, sudden income, lottery luck, gifts, receiving or giving flowers, dancing, swimming, guided meditations, listening to higher frequencies, therapy or counselling, lists and plans, entrepreneurship, editing, finishing tasks, cats, rabbits and ferrets or rodents, pancakes and waffles, sunflowers and dandelions, espresso, heavy rain, holding hands, nostalgic scents or environments, coughing, PTSD, neurodivergence, artificial intelligence, fidget toys or stress balls, colouring books, arts and crafts, dainty jewellery, body language, law of assumption, dreams, blue, green, black, glasses, kpop, punk, indie, Stray Kids, Ateez, Dreamcatcher, Daft Punk, Sabaton, Avenged Sevenfold, Korn, Virgo/Leo/Cancer/Aquarius/Sagittarius, 1H/3H/5H/11H, Jupiter/Moon/Mercury/Pluto, North and South Node/Ceres, 12/13/33/555/888.

03.

Shufflemancy: Taylor Swift - The archer, Mean, Anti-hero.

Narcissus and Echo, a tragedy of old. You may have been at the mercy of fluctuating between the two. This can be a dance between you and another, or you and your own reflection. You may have pushed someone away. A friend, a family member, yourself, or an authority figure of sorts. Demanding they leave you alone, left them on read or never bothered to open their letters at all, after so long of clinging to their every word. Certain of your independence, a need to put yourself first, desperate self love wholly unrequited. Or perhaps you fought viciously for yourself, but your voice was never heard. As though you always needed someone else to speak your words for them to be taken as right and true. Perhaps you were sent on a glitched quest, "ask your mother" only met with "ask your father", leaving you in the uncertainty of the in between, alone and filled to the brim with unanswered questions and no sense of direction.

You have sought help, asked for assistance, asked all the right questions and really pushed your own cart forwards though it has been uphill. And something or someone always cast stones on your path forward, shoved stick between the wheels to make the process feel so hopeless. There are wounds that you bear that have been left unhealed for years. Still raw and bleeding you dry whilst you try to keep yourself together like cupping water in your hands as it spills through your fingers. But though your path is full of traps and spikes and is uncertain and winding, you know the way forward all within yourself. Because you carry with you the only light you need to find your way. You may cross paths with kind advisors who unseathe their swords to fight for you, and some of them may already be in your life. Those who see the injustice and tear down the thicket ahead to make way for you and protect you whilst you stitch your wounds and ready yourself for battle yourself. Accept the help, encouragement, and follow these kind mercenaries when you get lost. Allow them to carry your burdens when as Atlas you need a break from carrying the world upon your shoulders. Soon you'll be strong enough to do what you need to do. Be better, stronger, healthier, if not for you right now then for those who need you and cherish you and want you by their side in the quests of life. Eventually your actions will prove to be the best for you, and a faint portrait of a future you smiles upon your present self for your decision to keep moving forward.

If you need to put your foot down, do so in earnest. Shoo away guilt and shame, and let go of the idea that you must suffer in silence and weather unnecessary storms, speak when spoken to and follow another's commands so often not in favour of your own well-being. Fight your inner demons, but know you need not fight them alone. Dip a quill in ink and rewrite the rules. Break into the library which holds the book of life and black out that what does not serve you, and take ownership of your own story. If Narcissus treats you poorly, trample him under your foot on your way out the door. He is only a flower now and seasons change, and he will wilt and wither away as you no longer shine upon his petals.

Additional details: Violins, literature, art galleries, sisters and fathers, divorce, babies or children, psychotherapy, CBT, law, changing your name, lgbt+, jazz, classical music, Regina Spektor, Kate Bush, Tori Amos, Fiona Apple, borzoi, dog videos, playing instruments, writing a book, storytelling, unknown address, exotic animals, spiders, ED, OCD, teddy bears, squishmallows, studying for a test, doctor's appointments, funerals, chill covers/lofi, slowed/reverb/acoustic versions, subliminals, affirmations, lace, fuzzy socks or woolen socks, bruises, house plants, monstera, ivy, pothos, tea collection, cold hands, Taurus/Gemini/Libra/Scorpio/Capricorn, 2H/6H/8H/10H, Saturn/Pluto/Neptune/Venus, IC/MC, 17/23/95/11:11/000/444.

#pac #pac reading #pick a card #energy reading #intuitive reading #tarot reading #tarotblr #love pac #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #spiritual guidance #spirituality #love reading #soapy.post

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autisticmao · 1 month

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GENRE: i don't know... neutral ig? | first pov!

FEATURED: joel - expected.

WARNINGS: ooc

PROMPT: there's this man in etho's dreams, but he can't figure out why he is there

WORD COUNT: 890

Whenever I slept, I always had the same dream. It was of a male. The same male.

A male with brunette hair, a kelly green streak striking through his strands, umber eyes that glowed unwildly.

He always did the same thing.

He guided me to a table - a table that sat in a void, a void of nothingness. It was just us and that table. He would let me sit down on one chair first. The pillows of the chairs were soft, comforting to the point that you could easily sink into its fabric and wish to never leave it.

Then, the male with the kelly green streak would sit down at the other end, fiddling with the cream coloured cloth that sat atop of the hand-made tables rough surface, situating the folds and the corners to a smooth point for only just a minute, until he quietly hums to himself in approvement then he leans one arm onto the table. Elbow against cloth, his chin rest lightly, cupped in the palm of one of his hands.

His umber eyes strikes with piercing emotions I could never quite decipher, there was an edge to them I didn't quite understand, an unrecognisable feeling that didn't really sit well in my heart.

His lips would move. Words flow majestically like someone reading the most perfect poetry imaginable. But I could never hear what he was saying, except his words made my heart beat... in fear? Excitement? Sadness, or anger? I wasn't sure.

I was never sure, and I doubt these repeated dreams would ever let me be so. But by reading the movements of his lips, I can only see the pronunciation of my name. "Etho," he always called out.

It made me curious to what stories this stranger I thought I didn't know was saying, always causing me to lean forward in my seat, yet as I do, in synchronisation like the tidal waves of the sea, he moves back against his seat further more.

Arms then crossing over one another, a grin - one that would be unsettling to most, but in a strange way, I would find it comforting in a sickening sense that no person should - rests comfortable along his facial features.

This male would laugh minutes afterwards. Head rising up, leaning against the chair rest. His figure jolts to the chorus of his laughter. I would always wonder what exactly his laugh sounded like. Was it nice? Or perhaps was it manic? There are so many pitches that this male could possibly pull through by just his looks and actions.

By the time his laughter calms like the ocean during summer hours, he would have a hand beside him, his focus reels next to him, and his lips would move like as though he was talking to someone. Whenever I looked over, no one was there.

It was just us, the table set, and this lonesome void. Nothing and nobody else existed. No memories and no places to be.

It was us, and just us...

At that same time, food would appear on the table. The man with the kelly green streak would push a plate towards me, an assortment of food lies piled up so neatly. Meat and vegetables coloured together like the most beautiful art piece you can ever land your eyes upon. I was almost always too scared to pick up a fork and eat it, ruining the precious patterns.

The smell always reeled me in either way. Each smell was fresh and better than the previous bites I dig into, same with the tasts, and as I eat, I look up to see the same man joining me. The way he eats his food always makes me want to laugh. This male who gave off the vibes of a king, or perhaps a deity, was suddenly washed upon like a young child, tending to separate individual food with one another, giving looks of disgust to one half of his plate whilst the other half he couldn't help but dig in and eat very messily with.

That grin of his softened as soon as the fork met his tongue. His eyes would scrunch closed. The look reminded me of a puppy when they get head pats in the morning.

Perhaps I found it cute. Something that seems uncharacteristically for this male I dreamed of quite often.

And when food time was over, so was the dream. I could feel my body move without control, I try every time to pull at the strings of my body to sit back down. I wanted to learn more about this man I dream of every time I close my eyes to sleep.

My head would knock towards his. The male would wave at me, and I sent the same gesture back. He would say a short sentence to me. A sentence of three words or perhaps it four or five, but I never know what they quite were nor what was it I ever replied with back to the man, because by then, time is up, and I would awaken once again to begin my day and long for the dream that never seems to change.

I see this man in my dreams, but I can never find out the explanation as to why he is always there.

#oneshot #character joel and character etho #joel smallishbeans #ethoslab #ethoslab fanfiction #smallishbeans fanfiction #smalletho fanfic #smalletho #smallishbeans #double life #hermitcraft #hermitcraft 10

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kitorin · 6 months

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11:56 pm - 11th of November : s.akito

contents. shinonome akito x gn!reader, 2.485k words, fluff, no warnings really, rushed, mizuena mention

happy birthday to my love <3 wish i had time for a full fic but it is what it is

It's the dead of night when Shinonome Akito's night is interrupted.

The sky's pale blue was washed away long ago, by the brooding navy of the night, the sun bid the world farewell and traded places with the moon. Both inside and outside was desolate, with the winter wind's whispers and moths pursuing the weak light of the street lights being exceptions. Not even Ena was awake, for once sleep, due to lassitude's victory.

Typically, Akito refuses to sleep so recklessly, always brushing his teeth before a certain time and avoiding screens half an hour before bed. It was too late for his liking, fatigue rubs at his eyes, urging him to close them and fall into restful slumber.

But today's sort of special.

In twenty minutes (now nineteen) he'll turn seventeen— a mere year away from eighteen. He knows it's a big number, inching closer to graduation and eventually adulthood. He doesn't exactly feel thrilled, nor fearful. There's a sliver of yearning to be a carefree primary schooler again, other than that he felt quite stoic towards the matter.

Yet he still decided on waiting 'til midnight. Just for the sake of it, no rational or particular reason.

Borderline foolish, really. He'll feel a sense of achievement when the clock strikes twelve, then retreat to the blankets of his bed right afterwards.

Two taps sever the silence of the room, abrupt but loud.

Akito immediately looks up from his book to the door, instinctively. But his mother always notifies him with the gentle call of his name (while Ena yells at him instead), and his father simply doesn't bother with knocking. Ena passed out almost instantly when she came home (an hour or two ago), and his parents maintain a healthy sleep schedule.

"Yes?" He says, pushing his chair out of the desk, the wheels quietly rolling against the carpet. When he opens the door, he's met with nobody. A quick scan of the corridor produces no results. There were no footsteps, and no one in his family was immature enough to do knock and run in the dead of night (maybe Ena, but she wouldn't be bothered to sprint away).

Fear approaches him, its cold grip tightening around his chest. Suddenly he regrets watching Youtube videos about gruesome murders and true crime documentaries on Netflix.

With a shaky inhale, Akito prepares himself. He hasn't got the faintest clue from what, but he's ready to throw a front kick if needed.

The knocking happens again, this time a lot louder. Now it's obvious that it's not against wood, and cautiously, he turns to his window.

It's you.

The whole situation makes his heart skip a beat, both because you're perched on the window sill outside, and that he's not alone in his room (well technically, you were still outside).

Concern makes him act quick (especially with the shoulder bag you were wearing whilst precariously hanging onto the window), he opens the window and you're greeted immediately with a scolding when you enter.

"What the hell? Why are you here, this is the second fucking floor— Are you crazy?"

"Happy birthday!"

The ebullience reinforcing your voice catches him off guard, silencing reprimands. You were just saved from a highly likely (and fatal) injury, yet you're smiling as if you're on top of the world.

"Don't ignore me. How are you up here?"

You shrug, unfazed by his worry. "There's a tree."

"I can see that idiot. What you didn't was the things that could've happened. What if you fell down? I could've been asleep and no one would've been able to help you and—" Akito senses himself edging towards a mental breakdown, from the simple thought of something happening to you. Terror strangles him, and his words can't be uttered smoothly.

You seemed to take notice of this panic. "But I didn't fall. I'm okay. I wouldn't've done this if I wasn't confident in my own capabilities."

Unstable, though deep, he breathes in, focusing on how the air enters and exist. There was no need to think about what could've went wrong when the right thing already occurred.

He clears his throat, embarrassed at how emotional he got earlier. "Was a text not enough? Why'd you come here?" You didn't make an attempt to break in at An's house, nor Touya's or Kohane's. Why his specifically?

"Because today's special. It's your birthday." You unzip your bag, but instruct him before taking anything out. "Close your eyes, it's your gift."

He does as he's told, and he listens to your shuffling around the room and your possessions.

Electric guitar floods the room, accompanied by piano in the background. The tune rings a bell in Akito.

An entire stadium of ego, the wintry rationality.

Akito knows this song. Uninterrupted Indigo. Both the lyrics and music were created by Shishishishi (formerly known as Chosauce), there's two original versions of the song, one where the composer himself performed while the other featured Hatsune Miku.

But these vocals weren't the composer's. Nor Miku's

They were Akito's.

Heat permeates his cheeks rapidly, his eyes open without waiting for you to ask him to. He finally grasps input on what you're doing.

His record player is open and placed on his desk. The transparency of the case permitted the moonlight through, its pale complexion revealing the vinyl record slowly rotating in the dark.

Only now he just noticed that it was sort of the record player's birthday too. Precisely a year ago his mother gifted it to him, as his love for music was nurtured the more he spent time performing. Akito had told himself that he'd buy vinyls, but it completely slipped his mind (they were expensive, too). Streaming services were much more tempting anyways, their convenience were unmatched and he could listen to music whenever, wherever.

He only indulges in his own covers to review where he can improve, never for his own enjoyment. What is there to enjoy when it's the very reason why he struggles so much一why he's so unworthy of his dream that no one seems to have faith in.

Akito's about to say something, ready to criticise his vocals.

"I love this song, but I love the way you sing even more. It's my favourite. Anything you create, as well."

Suddenly the harsh things he wanted to say were gone.

He's heard you compliment him before, but each time feels just as magic as the previous.

"Did you know I fall asleep to this? I don't know if that's weird, but it's so comforting, the vocals and lyrics."

His voice, comforting? Being labelled as your favourite was surprising enough, but for his singing it be a source of comfort and joy almost made his jaw drop in disbelief.

Akito's scepticism of your words doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"I know you don't like your singing. And that's fine. But there are plenty of things I didn't like about myself too. Yet I love them now, thanks to you."

He knows what you're referring to, how when you mentioned suffering from self esteem, so he wrote something he found admired about you on a page per day in a notebook, 'til it was full.

"I wanted to do something similar for you too. Though I don't think I'm very good at it, I want you to view yourself the same way I do. Beautiful and perfect, just fine the way you are. Even if people try to accuse you of being any less."

Akito's heart throbs, both with appreciation and desire. Yearning blossoms within him, pining thorns strangle his heart as it frantically races. Teeth dig into his lips, and red pervades his cheeks for a reason other than hearing himself sing.

"If you like it, then it's more than enough for me. It makes me happy beyond words that you enjoy my music." He notices the record's case, a photo of him from when you went camping together, when you spent the night sleeplessly; roasting marshmallows and laughing until you struggled for air.

It's always you. You're the one who does reckless shit for his sake, you climbed up a tree to the second floor just to say happy birthday. You do the things you hate with a passion if it meant the slightest more comfort for him. It's always you who notices when his throat is overworked, or when tears threaten to spill.

It's only you.

The initial grin on your face dissipates, concern growing. "Do you have a fever? You're really red." A hand comes up to his forehead, and he's quite certain it reddened him even more. "You're heating up." Even when you're frowning he can't help but stare.

"And this is why I like you." Akito breathes out. He didn't want to confess, not yet, at least. Yet the words still found their way out, he might as well ensure they're told in the right way. "I can't help but want you more and more with each second. I can't think properly when I think of you, let alone when you're around."

The timing was horrid really, but though he'd much rather look at you in proper lighting, something about the shadowed room and sliver of moonlight highlighting your face is charming. "So then, may I be yours?"

This is what he means when he says he can't think. Look at him, confessing at midnight, on the day of his birthday, too.

"Of course." With a blink of an eye Akito finds himself wrapped in the warmth of your arms. "I like you too, Akito."

The weight on his shoulders which he didn't even noticed was lifted, finally free from his fear of awkward rejection. There's no more fighting his emotions to maintain composure in front of you, no more worrying about you accepting another as yours.

Now, turning seventeen didn't seem so bland.

"Thank you for tonight." He murmurs into your ear. Something inside of him pleads him to kiss you, whether it may be. But the mere thought of planting one on your cheek seemed impossible, let alone meeting his lips with yours. "Thank you for staying safe out there."

"Sorry if I scared you. Sleep now, you must be tired. We have a big day for you planned." And there it is, the cheery grin he'd never get sick of. "There's more to your gift too."

Akito doesn't want to sleep, not when his crush of over a year reciprocates his feelings. Lethargy was nowhere to be seen, right now all he wants is you.

"Mind if I pick up my bag later today? It's a lot easier to climb without it. The rest is just water and snacks I brought just in case, feel free to have 'em." You're already half out the window.

"You can't just like me back then leave."

"What do you suggest then?"

"Stay the night." He'll deal with his father's scolding. He'll answer all his mother's questions and he'll even tolerate Ena's teasing. If it meant you'll stay, that's fine (he doesn't feel alright knowing you're travelling late too). "Your parents are away, I'll deal with mine."

"If you say so then." Akito goes to his closet, where his futon is stored. You pull him away, almost making him fall over.

"We're sharing a bed, please? We did it at An's, why not now?"

But that was as friends, and he barely confessed a few minutes ago. "I'm fine with that." Adores and entertains the idea of it, though he doesn't know what to do. What if he's too cold? Kicks in his sleep? Snores?

You already indulge in his blankets, lifting them up to let him in, he accepts the invitation, and ends up regretting because his face is hot enough already.

You find your arms snaking around his waist. "Is this okay?"

The unfamiliarity of the contact flusters him, but he doesn't hate it. "Yeah, really good." His voice is a breathless whisper, a bit shaky from being so nervous.

"Can I do more?"

He nods.

Your chin is nestled on his shoulder, the sensation of your hair against his neck slightly ticklish. He can smell your breath, the saccharine scent of haichus and the other sweets you adore.

"Good night."

You mumble it back, and for the first time in a while, Akito feels at genuine peace.

"What are you studying in school?"

You list off your subjects with confidence, subtly hinting at success and awards in them, all while wearing a sweet smile.

"Mum, there's no need to interrogate them." Akito finally swallowed the large bite of pancake he was on, the rest of the dish shining in the dining room's light, soaked in maple syrup.

Mrs Shinonome didn't seem to care. "I need to know the kind of people you're hanging out with, you never bring anyone home. I've been worried that you didn't have any friends." Socially, he was doing fine, Weekend Garage was a much more appealing place to hang out, with the live bar and cafe. "They seem like a great influence. Studying difficult subjects and still doing well, they're well educated. I hope you start rubbing off of them."

"Akito, it's fine, really. She's fun to talk to." It was entertaining to watch her talk about Akito as a child, while Ena poked fun at them. She was sweet, complimenting your skin and marveling at your jewelry, while thanking you for being Akito's friend for so long.

He murmurs in response. "That's only because you saw baby photos of me." There was that too.

"To be honest my impression of you wasn't very nice. It scared me to see someone else in Aki's room." A sip of her tea, Akito's mother rests her chin on her palm. "How did you get inside? You didn't find the spare key or anything, did you?"

"Actually, I cl一"

"I let them in. I asked them sort of last minute. Y'know, waiting until midnight together." Ena watches Akito keenly, eating her pancakes as her gaze remains on him as he speaks.

"Awww, that's so cute." Ena comments with a grin. "So, how long have you been dating?"

Akito scoffs. "We're not dating dumbass."

"Then I guess y/n's holding your hand under the table because it's cold?"

"Ena, shut the fuck up, you haven't told Mum about being in love with Akiyama either."

The sudden change in atmosphere makes you purse your lips, the sight of what seems to be a war exclusively between siblings.

"Language!" Their mother scolds them, but too preoccupied to do it as she flips part of the table cloth up to see better. "You really are holding hands- And Ena who is Akiyama?"

You weren't the only one being interrogated that morning, the siblings exchanged heated words throughout their mother's quest to learn more. But amidst this chaos was you, chuckling in your seat at the ordeal.

taglist (send ask to be added) : @yuzurins, @pokkomi, @chigirizzz

#lowkey kinda ass AND unproofread but who gaf #i fell asleep while working on it (MY BAD)#shinonome akito x reader #akito shinonome #project sekai x reader #project sekai #akito #shinonome akito #pjsk #prosekai #project sekai colorful stage #colorful stage #vbs #vbs akito #prsk #prsk x reader

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dat-town · 2 months

Text

curse me out

never seen circus masterpost

Characters: cursed prince!Sunghoon & female reader

Setting & genre: magical realism au, fantasy au, reincarnation au

Summary: Many came to you over the years to get rid of their curses but nobody like Sunghoon.

Warnings: general creepiness of an eerie circus, ambiguous ending, blood, injury, implied past death, is a spoiler or a warning if i say it was inspired by enhypen concepts?

Words: 2k

i guess i will tag you in all of these @restlessmaknae

Some curses were better off untouched.

It was one of the first things you learned, just like prophecies were always up to interpretations and Ouija boards were banned for a reason. The other side was not to play with.

But you had an eye for curses. You looked at them like they were complex riddles waiting for you to solve them. Every curse had a little back door, a tiny loophole and that was where you came in: for the right amount of money, you helped people find that hidden exit, you helped them get rid of whatever made them struggle. Be it a curse for terrible luck, no love or some sort of disfigurement. Some curses could only be undone by the shaman or witch who put them in place but you had many connections and you knew how to strike a deal. You got yourself your name when you joined the circus, you were called the cursebreaker as if it was something unique when in reality you were just a witch with a keen interest. One of your kind in the always on the move circus.

Some people didn’t even know they were cursed, they blamed things beyond their control on such silly things as fate or beat themselves up for not being able to change when there was nothing humans like them could have done. With those cases, it was you who seeked them out, drawn to their curse like a moth to flame. But sometimes people found you. They heard rumours about the disappearing circus and the cursebreaker inside. They were always desperate ones with dark curses.

But no darker than the boy’s who walked into your tent that day.

The bell chime made you look up from where you sat, meditating, and you felt air being sucked out of your lungs.

Oh, for hell’s sake, he was beautiful.

The boy was tall and wide shouldered. He had raven black hair contrasting against his clear, pale skin. His eyes were just as dark as his locks, highlighted by his all black outfit, his long coat swirling behind him from the outside wind blowing. Despite his youthful features, he held himself with ageless elegance like a prince. It gave his soft features sharpness and coldness to his demeanour.

You blinked when he took another step closer and his curse was suddenly all too clear in front of you. Most people’s curses clung to them like leeches but not his. His was pulsing, like a black heart, like it was keeping him alive. Like there was no him without the curse.

“I can’t help you,” you told him straight away, without any polite greeting. You shot up from your place, meditation long forgotten. You weren’t afraid of him but you didn’t want to experience his rage either when he found out why you refused to help him.

“What makes you think I came for your help?” Your guest raised an eyebrow challengingly while watching you equally intrigued but it only made you confused. Why else could he have come to your tent?

“Did you come to kill me then?” You asked, unwilling to show fear.

“No,” he flashed you a smile, his thin, rose coloured mouth tilted upwards in a lazy slope. It should have been dangerous yet it somehow made your heart flutter. “I heard you can see how curses unfolded, their maker.”

“You want to know who made you like this.”

It wasn’t a question, it made sense.

“I have waited for a long time to meet somebody like you,” the beautiful boy sighed, resigned, sounding much more tired than somebody who looked his age. But looks weren’t everything, you knew that. “So tell me, were the rumours about you true or not?”

“Take a seat,” you pointed at a pillow on the ground as it was as good of an answer as any, then you followed in suit, sitting across from him after lighting some scented candles while he was looking around curiously.

From up close, he was even more beautiful, perfect porcelain skin and those enticing eyes but you knew better than to fall into his trap. It didn’t mean you were immune, not when he smelled like sandalwood and leather and something rich and sweet.

“Give me your hands,” you told him, extending your own hands, palms up, towards him. He did as you asked, his cold skin grazing yours sending a shiver down your spine. You closed your eyes and focused on the pulsating darkness around him.

“You are very old,” you blurted out at the first image slipping into your mind about castles and a different era. You could hear the not-so-boy laugh.

“Huh, I don’t hear that everyday. Didn’t you know that’s a rude thing to say?” He teased and you felt yourself blush. At least, with your eyes closed you didn’t see his expression when he noticed.

“You are a prince,” you whispered as you saw him wearing a crown, sitting on a throne, people bowing to him.

“I was,” he confirmed quietly.

Prince Sunghoon. He’d had a lavish life but he had lived in a turbulent era. His position and power had been threatened by not only neighbouring kingdoms but power hungry men of his own too.

And there had been a girl too. Not a princess but a commoner, a shaman’s daughter. You saw the two of them met in an alcove, her hiding him from traitor knights, her tending his open wounds. The curse felt familiar with her. You felt familiar with her.

Your eyes snapped open and even though your guest couldn’t know what exactly you saw, he looked at you knowingly. As if he expected this.

“I lied before,” he admitted slowly as if he was weighing his options, like he was afraid of your reaction. “Actually I waited for a long time to meet you.”

You gulped and pulled back your hands, briefly wondering whether you had enough time to retrieve a weapon even though the immortal being claimed that he didn’t want to kill you.

“Even if my ancestor did something to you, it has nothing to do with me,” you said, defensive, not sure what on earth this cursed prince wanted after centuries had passed.

“That depends,” he mused. “What exactly did she do?”

You remembered the blood from the vision. The black magic. The girl’s sacrifice. You felt justified to take her side, to displace the prince’s baseless anger. Surely he couldn’t have wanted to die instead of the life he had gotten.

“She saved your life. She died for you.”

Sunghoon’s pretty mouth twitched.

“My life was worth nothing without her,” he said, melancholic, and that was when you realised what he meant. He had loved her. He didn’t want to know what had happened because he was hungry for revenge but because he wanted to know whether his feelings had been reciprocated. After all these years though? You were surprised that he was so adamant.

“Make sure to remember it in this life,” the immortal prince told you but his words only left you confused once again. Why should you have remembered that?

“I… what?”

“You told me there would be other lives, chipmunk,” he smiled and his voice softened like expensive silk.

You were fairly sure that nobody had ever called you that and yet, the pet name brought up memories you didn’t even know you had buried inside you.

“Did you come to punish me, Your Highness?” You didn’t even bother looking up from your work table full of herbs, your mouth set in a small smile.

“Do I look like a tyrant, chipmunk?” The prince put a hand over his heart, feigning being scandalised. “Though maybe I should as you stole something very valuable from the kingdom.”

“Did I now?” You looked at him, amused, knowing very well that he would have never hurt you.

“Yes, my heart,” Sunghoon smiled as he whipped a single rose out of nowhere, holding it out for you.

It became a common affair: meeting the prince in secret but eventually it was bound to be found out.

“Father,” you yelped in surprise when you came face to face with your elder after saying goodbye to the boy who ruled your country. Your father looked at you with grave concern, so you were sure he knew.

“It won’t end well,” he warned and you didn’t need to ask to know what he meant.

Maybe you should have given his words more consideration. He was a shaman after all. But you were too taken by the boy with the most adorable moles you had ever seen to care about warning signs.

“Your Highness,” you gasped in horror when you saw Sunghoon at your threshold covered in blood.

“I… didn’t know where else to go,” the prince coughed up as he leaned his weight against you once you opened the gate wider and let him inside. It was scandalising to do such a thing so late at night but you didn’t care about neighbour gossip, not when Sunghoon was dying on you.

“What happened?”

“It was a trap. An ambush,” he forced out between gritted teeth, his beautiful face pained and you wondered how much of it was physical and how much due to the facts that he couldn’t trust in his allies anymore. He had doubted their loyalty before but the fact that he came to you instead the royal physician told a lot.

You laid him down, his skin already feverish and sweaty, blood dripping down on his pale neck. He was the heir to the throne and yet, he looked so fragile like that. You were familiar with your father’s shaman practices enough to know what he needed to be saved and you knew what the cost was but no price was too high to save him. So you gave him your life and many others. You gave him eternity.

“Sunghoon.”

His name rolled off your dry lips like a plea and familiar despite not even remembering a few moments ago. You stared at him in disbelief, your past self trying to keep herself atop of your conscious memories.

“We never stood a chance,” you told him because even if you had stayed alive, your love had been impossible. A prince and the shaman’s daughter? You had believed you had done him a favour.

“Like star crossed lovers, I know,” Sunghoon nodded and reached out, his pretty pianist fingers grazing against your arm, making you shiver once again, this time more pleasantly. “But what about now?”

“Now… I will die of old age one day and you won’t. Your curse can only be undone by death itself,” you told him, trying to keep level headed no matter how hard it was to think near him. Was immortality really a curse? It was, if you had to see your loved ones dying.

“Then let it take me too with you. I have lived long enough. I don’t want any more countless lives, I only want this life, with you,” he said and it was the closest thing to an I love you you have ever heard.

How could you have said no to that? Your job was to break curses after all even if his was your own making. Even if it cost both of your lives. Because you understood it, a simple life was better with him than forever without him.

“I guess, we have a lot to make up for before that, Your Highness,” you smiled and slid your fingers between his, something you would have never dared before in the positions you had been.

“I guess, we have,” Sunghoon smiled too as he brought your hand to his mouth and hinted a kiss over your knuckles, making you blush deeply, blood roses blooming on your cheeks.

Some curses were better off untouched.

And some curses took centuries to come full circle.

#series: never seen circus #enhypen x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon angst #enhypen angst #stories #guess who managed to write this without mentioning vampires once

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fallenclan · 4 months

Text

An Otter's Song

a fucking FANTASTIC poem by dice anon!!! he submitted it and asked for it to be posted, so he could stay on anon, so I will put it under the cut :) it's SO fucking good holy shit

An Otter's Song

He wasn’t known for his knowledge, ever.

A kitten, adopted by

Scorching skies and stinging nettles,

was known.

He was perceived

And seen.

He existed.

Ivy leaves curled around his chest once

Suspicion making his eyes water.

Flashes of lanky reeds drifting in the breeze

And ivy leaves snaking through his bones.

The scorching skies and nettles protected.

The kitten, happy

Began his journey.

A crow’s feather in his paw

A grin on his face

And those eyes.

Yellow, gleaming white and blue in the sun.

The scorching skies once remarked it was akin to the light

Of the brightest fire in the sky

Glimmering across a frozen landscape

The sky cracks momentarily

And tears fall.

Nettlestem’s eyes, wide with fear.

Dog bites, huge and deep, cover her body.

The kitten, aged enough to grieve right, weeps.

His mama has passed

And it’s the first time he’s seen his mother cry.

Otterpaw wasn’t known for knowledge, ever.

He was seen as a playful cat

but one laced with a deep-cutting sadness.

He was perceived and seen.

He didn’t think he could exist like he had before

But he’d survive.

Not live, but survive.

Maple leaves covered his pelt

And the sun freckled the ground where he trained.

Training upon the cliff sides of the peak

He almost slips.

He gazes behind him and sees it for the first time

Practically stalagmites, the stones rise upward as if

To touch the stars

The distraction gives Maplethorn

A chance to dodge the next strike

Otterpaw almost falls, unbalanced.

Maple leaves push him back up from the cliff sides

And save him from those unforgiving spires.

A golden lion stands atop a stone

And gazes down upon him.

He is perceived in this moment

But not understood.

Otterslip.

He runs quickly, and was named for that.

But all he can think of are those rocks

That spiral up and down.

That pierces his dreams

And makes them bleed.

He runs and runs and runs and runs and–

An eagle’s call stabs into his heart.

The sun almost blinds him

And he practically falters.

He rips and rends into its flesh and feathers

And it falls.

The sky rushes around him as

He panics to get to his paws.

It feels horrible and the wind

Seems to be punishing him.

The sun blinds him.

The scorching sky does nothing.

Waltzes past without real care.

Blood stains Scorchstar’s mind.

Her scream is still echoing in her ears.

Reverberating and curling around her mind.

She cannot and will not

Forget it.

Otterslip was a fast cat, able to scale the cliff sides,

Quietly,

Quickly,

And efficiently.

He had to.

It could be a life or death moment.

Something snaps as hail beats down on him

And he lets it.

The scorching skies have

Stopped giving him warmth.

In her final gasping moments

She confesses to her son.

She killed the sun and snuffed it’s flames

And she made sure nobody knew.

He watches her, expression blank.

There was time to get help,

But Scorchstar refused it to make things right

With the stars.

She will remain among them in death

And he will not.

He snakes among the grasslands, claws out.

He needs to be angry

And to let it all out.

He hunts for a cat to hurt, and finds none.

Although, he does find three kittens

And they are hidden with plants.

Grass sways in the breeze, thick with dewdrops.

Yew berries dip low, heavy with their own weight.

Ivy, like before, winds upward.

It is not within his bones. It never will be.

He was perceived and seen.

He existed.

And he will make sure he is known.

A storm rumbles high above.

Whispers curling around his ears.

The wind rushes around him

Like before,

But now it is tainted with hostility.

Eyes blink open around him.

He is witnessed

And he is monstrous.

A dog’s snapping jaws, foam dripping red around it’s

Slobbering jaws.

Grasses torn up

Roots dislodged and ravaged.

Ivy leaves curling around

Weeping and crying.

Yew berries

Dripping with dewdrops and tears.

A dog has ruined his life.

The wounds of Nettlestem are seared into his eyes.

The gasping breaths of Scorchstar are whistling in his ears.

The scent of that crimson blood of Grassroot in his nose.

He lashes out, and the cliffsides rise up to greet him.

The storm rumbles, but ceases.

It’s screech echoes around the stones

It’s eyes stare as the sickening

CRACK

Echoes around the land.

He tastes iron on his tongue.

The storm has ceased.

Like his mother before him had snuffed out

The sun.

He runs.

He was named for his speed.

He stumbles.

Slipping on his past.

His eyes, once honored for their beauty

Are bloodshot as he yowls out.

The golden lion watches, horrified.

Like before

Otterslip is witnessed.

He is seen.

He will never be understood.

His flesh, destined to be meat and bone

And nothing else.

Otters are predators after all.

They must be dealt with.

The lion roars

And he runs.

He feels the thick light of the sun on his back

And he cannot tell if it is the damnation of Sunwish

Or the regret of his mother.

It doesn’t last long though.

Rain begins to beat down, thick and heavy.

Bulging with regret and woven with the scent of smog.

And those eyes.

Yellow, gleaming white and blue in the sun.

The scorching skies once remarked it was akin to the light

Of the brightest fire in the sky

Glimmering across a frozen landscape.

The fire is gone

Smoldering.

There are dancing colors in his vision.

Bismuth in nature and reflecting off each other.

He cannot remember where he is.

Blood stains his paw.

He shifts it, and pain fires up through his leg.

His leg aches.

The stones around him are gleaming with

That shimmering crimson.

That crimson that stains every moment of his life.

He looks back on his memories, operose.

Viscera and gristle stain his mind

And he feels guilt.

He does not know if he should.

The sanguineous nature of the clans

Stain his judgment, clouding it.

He is blind

And he is exactly what StarClan wants in a victim.

He stands before the stars.

Their judging gaze pierces him.

He is witnessed.

He is truly seen.

Every aspect of his life, examined.

Every action, weighed and debated upon.

The scorching skies say nothing.

The stinging nettles accuse her son of those crimes.

He will not get a chance to defend himself.

The stars will never understand him

And he will not try to get them to.

He doesn't understand himself.

All he knew is that there was a storm.

And that it beat down and oppressed him

And its winds spread lies.

But it was gone.

It’s eyes and lies

Dead by his own paw.

He is witnessed.

The trees branches wind around him

Bark snapping and curving around his pelt.

He screams.

He thrashes.

He cannot escape.

He speaks to another cat, one last time.

“I’m sorry! I’ll do anything, please!”

Stormsight watches, guilt clear in his eyes.

Otterslip screams.

Sinewy strength beats back at the branches.

“Let me see my daughter! I want to say goodbye!”

Grassroot does not appear.

Otterslip, lachrymose to a pathetic extreme

Wails for his life.

“Let me try to be better!”

The branches tug at his pelt.

“I’ll do good!”

Thorns stab into his brown pelt.

“This is not mercy!”

He screeches and sobs.

“This is DESECRATION!”

He roars.

The trees claim him.

His fatal wounds bleed

With a thick dark fluid.

It is practically oozing from his pelt

And from his open flesh.

There will be no storms here.

There will never be any sun

And no plants will sprout.

The ivy leaves that once woven around his bones have died.

The stinging nettles in his fur have shriveled.

The scorching sky has ceased its warmth.

The grasses, unrooted before, are gone.

The yew berries have rotten.

The ivy around his paws has crumbled.

He walks onward.

The red forest follows.

Its silence is oppressive.

A crow’s call makes his ears perk.

He looks up

And a new sight is before him.

A hazy image of the sky

And unfamiliar cats.

He turns away, lashing his tail at it.

He feels some of his feathers slip from his tail

And he turns to pick them up.

The image is gone, and so have the feathers.

Realization slams into him.

He is dead

But he still has power among the living.

And he will have to use it

To live again.

He was once witnessed

And he will inflict that pain upon another.

i wrote a snippet of this as propaganda for the favorite cat poll but then realized that it was actually turning out okay, so i finished it :3

#fallenasks #dice anon #fallenfic #THIS IS SO GOOD AUGHHH #'otters are predators after all' im biting

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restlessmaknae · 8 months

Text

heart says yes [serim]

''i didn't know where else to go'' + "let’s get you cleaned up'' with bad boy!Serim

➳ Characters: implied bad boy!Serim x female!reader/you

➳ Genre: slice of life, angst

➳ Words: 1.7k

➳ Warning: mentions of bruises, blood, treating wounds

➳ A/N: This story was requested by @tsunchani for my request event, so I hope you enjoy it! ❤️Since you haven't specified the hurt comfort prompts, I've chosen the two mentioned above. Plus, I think this story fits the bad boy!au better than a mafia!au that you've specifically requested, but you can still see it as a mafia fic if you wish since there are no specifications said about Serim's identity.

You can still request stories for the event: you can find the guidelines here and the masterlist here.

➳ CRAVITY taglist: @tsunchani, @dat-town

Serim was like a shadow around the corner shop you worked; he was usually invisible, but you could feel him lingering there. You welcomed him coming in time and time again, but he was always pretty quiet, so you didn’t try striking up a conversation with him. You didn’t even assume that he could have it in him to stand up for you against some thugs who had come in for alcohol, but he did so, and something akin to fear lingered in the air when the men noticed who had spoken up.

That was the day you got to know his name. You wanted to thank him somehow, so you said that his purchase was on you, but he insisted that it wasn’t necessary. Somewhere along the way though, you introduced yourself, and he did the same, but he did it so carefully as if he was afraid of letting you know who he was that you didn’t push him for more questions.

The subtle signs were always there - him wearing all black clothes all the time, the loose ones that allowed him to get away from the curious eyes because he got lost in the darkness of his garments; his fingers dressed in calluses, a hint that he was working with his hands a lot; him always paying by cash and coming here late enough at night to not bump into anyone but you most of the time; and being as reserved as one could be -, but you didn’t pay attention to them. To be precise, you didn’t want to. This might not have been the safest neighbourhood, but he looked as harmless as one could be with his unruly midnight black locks frequently getting into his deep, dark eyes, his words gentle and soft-spoken when he exchanged a few meaningless words with you at the counter, and his subtle acts like leaving the change behind for you or leaving a bottle of ginger tea on the counter when he noticed that you were quite raspy due to a cold.

He was always there, swimming around the edges of your pond - a constant presence, though not yet a permanent visitor -, and you gazed at him from afar because you were similarly afraid to get too close. You were afraid that if you did so, you would get drowned, the waves crashing down on you, and keeping you down, down until you heaved your last breath. Though the bottom was as alluring as it could be…

Then, one night, a motorbike parked on the pavement before the store, and everything changed. It was after closing hours, and you already put the ‘closed’ sign on the door. You just started counting the remaining cash to let the colleague in the morning shift know how much was the starting amount when you heard shuffling from the staff room. Nobody else was supposed to be there, except you, so you held your phone in your hand, your fingers hovering over the quick emergency call button as you made your way to the back of the store. You remembered closing the back door of the staff room that led to the outside area after you had taken out the trash, so your boss or a colleague might have come in with a key or someone had broken in from behind.

With shaky breaths, you turned the doorknob and flung the door open, your fingers itching to push the emergency call button before you recognised the figure crouching by the supply shelf.

“Serim!” You breathed out, both relieved and concerned, as you pushed your phone into the pocket of your jeans. The boy looked up when you called his name, and the fresh burgundy bruises painting the pale canvas of his skin made your heart churn. His words even more so.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted, his voice coming out hoarse. Your brain might have told you to stay away from him, especially when he showed up unannounced at your workplace after probably being beaten up, but your heart was in control, and it didn’t let you send him away. Instead, you found yourself saying:

“It’s okay,” you tried with a reassuring nod, but you weren’t sure whether you were trying to ease his nerves or yours. Yet, despite your heart hammering away rapidly, you crouched down to be at eye-level with him, and pushed a few stray locks out of his eyes, revealing even more dark patches underneath. After examining his bruises, your eyes found his orbs already boring into yours, and for a moment, you felt yourself falter, falling into that sea of oblivion. It would have been so easy to not object, to give in to that tension that sparkled between you two, but you couldn’t sway. At least, that was what your brain told you. Your heart was telling a completely different story.

You cleared your throat, detaching yourself from the mystery that his eyes were, and announced:

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up!”

Even if the boy wanted to disagree, you were quick to search for the first-aid kit that you kept in a locker among other supplies that you or your colleagues might need for work. Sometimes you might cut your fingers or crash into a shelf, so the first-aid kit was always much appreciated, and it was usually fully packed, much to your relief.

You shuffled back to the boy with the first-aid kit in your hand, and you were surprised to find him standing as opposed to his previous crouching position. Upon seeing it, you hesitated a bit, but then the boy with the most beautiful midnight-black eyes broke the silence:

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, resigned, his words coming out like a goodbye, a choice, a crossroad. Something in you told you that he genuinely didn’t expect you to help, he just didn’t know where else to go, but it hurt for you to hear it from him - like he had already given up on you and on himself.

“But I want to, so I will!” You announced, a bit more indignant than you would have expected from yourself, and in the surprised glint of his eyes, you could tell that he was just as perplexed by your confident response as you were. Maybe that’s why he didn’t object when you asked him to sit on the nearby chair, so that you would have a better access to his bruises.

You tried hard not to concentrate on the way his eyes were constantly following your moves as if he was still doubtful that you would go along with it, but you diligently cleaned his bruises as best as you could. You had never had to tend to bruises like these ones before, and you were sure that Serim would comment on your lack of experience, but he stayed quiet. He only grumbled when you started putting antiseptic on his wounds.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be quick,” you promised, and he nodded. The bruise around his lips seemed like the most painful one, no wonder he made an inaudible sound when you put the cream on it. Simultaneously, the boy grabbed your left arm - that you left hanging by your side - to hold onto it while you were working on him, and his grip was so desperate that you felt your stomach drop.

Serim had always seemed so strong, so powerful, someone who wouldn’t need the assistance of anyone, let alone yours, but now he was holding onto you like his last piece of hope, and you had no idea whether that should comfort you or torn you apart even more. You didn’t even know whether you should pay attention to the crazy beating of your heart or the way your stomach was twisting and turning with both fear and anticipation.

“It’s done,” you said when you finished with the antiseptic, and as he looked up from his eyelashes, his fingers still holding onto your wrists firmly, his lips bruised, his face covered in a palette of purple, red and blueish colours, you had the urge to hug him, to tell him that it would be okay, to caress his wounded cheeks. Did you have the right though? Would he let you?

“Thank you, really.”

“It’s okay. You’ve saved me from those thugs sometime ago, we can say that we’re even now,” you croaked out, hoping to put together a coherent sentence when all you could think about was the gentle darkness of his eyes, the way a miniature version of you reflected back in them as if it was so natural and the abyss of him that you wouldn’t mind getting lost in.

His lips twitched and you didn’t know whether it was because of the pain or your words, and he didn’t say so. You merely gazed at each other, the moment stretching long and heralding something more, something different, something vulnerable between you two. The urges in you grew stronger, and before you could realise what you were doing, you were already reaching for his other hand that wasn’t holding yours, and gave it a light squeeze.

Serim looked surprised for a few seconds, but then he looked at your hands in a different way - he seemed thankful, touched even -, and when he spoke up, gentle and soft and warm like a blanket on a cold night, you breathed in his words, letting them fill your lungs and heart.

“Can we… can we stay like this for a few more seconds?”

Anytime, you wanted to say, but the words died on the tip of your tongue, so you merely nodded, and let him hold onto you just like you were holding onto him.

Maybe, just maybe, no matter what your brain was trying to tell you, your heart would still go for him, fight for him, care for him, and if you had to choose between the two in that moment, you would follow your heart.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this story of mine! Let me know what you think!

If you want to read more stories of mine, let it be for CRAVITY or for other artists, consider signing up for my taglist here.

Hope you have a lovely day/night! Take care! ❤️

#serim scenarios #serim imagines #serim x reader #serim x you #cravity imagines #cravity scenarios #cravity x reader #cravity x you #serim angst #cravity angst #restlessmaknae's request event

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anne-chloe · 4 months

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Darling Girl

Draco Malfoy x F! Reader [With slight x Harry Potter]

Summary : [Name] Darling is the youngest daughter of Aurora and Maximus Darling - two powerful witches and wizards who aided in the downfall of The Dark Lord himself.

When [Name] turns 11, she finally gets the chance to attend Hogwarts. During her 7 years of studying and learning to become the greatest Witch possible, [Name] must overcome a series of challenges, dangerous situations and the possibility of loving the enemy.

{This story has intense slow-burn. There is basically zero love for Draco in the beginning. Some sparks of feelings half way through. And basically full blown romance at the end. There may be drabbles of some Harry x Reader, but for plot purposes.}

01 | Darling

Year One

Stepping onto the London train platform, you listened cautiously to the bustling noise. New and returning students congregated around The Hogwarts Express steam train, sharing goodbyes with their families before hustling their trunks onto the loading train.

Your palms sweated as you gripped the trolley handle with complete nerves. Your heart thumped wildly. This was it, you thought with darting eyes, taking in your surroundings, my witchcraft journey starts today.

Behind you trailed your adoring parents, both of them sharing loving whispers and laughs, unaware of their nervous child in front of them. They spoke of their fond memories at Hogwarts only a decade earlier. While they spoke, they were also oblivious to the excited whispers of the wizard community surrounding them.

"Mummy," you finally said, coming to a halt as you neared the loading bay of the train. You spun around to face your parents, hair billowing over your shoulders in a graceful manner. Your bottom lip wobbled, fear striking your chest and making it almost difficult for you to breathe.

You would be embarking on this journey alone. Without the constant support of your parents. They would be so far away, on the other side of the country. How would you possibly cope?

"Mummy," you repeated, voice trembling, "I don't know if I can do this."

Aurora paused her conversation and shared a worried stare with Maximus. Aurora moved forwards and crouched down, taking your hands into her own and rubbing her thumb in soothing circles on the backs of your hand. You relaxed at the loving touch, trying to focus your mind on the comfort.

"My darling daughter," Aurora cooed, "nobody ever achieved anything without feeling a little fear. Have faith in yourself. Explore this new chapter of freedom and growth." Her hand released yours and reached ho to touch your cheek; you melted into the caress, tears glossing over your eyes. "Write to me about your adventures, about the memories you shall make and the friendships you will form."

You straightened your back, puffing out your chest in an attempt to embody some bravery. You felt a little more eased than a few minutes prior, but your knees still felt like jelly.

Maximus crouched next to Aurora, a bright smile stretched across his face. You were in awe at how beautiful your parents looked together. "Do not fear, little darling, we might not be with you at Hogwarts, but we are always at the other end of paper and quill."

Your mother leaned forwards and placed a gentle kiss upon your forehead. "Be extraordinary," Aurora whispered, her eyes full of love and adoration.

The final whistle sounded from the conductor. Aurora and Maximus shared an excited smile before they stood to their true heights. You bid your parents one final farewell, a restored excitement and confidence urging you to board the train alongside your fellow peers.

You rushed to the nearest window and immediately peered out in search for your parents. They stood where you had left them, fully in view and crowded by many other families. They caught your stare and waved, your mother blowing kisses and your father shooting a supportive thumbs up.

And as the train began departing from the station, you found your anxiety returning. This entire journey would be new and unfamiliar. You would experience new things by yourself, and you were trying to remain positive for the uncertain future.

It was roughly ten minutes later before you finally detached from the safety of the window. The other students had settled down into cosy cabins or train carts full of tables. Everyone had found a place, meanwhile you were struggling to discover somewhere to sit. You didn't recognise anybody; anyone who briefly glanced your way didn't offer much of a friendly smile.

Then, just as you were losing hope, you came upon a slightly empty cabin. Inside sat a lone blond boy, his attention diverted outside the passing scenery through the window. He glanced up as you opened the door, his blank canvas of an expression painting into surprise. He caught his composure, a small smile lifting his mouth upwards.

"Hello," you greeted nervously, stepping into the cabin with fleeing eyes. "My name is [Name]. [Name] Darling. May I sit in here with you? Everywhere else is particularly full."

The boy gestured to the empty seat opposite him. Relieved, you sat down. Your hands fell immediately into your lap, fingers twisting nervously around.

"Draco Malloy. Your surname is familiar, have we met before?" Draco inquired with a raised brow.

You thought for a moment, scouring your memories for any recollection of ever meeting Draco before. But you couldn't think of ever seeing him, or hearing of his name. Despite this, Malloy seemed familiar, so you assumed that perhaps he was part of an upper class wizarding family.

You shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't think so. But your surname also sounds familiar, perhaps our parents are friends?" You suggested.

"Who are your parents?"

"Aurora and Maximus Darling."

At this, Draco seemed to brighten. "We should be friends," he immediately suggested, his eagerness catching you off guard. You knew your parents names would have a large influence on your social life given their status as legendary wizards, mostly due to their incredible input during The Dark Lords reign of fear. Draco stuck out his hand, and while got eyed it suspiciously for a moment, you shook his hand firmly.

"Friends," you repeated softly, enjoying how the word sounded. "Yes, I think we should be rather good friends."

As the train ride continued, you spoke with Draco about many things. Two more individuals of your age entered the cabin, joining in to the conversation. Crabbe and Goyle, as they introduced themselves, and you found them rather interesting as they sucked up to Draco. It became quickly clear that Draco knew them from before joining Hogwarts, and it was also clear that Draco was the 'leader' of their little group.

"I'm going to be in Slytherin," Draco announced into the conversation. You had been discussing almost everything you knew about Hogwarts. "Everybody in my family has been a Slytherin, so I have no doubts that I will too."

Draco then turned to you, his brow raised expectantly. "And what about you, what house do you think you'll be sorted in to?"

You shuffled in your seat. You hadn't given the sorting ceremony much thought. Your mother was a Ravenclaw while your father was a Gryffindor. Their love story was incredibly comical - your father was head over heels in love with your mother, and he chased her down with his love until she eventually caved in. Having said that, your older sister was a Slytherin, too.

"I'd be happy with any house," you finally said, much to the disdain of Draco.

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes at your answer. "We all know Slytherin is the superior house to be sorted in to!" He smirked, then added: "but I suppose I'd even prefer Gryffindor to being sorted as a Hufflepuff."

You hummed. "What's wrong with being a Hufflepuff?"

"They're utter wimps," Draco sneered without missing a beat. "None of them have a single backbone in their body. They'd all rather run away and hide. Useless."

You fell quiet after that. You were quick to realise that Draco harboured strong opinions that he valued close to his heart. Your sister had warned you that many Hogwarts students had their opinions heavily influenced by their parents, and it seemed as though you'd witnessed one first hand.

But it also made you think about your own opinions and values - were they influenced by your parents? It surely couldn't be a complete bad thing to value your parents thoughts, because didn't they know better? They had experienced events that you hadn't, which shaped their thoughts around serious matters in the world. Your parents weren't particularly bothered about which house any of their children belonged to, and they supported the outcome regardless. They were overjoyed that Bonnie was sorted into Slytherin, expressing emphasis that anyone can achieve anything with the resources and support they are given.

Night had fallen when the train arrived at Hogsmede Station. You clambered off alongside everybody else, watching with anxious eyes as the taller students walked freely down the path that would lead them to Hogwarts. You had already started to follow them before hearing a booming voice shout: "First Years this way!", to which you changed course and followed like a lost sheep.

A giant man stood incredibly taller than you and the other students. Even compared to the older students, he would still tower above them. You admired him with a mixture of awe and fear, but you tried your hardest to not show it, instead whispering "be brave" under your breath to still your unease. Eventually, once the station had cleared out of all students, the giant man lead the awaiting first years down a rocky path, where he encouraged everyone to board the boats that were docked on a river bed.

You sat inside one of the boats alongside Draco, Crabbe and Goyle. They chatted amongst themselves while you kept your eyes glued to the castle that loomed in the closing distance, it's shadow cast large from the moon rising behind it.

Soon, you arrived at the school. Again, you blindly followed the giant towards the front of the school, where an older woman stood patiently waiting. Her eyes scanned the crowd of students carefully, as if searching for a particular face. Whether she spotted them or not, you couldn't say, because she then started to speak:

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she greeted. "I am Professor McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House..."

You eyed the witch closely. She wore robes of a stunning dark green with a pointed hat that sat proudly on her head. Her hands were folded in front of her as she spoke firmly and clearly to the group of new students.

"Now," she cleared her throat, "if you'll follow me."

The flock of students walked closely behind Professor McGonagall, most desperate to keep up with her sharp pace. Her robes billowed behind her as she gestured to many hallways and rooms that the group passed through or by, explaining what they were and what they were for. The information shot straight over your head as you scanned the intimidating halls, watching as paintings and knight statues waved, nodded and gave subtle greetings.

Standing outside large double doors, the students watched Professor McGonagall curiously as she turned to face the students once more. "Once inside we will conduct the sorting ceremony to discover which house you will belong to: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Your name will be called out and you will be encouraged to the front of the Hall."

While Professor McGonagall spoke, you realised Draco was suddenly speaking to another boy. His hair messy, glasses slightly too large for his face. You zoned in to their conversation curiously.

"Draco Malfoy. You'd be wise to make friends with the right sort," Draco said with his hand jutted out for the unsuspecting boy to take. "Unlike a Weasley , who would only damage your reputation."

You felt bad for the boy.

"No thanks, I think I can tell the right sorts for myself."

At this, Draco's smile morphed into a deep scowl. Before he could snap back a nasty response, Professor McGonagall clapped her hands to regain the wandering attention of the students, just in time for the doors to swing open. She gestured for the young group to follow.

You felt all eyes fall to the group. Professor Dumbledore stood at the very front of the school, looming over the podium with a sincere smile upon his face.

While walking down the centre of the hall, you discreetly tried to search for Bonnie. You found the Slytherin table with ease; the serpent insignia hanging proudly above the long table with its silver and green colours. However, names were already being summoned to the front of the hall, where students were started to be sorted, giving you less time to search for your awol sister.

"[Name] Darling."

Your attention snapped to the front. A few murmurs and whispers flew about the hall as you found yourself automatically shuffling out of the crowd of students. You blinked owlishly at the hat sitting upon the stool, it's creases morphing into some sort of grin as you came closer.

You swallowed nervously. This is it, you thought as the hat was lifted and you perched yourself onto the stool. You stared straight ahead, finding Draco's eyes staring straight back at you from the crowd. The hat settled upon your head, and you tried not to squirm under its weight.

"Ah," it spoke, it's voice sounding loud in your ears. You fought back a shiver. "Another Darling!"

You couldn't help but wonder what your sisters thoughts were at this very moment. Would she be bothered if you were sorted in to Slytherin or not? Would she care? You couldn't imagine she would seek you out after she abruptly left home midway through the summer holidays.

You desired her support for you, yet with the way she left on such a sour note, you felt as though you would have to be brave for yourself.

Be brave, you chanted, fighting back the urge to cry, be brave.

"Be brave," the sorting hat repeated, basically mocking you as you let out an audible gasp. Was it somehow reading your thoughts? You were in awe at the type of magic. "Youngest daughter of Aurora and Maximus Darling; a brilliant Ravenclaw and a daring Gryffindor... your heritage is certainly one to live up to! You're brimming with ambition, knowing what you want, but you're uncertain of how to get it. Perhaps... Hufflepuff would suit your needs? But, no, you don't entirely play fairly, which you must have inherited from your sister..."

Where was Bonnie? You searched almost desperately for her kind eyes, but found yourself only gazing in to the unreadable stares of the awaiting students, who all listened with a certain intensity to the sorting hat as it spoke of your qualities and what you lacked.

You wished your parents were here to support you. You didn't recognise any of these students. You felt almost like prey to a predator. You felt lost and alone. You needed to be brave, to have confidence in yourself - you'd already made a friend, Draco, and despite him slowly showing his truer colours as the train ride went on, you valued your friendship for him regardless.

"Interesting... very interesting indeed..."

You squirmed upon hearing the hat chuckle to your thoughts.

"Bravery. Yes, indeed you value bravery. Which is why you must be..."

"Gryffindor!"

#harry potter #Harry Potter and the philosopher’s stone #Draco Malfoy x reader #female reader #own characters #fan fiction #angst #magic #fantasy #Harry Potter x reader #pure blood wizards #muggle born wizards #slowburn #book 1 to book 7 #very long story #fluff #enemies to lovers

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7-wonders · 2 years

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The Force and Its Tragedies (Sith!Anakin Skywalker)

Summary: Joining the Rebel Alliance was always going to be a risk to your life and safety. But never did you think that you would end up in the clutches of the evil that you have been fighting to take down. And never did you think that you would reveal your biggest secret to said evil.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Kay, so this is my first (and maybe last? depending on reception) Star Wars fic in a long, long time. It's also a Sith!Anakin Skywalker fic. Suitless, uncrispy Vader, if you will. Let me know your thoughts, feedback is always appreciated. If you enjoyed, please like, comment, or reblog! If you didn't enjoy, pick a time and place and we shall duel.

The first thing that you realize upon waking up is that you have no memory of how you came to be in a position where you would need to wake up. The last thing you remember, your small group of Rebels had landed on Naboo to follow up with the Gungans on a lead about the Empire’s supposed killing machine, the Death Star. Now you’re here…if only you knew where ‘here’ was.

That’s when you realize the second thing, which is that you’re restrained. Considering you don’t usually restrain your hands and feet before going to bed, you’re a little concerned. Now you’re actually awake, and your eyes shoot open to see what situation you’ve found yourself in. You’re strapped to a platform that stands vertically, the restraints being the only things keeping you from falling over. The room is small and constructed almost entirely of steel, with no technology to give you any sort of indication as to where you are.

“Hello?” you call out, cringing as your voice echoes through the room. You clear your throat and try again. “Can anyone hear me?”

The door, a panel on the wall that looks the same as the rest of the room, opens before you can again attempt to summon anyone, and you know that you’re in far more danger than you had originally thought. The all-black figure that marches in would be imposing based on size alone, but the lightsaber at his hilt and the helmet covering his face make him a creature of nightmares. Everybody in the galaxy, and probably outside of it, knows who this is, how he came to be. After all, the Jedi Order and the Republic only fell a mere five years ago.

Anakin Skywalker was a name only spoken in whispers by people gossiping and retelling how the so-called Chosen One had heeded Darth Sidious’s call, executing Order 66 flawlessly and without any mercy. Nobody knew for certain what had happened that day on Mustafar when the student battled the teacher. The only thing that was certain was that after that, both Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker had disappeared, the former presumed dead and the latter taking on the mantle of Darth Vader (the worst-kept secret in all the worlds). Some say that he wears the helmet because he had been burned beyond recognition and the suit was the only thing keeping him alive, others claim it’s solely for the fear that it strikes in the hearts of his opponents. Whatever the reason, it’s certainly striking fear into your heart right now.

The door slides shut behind him with a hiss, and for a long few minutes, he just stands there and stares at you. It’s obviously an intimidation tactic, but it’s doing its job. You can’t see his eyes, yet you can still feel them boring into your skin. It’s uncomfortable, and you squirm under his gaze.

“So,” he begins, his modulator-altered deep voice making you jump, “this is the best that the Rebel Alliance can come up with?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You parrot the alibi you’ve gone over multiple times since you were assigned to this mission. “I was on Naboo to trade textiles.”

“Liar.” He takes a step closer to you, and your breath catches in your throat. “We know that you’re with the Rebels.”

You shake your head. “You’re mistaken.”

“Am I?” His voice sounds mocking—he probably is mocking you. “If you’re not going to tell me what I want to know, I can always just take it from you. I’m going to ask one more time. What were you doing on Naboo?”

“I already told you.”

His head tilts thoughtfully. “So you’re going to be difficult today? Very well, then.”

It’s difficult to explain what it’s like when someone tries to go through your mind unless the person has also gone through the same experience. Unfortunately, it seems that more and more people these days have experienced the cruel interrogation tactics of the Empire. It’s a horrible feeling, one that you can never forget once it’s happened to you.

It’s an invasion of privacy in the worst form when you learn that your mind is not nearly as impenetrable as it’s supposed to be. Your mind feels as though it’s being physically rifled through, one layer at a time. The pain would be enough to send you to your knees if you were physically able to, but your vision whites out instead.

Going down without a fight would be to go against your very nature, so you force yourself to regain some of your wits and attempt what the Rebellion has been training you to do. You lift your head up to stare back at Vader, taking deep breaths in and then, with each breath out, physically pushing him out of your mind. He retreats suddenly, almost stumbling back. You’re sure that this is how you die, considering you’ve never heard anybody ‘defeat’ Darth Vader and live to tell the tale. To your surprise, however, he looks at you and laughs. Maybe you did die? That’s the only logical reason why he would be laughing right now.

“I didn’t realize we had a Jedi as our guest of honor today.”

“I’m not a Jedi.”

“No, but the Force is strong with you.”

“That’s–”

“There’s no use coming up with more lies. Not when I can feel it.” A hand comes up to your face, and you flinch as he brushes an errant hair out of your eyes. “Someone’s on edge.”

You roll your eyes. “Pardon me for being a little jumpy after being captured by some creature in a mask.”

“‘Creature in a mask,’” he repeats dryly. After a moment, his hands come up to his mask. You can hear the mechanisms unlatching his mask, and you close your eyes to try and shield yourself from the horrors you’re inevitably about to face.

Slowly, hesitantly, you peek out of one of your eyes before both open to make sure that what you’re seeing is correct. The stories, it turns out, are wrong. Darth Vader is not some burned husk of a man that’s clinging to life, nor is he horribly disfigured. Darth Vader is arguably one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. His golden-brown curls fall to just above his shoulders, and his sharp features are striking. With a face like his, you can easily see why people could so easily fall to the dark side. The only thing that does give you pause is his eyes; bright and yellow, the eyes of a Sith.

A smirk appears on his full lips, and you know that he doesn’t need to read your mind to know that you’re enjoying (unhappily, albeit) this revelation. “Now that I’ve successfully toppled your ‘creature in a mask’ assumption–”

“You can still be a soulless creature no matter how you look,” you hiss.

Vader raises an eyebrow at you, daring you to speak out of turn again. Upon seeing that the message has been received loud and clear, he continues. “The Jedi keep thorough records of Force-sensitive younglings throughout the galaxy. How did you escape them, then?”

Too late, you realize that you perhaps should have pushed aside your tendency for self-preservation. Maybe revealing that you’re Force-sensitive to a Sith was a very, very bad idea. Judging by the sudden interest in your past, you’re leaning more towards that it was definitely bad instead of just ‘maybe’ bad.

You don’t realize that you’ve inadvertently refused to answer the question until that same pain shoots through your head once again, making you cry out in pain. “Need I remind you what happens if you don’t play by the rules?” The pain disappears just as suddenly as it appeared. If you weren’t tied up right now, you would absolutely flip Darth Vader off. Instead, you settle for mentally flipping him off. It doesn’t have the same effect. “Answer my question.”

You sigh heavily. “Fine! My parents didn’t want to give me up, they refused to allow me to be taken away by the Jedi. I was eight when they came for me, and my parents told them I was dead. They sent me off-planet to stay with family for the week, just to make sure they couldn’t track me.”

“Smart. Although, letting an untrained Force-sensitive run around to wreak havoc on everyone and everything probably wasn’t the best call.”

“I guess my folks weren’t thinking long-term.”

Vader laughs at this. The sound doesn’t reassure you. “It’s been a few years since I’ve seen someone with your…potential.”

“Could that be because you killed all of them?” you ask dryly. He rolls his eyes, but thankfully doesn’t cause you any more pain.

“It’s been even longer since I’ve had an apprentice.”

Your heart drops into your stomach when you realize what he’s implying, and you can feel the cold sweat that begins to form. “I don’t need to be trained. I don’t want to be trained. Especially by you.��

“Think about all that you could accomplish by honing your skills! You could become great, Y/n.” You don’t recall telling him your name—had he gleaned it from looking through your head? Or had it been the Gungans themselves who had betrayed you and sent you to this fate the moment you touched down on Naboo?

“I don’t need you in order to be great.”

Something dark—darker than what you’ve already seen from him—crosses Darth Vader’s face. You’ve angered him by turning him down, and some part of you knows that people who anger him don’t live to see another rotation. His gloved hand hovers above the hilt of his lightsaber, your heart thundering in your chest at the action.

Instead of removing the lightsaber, igniting it, and slicing you in half, Vader simply fiddles with its position on his belt, like some sort of coping mechanism while he thinks. He turns away from you, looking back at his discarded helmet on the table next to the door. You remain silent during these long few minutes, too scared to speak up and ask him why he’s decided to change tactics. Then, he turns around. By the smile on his face, you’re almost wishing that he stayed facing the door.

“Let’s play a little game.” Vader’s hand flexes and your restraints unlock. You fall to the ground, catching yourself on your hands and knees. Your limbs tingle at the sudden unrestricted movement, and you have to give yourself a second before you can push yourself up to a standing position again. “You hide and try to escape, and I seek. If you win, you walk away from here free. If I win, you become my apprentice.”

“And if I don’t want to play?”

He grins. “You don’t get a choice.”

That’s what you were expecting him to say, yet there was a part of you hoping that he wouldn’t. Vader glances behind him, opening the door at his command.

“I’ll even give you a head start.”

If you don’t go, you’re conceding defeat before you can even start, and you won’t allow him to have you without a fight. You look back at Vader one more time, who teasingly motions with his hands for you to get going, before sprinting out of the door. A pair of stormtroopers stare at you as you pass them, but they don’t follow. You don’t stick around to hear if Vader’s telling them not to shoot you.

(When the Troopers hesitantly peer into the room you were being held prisoner in to say, “Sir, the prisoner has escaped. Should we engage?” Darth Vader does, in fact, tell them that they do not have permission to engage and that they should leave this to him)

You round a random corner to make sure that you’re far enough away to have this crucial second before pausing. Your hands fumble for the inner lining of your jacket, and you rip apart the loose seams to pull out the emergency homing signal that all members of the rebellion are sent on missions with. The button is pressed once, twice, three times, which is all the time you’ll allow yourself before you’re running again to try and find some way out of here. The pipes along the top of the wall serve as your guide; you know that they’ll lead somewhere, whether it be an electrical hub that you can sabotage or an exit.

“Rebel,” a voice echoes through the halls further than a voice should reasonably be able to echo. The surprise of it sends you screeching to a stop as your head swivels from left to right in an attempt to see how he’s caught up to you already. When you see that he isn’t, in fact, anywhere near, it becomes clear that he’s projecting to you.

“Stay out of my head!” He’ll hear you even though you’ve whispered it under your breath. After all, if there’s one thing you know about the Sith, it’s that their powers are frightening and limitless.

“Mm, no. I don’t think I will.” Back to sprinting you go, following the pipes and begging your feet to move faster and faster until it feels like you’re hardly touching the ground. “Your shields are impressive for someone with such little training. Once I find you, we’ll work to make sure that they’re impenetrable.”

“Like this?”

A Jedi who had escaped Order 66 and ended up joining the Rebel Alliance, Dia Dorvin took you under her wing when she recognized that there was another Force-sensitive within the ranks. Though there wasn’t much she could train you on, having just barely achieved the rank of Jedi Knight before the fall of the Republic, she tried her best to help you at least hone your skills. Dia would be proud of the way you use her gentle voice to remind you to slam shut the proverbial steel doors of your mind that Vader has managed to slip through. Your mind goes blissfully silent, and you wish you could see the look on his face when he’s realized that you’ve shut him out without his ‘training.’

The loading hangar is devoid of any life when you make it, and only a few droids beep at you when you hit the button to open the hangar doors to give you any indication at all that they recognize your presence. When the door begins to open, you see lava and obsidian outside. Interesting that Darth Vader decided to build his home base on the same planet where he allegedly killed his former master, though that may be more due to the circumstance of an inhospitable planet serving as a good hideout then some sort of poetic justice.

Before you can run past the TIE Fighters and numerous other ships whose makes you couldn’t begin to name, the sound of heavy boots echoes at the back of the room. Considering the stormtroopers are much lighter on their feet to maintain the element of surprise, there’s only one person those footsteps could belong to. Even without that knowledge, your intuition just knows who’s coming. You dive behind a pile of shipping containers, snatching an iron bar from one of the work tables as you do so.

Your breathing is too loud, too scared, and you slap a hand over your mouth to try and keep quiet. Vader’s moving slowly through the hangar, listening carefully for any sign of you. A droid chirps at him, loud and insistent. The red flash of a lightsaber and the sound of metal being slashed gives you enough of an idea what’s happened to that little droid.

“Where, oh where, could my little rebel be?” Vader’s voice sounds like it’s coming from everywhere, making it impossible for you to tell where he is in the hangar. He lets out a laugh before his sing-song tone says, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

He’s enjoying this, you realize. The sick bastard is hunting you, like a predator stalks their prey, and he’s having fun doing so. You have to move, and now. Slowly, you poke your head out from behind the containers, only to see that Vader isn’t anywhere in your field of vision.

The hairs on the back on your neck stand up, and you tense right before you feel him behind you. “Boo,” he whispers into your ear. You try to jump over the crates, but he grabs you by the back of your shirt and flings you to the ground.

Your back collides harshly with the ground, and you cough as you try to get your breath back. When you can finally breathe again, you look up only to be faced with Vader’s bright-red lightsaber inches away from your face. The heat from it is intense, and trying to be as still as possible only makes you want to involuntarily jerk more.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. For some reason (like, say, the lightsaber currently pointed at you), you highly doubt that. “Come with me, Y/n. Embrace your destiny, who you’re meant to be.”

Keeping eye contact with him, you stretch your fingertips to get the metal bar that you dropped closer to you. Once it’s close enough, you wrap your fingers around it. “Fuck you.”

You swing the bar at Vader with all your strength, making direct contact with the hand that holds his lightsaber. It doesn’t hurt him, but it does catch him off-guard enough that the lightsaber goes flying out of his grasp. Scrambling back up to your feet, you ready yourself to swing once again as he calls his lightsaber back with the Force.

Vader’s other hand stretches towards you, using the Force to stop you from bashing his head in. The bar won’t swing any further, an invisible hand keeping it from moving any more. In the distance, you can hear the distinct sound of a ship exiting hyperdrive.

“I admire your tenacity, but this ends now.”

Suddenly, you see it. Your way out, and your last hope. “You’re right.” You lift your shaking hand in the air towards a control tower. Now, it’s your turn to smile. “This does end now.”

Yanking your hand back towards you, the control tower collapses along with it, like you’re pulling it with an invisible string. Sparks fly from the wires, and Vader is forced to roll out of the way to keep from being crushed under all of the metal. You take your chance and run outside before he can try to get back around the now-destroyed tower.

The Mustafarian heat is immediately oppressing, sweat beading on your brow as you scan the skies. The dot in the distance quickly becomes an actual ship—a Rebel Alliance ship. The back of the ship opens, and the familiar faces of your friends and comrades appear. They’re yelling for you to hurry, holding their hands out as the pilot drops as close to the ground as they can.

Your legs are burning from the exertion of having to run for your life yet again, a stitch forming in your side as you extend your hand and jump. Though the crew is not Force-sensitive, you trust them with your life…literally. Yet again they come through, a hand grabbing onto yours and ensuring that you won’t fall.

Rip and Oona, two of your fellow Rebels, each grab an arm and haul you up onto the ship. They’re hanging onto you like you’re going to turn to smoke and slip out of their hands. Given the circumstances that have led to this moment, you don’t exactly blame them.

“Kriff, Y/n, are you okay?” Rip is frantically looking you up and down, checking for any sign of injury.

“Yeah, we were sure you were a goner!” Oona adds.

“I’m good. Let’s just get out of here.”

“On it!” Voth yells from the pilot’s seat up front.

As the back of the ship closes and the crew springs to prepare to again enter hyperdrive back to the Rebel Alliance base you’ve all been stationed at, you can’t help but look down at Vader’s fortress. Sure enough, you see a tall, broad silhouette staring up at your ship. Just before you lose sight of him, you hear his voice in your head one last time.“You may have won the battle. But I promise you, my little Rebel, that I will win this war.”

#sith!anakin #sith!anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker imagines #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars #the clone wars #rebel!reader #sith!anakin x rebel!reader #rebel-verse au

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ziipzeepzop-eez · 4 months

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Here’s something fun you could try doing, I really liked the Leo x unicorn reader so why not something more magical. How about Rottmnt x younger sister but get this she’s a MAGICAL GIRL like sailor moon or even pretty cure. I would like to imagine she had sailor moon’s personality just for fun.

If you couldn’t from the user name am a huge magical girl fan😅.

Wassup friendo! Aw, I'm glad you liked it =) Ayyyeee but mira mira- *casually slings arm around your shoulders, leaning in conspiratorially* This is a pretty rad idea, save for the fact that I have next to zero knowledge about Sailor Moon and ... Pretty Cure? Is that what it's called? 😅 I hope I'm saying it correctly ajshdjdhd /gen!

As far as being something more ✨magical✨ with rottmnt and a magical sister, all I can imagine is her having a cool Sailor Moon transformation every time they gear up for battle and:

Leo is infinitely jealous each time. Why doesn't he get a super cool glowy transformation when the moment strikes too?? Seems homophobic to him. (/lhj) (Just wait til he unlocks his mystic abilities, he'll be back to himself in no time. Probably tries to outdo you in terms of showy glowy magic girl aura.)

Donnie wonders how it's possible for you to exude legitimate sparkles ("HOW IS THIS GENETICALLY POSSIBLE?? SIMPLE: IT'S NOT.") but gets used to it since, yk, you're his sister ajshdjd

Mikey gets just as sparkly and you do purely vibe-wise!! — I definitely believe he wholeheartedly adores the magical aspect of his sister and it just makes his little mystic heart so happy ╰⁠(⁠*⁠´⁠︶⁠`⁠*⁠)⁠╯

and Raph would generally be positive about it!! It's just that when it interferes with missions and hero work or what other, he gets a lil stressed :>

— Especially when you go all magic time right 👏🏽 in the middle 👏🏽 of 👏🏽 the 👏🏽 battlefield pleaseeee he would be frothing at the mouth. Not above asking "if you can do this later" lmboooo. (He means well I promise, he's just a big brother 🥹)

In terms of being magical: if this were to be their biological sister then the magic itself would be their inherent mysticism!! rather than if it were to be a sister with origins unknown/different from the boys; heck, you could have a whole other magical bloodline out there somewhere and they're just. none the wiser. (well, everyone except for Donnie. that man knows things nobody else does.......... nor should. shivers in fear.)

Ayo but overall, they'd love their magical sister. That's on Pizza Supreme in the sky fr.

Idk man imma have to evaluate on this now. Might turn it into a ✨professional✨ req/hc list. Dunno. Might get a lil silly with it. What do you think?

#"૮₍ •⤙•˶|✉️ beep! inbox! ˎˊ˗#nah bruh cuz the brainworms stay standin on bidness w this one #zeepie beep : fandom! ⭒๋࣭ ⭑🖋˚𔓘｡

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ooglybooglycomfortstories · 5 months

Text

~The Hearts in Her Forest Eyes~

So this is a Sukuna x OC drabble that I might turn into a fic. This idea kind of came to me as I was listening to some soft love songs. I really enjoyed writing this and exploring not writing something with a character x reader. If you like it let me know if I should make a part 2!

TW: Sukuna (Need I say more?)

wc: 702

The wind breathed against her skin and blew her elegant strands of white hair around. The image before Sukuna was surreal. The woman knelt to the lake side with a large bucket in her hands as she scooped water up, careful and gentle. Why was Sukuna watching her? The woman gingerly placed the bucket next to her and dipped her hands into the water, bringing her damp hands to her face and gently rubbing away a smudge of dirt.

Sukuna couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her. His mind tossed and turned in distress as he internally argued with himself. He was a king. He was the strongest. He was feared. He enjoyed the idea of killing innocent women and children. Yet here he was, eyes glued to this woman he didn’t even know. He urged himself to step forward and kill her to no avail. He couldn’t move from his spot, hidden up in a tree, only feet away from the woman.

Sukuna watched as the woman finished cleaning up her face and stood up with her bucket. He didn’t realize it at first but he was leaning in closer to see the woman’s face. As the woman turned he was met with two gorgeous forest green eyes and a face peppered in freckles. Wait. She was looking at him. “What are you doing up there?” She questioned him, her voice gentle and sweet. Sukuna felt a pang in his chest that made him furious. He came down from the tree and threatened her with his very presence. She didn’t budge and it angered him. “You are lucky to be alive”

Sukuna remarked and narrowed his eyes at her in irritation as his tall figure loomed over her. She should be afraid. She should run. She should scream. She should be startled by his striking figure. He should kill her. So why wasn’t he?

“Am I? Is this stream dangerous?”

She wasn’t stupid. She knew who he was. Every bone in her body told her to run. But her feet stayed planted. She knew what he could do. Yet even though her body was afraid, her heart and mind were unshaken. Why?

“Don’t be such a fool!”

Sukuna snarled the words out fiercely. He felt mocked and agitated by her lack of fear. He hated the idea of not having control.

“You know who I am woman. You know the danger I pose to you.” The woman simply smiled up at him. Not once had she glanced at his four arms, his markings, or his extra eyes.

“If you pose danger then I am not sensing I am in danger. I have done nothing but come to get water for my family. If I have wandered onto your turf I do apologize.”

The woman offered him another soft smile as she bowed and began to carry away the bucket of water, walking down the path back to the village. Sukuna stood there in shock. When was the last time he lost control of someone else’s emotions? The last time nobody feared him? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to, he found it a waste of time, yet his feet carried him to follow behind the woman and his mouth opened without thought.

“Your name, woman”

He demanded as if her life depended on the answer.

“Renji.”

She met his eyes and nodded at the end of her answer. “Renji…” He repeated her name and thought about it.

“You should be afraid”

Renji chuckled at his insistence and shook her head as they approached the village, pausing her steps to look at him with full attention. “I am not afraid of you. You are simply another being are you not? The only difference between us is power. You would not kill me because I pose no threat to you and I am not strong. Killing me would be like breaking a stick. It is not an accomplishment.”

Sukuna’s expression soured further at her explanation and he whipped his head away from her. “Leave my sight woman”

Renji gave him a last smile and continued on her way. Sukuna stood and watched her walk away in the distance.

He hated her.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jjk season 2 #heian japan #jujutsu sorcerer #jjk anime #jujutsu kaisen anime #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #jjk ryomen #jjk x oc #sukuna x renji #renji x sukuna #ryomen x renji #renji x ryomen

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yewsoup · 1 year

Text

Out of the Corner of His Eye

Words: 4790

Warden Ingo was a strange man. To others, but also to himself. He says words he doesn't know the meaning of. He strikes poses and is habitually loud, as if he often had to yell. He does not fear pokemon. He does not smile, at least not with his mouth. And his eyes glow in the dark.

He's also followed by a chill wherever he goes.

Ever since he visited where he was found, trying to find a clue as to where he's from, he's seen a white figure lurking on the edges of his vision.

The figure likes to stand on Ingo's right side, walking alongside him, unless there's something or someone in the way. When he points, he is Ingo's mirror. Doing the same things, but opposite. When he is by his side.

-----

What if Emmet came to Hisui as well? What if he didn't make the trip?

Can also be read Here on Ao3!

Nobody knew where he came from. Not even himself. Because Warden Ingo has amnesia. He does not remember where he came from. He cannot return home.

So he made pearl clan his home. Throwing himself into helping to avoid the things he did not tell people about, uncertain how to articulate them without sounding insane.

The dull pain in his chest, as if he was missing something but running anyways. A train engine with missing parts. And... Him.

Ever since he visited where he was found (where he felt a tearing in his chest and came to a stop, staring at nothing, name he was calling dying on his lips), trying to find a clue as to where he's from, he's seen him lurking on the edges of his vision. A white figure. He thinks the figure is a man, something in his heart insists so, despite the figure being too fuzzy to make out details.

He likes to stand on Ingo's right side, walking alongside him, unless there's something or someone in the way. When he points, he is Ingo's mirror. Doing the same things, but opposite. When he is by his side.

The white figure is the opposite of his black coat and hat. (The ones his heart cries for if he doesn't wear.) And sometimes, Ingo swears he should be wearing them too. In white. But the figure isn't the right shape. Not with it's blurriness. His coat is supposed to flare, the collar, stand up and fold over properly.

He cannot tell if his coat does as well or not.

---

Later, when his coat is torn by the years, and no longer holds itself up at the bottom to flare outwards, he wonders if his coat is torn like this too.

---

Sometimes, he cannot see the figure, and worries. He doesn't know why. The figure can leave. He's seen the figure wander away from him to look at something before. (He's seen him hurry back to his side when he was leaving the area. And a coil that winds, worrying if the figure will leave, relaxes.)

Ingo isn't even certain if the figure can get hurt. No other person nor pokemon seems to see him at all. He worries if he's imagining the figure, that he is a figment of a broken mind's imagination.

...

He also worries if he is lonely. He wishes he could help. (The dull ache in his chest tends to grow when he wishes that.) Sometimes he wonders if he can even see him. Or if the figure walks on his own, unknowing of the mirror he walks with.

Ingo picks up the habit, when nobody else is around, to speak his thoughts aloud. (Only when no humans are around. Caliba gave him a funny look and asked him who he was talking to when he accidentally did it in her presence.) The figure seems to enjoy listening to him. He always lingers close when Ingo speaks, but makes no indication he should stop. (So the figure can hear him then.)

---

The ghost pokemon of the Icelands do not like him. Gaeric thinks it's because of his glowing eyes ("ghosts don't like the light, that's why they haunt at night") that show no matter how dark it is.

Ingo has other ideas.

(He's seen the way their gazes dart to his right side before they back off. Only the most determined ghosts try to fight him. Lady Sneasler takes care of those.)

He picked up the habit of waving at Ingo to alert him of pokemon that are not ghosts. Allowing him to take action. Because the figure cannot touch him. (His heart cracked when he first realized that. He does not know why.) He leaves Ingo cold when he passes through him. More than once, his hand has gone numb, and his breath puffed cold, from him trying to take it out of habit.

...

He finds he doesn't mind. Even missing it a bit, chest aching just a little more, when the figure realizes he can wave at him. (They see eachother and know it.) And uses that to grab his attention instead.

On particularly tough nights, when he wanders from lack of sleep, or lack of thought, he finds himself thanking the figure for conducting him home safely. He always tips his hat (how does he know he wears a hat) and the grin his heart swears the figure is wearing widens.

(He knows a voice should be speaking. He cannot hear him at all.)

---

With time on their night walks, he and the figure grow complacent. Lady Sneasler trusts Ingo's pokemon and his reflexes to keep the warden out of danger. (He tried to tell her about him once, pokemon are easier to talk to, but his words still grew tangled in his mouth. He thinks lady sneasler has noticed him anyways, through Ingo's movements.) She does not always come with him on the night walks. The figure does not always stick right by his side.

The figure is not by his side to warn him when Ingo stumbles upon an alpha, tripping over the sleeping pokemon. It woke with a growl. Lashing out. Ingo could not react quickly enough. (He swears he heard someone screaming his name. But he has no idea who.) He does not remember anything after that, before he wakes up in his tent.

His body aches. His skin is clammy. His breath frosts in the air briefly. He hovers over him, worried. (Ingo mutters an apology for scaring him. And the figure relaxes, stepping back.) Slowly, warmth returns to his body, and he goes to attempt to sit up, only to be silently scolded by the figure. (Another apology escapes his lips.) He worried him. He just knows it.

Ingo checks over his side while laying down Instead. Pulling back the blankets to reveal his bandaged side.

He vaguely recalls the alpha. He does not know what happened afterwards.

---

Lady sneasler pokes her head into his tent, and cheers up, before looking back out and calling for someone.

A few seconds pass. A distant voice speaks.

She climbs into the tent, settling by his side to look him over, churring her scoldings at him for worrying her.

Melli pokes into the tent not long after. Shooing lady sneasler so he can check Ingo's bandages while he gripes at Ingo for scaring the living daylights out of him, turning up injured like he did. (Ingo did what?)

Later, when he finds out Ingo doesn't remember what happened, he recounts how he awoke from a pained scream in the night, and found Ingo stumbling through the dark. Eyes glowing bright enough to see by, and pale as death, blood dripping down his side.

He touches on how Ingo's breath was frosty in the night. And when Melli called out, Ingo turned, eyes wide like he was terrified, but a smile bared on his face, and whispered a simple "help." Before his eyes rolled back in his skull and he fainted dead on the spot.

Melli didn't know his fellow warden could whisper. (Ingo didn't know either.) And he doesn't admit it, but hearing Ingo whisper was unnerving.

He goes on about how Ingo was freezing to the touch. Like he had been out all night without proper gear for warmth. (He hadn't been.) And how he was lucky Lady Sneasler answered Melli's calls so she could carry him back to his tent.

(Ingo thanks both Melli and Lady Sneasler profusely that day. And he knows he thanks them too. Despite the lack of words.)

---

He sticks closer to Ingo's side after that. Watching to make sure he doesn't hurt himself. Even on small tasks. (He prevents Ingo's mind from wandering, stopping his grip from slipping and cutting himself. Melli has watched him startle at 'nothing' a few times after that.)

Lady Sneasler and Melli watch Ingo more closely too. Melli checks in with him each day for the following week after the accident. Lady Sneasler refuses to let him leave her sight. She also no longer allows him to walk at night. Ingo thanks them both more. (They rebuke his insistences that they don't need to do this. Both have a soft spot he inadvertently wormed his way into.)

He is grateful for them all. Even if it can be a little overwhelming at times.

(He suspects Melli was quite scared when he found Ingo injured. Melli denies it. But does, let it slip one night, that he'd miss Ingo if he was gone.)

(Ingo also suspects he's the only one who sits and listens to Melli often. He likes to think they're friends.)

---

Ingo often finds it harder to warm up, with him looming over his shoulder. An icy presence that chills him to the bone. But he finds he doesn't mind it. It's as comforting as it is chilly to have him so close, the dull ache in his chest abating slightly. Even if sometimes, he needs to put a little more effort into warming up.

Irida asks him, one hot summer day in the coastlands, (they were visiting Palina to check in, and help with a nearby alpha that was getting uppity,) how he's managing in the heat despite wearing his coat AND his pearl clan tunic.

He does not have an answer for her. She just assumes he's used to it, like Palina, and leans into the cool fabric of his coat.

---

Warden Ingo sometimes faces nightmares.

He never used to remember them. Forgotten worries and traumas. Even if they wracked him with worry and terror. But since the incident, one he can remember joined them. Of getting attacked by a massive alpha pokemon.

Sometimes, it is not the one that attacked him, but instead a massive golden beast. (he never remembers it past the sensation of pain and falling, someone slipping out of his grasp.) And he wakes up sweating, tears welling in his eyes as he cries for someone he does not remember, the loss of a place he no longer knows.

...

His chest is always particularly empty feeling waking up those nights.

---

He is always there those nights too. Rushing over to his side. (His heart pangs every time, he should be the one fretting over him and easing his nightmares. But he cannot do anything but talk to the figure to ease his loneliness.) He dulls the ache in Ingo's chest. Making it easier, even with the haunting, indistinct whispers, that ring in his ears.

The figure never seems to fully know how to help Ingo those nights. He does not know his presence is enough. Or maybe simply does not accept it.

His hugs are ice cold, and leave Ingo frigid, but he loves them anyways.

---

Irida, more than once, has walked in on him shivering in a perfectly warm tent, when Ingo stays in the pearl clan village. He excuses it as feeling cold from nightmares. She does not fully believe him, but he is not lying, he always hugs him after a nightmare now, leaving him ashiver.

She stops asking after a while. Only making sure he warms up after.

(Nobody in pearl clan brings up the cold that seems to follow the stoic man no matter what nowadays. Neither side realizes the other knows about it. They appreciate Ingo's presence shooing off other ghosts.)

---

Irida thinks Ingo looks haunted in general. His thousand yard stare and lightless glowing eyes sometimes make him appear a ghost himself.

But he always looks particularly haunted after nightmares. Or when he tries to remember things about his previous life. (She does not know of the white figure that always eagerly leans in, cheering Ingo on, when he tries to actively remember. She does not know his despair of not knowing who he is.)

She worries about him. But there is nothing she can do, other than offer a gentle touch to wake him from his chilled thoughts. Though she offers a listening ear to him as well, he never takes it. (He has a listening ear in him. He does not need to burden Irida more.)

---

Sometimes, Ingo finds himself wandering the tunnels of wayward cave. The figure of white joins him at his side, and with time, they memorize the tunnels. Walking side by side with him through tunnels having an aching familiarity to it, just as battling does. Yet all he ever gets for trying to remember is a headache. He does not gain understanding into the meanings of the words he says, or the pointing he does, or why he is so comfortable with pokemon and in the belly of caves.

Whisps of memory slip through his fingers like sand in an hourglass, even as unheard whispers dog his steps. Hints of meaning gleaned when he doesn't think too hard about it.

Maybe if he showed someone through. Maybe if he could find someone like him. Maybe if he could just remember -------!

---

When the space-time rift first opens, lady sneasler bundles Ingo into her den, holding him tightly. It is only when he keeps watch from the cave entrance that Ingo finds himself relaxing in lady sneasler's grip enough to fall asleep.

News does not come up to Ingo's area of the highlands quickly. Even when he can sit and listen to Melli. (He gets a little annoyed when Melli says the frenzies are a gift from almighty Sinnoh. This annoyance later grows. They remain friends anyways, much to the figure in White's bemusement.)

Ingo vows to do his best to help the skyfaller that has been quelling the frenzies through wayward cave, should it be asked of him. (It is, he does, and he does it well. He does not realize he will remember things.)

(He does not realize he will finally hold onto glimpses.)

---

The man in white hovers close when they walk in Jubilife. The skyfaller does not see the figure of same height leaning over Ingo's shoulder. But they do note the slight misting of his breath.

They meet him again outside the training grounds.

The air by him is colder. He is warm in voice, polite in words, but his presence holds the chill of death.

Irida doesn't seem concerned.

She always preferred the cold anyways.

Does she care her warden is a ghost?

(She assures them, when they ask, that he isn't a ghost. But she's pretty sure he's haunted by one.)

---

When Ingo leaves Jubilife, the white spectre lingers slightly. Staring at the skyfaller.

That child knows something.

He hears Ingo speaking to the guard duty, and hurries to catch up. (Can't lose him.)

There will be more time to observe the child later.

After all.

They'll be guiding them through the highlands.

---

Ingo watches the child approach. Their hesitance. The figure in white stands by his side, rocking on his feet as they wait. He greets them as cheerfully as he can, even as his hands are shoved in his pockets to keep warm.

They must not like dark caves. He thinks.

They have to travel with the ghost warden the whole time? They think.

How does a ghost even become a warden?

Nonetheless they listen as he gives them advice to aid against lord electrode, and muses the Pokemon's woes.

Melli, despite it all, is a nuisance. Showing up to challenge them and their resolve to quell his Lord once more. Testing their patience with his annoying personality.

They see the way he sidesteps around Ingo and his chill. Commenting that it's a bit cold out as if it were the weather, and not the unholy entity lurking beside him in a guise of friendliness.

Wait.

That's rude.

But he is a ghost or something.

Melli shivers slightly as he passes the chill of the ghostly warden. Neither one mentions it. Then he prattles on about the frenzies being a gift from Almighty sinnoh and other such nonsense. Challenging them to a battle.

They refuse. He already saw them battle Adaman. They proved their worth. They will not give him the satisfaction of a battle.

Ingo laments the man's selfish outlook when he leaves, but asks them what they want to do.

Nobody's asked if they WANT to quell the frenzies. At least, not in the way the ghost seems to. But they nod anyways.

This condemns them to walking through wayward cave with the man. For Melli has removed the torches from the path and left the cave unlit, therefore unsafe to travel.

Ingo would have guided them through anyways. But there goes their chance to debate it.

---

The skyfaller follows him into the the cave. Gaze flitting about with tense shoulders- do they not like the dark? That's fair.

He sends the white spectre a meaningful look. He moves forwards to scout. Keeping an eye out for danger.

The comforting chill follows, leaving him to warm up, and Ingo offers his hand to the child. Offering them reassurance. Though also a warning that his hands might be a little cold.

They're surprised anyways. He can see it in the way their eyes widen when they take his hand. (He has no way of knowing they didn't expect to be able to touch him, that they thought him a ghost.) And he gently curls his fingers around their little hand so as to not lose them moving forwards.

But still, they glance around warily. Their hand trembles ever so slightly. Why is a child the one quelling the frenzies? Why are they allowed to go alone?

They're fifteen, supposedly.

They look much smaller than that.

Ingo starts talking to ease their fears. Picking the first subject that comes to mind. Irida told them of his memory loss. So that ends up the subject he discusses. Despite normally coming up with dead ends discussing his memories.

He tells them he remembers a man in white. Not that he is haunted by him.

He tells them of the fragments of memory his mind can drag up. A smile that mirrors his frown. Flickering purple flames leading him onwards. (A common memory for him to get, wandering the tunnels. Not that he ever remembers it afterwards.)

The words "I like winning more than anything else" flash through his mind, and when he repeats them, the man in white shoots him a large grin.

The child seems more at ease when he speaks.

Unfortunately, fate holds no mercy for them. The tension comes right back when Ingo stops them from proceeding. Because the white spectre alerted him of a threat up ahead.

(Not that he says what or who alerted him to the alpha crobat. The skyfaller merely thinks he spotted it himself.)

Ingo resigns himself to the fifteen year old being stressed until they exit the cave.

(The man in white's features are a little more distinct in his mind.)

---

Torches set up once more, he shows them through the quarry. Only a minor stop when the ginko guild's least effective merchant stops them for a chat delaying their commute.

Volo distracts Ingo from offering the child help- If they can convince Melli- in quelling electrode.

The moment is not right again, before they reach electrode's station.

He has a feeling they would have denied him anyways. With how proud of their feats they are- at least, once he gets them talking about them.

The child can talk quite a lot about the battles and pokemon. Insisting they're strong enough to handle it when he questions how much they're doing by themselves.

No, the skyfaller wouldn't have accepted his help at all, he thinks.

(He sees the way they're relieved when he admits his departure after they beat him in battle and they have gained Sneasler's favour.)

---

He sees them again after the battle. Using the excuse of memory to check up on them. (Their hair is sticking up on end, singed, but other than that, they seem relatively unharmed by the ordeal.)

(He sees now, why they are the one quelling the frenzies.)

Ingo tells the folk present of a world he remembers. Of tall buildings and people and pokemon living, working, playing together in harmony.

He's completely spit-balling. But the words leaving his mouth pull the train whistle of truth in his brain. Images of these strange sounding things and places surfacing in the fog of his mind to fuel his recollection.

The man in white stands close. Ingo's breath fogging as a shiver runs through his body. For a moment, he thinks he can make out details. A face just as his. The same symbol adorning the hat. The large coat cuffs his coat had before they were destroyed. Large smile egging him on.

But still, the recollections end. He falls short of recalling anything detailed. And the face of his brother his face slips from Ingo's mind.

And so he takes his leave. Assured that everyone present is alright. Retreating to his station to ruminate on it all in safety.

---

The man in white sits across from Ingo outside his tent. Elbows perched atop his knees and chin resting upon the butt of his hands as he listens to the warden in black talk.

People have asked him why he has two seats always at his campfire. If he's that eager to have company. If he's that lonely out here that he always has a seat for visitors rather than making them sit on the nearby rock.

He tells them Sneasler likes to sit on the extra log. When she visits.

This is only half true.

The white spectre is alright with giving up his seat when people visit though. Instead sitting next to Ingo, warding him from the heat of the flames, or wandering the clearing, poking at the various plants and logs and leaving no trace of his presence.

People always sit a little closer to the fire when he does that.

---

Ingo catches the skyfaller once, while patrolling the highlands. They challenge him to a battle- well, once they get over the fright he accidentally gave them, calling out as he did. And the thrill of battle runs through his veins again. The ghost in white by his side. Mirroring his pose.

They tell him nobody battles like him. Nobody battles like them, either.

The suggestion of teaching comes up.

It sounds right.

And that is why Ingo ends up approaching Commander Kamado- after getting his leader's permission of course (she was thrilled to put a warden inside Jubilife to keep an eye on things like Arezu does for Adaman- and asks if he could teach people to battle in the training grounds in the village.

(Nobody in his clan, at least within the Icelands, enjoyed spending much time near him. Irida and Gaeric being the best at withstanding the chill he causes. So he has not taught much battling.)

---

The sky goes red and Ingo does not remember a single thing that happens during that time.

Melli tells him he had shown up to help with the frenzied gods. Smile stretched across his face and body trembling with how cold he was.

He was so cold his lips were blue. His breath puffed into fog as it left his mouth. His hands shook like nobody's business as he switched between rubbing them together and stuffing them in his pockets.

He was so cold he mixed up languages again.

He was so cold he had started out with the nonsense he was speaking when he first arrived in Hisui until he saw their blank looks.

He was so cold he- well. He was cold.

He was so cold his hands felt like Ice when he handed over some potions in an attempt to help when he wasn't allowed to come with.

People had thought, for a second, that he was a zoroark.

The skyfaller threw a pokeball at him.

He was not a Zoroark.

It is safe to say they made him go back down the mountain. Out of the snow and cold.

When the blue sky finally broke through the black, he had fallen over. Exhausted and shivering.

Melli scolded him for not taking care of himself in his worry when he found out.

He didn't want to stick around the mountain as much after that.

---

A new stop is added to his schedule.

Twice a week, he goes down to Jubilife village and teaches anyone who wishes to learn about battling.

Sneasler approves of him having a hobby that means he he interacts with humans other than Melli regularly.

She approves him having a hobby in general.

It is dull. At times. When there are no skilled opponents, or people willing to learn. But Zisu, the captain of the security corps, is happy enough to see him.

They have many fun discussions.

He likes the battles just as much. Standing right by the battlers, or cheering from the side. Egging them on with his silent actions.

A couple battles, he doesn't remember. He isn't sure the man in white does either.

They were fun anyways.

The best battles are against Zisu, or the skyfaller. The strongest members of the galaxy team.

People sometimes stop and watch those, and Zisu always joins in his dramatics.

---

Zisu asks him once, during a heat wave.

About how he manages to stand there with his black coat. Black hat. Black underlayer. And his pearl clan tunic.

She was wearing as few layers as possible and he was wearing at least three.

He has trouble staying warm you see. He tells her. Completely truthful as he shivers despite the warm weather. Ghost of white leaning over his shoulder as he listens in on the conversation.

That is the day she learns the best place to stand during a heat wave is next to Warden Ingo. The Icelands chilliest warden.

Which really explains why Irida immediately seeks him out if he's at Jubilife at the same time as her. That girl has the heat tolerance of an icecube in the middle of summer.

She doesn't talk about the ghost either. Beyond a couple jokes about Ingo being loud enough to wake the dead, or looking like he's seen a ghost.

Though she does ask, if he tends to be so cold, why he's partnered with a gliscor, and a tangela. Creatures weak to the ice and snow.

It's because he tends to keep his tent quite warm to counteract the chill. That it's quite warm enough for them.

---

When gods fight on mount coronet for the second time. Ingo is not in the highlands.

He is helping Irida with a project in the Icelands. Teaching the people of the pearl clan more about battling alongside Gaeric, and, because she decided to come and wouldn't leave, warden Sabi. A previous student of Ingo's.

The clan is not completely enthused by the lesson. But they learn a lot.

Ingo only hears of what happens afterwards.

He spends more time in the highlands again after that. Moving it down to one day a week he tromps all the way down to Jubilife.

He couldn't have changed the results if he was there.

After all...

The skyfaller won.

---

Slowly, since they met, the skyfaller warmed up to him. Vaguely becoming friends, perhaps.

He apologizes for not helping them with the frenzies. The gods on the mountain. The red sky.

They insist it's fine.

(They've gotten more comfortable with him since he figured out to keep a bit of distance from Ingo when they're around.)

Which means the eventuality of them sharing the theory that he's from another time. The eventuality of them discussing memories. Of places. Of people. Of pokemon.

Of homes long gone that they don't know how to reach once again.

The skyfaller still doesn't like Ingo, or being around him very much, but they recognize a kindred spirit of sorts. It draws them to him.

They would be alright to never see the ghost man again.

But they have to offer him the chance.

The chance to go home.

---

Ingo looks directly at a figure that only he can see. Staring at the ghost of his past haunting him in the form of his twin brother- the man in white. The clearest he's been in a long time.

"I don't think I can go home. I'd leave him behind."

#writing #pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #ingo #emmet #ingo and emmet #submas #au #Implied/Referenced Character Death #Character Turned Into a Ghost #PLA spoilers #freezing #no dialogue #ghosts #Out of the Corner of His Eye #long post

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zerothejackal · 10 months

Text

small story thingy i wrote about infinite rn

idk why im so emotional about infinite today man i just wish he had gotten a much better ending

or at least a more dignifying death, for now all i can do is write infinite and his squad walking into an unknown sonic-world's version of an afterlife because they were waiting for him, because they forgive him and don't blame his actions, because they know how mucb he was hurting

The jackal lied defeated on the battleground as he saw the blue pest that's been a thorn on his side for days celebrating along with a red wolf. The jackal tried to stand up, his legs and arms shaking, something felt wrong with his body.

He felt- No. He didn't. He stood up as best as he could, pain striking him on all points of his body and he spoke to them.

—Impossible. I CANNOT be defeated!—

To his dismay the blue hedgehog walked to him and began giving him a lecture about friendship.

—Wrong, loser! The things that can't be defeated are heart, soul, and the bonds of friendship.—

it made Infinite anger, if they could only see the face under his mask. he was seething with rage.

—Three things you and your counterfeit cronies lack!—

The words coming out from the hedgehog's mouth just angered Infinite more syllable by syllable. Not because he had been defeated, well not entirely, but because the hedgehog did not know what he was talking about.

He remembered his loyal squad, those jackals that were the closest to him, who he had formed strong bonds with, who had helped Zero become a feared and known mercenary: the jackal squad.

And how they all were taken away by Shadow the hedgehog. The self proclaimed Ultimate lifeform that decided that Zero was not worth being killed, who left him scarred and scared knowing he failed his squad.

Who called him coward, pathetic, worthless, weak. cursing his name and face by making them those of a failure. forcing him to take on a new identity: Infinite.

The reason he didn't want to be known as the ultimate mercenary anymore, but to see the world crumble down to ashes, was those friends taken away from him.

All his sorrow and anger concentrated and boiled on infinite, who could only hit the ground to relieve his heart from aching for a second. But as if the universe wanted him gone, he felt something more.

A pain indescribable, a feeling unimaginable, dread filled out every single one of his cells, he felt the phantom ruby call his ruby replica, taking him with it.

He had failed, again.

He was deemed not useful, again.

He was considered a failure, again.

he couldn't bear with this, he tried to fight the call

—No! Wait- I CAN- STILL FIGHT!—

he yelled, but there was no one that could hear him. He started this worthless and he was going out worthless, Shadow was right in the end, he was pathetic.

The jackal felt a burning sensation on his chest, as the phantom replica turned into energy, slowly spreading across his body—No, not slowly. Time itself seemed to have slowed down. Like if something just wanted to make his suffering last longer

That burning sensation was felt by infinite in each individual cell, protein, molecule, atom, that was part of his body. The ruby was eating him erasing him from existance, deeming his body as only valuable for energy.

Infinite could feel himself start to disappear and he was scared, afraid, like never before, he was not going to die, not in the traditional sense, nothing would remain of him, not a corpse, or skeleton, nothing. Just a bad memory that would be forgotten

Infinite tried to fight, to run, but his limbs were numb, he tried to look away but his eyes felt tired, he tried to scream but his lungs ached, he tried to cry but his soul was silenced.

And after a few seconds, his entire body was engulfed into the ruby, destroyed and annihilated entirely by the reality bending powers of the mystical gem.

He was gone.

Was he even alive

Nobody knew

Nobody cared.

Infinite woke up, he was in a pitch black void, every belonging of his was gone, and so was his senses. He could barely see, he didn't feel like he could move, and he didn't make noise. It felt like he was falling.

The jackal floated among the endless abyss for what it felt like ages, thinking about everything he had done, all his regrets and mistakes came to haunt him, engulfing him until he barely could remember his name or his face.

Only then infinite was allowed to cry, and suddenly something reached to him from the darkness, the hand of someone, maybe a friend, it looked like him, but was wearing a green bandana on their head.

the vague silhouettes of others like them surrounded him. And be remembered again, "I'm sorry," "I ruined everything," "I failed you" he tried to say, but he was still mute, only more and more tears came from his eyes.

The other jackal, a member of his squad, knelt down and hugged Infinite, tightly, and although the jackal couldn't hear anything he felt a whisper come from Quatre's mouth.

it felt like

"You didn't deserve this. You just acted with the cards you were given. It's okay. Let's go home"

The seven jackals all stood up on firm floors and walked away towards a golden light in the distance, warmth like the sun, shining in seven shades of gold.

#[jackal howling of irrationality]#infinite the jackal #sonic the hedgehog #jackal squad #sonic forces #i am feeling really emotional about infinite tonight #[the jackal's writing tag]

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btsydtrash · 2 years

Text

Ego [7]

mafia bts x stripper yn; hybrid universe

Everyone had heard of the Dirty7s, even distantly. Nobody could put names or faces to the members, but the name was enough to strike fear in the hearts of civilians, criminals, and law enforcement alike. They’re known to be methodical, impenetrable, and most of all, merciless. Nobody wants to cross any of them. Lest of all you - a college student stripping to pay her debts.

What happens when you fall into their web of deceit and lies?

What happens when you find you don’t want to escape, even when you know you should?

Masterlist / i don’t have a tag list / find me on twitter / word count: 4.7k

(yandere / angst / gore / fluff / smut / violence)

Chapter 7 'Non-negotiable'

Your first stage back after your week stuck in the trenches of your bedroom was, in a word, fine. You made a little change working the floor, warming up your joints, giving as many flirty smiles as you could manage.

You were dressed in mesh pink bodysuit and your most intimidating pair of heels, body glitter shimmering across every visible expanse of your skin and your hair up in a pretty, curly up-do. You weren’t doing any private dances so you didn’t have to worry about sending any of the guys home with a lap full of Fenty Body Lava smeared over their creased work slacks.

Your regulars slide money into the seam of your bra, sleazy looks that last a beat too long, sly comments about not seeing you for a while and knowing why you were off - wanting to see you in the throes of heat and really show you how an alpha hunts its prey.

All things you’ve heard before so their words don’t even make you flinch. In fact, it almost makes you laugh. Pathetic losers who can’t satisfy anyone, so they pay girls and boys to take their clothes off while simultaneously judging them for their lifestyles and jobs.

You don’t even take a step out of the dressing rooms before you feel someone’s grip on your arm, unyielding, and you are pulled face-first into a buff, broad chest.

“I missed you,” Jungkook murmurs into your neck, careful to not nuzzle your scent-glands but definitely scenting you chest-to-chest. “You still smell so good.”

“Jungkook?”

He pulls back a little, staring down at you with his chocolate brown eyes. Jungkook’s tail is swishing behind him, excitedly, and he’s wearing a grey t-shirt, tight around his chest and biceps. The sight of his almost makes you start whining. He asks, brows pulling together, “Who else, Pretty? You expected my hyung or something?”

“No, just surprised,” you reply, hooking your arms tighter around his neck and pulling him into a warm embrace. “It’s the first time you’ve told me you missed me.”

“Really?” Jungkook seems genuinely surprised if his small pout says anything. “I always miss you.”

“Come up,” he says, gripping your hand in his larger one. His hand is warm, warmer than the average person, and strong - it grounds you. “Jimin-hyung wants to see you too. And… We’ve got a friend.”

You raise a brow, putting up a bit of resistance. “What do you mean a friend?”

He glances back at you, surprised. “My hyung. Another member of my pack. I wanted… I wanted to introduce you.”

You repeat, stunned, “To your pack?”

He bows his shoulders in a little, making himself a touch smaller, less intimidating, he hopes, before he nods, shyly. “Is that okay?”

You look around, a little dubiously, before you question, “I mean… Is this the right place for that?”

He tilts his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t think I look too much like a whore to meet your family right now?” you inquire, glibly, a touch of amusement in your voice. You mean it as a joke, a bit self-deprecating, to take the pressure off but it seems to have the opposite effect.

His expression stiffens before it grows incomparably dark. “What did you say?”

“That’s what they’ll call me when I leave,” you tell him, gently. You don’t notice how his eyes flash in rage, too busy trying not to look him in the eye, as you whisper, quieter, “They always do.”

“Who?”

You look back at him, taken aback by how harsh his tone is, and ask, “What?”

“Who calls you those names?”

“Clients. People who see us leave the club, on the bus or subway,” you respond. “I’m a stripper, Jungkook. I take my clothes off for money and I watch how they look at me. They take me apart on stage. I can smell what they want to do to me. It’s disgusting.”

He seems lost in his thoughts for a moment before he asks, “Do I… Have I ever made you feel that way?”

“Like what?”

He repeats, somewhat afraid, “Disgusted?”

“No,” you answer, honestly, reaching up to touch his face. His expression softens slightly, as if your words pulled a weight off his shoulders. “You’re very sweet. And you pay for my time.”

“I’m not always sweet,” he responds, pushing his face further into your hand. His eyes close automatically and your stomach swoops at the sight. It was far too romantic, too intimate, so you try to pull away but he doesn’t let you go. In fact, he growls a little when you try. “Don’t.”

“You’re always sweet to me,” you correct. “That’s all that matters.”

“Come,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles before pulling you up to their lounge. You learned that nobody but a select few people were even allowed to go up there. They even hired external cleaners who worked separately from the rest of the club. You hadn’t ever seen anything illegal happen when you had been in the lounge but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen when you weren’t around. “He’s pretty excited to meet you.”

“Who is it?”

“Joonie-hyung,” he explains. “Jimin’s husband and our owner.”

“Jimin’s actually married?”

“It’s the thing he’s the proudest of,” he informs you. “They got married in the Maldives.”

“I thought he was lying,” you admit, trailing behind the tall wolf-hybrid.

“Nah, Joonie-hyung loves him more than anything,” he tells you, strangely proud.

He opens the door for you, gesturing for you to walk inside first. Jimin is sat in another man’s lap, caressing his jaw and staring down, lovingly into his eyes. The stranger’s hair is short and dark brown, parted at the side, and he’s wearing a fitted, red suit with a black turtleneck underneath it. He’s handsome, with a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose. He doesn’t smell like alpha, or even beta, so you’re a little confused.

“Joonie’s human,” Jungkook whispers into your ear, making you shiver.

At the sound of his voice, Jimin glances up and sensually slides out of the stranger’s lap. “Kookie, you should’ve knocked. We could’ve been occupied.”

“It’s not like it’d be the first time I’ve seen your pale ass doing shit that haunts my nightmares,” Jungkook retorts.

“Kookie?”

“Nickname,” he informs you, ears burning embarrassedly. He sees the look on your face, he nudges you, playfully, and warns, “Don’t you start.”

“So this is the elusive YN,” the other man says, circling an arm around Jimin’s trim waist. Jungkook leads you further into the room and you feel so unbelievably exposed to the elements and their eyes. You wish you had thrown something over your shoulders, the cool temperature of the lounge making your nipples harden slightly. “Nice to finally put a face to the name. I’m Namjoon, but my boys call me Joonie.”

“H-Hi,” you reply, awkwardly reaching for the extended hand he holds out for you. “Nice to meet you too.”

He smiles, dimples deep and eyes light. He smells like cologne, a woodsy and strong scent that makes you dizzy. You’ve always been a sucker for smells but you don’t usually interact with humans in a close way. Not the adults, anyway.

The adults’ questions were always too invasive for your liking.

Many human kids liked to come to your reading circle because they thought your ears and tails were cute. They liked to touch them sometimes, even though they were often told not to because some hybrids appendages were sensitive or needed careful maintenance to keep them smooth and shiny.

The adults, though. They always had this strange look in their eyes, like they couldn’t decide if they pitied you or if they envied you, if they lusted for you or if they wanted to study you. It always set you on edge and so you tried not to interact with adult humans outside of your workplace for longer than necessary.

“YN, how do you feel?” Jimin asks, brow slightly pinched. “Your heat just finished. Do you feel tired or anything?”

At the mention of your heat, Jungkook stiffens, slightly.

“Three days ago,” you correct. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t allowed back at the club because of my scent.”

“You still smell good to me,” Jimin murmurs, eyes trailing down your body. “Right, Kookie?”

The wolf nods, vehemently, sidling a touch closer to you - close enough that his tails swishes behind you to pat, gently, against the back of your thighs.

“Maybe you should go home,” Jimin suggests, a little close to a pester.

“I’m fine,” you retort, stiffly, crossing your arms over your chest. “I came here to work.”

He nods. “We were watching.”

Namjoon compliments, lightly, “Jungkook couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

Jungkook’s tail swishes more aggressively, the patting almost nudging you over, as his cheeks pink. “Hyung, please.”

Namjoon smirks a little at the youngest’s behavior. “Kookie. Get YN a drink, please?”

“Oh, I don’t usually drink anything when I’m working,” you tell him, politely. Namjoon tilts his head slightly to the side before sharing a look with Jimin.

“You aren��t working anymore,” Jimin replies, simply. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and taps away. “If you still don’t want to drink, that’s okay. But, you have the rest of the night off. Bill me whatever you want.”

Jimin hands you his phone and the screen is open to a mobile payment app. You see your name and bank information under ‘recent payments’ and you glance up at him.

“What if I sent myself a million dollars?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think they’d authorize such a big payment. And YN… Not to be an asshole, but I don’t think you’d know how to spend a million dollars, let alone what do with it in your account.”

“Prick,” you hiss but tap away double what Jungkook would have given you in bills for his sassiness.

He shoots a playful wink your way before turning back to one of the expensive couches once you hand him back his cellphone. You blink up at Namjoon before you nod, feebly. You tell Jungkook, quietly, “Gin and tonic. Please.”

“Classic girl,” Namjoon remarks. “Me too.”

“Whiskey on the rocks,” Jimin calls from the couch. Namjoon moves over to his husband to sit beside him. “Kookie likes tequila sunrises.”

Namjoon declares, “Taehyung and Hobi-hyung like Baileys.”

“Yoongi-hyung doesn’t drink anything but flavored soju,” Jungkook continues, shifting the mixed liquid into a shaker. He shakes it over his shoulder, biceps moving sturdily, and mentions, “Those are the other members of our pack. You’ll meet them another time.”

“Really?”

He nods, excitedly, tail swishing in excitement. Jungkook shoots a glance your way, shy, before he turns back to the glasses in front of him, pouring the liquid out into the ice-filled cups, “One day soon. They’re interested in meeting you too.”

“You talk about me enough for that?”

Jungkook half-shrugs. “I like talking about you. With them. They’re my family and you’re important to me.”

“That’s… a lot,” you admit, awkwardly taking the two glasses from him. He nods towards Namjoon and you go over to take his drink and place it in front of him. He observes you, intently for a moment before giving you a grateful smile. You miss the intense look between Jimin and his husband as you retreat. You take orders so well. You walk back to the wolf as he makes Jimin’s drink and you ask, “Jungkook, what’s going on here?”

He glances down at you, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do you want me to do for all this? Introducing me to my boss, to his husband, the rest of your pack? This is all a lot,” you say to him. He bites down on his bottom lip, upset painting itself across his handsome face. “Do you want something from me? Is this some kind of a… proposition? A group-sex thing or something else? I just don’t understand.”

He takes a deep breath, eyes moving somewhere above your head. “Why can’t I just be into you?”

Jungkook hoists you up so you are sitting atop the bar, nudging himself between your legs and pressing his nose against your chest. He takes in a deep breath of your scent as he asks, voice low, “Why can’t I just really fucking like you, YN?”

“It can’t be that simple,” you reply, heart pounding in your chest. His hands move from where they are bracketing you in place to your knees, trailing up your bare thighs to rest on your hips, thumb swiping across your skin, making you shiver. “Jungkook…”

“Don’t you feel anything for me?”

“I-“

You feel eyes on your back but you are too shy to turn around. Jimin and Namjoon must be glaring holes into your back for making their pack-mate feel so distraught, but you just can’t accept this for what it is.

He can’t like you this much - you’re a stripper, a random sex worker that he feels pity for.

Eventually, his attentions will move somewhere else and you can’t afford to rely on his word alone because the only one left on the ass-end will be you.

“I think you’re special,” you admit. “I just can’t trust in what you’re saying.”

He looks up at you before he takes another deep breath and drops to his knees.

An alpha on his knees in front of an omega that isn’t even his.

It doesn’t compute in your head.

“What are you-”

“I want you, YN,” he says in a harsh whisper. “I want you so badly that it burns. My entire pack wants to have you with us. I wasn’t going to say this yet, because I know it’s scary and overwhelming, but I wanted to- I just wanted to… Fuck, I want to have you bo-”

A silent alarm goes off, the lights in the corner flashing an obnoxious white that sets Jungkook’s spine ram-rod stiff.

“Cops,” a voice calls over a walkie-talkie that you never noticed. You look over just as Namjoon grabs it and hooks it to his waistband and something black catches your eye.

Was that a gun?

In a second, Jungkook has tugged you off the bar and rushes you over to the other two.

Does Namjoon have a fucking gun?

“Get YN in the panic room,” Jimin says, pulling up what had appeared to be an innocuous light-switch and tapping in a code. The wall that hadn’t seemed even a touch out of place shifts mechanically and to your surprise, it opens up like a door leading to a smaller room attached to the side of the building. Jimin looks out of the window overseeing the panicked crowd to see a crew of cops dressed for a raid. “Shit. Hurry.”

The walkie-talkie sounds off again. “They’ve got a search-and-seizure warrant. They’re closing us down tonight. Sorry, boss.”

Jimin grabs the walkie-talkie from Namjoon’s waist and curses, “You’ll only be sorry if they find anything, limp-dick.”

Namjoon stops in front of Jimin just as the shorter man nudges at his chest and holds out his hand. Jimin reluctantly puts something in it, a plastic baggie from what you could see, before the human kisses his hybrid deeply on the lips. He mutters against the other man’s mouth, eyes all dreamy and enamored, “I love you.”

Jimin nods, rubbing the taller man’s jaw equally as tenderly, “Love you more, handsome.”

The wall closes behind you before you can even whisper out so much as a peep and the room is bathed in dim light. The room isn’t nearly as extensively-decorated as the lounge, but it is comfortable with nude carpet, a wall of TVs linked to CCTV across the club and showing the outside (front and back doors), and even a stocked fridge and cupboards. There has to be a heater somewhere because the temperature didn’t change by much and Jungkook drops in the corner of the sofa, still not letting go of your hand.

Namjoon asks, not a hair out of place and perfectly calm, “Do you want to finish your drink?”

“Are you insane?”

Namjoon stares at you, a pensive look on his face before he murmurs, “I don’t think so.”

You ask, genuinely dumb-founded by his relaxed behavior, “You’re being raided by armed police and you’re asking me if I want to finish my drink?”

He nods, taking a short sip of his gin and tonic. He says, over your head, “Kookie, you always know how to make it just right. YN, you really should try it. He’s got gifted hands.”

Namjoon’s last words were filled with implication if his rapidly raising brows said anything.

You ask, brow furrowing, “Aren’t you worried about Jimin?”

Namjoon almost laughs around another mouthful of his drink. He responds, easily, “Not at all. My honey can take care of himself with a hand tied behind his back. He’ll be fine.”

“But-”

Jungkook tugs you into the sofa and locks you at his side. He unties your heels, holding your ankles gently as he frees your toes. He gently massages your feet with powerful hands, making your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. Jungkook says, comfortingly, into your ear, “Hyung knows what he’s doing.”

You look over at the human in the room and question, part of you not wanting to have your suspicions confirmed, “What are they looking for?”

Namjoon glances your way from the armchair opposite you, one ankle draped over his knee, and he shrugs. “Probably drugs.”

“You have drugs here?”

Namjoon cackles. “Not anymore, obviously.”

“But they wouldn’t be here without probably cause,” you suppose, frowning. “They wouldn’t have a warrant without it.”

Jungkook nods. “They’ll have one. But there won’t be any evidence. They have a hard-on for us, for our businesses. It’s always the same routine. They raid us, they don’t find anything, they leave after making a mess and we go about our day. It happens when we work in the business we work in.”

“And what business is that?”

Namjoon glances at you over the rim of his glass. “You sure you wanna know?”

He holds your eyes for a long moment before he raises a brow. “Well?”

You look away, turning to stare at the wallpaper, completely missing the look shared between the two men. Namjoon shakes his head, an aborted movement, and Jungkook’s shoulders drop slightly in disappointment.

You weren’t ready.

Namjoon says, “If you don’t want to drink yours, I’ll have it.”

You nod, tucking your feet under your butt and curling in on yourself.

Jungkook shucks off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulder. “You looked cold.”

His jacket is huge on you, practically swallowing you whole, and he snakes his hand under the jacket to grab your hand once more. The wolf asks, “Is this okay?”

Strangely needing the support, you nod, tentatively. He pulls you over to his side of the couch and tucks you under his arm. “Come here.”

You watch intently on the TVs as Jimin goes down the stairs to meet the cops, a carefree expression on his face. He doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. You can’t hear what’s being said but you are relatively proficient at reading body language and it seems the cops get more frustrated the longer that Jimin’s calm facade maintains.

One of the cops, a woman with a fluffy white tail, probably a spitz-hybrid, shoves Jimin aside to pass by him, which, for one moment, breaks Namjoon’s carefully put-together expression. His dark brows pull together as his lip curls in anger, and Jungkook whistles lowly.

“Well, that’s a wrap for her career,” he whispers to himself.

You look over at him, brow furrowing in curiosity.

Jungkook explains, just as quietly, “Joonie-hyung… really doesn’t like people touching Jimin.”

“I hate it,” Namjoon explains. “I hate people touching things that belong to me.” He looks over at you, then down at the way Jungkook is wrapped around you, then he amends, “Most of the time.”

“The police are gonna be here for a while,” Jungkook declares after a while. “You might as well get some sleep.”

“I won’t be able to sleep with you here,” you admit, awkwardly.

He frowns. “You’ve napped with me before, Pretty.”

“On accident,” you comment.

He huffs, then adjusts your body so you are lying with your head in his lap, petulantly tugging you in place. “Lay down and close your eyes.”

You do as he says, turning into his stomach so you are facing him, eyes directly in line with his hard stomach. He cards his hands through your hair once he takes out the pins in places, keeping your curls all fluffy and delicate. “You changed your hair.”

You nod, sleepily. As much as it annoyed you to admit, Jungkook did have magic hands and he put those bad boys to work.

“It’s so pretty,” he whispers into your ear, bowing over a little. His hair tickles at your neck from where he is nuzzling your skin, gently. “You’re always so fucking pretty, YN.”

His lips linger on your collar for a beat longer than he needed to.

You groan, quietly, “Jungkook…”

Jungkook pauses, exhaling against your gooseflesh, and he asks, his scent pumping out stronger at your whine, “Yeah, baby?”

You open your eyes to stare into his lust-blown orbs and you whisper, “I’m still sensitive…”

He bites his bottom lip, hard. “Really, baby? Where?”

Namjoon calls, firmly, “Kookie, not here.”

Jungkook freezes once more, shooting a look up at his owner before he exhales, frustrated but compliant. “Okay, hyung.”

That doesn’t ease the pressure that has built up in you and you try to secretly clench your thighs together under the jacket. Jungkook catches you, however, fingers sliding down the outside of your thigh from your hip and his digits still at the back of your knee.

He pauses there and you look up, alert.

Jungkook bites down on his lip again, raising his eyebrows in challenge before shooting a look at Namjoon’s back where he’s intently watching Jimin on the cameras, headphones over his ears.

You wonder if the place has been bugged or something.

You wonder if they’ve ever watched you from here, secretly.

There are cameras in the changing rooms, obscured by the walls where the girls are supposed to change, but most of the dancers take their clothes off in the main room. You’ve done it before, too lazy to go into the bathrooms.

Shock, and strangely enough, a sliver of pleasure runs down your spine at the thought of them seeing parts of you that this job doesn’t always get to see.

Jungkook puts the index finger of his other hand to his lips as he nudges your knees apart with his dominant hand. He doesn’t have to do much, considering you’re barely wearing anything, pushing the material to the side easily and working a finger across the seam of you.

You inhale, sharply and close your eyes, hoping that Namjoon’s dull human senses wouldn’t have noticed the sound.

Jungkook removes his finger and pushes the digit into his mouth, eyes rolling into the back of his head at your taste. Now that he’s gotten your essence on his tongue, he wants to drown in it. His eyes flash to something darker, something more intimidating, before he can hide it. You rear back, your instincts telling you that you are in danger, but Jungkook ducks down to kiss you, hard, on the mouth before you can pull completely away.

“So fucking good,” he whispers before nudging his spit-slick finger inside of you again. Gently, so gently at first. It felt more like a probe, tentative but the thickness of his dexterous fingers was enough to make you tense. He mouths, eyes tender and amused, “You gotta relax, Pretty.”

He begins to corkscrew one digit into you, a gentle rhythm that keeps your hips undulating beneath the jacket, practically riding his fingers in time with each brush of his thumb against your clit.

Jungkook nods along with you, holding your eyes, as your breathing grows heavier.

“Good girl,” he whispers against your lips. He kisses you, still soft and warm, “You feel so soft inside. I wonder what you’d be like wrapped around my d-“

“Jungkook, when I said not here, did you think I was fucking around or something?”

Both of you still instantly, having completely tuned Namjoon out until the man was hovering over you. He wasn’t angry with you, not even looking your way, but still, the weight of something was pressing down against your neck. It might have been your instincts to submit being raised up from somewhere due to the natural deference that Jungkook and Jimin showed this human, but he was making you respond as if he were an alpha.

It didn’t make sense.

“Look at me, Kookie.”

Jungkook raises his head, irises blown out a little as lust still wrecks his head, and he whines, a purely apologetic sound that comes from in his chest. He had pulled his fingers out of you as soon as Namjoon had spoken, but he covered you as best he could with his body. Even now, he was defending you from his owner.

“I’m not going to do anything to her,” Namjoon says, gently. He cards a hand through Jungkook’s long hair. “Cover her up and don’t do it again. She’s only just finished her heat. God knows how sore she might be.”

“She wasn’t with anyone,” Jungkook says, a touch petulantly. He looks down at you, imploringly. “You weren’t, right? Hyung told me that he didn’t smell anyone at your place.”

Jimin shouldn’t have been able to be at your place. Not in person. You assume he was being hyperbolic, shaking off your suspicion.

“I wasn’t with anyone,” you respond.

Jungkook looks over at Namjoon and says, “See?”

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t sensitive or sore,” Namjoon pushes, swatting at Jungkook’s arms around you. “YN, I’ll get you something to wear. You must not be comfortable.”

“Thank you,” you reply. On-screen, Jimin catches your attention. You walk over to where the tabby-hybrid is making a show of insulting whichever police captain had just arrived on scene. It was obvious that the hybrid enjoyed watching the cops search aimlessly for whatever paraphernalia that they came for. You enquire, eyes never leaving the tabby-hybrid on the TV, “Jimin gave you something before we came in here. What was it?”

Namjoon looks over at you from one of the cupboards. He’s surprised you caught that, thinking you had been shocked by the surprise of the raid to pay attention to anything specific. Namjoon pulls out some sweats, way too big for your frame, but he still hands them over. “Yoongi is the closest to your size.”

You repeat, stepping into the pants, “What did he give you?”

Namjoon leans against a desk and says, lowly, “As much as I like you, that’s Jimin’s business. Not my place to say. If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you.”

You look up at him, briefly sharing a loaded stare, before you glance away, back down at your feet poking out of the bottom of the sweats. You mutter, struggling to keep the pants on your hips, “These are still too big.”

Namjoon comes over, reaching down to handle the strings and he pulls them tight, purposefully pulling your body closer to his own until you are chest-to-chest.

You aren’t sure but you think he glances at your lips for a moment before he asks, mouth quirking into a small smirk, “Better?”

You nod, eyes fixed on the man’s charmingly lazy smile. His dimples were stunning. Namjoon continues, licking his lips, “Good. Put the hoodie on, too. I can’t keep looking at your tits without wanting something else.”

You prompt, surprised at his flagrant flirtation, “What about Jimin?”

“He wants to, too,” Namjoon explains with a casual shrug. “We share in our family.”

You look back at Jungkook, eyes wide as saucers, and he gives you a shy, small smile. “It’s complicated which is why I told you I had wanted to bring it up later.”

- end -

Schemer (1), Abstentious (2), Thievery (3), Melancholy (4), Writhing (5), Lusting (6), Non-negotiable (7)

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