#Coming to heal a patient only to find the patient dead and someone possessing them

[whispersinthedawn]

Concealed in the Coriolis ch 3

“Is this ... an assassination attempt?” the voice of the priest asked from behind him, sounding bemused.

Abruptly, rage filled Percy’s veins. The man had just watched Percy attack someone unprovoked and hadn’t even attempted to help – merely stood by as an indifferent observer unrelated to the happenings.

Percy whirled around. “Why, are you important?” he sneered.

He crawled a threatening inch closer to the man, willing to claw at his face and leave him as disfigured as the putrid nature of his soul if he wouldn’t lift a single finger to help a woman possibly dying right in front of him.

Lee would have never allowed any of this. This man didn’t deserve to share any resemblance to a boy who had unflinchingly rushed into battle with giants even knowing the consequences, who had once poured all his energies into healing a demigod until forcefully dragged away because the body in front of him had long since gone cold.

Galene could be slipping beyond the Styx. She could be dying inch by inch that very moment, even her sluggishly flowing blood not enough to rejuvenate cells deprived of oxygen for too long.

The priest didn’t even glance at Galene.

“I am Apollonius!” the priest growled out, flapping his cloak so that the winglike protrusions on it flared into view.

“Of Rhodes?” Percy scorned. “Because that’s the only Apollonius worth remembering.”

And that in itself was a comment about his lack of remarkableness since all Percy could recall was that Annabeth both admired and resented the man. Something about a talented poet with a habit of choosing deplorable topics on which to compose a poem. 

History would just have to make do with one less epic poet if this priest was Apollonius of Rhodes.

Apollonius barked a sharp laugh full of rage. “Do you think your status as a princess will protect you from my wrath?” he hissed. “You, who have already proven your inability to recognise your family, displayed a callous willingness to kill trusted retainers, and have fortuitously removed any witnesses from the room? Who is to gainsay me if I were to say you attacked me?”

The Iliad’s beginning ran through Percy’s mind. Sing, oh goddess, of Achilles’s rage. The tale of animosity between Achilles and Agamemnon, two of the greatest Greek warriors – and yet, was the anger of Achilles not incited by Apollo when he set plague loose on the Greeks? All because of a love for his priest, who failed to ransom his daughter from Agamemnon.

The God of Truth might discern the truth of his priest’s falsehoods, but who would dare risk divine wrath by harbouring someone who would harm a priest?

Percy clenched his teeth together, fuming, heartsore, but with the faint flickers of cold reason cooling his impetuousness. “She is not dead,” he said stiffly. “You may check for yourself.”

‘Not due to your lack of trying!’ Coronis accused him.

“I didn’t try to kill her!” Percy shouted at her.

He hadn’t, he hadn’t. Why couldn’t she just understand that and stop transmitting hatred, panic, and rage at him? Didn't she know he couldn’t think with her emotions running rampant through his head?

A moment of silence before Apollonius asked, “Who are you talking to?”

Coronis’s silver, translucent eyes widened. ‘Can you see me?’ she asked the priest.

Percy experienced a moment of mingled hope and terror, but Apollonius just studied him with cold calculation in his eyes. 

“Someone ...” Percy started before pausing. What guarantee did he have that this priest was not a gingerbread house built to conceal the cauldron to boil his flesh? Simply because he invoked a trust and longing that rightfully belonged to Lee? Was that not a tally against the sincerity of this illusion?

Someone who reminded Percy so acutely of Lee might as well have been built with the son of Apollo as the template. And Ixion – couldn’t that be the Triton Percy had hoped for in fanciful dreams he’d nonetheless half-convinced himself to be prophetic instead of the stiff, resentful merman who’d confronted him in Atlantis instead? There was even something of a resemblance.

Phlegyas – Phlegyas might as well be a Poseidon who had foresworn his wife and the gates of Olympus, or a kind-faced Paul who had raised Percy. And Cleophema the version of Sally who had never ruined her life to protect Percy’s, who had never torn apart every shred of her happiness to chain herself to Gabe and wasted her youth for Percy, who was queen of a prosperous kingdom, had a Muse for a mother who’d bless all her literary leanings, and a husband who’d stand by her side.

“You’re just an illusion,” Percy breathed out in relief. “You’re not real.”

‘You’re delusional,’ Coronis whispered in horror. ‘You don’t even think we’re real. None of us – you're going to just kill everyone because we aren’t alive in the first place.’

“Just because you’re not real doesn’t mean I’m going to kill everyone,” Percy protested. He wasn’t – he hadn’t even tried to kill Galene. Merely remove her from the way with the means at his disposal. Or would Coronis have preferred that he crack Galene’s head open just like her own had been?

Percy swayed with dizziness.

But Coronis wasn’t real either.

“Can you sit down, dear?” Apollonius asked softly, eyes pinched in wariness. “You look like you’re in pain.”

‘Don’t be taken in by him!’ Coronis shouted in warning. ‘He’s going to hurt you too!’

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Percy snapped, losing his temper. He wasn’t a monster lashing out indiscriminately at everyone around him. This was the priest he’d planned to obtain aid from.

But whatever glimpse of his intentions Coronis received from the river flooding their two banks instilled the deepest panic in her.

She rose to her feet, the caved-in side of her head with its matted strands on full display, and flung herself at Apollonius, shrieking, ‘You have to leave.’

She passed straight through the priest and crashed onto the floor behind him but Apollonius ... froze.

“What was that?” he breathed out, lips barely moving.

Percy stared at the spooked priest in shock. Had ... had he felt Coronis? Had a figment of Percy’s imagination experienced the healing rush, the cooling breeze, the eerie intermingling, with another figment of Percy’s imagination?

A crack appeared in the wall around Percy’s mind that he frantically shored up with wet sand and limp hopes.

“Did you feel something?” Percy asked in Coronis’s tiny voice.

Apollonius trembled.

Tentatively, uncertain yet unable to abandon all hope, Coronis swiped a hand through Apollonius’s bare calf.

This time the reaction was more prominent. Apollonius shivered and swivelled around in a panic, but try as he might, his wildly darting eyes failed to find anything. He backed towards the wall, suspicion settling into harsh lines on his face.

“What are you?” he demanded.

‘I’m Coronis,’ the dead spirit on the floor cried out.

“I’m,” Percy tried, instantly drawing Apollonius’s attention.

Coronis screamed – a high-pitched shriek that had Percy slamming his palms against his ears.

And threw herself at Apollonius.

The wall, perhaps spelled to repel spirits or perhaps it was merely a remnant of her soul’s belief that humans couldn’t cross ten-foot tall obstacles of mud and wood plastered with tiles, crushed her nose.

But for a few fraught seconds, Apollonius and Coronis shared the same space, breathed the same air, and might as well have been the same people.

‘Kill him, kill him, kill him,’ Coronis chanted.

“Who are you?” Apollonius whispered again, eyes glowing with the impending signs of a magical outburst.

“I’m, I’m Percy,” Percy stuttered. “And that’s Coronis. I just woke up in her body. And ... and I think she’s dead. She's dead and this isn’t real, and I just want to wake up.”

‘Kill him, he hurt Galene, he’s going to hurt everyone,’ Coronis pleaded.  

“An eidolon,” Apollonius concluded.

“No, this is a Mist illusion,” Percy corrected like a broken tape recorder.

He hoped this was an illusion.

The alternative was too terrible to contemplate.

“An illusion, you say?” Apollonius asked, voice a strange sort of dispassionate that made Percy wary.

“Yes.”

'Please, you must stop him. I can’t. I tried, but I just pass through him. It's my body but he keeps doing terrible things with it!’ Coronis cried out, lying without shame.

Percy glared at her, and indirectly, at Apollonius too. Percy had committed only one terrible act with Coronis’s hands, and even then, had he but known Galene was the shade of loyal who would let her mistress kill her, he would have simply insisted harder that she leave the room.

But he hadn’t known. Because he wasn’t Coronis. Even though he’d displaced her from her own body and replaced her with no one the wiser, which he supposed gave her ample reason to claim he’d committed atrocities.

He'd stolen her body.

Except this was an illusion so no one had stolen anything.

Apollonius blinked before his drawn-up shoulders relaxed into a loose-limbed fighter’s stance. He smiled. “Illusion, delusion, or displacement – there's a very simple way to find out.”

***

Because most of the comments on Coronis on AO3 seem to be how much people dislike her - as far as she knows, she got murdered so Percy could steal her body, seduce a god with her body, then cheat on Apollo so obviously that he kills her and sends her father to Tartarus. And, even if she were to withhold judgment because he doesn't particularly want to do this, Percy goes and nearly kills the woman who might as well be an aunt. Percy is the villain in her story, and if she must get her body made permanently beyond habitation, then that's what she will do. Because that's what heroes do. Sacrifice themselves to protect others.

***

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[mikaelsrose]

some thoughts and theories on abh so far

Both Raphael and Mikael's touch is said to be cold while David's is hot

If anyone has any theories about who the guys' superiors could be, please share because I have no idea.

I'm 1000% certain that the guys don't really live at the agency.

The mansion possessed a most unusual trait: if its residents weren't actively seeking you out, it was nearly impossible to find them yourself."

Moreover, I think MC was going somewhere and mentioned again that the house was empty.

"Our father went missing. I believe he's dead" - this actually makes me think the father they talk about isn't God.

This could be a red herring but the man who approaches MC at the club could be involved in the murder. His glassy eyes ("but he didn't look drunk") are definitely a hint and his hot-tempered personality make him very suspicious. "He looked around quiclkly," his outfit is rather out of place at this club, he's pushy and insistent. I found some info that glassy eyes could mean lifeless eyes and when you look at this dude, it's.......plausible (kinda kidding, kinda idk. He just looks suspicious)

I believe they all don't truly grasp the concept of emotions. Mikael doesn't really care about the clients + don't understand the concept of grief, David has no empaty for the deceased. Idk about Cas, and Raphael could be the one able to understand emotions (or he's just good at pretending and/or he feels the emotions his interlocutors do)

As for MC - I think the guys had sth to do with her patient going beserk and her ending up at Astrea. It's just a hunch, I don't have any proof, but they obviously need her for something, and I wouldn't be surprised if Mikael already knew she lost her medical licence.

Mikael:

Cheeky if you pay attention - even during the interview in ch 1 he laughs at MC's poor attempt of touching him under a really weak excuse (can't blame her though); "a playful spark flashed in his eyes," "sly smile" so he's not as stuck up as it looks at the first glance lol

Physically: a picture of Renaissance beauty, it is constantly stated he's very graceful and charismatic. MC also says he's very fit and has prominent muscles (which is surprising "for someone in his position); "stately figure"; statue chiseled out of marble".

He's Not a doctor, but yet heals. In ch. 4 he 1000% sucked the poison out of MC body, and I believe so not only because of what he says but also from the way his eyes look. He also says "I've never had a chance to heal mental wounds" which implies he's been healing for a long time.

David:

Could be far reaching and I formulate this theory mainly because I've been watching too much Supernatural lately, but I believe he's some type of a demon.

He's very confident and he "never loses" as a lawyer, so he's either very very good or able to influence people somehow.

MC obviously didn't end up in Astrea by accident, and she's the MC so she must be somehow special, so it makes me think David constantly calling her a witch isn't without a reason. Ch. 3: "don't admit to anyone in the village that you're a witch, either." Could be just a joke though.

Also the fact he was extremely friendly towards MC is suspicious, almost as if he tried to influence her to stay at all cost.

"It's impossible to get enough of me"

After the murder: "he's like a doctor who has seen death so many times that he hardly feels it anymore"

We learn his father lost his mind because he sold his soul. I've yet to come to any conclusions on this ngl.

Raphael:

I think he takes people's emotions onto himself and makes emotions come to the surface in people. Ch. 3: "Raphael approched the man, and the man's eyes filled with tears."

General:

Felonia emphasising that the guys treat MC differently, kindly and friendly. During the meeting in chapter 3, Mikael is cold and impartial when he talks to Fel

David: "You're so hash, Mikael"

"Only constant effort can attract his attention and make him believe that you deserve another chance" so the question is - who's he?

Felonia: "They're not villains, but they're not exactly heroes either. They have a mission and will go to any lengths necessary to complete it"

Mikael knows about the nightmares MC has and the dream we saw at the beginning of the book is definitely an answer to one of the big mysteries of the book, imo we'll learn what it means at the end of season 1 and it'll be the first supernatural thing we witness (although I'm not entirely sure because of how the last chapter ended)

Mikael: "Everyone's terribly worried about you" - why? They're not that close. They're worried because she's crucial to their plan.

My take is that Raph and Mikael are (arch)angels. Possibly fallen angels or at least angels who fucked up and are being punished. I'm not sure about Raphael, but if Mikael is the Angel Michael then he's the God's commander - his strict, controlled character, the fact he's the director of the agency then it kind of makes sense he;s so harsh to Felonia who seems to have seriously fucked up? He doesn't like disobedience.

Quora (don't judge me lol): "His power is believed to come from his closeness to God and his unwavering commitment to righteousness and the defeat of evil."

"The sword and shield are used today to represent a cutting of cords or energies that no longer serve and protecting us from harm. Michael can help in healing and repairing our energies where trauma, grief, past lives or karmic debts are holding us back from our true potential in this life. He will then work with Archangel Raphael to replace the negative energy, emotions, worries, doubts, physical ailments with positive vibrations. Michael will cleanse your entire being both the physical and spiritual."

@agattthaa mentioned that God is kind only to humans, he's not a good father to angels because he isn't present or forgiving to them; God forgives humans, but when angels make mistakes they fall from grace. Just a food for thought.

I'm curious about others' thoughts and theories. I just wanted to put all this together to sort it in my head as well.

Tagging @raleigh-edward 🫧

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Tower

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | two

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You’re apart of the Refugee Relief Movement, an intergalactic organization providing aid throughout the systems, and you find yourself assisting at a resettlement camp in Lothal when disaster strikes, changing your life forever, intertwining your path with that of a certain Mandalorian bounty hunter.

Word count: 3.7k~

Rated: Mature

Warnings: descriptive violence, blood/injury mentioning, danger, mature language

Notes: Hi y'all, welcome. This fic is going to be set during Season 2 of The Mandalorian, and will be what I like to call ‘canon adjacent’. ALSo, this chapter is very much so Reader focused, setting up the scene and the general pacing of the story, but naturally, Din will be more and more featured as things progress. I’m a sucker for backstory and a slow burn, so ye be warned. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) I’d love to hear from you lovely little beans. Be safe out there, friends.

Lothal was a planet all too familiar with occupation.

You remember seeing a quote somewhere that read ‘Look no further than Lothal if you want to see what happens when the Empire takes control of an entire world’; and although the Imperial chokehold had loosened when the Empire fell, the planet, even all these years later, still found itself gasping for breath. 

Off world migration from the Core Worlds had been popularized since the expansion of the Imperial government bureaucracy, which brought booming business opportunities for the fortunate few, but as the rich became richer, the poor grew poorer. The Lothalites were forced out of their homes, off their own lands—refugees on their own planet; forced to resettle and relocate with nothing but the clothes on their back and the possessions they could cram into their pockets. The only heirlooms passed on from generation to generation were that of poverty, tall tales of former splendor, and the greatest of ancestral traumas: disillusionment.

The truly desperate turned to crime, and what couldn’t be solved by back-dealings and blaster fire was managed with fear mongering and the bitter flair of xenophobia. There was always a species to blame, and it was always the one who seemed to be doing better off, no matter how slight the margin. 

Greed. Fear. Despair. These are the currencies in which the galaxy trades. 

And so it was then, and continued to be, cycle after cycle. History, always finding clever ways to repeat itself.

On bad days, pollution still loomed heavy over the atmosphere—remnants of the fires from the Imperial occupation still clinging on to Lothal’s weary bones. She had been stripped during that time; gutted and strung up by her feet to dangle from the Empire’s meat hook, exsanguinated slowly, drop by drop, until she had nothing left to give. Her resources and minerals and ore and water and seed, robbed. Pillaged.

She’s free from it now, but the scars remain— the planet remembers. Her people do not forget. Like muscle memory, they all ungulate to this synthesized rhythm they can’t seem to shake, day in and day out, wandering. Forever unsettled.

The planet had always had a diverse population and had become something of a safe haven for other abandoned people fleeing their home worlds, determined to find somewhere - anywhere - for them to survive. Lothal provided that for them. It wasn’t rich or bountiful by any stretch, but it was simple and safe—safe in the way hidden things in plain sight are. One could blend into the crowd of many, unique faces, of all races and backgrounds; you could be anonymous, if you wanted. You could be free.

That’s how you’ve found yourself here in Jortho. You had been with the Refugee Relief Movement for the better part of what felt like forever, and they had transferred you to this planet not six weeks ago. You were out on rotation; the RRM sends someone new twice a cycle for the span of a month or two to varying locations to supply rations, aid with the influx of refugees, organize resettlement lodgings, and generally be of assistance when and where you could. However, your tenure on this temperate planet was coming to a close, and soon you’d be flying back to the headquarters on Coruscant before being bounced to another post somewhere out among the stars. 

You love your job. You know it’s unpopular to say, but you do. It’s fulfilling and impactful and indescribably special. The individuals you meet, the stories you hear, they’re invaluable— priceless and precious, like handmade trinkets crafted by the fingers of a child; you press them all to your heart, holding them there. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get to you— the weight of it; the plights of all of these people, all of these lives, burdening your conscience. It isn’t always painless— you aren’t immune to it. Even so, on most nights you manage to sleep easy, tucked away aboard the transport freighter you flew in on with the batch of settlers newly assimilated into town knowing Maker, at least you were doing something— anything— everything you could.

And really, to call Jortho a town would be an insult to all towns everywhere—but ‘town’ has a certain charm to it that ‘refugee camp’ simply did not, and it gave the people hope. Pride, even. That they belonged somewhere.

You suppose that’s all anyone wants. To belong. 

A feather soft gust of wind tickles the golden blades of prairie grass as the sun, bleary and tired, starts dipping from the sky. The crickbeets begin their song early, trilling, sensing Lothal’s moons still coyly tucked away, hiding somewhere along the horizon. A smile adorns your face, private and serene, as you bring a bowl of broth up to your lips, humming when the warm liquid meets your tongue. You sigh, contented, taking in the sights before you; how the dusk blurs the aromatic air, making it opaque, the shuttles docked across the way from you casting long purple shadows onto the flat plains, the snowcapped mountains in the distance bordering the cant of the planet’s surface, nestling Jortho in a shallow valley.

You feel calm, at peace, and take another sip.

An easy moment passes, and it’s the last one you get before silence stalks up from behind you.

You don’t notice it at first, like any patient predator, it goes undetected: the white noise, the nothingness— until finally, you do and then suddenly it’s everywhere. On top of you. Smothering you. Goosebumps stipple your skin and you bristle. The insects have stopped chirping. The breeze has stilled. The air hangs dead. 

And then—

Chaos.

You’re hit with a blast of crushing heat, the sheer power of it picking you up off your feet and onto your side, sending your body careening into a nearby structure. Your shoulder takes most of the blow, but your neck still snaps backwards unnaturally, the back of your head colliding with the stone wall behind you with a dull thwack. You let out a groaned cry at the impact, the wind knocked out of your lungs as you crumple to the ground.

For an instant, your vision goes white, stars popping and fusing out in front of your pupils, and it’s like you can feel everything and nothing all at once, hollow but overwhelmed, and all you want to do is close your eyes and drift asleep— Maker that would feel like a luxury, just right here on the damn dirt. And you almost do, you almost let yourself slip under and sink— until you hear a piercing scream from somewhere close. 

Immediately your eyes shoot open, desperately blinking away the blurriness that threatens to over take them, and you try pushing yourself up by the heels of your scraped hands, failing once - twice - before finding your footing. You’re shaky at first, uncoordinated and dizzy and redownloading bipedalism, before that sweet drug of adrenaline starts to course through your veins and finally, finally, you take in your surroundings. 

The ships that once stood across the field are gone, obliterated, and in their place only metal ribcages remain—empty carcasses like dead birds splayed on their backsides, imploded from the inside out, their bits strewn all around you. 

Your breathing comes hard and heavy, fighting down panic, and cloudy eyes search through the thick black smoke billowing up in stacks, trying to pin point the source of the scream you’d heard just moments ago. You cough a strained wheeze, sputtering against the charred air, and wade your way through the debris— it’s only then that you realize the magnitude of the explosion. It’s not just the landing bay, it’s half the kriffing village. The buildings that neighbored the airfield had been decimated, burning roofs and crumbling fixtures, homes collapsing onto themselves, scorch marks and shrapnel branding the outsides of the shanties left standing.

It looks like a battlefield. You’ve seen holovids of this—what war can look like, how it can ruin a people… But you’ve never had to stand in the middle of it, head on. 

Your heart drums against your chest as you break into a hobbled run, desperately scanning the area for any signs of life, up and down, left and right, straining against the waning daylight. It’s then that you hear your name, urgent and frantic, and you whip your head in it’s direction, knees nearly buckling in relief. You immediately recognize your friend Hareem, brandishing her arms at you, waving you over to her. 

“Thank the Maker, you’re alright!” the Balosar cries out, trembling hands finding purchase on your shoulders, bracing you. You don’t know if its for your benefit or her own, but either way you’re grateful for the grounding pressure; for the first time since the initial blast, you feel solid, like you won’t just float away, atomized and weightless. Worried, you look her over. A sliver of fresh scarlet blooms from her scalp, a small line trickling down past her temple, but she otherwise looks relatively unharmed. You grasp onto her wrist, squeezing firmly.

“What the hell happened?” You ask, voice low and pitched, wide fearful eyes drilling into her.

“T-There was a man-” And she shakes her head, mouth clamping shut, deep wrinkles framing her face.

“Hareem,” you reassure, giving her another squeeze. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.

She tries again with a steadying inhale, “I-I saw him. A-a man. He had a device with him, and he set charges, and Maker I don’t know— I don’t know— it went off a-and he ran towards the center of town!” The Balosar is in hysterics, tears spilling down her dirty cheeks, and it takes your brain a moment to catch up, to wrap your mind around the words she’s stuttering out. 

A man. 

Device. 

Charges.

A bomb. This wasn’t an accident; this was an attack—and he’s still kriffing here. You cup her cheeks, thumbs rubbing against the pale skin, smearing away the blood that’s nearly dripped to her chin. Your friend’s gaze is flighty, everywhere and nowhere, and you try giving her a smile, but you’re not quite sure you manage it.

“Hareem? Hareem. Hey, shh, you’re okay. You’re alright…” You peel your eyes off her to glance around hurriedly. “We need to find cover.”

///

You’re holed up in one of the few remaining homes on this side of the encampment, crowded into the small space with three other survivors. All four of you, packed in and silent and petrified. Unsure of any further threat, you stay completely still. Helpless. Laying here, idle, for whatever awaits you behind that feeble, wooden door. You feel like prey for the wicked, just passing the time.

Minutes inch along like this—or maybe its hours; time moves eerily different when you’re attempting to become invisible—and eventually, you almost begin to relax.

Almost.

But a new sound breaks the din, hard to recognize at first, indistinct from all the commotion outside their hut, but you hear it. You all do. The youngest of you, a teenaged Devaronian, grips onto the hem of your shirt, knuckles creasing with anticipation. You tense, spine going rigid. Footsteps. They’re slow, guarded, but they’re getting closer. You bring an arm up, for all the good it’ll do, creating a human shield in front of the boy at your side. Closer. Someone behind you muffles a whimper. Closer. A Bardottan you hadn’t even met until today let’s out the faint whisper of a prayer, lips barely ghosting over the phrases. Closer- 

and then, nothing.

They’re here. You can sense him, see his shadow sweep across the gaps in the entryway. You all hold your breath, as if the air is being syphoned out of the space… And the door is flung open, nearly breaking off it’s hinges as it slams into the inside of the house, shuttering the rickety walls with a jarring bang. 

You don’t know who looks more astonished: you four, or the Mandalorian before you, dripping head to toe in silver plated armor, pointing a blaster directly at your head.

“Where is he?” He asks, hard edged and modulated, and it’s more of a demand than a question—but he lowers his weapon all the same, holstering it at his side. You gape at him, guppying wordlessly. “Volcur X’elo. The bomber. Where?” He hasn’t moved an inch out of the doorframe but he’s still managing to loom over you, completely filling up the archway, shoulders set and impossibly intimidating.

You gulp, finally finding your voice. “In town, i-in the center of town…” Kriff, you had not idea if that intel was good or not, but it’s all you think to say. Seeming satisfied with your answer he turns on his booted heel, cape whipping behind him, leaving just as soon as he arrived. The dust barely has time to settle as the door teeter’s on its hinge, its rusty squeaks filling the void in the Mandalorian’s wake.

“Fuck,” you hiss, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, doubling forward, propping your palms up on your knees.

///

After deliberating it with your group, you all come to the agreement of braving it outside. Better to be out under the open sky than die under a concaving apartment, clambering over each other to get to the exit. After all this, at least your dignity was still partially in tact— normally, you reckon you’d chuckle dryly at that. But you don’t. 

Can’t. 

You lead the pack through the mazelike streets. The sights that once seemed so familiar after weeks of living here become like strangers to you, and you sleepwalk through Jortho, snaking down paths marred by rubble and fallen wreckage— you haven’t seen any bodies, but maybe that isn’t true. Maybe you’re just too scared to notice them. Maybe they’re there, hovering just outside of your peripherals, haunting the corners of your vision… 

You keep your head fixed forward, jaw clenched.

Your feet move on their own like this, only vaguely aware that the red-skinned boy still hadn’t let go of your tunic. You forge on. Have to. You have to. Your only purpose on this kriffing planet was to help these people, to bring them aid, and if that means simply planting one foot in front of the other, then so be it. You take side alleys, double backing here and there, ducking under canopies, looping around yourself, only stopping when you catch a glimpse of beskar, the orange setting sun glinting off the surface of his helmet.

And he’s not alone.

You freeze suddenly, as do the rest, and the Devaronian bumps into you, stumbling under his lanky legs. Some paces in front of you, the bounty hunter has the other man, this Volcur X’elo, by a punishing grip on his shoulders, shoving him forcefully out in front of him; his wrists are bound and he’s fitful without the stabilization of his arms, his feet staccatoed and flailing wildly beneath him as the Mandalorian marches him forward. 

The wind shifts, and on it you can hear the bomber rant madly, only catching snippets of the vile nonsense that spews from him.“- like swine, they are a plague to the system! And they must be purged from this planet, and the next, and the next— every last filthy one!” You spare a glance to Hareem, to find her watching the scene in hypnotized horror, but your eyes snap back at the sound of something maniacal, drawing your attention. It’s laughter. The zealot begins to laugh a twisted, mocking cry that makes you want to vomit. “You might have me in binders Mandalorian, but you’re too late. You’re too late. This isn’t over!” He’s practically giggling, gleeful and demented. Disturbed. “You’ve only found one.”

Your blood runs cold. 

Only one? Oneoneoneone, one what-

The realization hits you with a punch to your gut. He’s only detonated one of his bombs. Somewhere, nearby, there must be another.

Without another word, the Mandalorian whips the smaller man around, pulling him sharply by his collar to collide with his breastplate, completely dwarfing him with his beskar frame. “Where is it, X’elo?” Nothing. Only laughter. High pitched, terrible roars. He tries again, patience ebbing. “The bomb. Now.” X’elo’s head tilts back and he howls another crowing shriek, keeping private his own sick joke, as if clutching a secret to his chest with slimy hands. 

The bounty hunter had heard enough. He clearly wasn’t getting anything more out of him, and with a quick strike, he rears his blaster and pistol whips the terrorist with it. The body drops. Volcur X’elo crumples, unconscious, blood streaming from where he was struck. You hear the Bardottan behind you stifle a cry with her fist. 

And with that, Lothal’s sun disappears completely, stealing away the last of it’s light as it furls into itself, shrinking out of sight. The dark ushers a new wave of dread, creeping over Jortho like a miasma, poisoning the very air.

The Mandalorian wheels around, searching for his heading in the labyrinth of the town. Others have gathered now, poking their heads around corners, stealing glimpses through windows. He turns, his head on a swivel. “Where is your power generator?” he demands, addressing the small crowd, but you’re all too stunned to speak. “Anybody. Generator. Now.” There’s something new in his voice, something muddled, and it takes you a moment to interpret it. It’s desperation, you realize, tinny and deep through his vocoder, and with a surge of adrenaline you move forward, furthering yourself from your group. You swallow. “I-Its this way.” Upon hearing your voice, he spins around, his visor latching on to you, and with a nod you both set out. 

“Watch him,” the Mandalorian growls past his shoulder, stepping over the bounty’s limp body.

///

You’re still not really sure how he knew where it’d be, you wonder to yourself, gravel crunching under foot as you both trudge on, an eery quiet settling over them. You’d say it was a lucky hunch, but judging by the way the Mandalorian carries himself, you doubt luck had much to do with it. 

You had led him to the power generator hub on the other side of the sad excuse for a city, traveling in tense silence, and when you came upon that tall, bulky machine he sprang into action, circling it until he found what he was looking for. The bomb. You stood back, rooted there, and after some grunting and rewiring— or maybe he just hacked at it with a vibroblade, you had no idea; his wide frame engulfed his work and you couldn’t tell what he was up to, all you knew was that his methods proved successful— the man managed to disarm the second device. You had thought you noticed his shoulders release, slumping with relief, after the red flashing lights on the rudimentary interface flickered and then went dark.

And so here you are. The two of you, bathed in the bright light of Lothal’s twin moons, their bellies hanging full in the blue-black night, illuminating the trail of blood staining the dirt beneath your boots as the Mandalorian roughly drags the body by his ankle behind him— through the exploded rubble, through the fragmented lives of the people around you, already displaced and estranged. They’ll all have to move, you think, pack up their lives, or what little is left of them, and relocate. Again. The thought sinks in you like a stone, sobering you. 

Even with the weight of a fully grown man to lug, the bounty hunter is still a few long strides in front of you and your eyes are trained on the unconscious form, taking in the way his mouth lolls open like an animal, his hair matted with thick blood, eyes rolled back into his head. You’re talking out loud before you even realize it.

“How sick do you have to be,” you mumble, transfixed. Your voice, it’s not angry; no, shock has effectively robbed you of that— it’s not anger, but bewilderment. Quivering, broken bewilderment.

“H-How hoodwinked and warped you’d have to be, how disturbed... For you to think like that. To do all... all this...” 

“Hey,” his gruff voice shakes you from your trance, and you blink up at him, tearing your eyes off the body. “Focus,” he urges, and you can only nod dumbly back at him, suddenly feeling a ripple of nausea slither through you.

The ramp to his ship is lowering as they come upon it and you plant yourself at the base, feet seeming to stop on their own accord, and frankly you’re not really sure why you’ve even followed him this far in the first place— always a step behind him as he hauled his bounty all the way through the vestiges of Jortho, across the arid prairie to where he first touched down. Maybe it’s because you feel untethered, unmoored, and all of his steeled surety is like a lighthouse, a beacon, guiding you away from the rocks. 

He heaves X’elo up the ramp and you’re left standing there, staring unseeingly into the durasteel, becoming more and more aware of the ringing in your ears. The longer time passes, the more it’s as if you’re underwater, the background blurring into the foreground, sound gargled and far away. A high pitched buzz pinches your ear drums, and it takes you a moment to realize the Mandalorian is calling out to you, trying to get your attention.

“— Dala.”

Does he sound annoyed? Kriff, you think he might... If you had your wits about you, you might be able to recognize it. But as it stands, you don’t. You’re not here, not all of you. You’re splintered. Suspended.

“Hmm? Sorry, what..?” Your mouth is as dry as Jakku— parched desert tongue darting across your cracked lip, tasting soot and ash and something metallic. Brow furrowed, you touch a shaky finger to the flesh and when you pull it back, crimson red dots your skin. 

Oh, you think, numb. Huh. 

Your eyes skitter back up to the Mandalorian, towering over you, nearly at the apex of the incline, and his stance is broad and his fists are clenched. You’re almost positive he’s glaring down at you through his visor, and you don’t even know the man, can’t even see his damn face, but you can tell he’s peeved— Maker, just how long had you been ignoring him?

A scratched noise comes through his helmet’s vocoder and his next words are clipped, punctuated. “I said, do you have a way off this skug hole?”

[urimaginespimp]

Breathe (This love pt. 5)

Bucky x Reader

Set during Endgame

Look out for: Stubborn dad Thor, and 40s Bucky.

--------

Previous Chapter

--------

None of you thought it was going to end that way.

When Carol, a new friend of yours, found Tony in space with one of Thanos’ daughters, there was a spark of hope within you. But when your adoptive father chopped the titan’s head off out of rage, you knew you had to go back to the people who might be able tell you what’s next.

To visitors, the Norns’ cave felt eerie. But stepping in it for the first time after Thor took you under his care, it still felt like home. You could already feel the Norns’ presence despite not being submerged in the pool of water.

You smile at the memory of how they have the reputation of being cruel and torturous to anyone they possess, when they have never been less than gentle to you. Dipping your right leg first, you instantly felt how they made the water warmer. Walking into the middle, you waited for them to enter your consciousness.

Taking a deep breath, you laid yourself back and relaxed enough for your body to start floating on water. Then you felt them.

“We’ve been expecting you, child.” Your voice blended with theirs once they spoke up.

I’ve been meaning to visit you. I’m sorry I didn’t go sooner. You replied in your thoughts.

“You feel... broken.”

A titan got hold of the stones and snapped the universe’s population in half. I- I lost most of my family.

“We know. And now you’re here because your heart cannot rest.”

What can you tell me?

“There is a man...”

Of course, there is. You caught yourself thinking. There was a pang in your chest when you remembered how amused you were when one of your Midgardian friends rolled her eyes and said that phrase.

“Now is not the time, Y/N.” They snapped at you.

Sorry. Please continue.

“The man is stuck in a realm in Midgard, and he’s on his way.”

There is a realm within the Midgard realm? Confusion laced your thoughts.

“But remember child, it is not until resentment within your family is put aside, that you would have even an ounce of chance to fix everything.” You think back to how Stark still isn’t speaking to anyone of you. Yiu haven’t heard from him for years now.

How can I fix us?

“You can’t meddle in this one Y/N. It is only with time that the rough patch would heal.” you sighed in frustration but found yourself agreeing. If it’s for the best, then you’ll let time take its course.

“Now, you are banned from leaving the cave until you tell us about this Bucky that’s plaguing your mind.”

--------

When you were first introduced you as Thor’s adopted daughter to the Asgardians, they were polite but you could feel that they were still unsure of you. But with spending time with helping them fish and being patient enough to teach them the Midgardian lifestyle, they now treated you as their own princess despite not being of royal blood. But since Thanos, Thor has been more distant – leaving responsibilities to you and Val.

For five years, you tried to appear as if you were doing better than most. And after taking time to just wallow in sadness for a while, you finally started visiting Nat and Steve from time to time. You were glad to hear that Steve was going to therapy, and you know he means well when he drops hints that you should go with him and join his sessions, but you always gave lame excuses, and often diverted away from any topic that would involve Bucky.

Nat however, has never been one to shy away from calling you out. “I know there’s a part of you that still blames yourself for not bending his blood and brains out.” she once confronted you when you were lounging on the couch, day drinking and eating sandwiches. You sat up and gave her a sad smile, your eyes tearing up.

“Damn it Nat, I came here to drink, not to get therapy from you.” you chuckled, grimacing at how forced it sounded.

“But it was never your fault. Believe me when I say that we all blamed ourselves at some point.” She continued, and your eyes teared up.

In the last five years you thought no one could see that you’ve been beating yourself up for not getting to where Steve and Thor were sooner. You thought that maybe if you had, you would’ve stopped Thanos, and half of the world, including Bucky, would still be here.

“Sometimes I wake up thinking I’m still in Wakanda, and that this has all been a nightmare.” you breathed out, feeling yourself about to break down for the first time. “I can’t find myself to stop waiting for him even if I don’t know if we could ever bring everybody back.” you finally admitted.

“Y/N -”

“Nat, the worst part is that I never got to tell him I love him. I know he knew and didn’t feel the same way. But I still wish I got to.” tears were starting to spill from your eyes, and Natasha was quick to get the drink from your hand before it spilled, and take you in her arms for comfort.

If you were to be completely honest, half the reason you go out of your way to visit Nat and Steve, was so you could also visit The Smithsonian Institution, and just... look at him. You’ve read what was written about him over and over, but it wasn’t enough to replace the yearning that you have inside.

In your sleep you can sometimes still see him just seconds before the blip. On other nights, it’s just the image of him sleeping soundly – his lips parted slightly, and his breathing getting steadier by the minute, the crease between his brows relaxed, and his hair pushed and tied at the back after you offered to - a sight you’ve engraved in your mind after many nights of comforting him following a nightmare.

“He loved you too, Y/N”. Steve spoke out from the doorway, seeing your state. “Maybe not like the way you do, but I know he does. And today I went out for a walk and -”

“Steve, if you’re about to tell her to look on the bright side, I’m about to hit you on the head with a PeanutButter sandwich.” Nat cut him off.

But then everyone’s attention snapped to Nat’s desk, where a notification pinged. It says that someone was outside. Sliding on the call, there was a man outside, asking if anyone was at home. You know you’ve seen his face before, and after he finally said his name, you remembered who he is.

“Is this an old message?” Steve asked after a few seconds in shock.

“It’s the front gate.”

--------

“I’ll do it too.” You spoke up to the group.

The team was going to have two tests – one where it would be a quick time on wherever the test subject would want to go, and if it’s successful, the second would leave the test subject longer in the timeline they choose. And you just volunteered yourself right after Clint.

“No, I forbid you.” Thor spoke up from his seat. Everybody turned their attention to him in surprise. All along they thought he was asleep because he had sunglasses on and was unresponsive.

“Fa-”

He stood abruptly and came closer to you. “This is non-negotiable, Y/N. I’ve already lost enough; I can’t lose you too." Your eyes welled with tears in surprise. For the last five years he’s managed to shut everyone out including you – leading you to believe that he doesn’t care anymore and just hasn’t kicked you out, out of honor.

“We’ll let you both talk first.” You heard Steve say in a low voice, ushering everyone else out of the room.

Thor grunted and moved away back to his seat, still wearing his glasses, while you stayed standing, leaning in the corner. Taking a long hard look at him, you understood where he was coming from. But you also knew getting things right would be the only way to possibly get him back up again. And it was a risk you were willing to take.

“There was a time when I believed you were dead.” You started talking, regardless of not knowing if he was listening. “I jumped right into anger out of guilt, and as I was ruthlessly destroying those outriders, I thought I was gonna have to stay feeling that way forever. Just plain angry.” You chuckled and pushed yourself from the wall.

“But there was a moment where that anger was replaced by worry and fright. It was when Bucky was getting too overwhelmed by the creatures’ attacks. Yes, I almost got pierced like a kebab right after, but it was also the moment I realized that I preferred feeling any other emotions than blinding anger. I don’t want you feeling that way forever too.”

“I’m not angry.” he snapped, standing up once again to get closer to you.

“Yes, you are. But above all you’re hurting.” you stood your ground in front of him.

“I am definitely NOT hurting.” He sarcastically answered.

“Really? Then take those glasses off. Let me see those definitely not bloodshot eyes.” you smiled gently up at him, crossing your arms in front of your chest, when he snorted at you. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you sniffling and trying to hide it by pretend-drinking that empty can of beer earlier.”

“gods, why are daughters so annoyingly observant.” He muttered, finally throwing the empty can of beer somewhere in the room. You can see that the team was back just right outside the glass door. You gave them an assuring smile, and faced him again.

“Well?”

“If it works on Clint, then fine.” He groaned, and you couldn’t help but tackle him out of gratitude.

--------

Clint was on the ground once he returned, and Nat rushed to his side to check on him.

“Hey, look at me.” she asked him, and he turned to look at everyone. His eyes were teary, but it wasn’t from sadness.

It was hope.

“It worked!”

--------

“Now, Y/N. This time you’re going to be there for a longer period, okay? Use your powers if defense is necessary.” Banner instructed you. You were now standing at the center of the machine in your suit. But only Nat and Steve knew what you had under it. It was their idea.

“Are you ready?” This time, Nat was behind the controller with Banner to overlook it. You gave her a small smile and a nod.

“Wait, where are you going anyway?” You heard Scott asked out loud, as Nat input the year. You looked over to where Steve was standing and he was also grinning.

“Say hi to him for me.” you heard him say before you felt yourself shrunk. And you were in.

--------

You made it out of a tent, now out of your suit and left with the old nurse’s uniform you were wearing under it earlier. Everybody else was too distracted, cheering on Steve because he just brought back with him the soldiers from Hydra’s base.

You tried to calm your nerves, just realizing that the people around you were now most likely dead from your timeline. How many of them survived the war, and how many of their grandchildren have you befriended? And how many of those grandchildren were also taken by the blip?

When the crowd was starting to disperse and most of the people were trying to get back to their tasks, you found yourself roaming around, a little lost, trying to figure out where the medical tent is.

“Steve, I told you I feel fine.” you froze when you heard his voice a little far behind you.

“It’s better to make sure, Buck.” you heard Steve insist. You still couldn’t will your legs to keep walking. “And even if you are, you need rest. Just let me find you a...”

shit

“...nurse! Hey, ma’am!” You weren’t sure if you were the one Steve was calling out. Turning around slowly, your breath hitched when you finally faced them. Bucky’s own face went from annoyed to entranced in a second. He was staring at you with the very same pair of orbs you’ve been missing. Only that in this timeline, they still held a glint of playfulness and innocence in them.

You cleared your own throat when you realized it’s been a few seconds since anyone said anything. “Uh, what can I do for you, S- Captain?” you gave them a smile, trying not to chuckle from almost calling him by his first name.

“You know what, Steve, I am feeling a little funny.” Bucky nudged him with his elbow. And you turned your attention to him.

“Right. Uh, allow me to assist you, Sargeant.” you walked slowly towards him, feeling like your heart was going to jump out of your chest.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Steve muttered to him.

He put his arm around your shoulder for support as you start walking to what you hope was the medical tent. It was only then you realized that it was left arm. Your hand shakingly reached for his wrist, careful not to go for the hand, as if you were just making sure that you would be able to help him hold himself up.

“So... what’s your name?” He started trying to make small talk.

“Y/N” you answered, trying to mask your nervousness.

“I’m James. But you can call me Bucky.” Hearing him introduce himself in such a confident manner struck you deeply. You know that after this, he wouldn’t be able to know who he is for decades to come.

You almost wanted to warn him.

“Are you okay?” He asked in concern after being met with silence.

“Yes, sir. I’m just a tad nervous. I’m kinda new here.” you gave him a tight smile.

“Please call me by my name. And lucky for you, I’m the easiest patient you’ll ever tend to, doll. All I need is some company while on bed rest.” He gave you a boyish smile.

“You got yourself a deal, James.” you found yourself returning the smile.

Entering what was thankfully the medical tent, you helped him settle down on one of the beds. There were only about 3-5 other patients, and they were all being tend to already.

“I’m kind of curious, why did you decide to serve?” he gave you a sheepish smile.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything wrong with you, soldier?” you asked him first, and he responded with a small shake of his head. Smiling, you came up with a believable answer. “My dad was a high-ranking officer, but something happened, and they lost a lot of people. And now he’s back home wallowing in guilt. I decided to serve in behalf of him, so now I’m here.” you bit the inside of your cheek. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

James was looking at you in awe, and he took your hand in his left one and gave it a light squeeze. “You don’t have a man waiting on you back home?” you could hear he was almost hesitant to ask.

You blinked away the tears threatening to spill. How would you be able to say something so heart wrenching?

“Bu... He was among those who didn’t make it.” you cleared your throat to compose yourself. This was all too much.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” he didn’t know what to say. He almost kicked himself for having a tinge of relief in knowing that you weren’t committed to anyone.

“He wasn’t really mine... I was in love, yes. And he knew but just didn’t really feel the same. And I never resented him for it. I just wish I was brave enough to really tell him before he...” you choked up and apologized to him, but there was no judgement behind his eyes.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t want for you to be filled with regrets every time you remember him. I know I wouldn’t.” He gave you an assuring smile, squeezing your hand in comfort as the tears finally run down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry for crying. Now they’re gonna think you were being mean to me.” you gave him a sad smile.

“Steve will lecture me about manners for sure.” He chuckled.

“He still does it.” You thoughtlessly blurted out, earning a confused look from him. “I- I’ve heard some people saying he’s been super righteous even way before he became the Captain America.” you sheepishly smiled, hoping he believed you.

“Yeah. Always been a punk.” He replied, but you could hear adoration lace his voice.

“I think I should leave you to actually get some rest.” You knew it was time to go.

He nodded and smiled at you. “You're the most beautiful nurse I’ve ever seen. I don't think most of us wouldn’t mind if your face is what will be the last thing we’ll see.”

“Yeah, there is definitely something wrong with you. Get some sleep, soldier.” you turned and was already near the way out, when he spoke up.

“We’re going on a raid tomorrow. Will I get to see you when we come back?”

You felt your heart drop. You knew what was about to happen to him.

You turned to face his way and walked back to him where he was now sitting up on the bed.

“James, you’re a strong man. You’re going to be okay.” eventually.

“Thank you, angel.”

It was your turn to give his left hand a squeeze. And bringing it up, you gave it a small kiss before gently dropping it back to him.

“I’ll wait for you to come back, Buck.” you smiled, and quickly left the tent before you completely break down.

It was time go back.

--------

@eternalharry @iheartsebandchris @lizzarooni @the-ayo-lit

@tanyaherondale @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul

Today is a great day. Fearless (Taylor's Version) + New TFATWS episode.

[justcallmenikki7]

Love at first Sight

BTS!Twilight!Au & Supernatural!Au

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Summary: Trying to be a good college student, you decide to study with your best friend in the universities library. But all it takes is one look at the bunny like boy to find your soulmate. 

Warnings: FLUUUF, Jungkook trying to be patient with you but all he wants is for you to accept him and the imprint bond, angst, minor character death, Werewolf!Jungkook, BTS in general, reader nervous and trying to decide what’s right

W.C.: 4k

Notes: So, I have had this in my drafts for so long, and I was wanting to stick with the headcanons, but I was wanting to get this out so badly so I am doing just that. I will have Jungkook’s HC posted soon!!

Ever since you met Lisa Manoban at the age of sixteen, you entered the world of the supernatural. At first, you had no clue about the supernatural, even though you were friends with a vampire for a year, Lisa had kept her identity hidden from you. You were oblivious, never catching onto how she would stay up all night, not once being tired, how she was constantly cold, and how she had talked about history as if she lived in it. In your defense, you believed that she was a huge history geek.

But that was all washed away when you walked in on her sucking blood from a human. Looking back on it, the both of you laugh about the situation. But in that moment, you believed that you were somehow drugged on your way to her house. In honesty, you were very calm about the whole situation, minus the dead body on the ground fifteen feet away from you.

Two years later, you believe that you are a genius when it comes to the supernatural. Having a best friend who is a three-hundred-year-old vampire who has told you everything about the supernatural world is cool. Learning about demons, ghosts, werewolves, vampires, and even Gods is handy.

“Why can’t the dogs stay outside where they belong?” Your best friend, Lisa, groaned.

“Why are you even breathing? You don’t need to breathe,” you commented, not looking up from your textbook.

“Because I enjoy the smell of old books, but the dogs are tainting it with their wet dog smell,” she countered back, knowing that the werewolves themselves can hear her. A growl ripping through the air was a tell-tale sign that they did, only to be answered by a smirk from Lisa.

Lisa, in short, can be considered as a sadistic person because she loved messing with people, especially the wolves. You knew that she could defend herself, being alive for 300 years has given here plenty of experience to take care of herself.

“Can you stop tormenting the wolves and help me study?” You asked, looking up at her.

Pouting, “I guess.”

Movement from the other side of the room caught your attention. Looking over, your eyes were met with a pair of doe like eyes. That was when you felt like everything was put together – as if you found the one thing that you have been searching for your entire life.

“Oh, hell no,” you heard Lisa protest, standing up, collecting both of yours books, shaking you out of your trance.

The sound of a primal, possessive growl cut through the air, making a shiver of familiarity and want go down your spine. But then you also wanted to calm down them and make sure that they are okay.

“What’s going on? Why are we leaving?”

Before your questions could be answered, you felt a warm presence behind you. All you wanted to do was fall back into them, to be able to soak up their warmth and hide away in what you would consider to be home.

“Back away from my mate, blood sucker.” The person behind you demanded, leaving no room for questions.

“Blood sucker? Oh, that’s fucking rich.” Lisa gave out a sarcastic laugh, stepping around the table to get closer to the wolf that you have yet to put a name too.

Turning around, you were met with the one and only, Jeon Jungkook. You were at first confused on why he was so close to you, and even associating with you guys. But once his eyes met yours, you put the pieces together.

You are Jeon Jungkook’s imprint.

Lisa has told you stories about how only a select group of supernatural creatures have an imprint. She told you about how since the beginning of time, werewolves had a mate for life, or imprint, given to them. If that werewolf was rejected, then they were to become physically, mentally, and emotionally empty because they have lost their other half. In some rare cases, they die from depression. Nothing, no one, could heal them and bring them back to normal. They literally cannot move on.

“That is why I am very happy that vampires do not have an imprint because I’d rather die than be rejected by the one person I am made for,” Lisa admitted.

That is why he called you his mate, you added.

That is why you were in that trance.

Oh shit. Mentally you are face palming yourself for being slow.

Standing up from your chair, you stepped in between the two angry supernatural beings.

“Hold on,” you began.

“There’s no holding on. He just called me a fucking blood sucker.” Lisa practically screamed, hating that title.

“Lisa,” you said calmly, knowing how to handle her. “Go wait for me outside and we can go back to my place and study, okay?”

“You’re not going with her.” Jungkook jumped in, stepping closer to you.

Turning towards him, eyes narrowed. “And you do not have the ability, or say, or right, to tell me what I can and cannot do.” Your voice was stern, showing where you draw the line. Even though the look of hurt and defeat on his face made your heart clench sadly, you were not going to allow yourself to be in a position where you were bossed around.

“But she’s dangerous,” Jungkook tried to reason, desperateness evident his voice, both his inner wolf and him dreading the thought of you leaving with the vampire girl.

A scoff from Lisa confirmed that she did not go outside like you asked her too. “And you’re not?”

“She’s my imprint,” Jungkook growled, eyes turning to an almost charcoal black, hands shaking from anger.

Not knowing what to do, you stepped closer to Jungkook. Your actions seemed to have calmed him down slightly, and you could see movement behind him, alerting you that he has his pack behind him. “I know that I am your imprint, but that does not mean that you can tell me what I can and cannot do. I am going to leave with Lisa and that is final.”

Your words seemed to have broken him, and you could understand why because of how rejecting it sounded.

“You’re rejecting me?” He choked out, voice cracking and he looked so torn. The sight breaking your heart, something inside of you feels like it has died.

“No, but I need time to process this.” Your confirmation relaxed him and you, along with his pack who let out a breath that they have been holding this whole time.

Nodding his head reluctantly, he stepped away from you, something similar to a whine of sadness coming from his throat. Never has Jeon Jungkook felt so small in his life.

Giving him a sad smile, “Just give me time, please.” 

“Okay, I can do that.”

*****************************************************************************

You have to admit, Jungkook does not give up.

He has allowed you time to think about it, but you did not realize how many classes you had with him. Jungkook and his friends were rumored to be a gang called BTS, Kim Namjoon being the supposed leader. And they were not the only ‘gang’ to be at the university. There was ‘GOT7,’ ‘Seventeen’ and even ‘NCT,’ which so happened to be friends with BTS. You knew of them, having seen them around campus, but never have talked to them, besides Jung Hoseok, Jungkook’s pack member. The two of you were lab partners in Astronomy last semester.

But ever since you found out that Jungkook was your mate, he began to show up to class now. Of course, he did show up every now and then, probably three times a week. Now, he is showing up everyday and is now sitting behind you. His presence both overwhelms you and brings you a sense of security. You can feel his stare on you in class and around campus. You know that he is close by when you get a tingly feeling in your chest, a tell tale sign that tells you that your imprint is near. The both of you have yet to talk because each time he approaches you, you freak out and run away, dragging Lisa with you. You know that your actions hurt him when you do this. The tightness and longing in your chest is a sign that Jungkook is hurting. 

Every night you talk to Lisa about your situation. You have not put it off at all, something that you know that Jungkook is assuming that you are doing when Hoseok stopped you in the hallway. The thing is, you are terrified. You are terrified because you are nineteen with zero experience in the dating field. Being single your whole life is backfiring on you right now. You do not know what to expect or even know what to do. Plus, what if Jungkook is only feeling this way because you are his mate and he only wants to live? Is he just using you because you are his imprint, or does he seriously want to be with you and be committed?

Those questions earned you a slap from Lisa. “Dumbass, did you not listen to me when I explained to you how imprinting works? When a person imprints on someone, all that they see and want is them. Everyone else becomes irrelevant. Their loyalty stands with you, and their pack. Nothing and no one can break the bond that they have with you. It is said that the Moon Goddess herself made the bond not even break in death. Loyalty is the most important thing in the wolf world. I can bet my life that Jungkook is thinking about you right now. Well, I know he is because Kim Namjoon came up to me and asked me to talk to you, which is funny because he thinks that I haven’t, and gets you to talk to Jungkook. Supposedly Jungkook is acting like a scolded puppy and is pouting because you keep avoiding him.”

That is why you were not surprised when Jungkook cornered you one day (the day Lisa had to miss class) in the hallway. The distressed look on Jungkook’s face told you that he in fact is panicking. “I’m sorry, I know that I promised you that I would give you space, but I cannot stop thinking about you and needing to be in your presence. Both my wolf and I are freaking out. All we need is an answer, or at least a hint so we can calm down. I am so sorry for pressuring you.” He rushed out, leaning back to give you space. Running a hand through his hair, you could see how nervous he is.

“I’m sorry for being slow on getting back to you, I didn’t realize how badly this has been affecting you. I should’ve thought about that instead of being ignorant.”

Shaking his head violently, “No, no! Don’t apologize, I totally understand why you are taking a while. I just, my instincts were taking over because my wolf and I were needing to have some sort of contact with you to help calm down.”

“What fur color is your wolf?” You asked randomly, surprising Jungkook.

Smiling, “Black. Midnight black to be more specific,” he answered.

“That’s cool! Are you the only one with the fur color in your pack, or?”

“Yoongi-hyung has the same fur color, but his has a much darker tent than mine. Even though I have incredible sight, sometimes I can’t see him because of how well he blends in with his surroundings at night.”

“That’s really cool!” You boasted, becoming very intrigued with what you are learning about.

Jungkook flashed you a smile, making you smile back at him by how contagious it was. Clearing his throat, “So, uh, does this mean that like…”

“Yes,” you began, trying to calm your racing heart from the hopeful look on Jungkook’s face, “But, I don’t want to jump right into a relationship. I’ve never had a relationship before, and I don’t want to jump into one right yet.”

Trying to keep the sad look from showing, Jungkook still smiled brightly. “Of course! I don’t want you to be in a position where you feel uncomfortable.”

“Thanks for being understanding!”

And understanding he is.

After your guys talk, the both of you swapped phone numbers and even each other’s social media. Jungkook was determined to start a streak with you on snapchat and become your number one best friend on it, something you found funny. From then on out Jungkook became a constant in your life, a constant that Lisa does not like – mainly because she is not a fan of wolves. She, though, is happy to see how happy you have become, especially after your mother’s death. She could not deny how lovesick Jungkook is for you and how attentive he is with you. Her and the rest of BTS laugh with each other on how alert Jungkook becomes when you are doing something.

“Hey, I’m going to go and get some more ketchup.” You got up from the table and headed straight towards the counter that held the ketchup.

Lisa watched Jungkook stare at you as you walked off, never once taking his eyes off you. It was like a foreshadowing moment that Jungkook had – jumping up from his chair, he made his way towards you, tugging your arm towards him before you turned around and slipped in the puddle that was right below your feet. Lisa must admit that she did not even notice the puddle that was below your feet. Being a vampire, her eyesight and hearing are very advanced. So, seeing that Jungkook noticed it and prevented a scene of you falling, she could not deny the fondness that she is beginning to have towards the wolf.

But she believes that Jungkook has a sixth sense when it comes to you. And Jungkook does. The moment he woke up he could feel that there was something wrong with you. He does not know what, but the heavy feeling that him and his wolf felt was a sign that you were not okay.

And you are not.

Today marks the two-year death anniversary of your mom. Of course, everyday since that day has been hell, but knowing that two years ago, just a few hours before her death was the last time you got to hear her voice, feel her touch, and be with her. You hate yourself for not staying any longer with her, for not taking her with you when you had that ability.

You heard your phone buzzing like crazy, but you did not even bother with picking it up. All you did was stare at the wall in a void like state. You ignored Lisa’s knocking on your door, her calls, and worried voice. She knew what day this was, and she knew that it was going to be a difficult and long day. She was worried that you were going to relapse, worried that you will drift off into that dark place that took her months to get you out of.

That is why at 9:53 a.m. she was not that surprised to open the door to find a panicking Jeon Jungkook.

“Where is Y/N? Why is she not answering my calls?” He asked quickly, only to pause once he could sense that you were close. “What’s wrong with Y/N?”

The vampire sighed, “Jungkook, I hate that I have to say this, but Y/N may not want to see you right now. Today is a very bad day for her.”

“Please let me in.” Jungkook begged, distressed that he cannot comfort you. With that, the statement that Lisa said made Jungkook and his wolf even more distressed, if that was even possible. “I just need to be with her, help her. I won’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t.”

Running her hand down her face, Lisa sighed and allowed the wolf in after a few minutes of thinking. “Second door on the right, the door is unlocked.”

As if he was a dog chasing after a ball, Jungkook charged towards your door. Being cautious, he opened the door quietly, being met with the smell of regret, longing, and sadness. His wolf whimpered at the sight of their mate in such a depressed state. Walking in quietly, Jungkook took off his shoes and did the one thing that he knows that will work.

 Lifting the covers, he caught your attention, “Jung—”

“-Hey,” he smiled at you, not believing that he was in front of a goddess. No matter what state you are in, you will always look beautiful in his eyes.

“Why are you here and not asleep? You usually wake up at 2 in the afternoon on the weekends?”

“I could sense something is wrong.”

“I-I’m okay,” you tried to lie, but the glassy look in your eyes was forming tears. Lip wobbling, “I’m not okay,” and that was when you felt yourself break down and seek out the comfort that only your imprint could give you. Throwing yourself into his hold, you gave up on trying to keep that barrier that you have created when it comes to physical contact with the wolf.

Jungkook had a million questions that he wanted to ask you, to find out who or what has hurt you. His wolf wanted to seek out the person who has hurt his mate, to kill or torture that person that dared to mess with his mate. Jungkook felt the primal need to do so, just to make you happy. But he wanted you to be okay first, to smile again, to be happy and yourself.

For the next hour, you relished in the comfort that only Jungkook could give you. With him holding you felt like a part of you felt better, but the knowledge that your mom is still gone and that she will not be back still haunts you. Jungkook could sense that, he could sense your distress and his wolf whimpered inside of him. Running his hands through your hair (something he has been wanting to do for three months now), he could tell that it is something that helps you calm down.

“My mother passed away two years ago today,” you began. Jungkook’s hold on you tightened, encouraging you to go on. “I should’ve taken her with me instead of leaving her there by myself. I should’ve dragged her with me instead of leaving her there at that stupid mall so she could get those dumb pair of shoes that she was waiting for. I tried to convince her to wait and get them later on, but she was adamant on getting them.” You gritted out, becoming angry at yourself. “And then there was a robbery during the sale, and she was…” and you clung onto him as if he was your lifeline, nose nuzzled into his neck, finding comfort in his natural, woodsy scent.

“It’s not your fault, Y/N. You did not know, it is not your fault that your mom died, and she knows that. Blaming yourself for something that was way out of control is going to continue to make you miserable and eventually will kill you.” Jungkook said after a while. “Please stop beating yourself up over this is leading you down that road.”

You did not say anything, but when you squeezed Jungkook tightly for a minute and then released, he knew that was you acknowledging what you said. For the rest of the day the two of you spent the day in your bed, holding onto one another, talking about anything and everything. Eventually the both of you fell asleep without noticing it. Waking up the next morning entangled with one another, it felt normal. It was as if this was normal.

You realized that Jungkook is permanent and that he is not leaving you, that he is not making this all for show. So, that is why you began to stop stressing and worrying. You allowed yourself to fall, and you fell.

Ever since that day, you and Jungkook became what you call closer. You began to become physically affectionate with him and accept his affectionate ways. Jungkook obviously did sit next to you, or at least be six feet away from you in the beginning because him and his wolf needed that sense of relaxation to know that you were nearby. Now, though, Jungkook and you are touching one another in some sort of way now, whether that be your arms touching, knees touching, or him standing very close to you. You did not mind this one bit, the feeling of his body warmth had you feeling safe.

In class, now, Jungkook sits beside you, kicking the class nerd, AJ, out of his spot. His actions resulted in the silent treatment from how rude he was to the scrawny kid. During class Jungkook would whine and basically paw at your arm, wanting you to forgive him. After class, he went up to AJ and apologized, well, tried too, which earned Jungkook a please smile from you. 

The boy loves your praises and attention. But sometimes, he could not handle it when you and Lisa talk about guys right in front of him. 

You were out with Lisa, Jungkook, and Jungkook’s pack, having dinner at the new restaurant in town. All of you were seated around the large, round table, you being sat in between Jungkook and Lisa. Jungkook had scooted his chair to where it made your chair and his almost like a two-seater, arm around your shoulder as he had you leaned into him. You, obviously, did not mind this, finding yourself relaxed into his body. The two of you were looking at the menu together, trying to figure out what you both would want.

“I think I’ll just stick with a salad as an appetizer and have chicken alfredo as my dinner,” you concluded, looking at Jungkook.

“That sounds good baby,” Jungkook agreed with what you wanted. “I’ll take Spicy Kimchi Stew,” Jungkook concluded after a few minutes later, finalizing what he wanted right before the waiter came to the table.

Lisa kicked your leg, catching your attention. Raising her eyebrows suggestively at you when you realized that she found the waiter cute. Giggling, you nodded in confirmation, not denying the waiter was cute. But they would never beat Jungkook in attractiveness in your opinion.

Not knowing that Jungkook watched the interaction between you and Lisa, a low predatory growl rumbled in Jungkook’s chest. Tightening his arms around you, he sat up straighter in his chair and glared daggers into the waiter, nerving the poor boy.

“Jungkook.” You scolded at his rudeness when he told the boy what you two would like.

Losing his composure, Jungkook frowned down at you, “What?” He asked, trying to play innocent.

“Don’t be rude,” you said, giving Jungkook a look.

Jungkook pouted, “I’m sorry,” he apologized, wanting to get back on your good side. He hates being scolded by you.

“It’s okay, Kookie. Just go easy on the poor lad, he did no harm.”

“But you thought he was cute,” Jungkook grumbled, taking a sip of his water, jealousy evident in his tone and body language. 

Catching on to what he was saying, you giggled, finding his jealousy cute. Finding some confidence, “He has nothing on you.” A huge blush covered your face after you said that, “you have nothing to worry about.”

Jungkook was silent for a moment, body going stiff. You were nervous that you messed up, but those thoughts disappeared once you felt a pair of lips pressing to the side of your head and his arms pulling you closer (if possible) to his side, body trying to cover you with his. For the rest of the night, it felt as if you and Jungkook were on a new level. Jungkook was extra clingy and you were wanting Jungkook’s attention. You assume that your words had hit the both of you in a deeper meaning, a silent way of saying that you both belong to one another. 

[secret-engima]

LC Birds: Meeting Child and Accursed

(I have gotten a several asks about Ardyn and Ozpin and such and them meeting and Ardyn wigging out, but I wanted to do a nice ramble on it in a separate post just Because™ so here goes)

...

-Ardyn does not know much about the cloning process. Just that Besithia is able to take blood of himself or even of animals, sometimes long DEAD animals, and grow them into new beings in tubes. He’s never cared. The clones that become MT units are essentially tiny Besithias in his mind, and if the man wants to turn himself into a daemon a thousand times over then let him. Ardyn doesn’t care.

-What he does care about, if only distantly, is the word that comes of King Regis having another child. His two illegitimate children, found at age thirteen a few years ago, have already been the fuel of much gossip in the Niflheim courts. Ardyn had found it amusing that Somnus’s descendant could not keep his lineage in one place. But this child ... this child is his heir.

-This child will be the Chosen King. He can *feel it*.

-And he is curious, in a dark and bitter way, over what this new, “better” Chosen King will look like. So perhaps a year after the “happy” news that the child has been born and his mother recovered from her post-pregnancy complications, Ardyn decides to pay a visit.

-Slipping past the guards is child’s play. They either see one of their own, or a servant, or nothing at all depending on his desire. He steals a keycard from some fool that he allows to remain alive and makes his way up to the royal suites. It doesn’t take him any time at all to find the royal Heir. The twins are in another part of the Citadel, and the young prince’s magic is fresh and new and vulnerable. Easy to track down to a sprawling playroom where Ardyn hears miserable crying through the door.

-”Shh,” someone says as he slips inside, “It’s alright, I can make it better, it’s alright.” Ardyn stills when he sees the Chosen King, at first completely ignoring the young teen rocking him back and forth. The child looks spoiled rotten, chubby with baby fat and red from his tantrum, the source of which Ardyn can see on the chubby cheek. A tiny cut with just the faintest beads of blood. How the child managed to do that is a mystery, but Ardyn feels nothing but scorn. The sheer amount of growing this child will have to do to be anything *interesting* will take more years than Ardyn anticipated. Not that he can’t be patient-.

-Magic.

-Not his, not the child’s. It caresses the Chosen King and NOW Ardyn looks at the teen holding the young prince. The boy is dressed in comfortable finery, with an ornate cane beside him that indicates he himself is not of the best health, but none of that matters because Ardyn is too distracted trying to figure out why the boy’s magic exists. Another wayward elder spawn of the current king perhaps?

-The teen gently touches a finger to the cut, a serene smile on his face as he hums and green magic flickers to life, “There, there, it barely even stings, see?”

-The Chosen King stops crying and coos as the cut heals over-

-And reopens on the teen’s dark skinned one.

-Ardyn forgets everything, forgets stealth, forgets the Chosen King, forgets even to be angry. All he feels is something cold and ugly and fearful in his chest, all pointed at someone other than himself. The teenager is on his feet less than a moment later, the cane in his hand and pointed at Ardyn’s chest like a sword as he backs away, something fearful in his gold eyes and Astrals above.

-Those are Aera’s eyes. Not her color, this boy’s eyes are gold, but the shape, the shape he memorized so long ago, the long, thick lashes, the silver-white hair so common for the males of the Nox Fleuret line. His skin is dark and his eyes are gold but his eye-shape is Aera’s. His wispy, wavy hair is Aera’s. His cheekbones and the way his nostril flare with his fear are all Aera’s even though the magic surging out in alarm-warning-fear-battle is more Lucis Caelum than Oracle and his jawline is just a touch too broad for Aera’s even though it is achingly familiar, as if from a mirror.

-A mirror.

-Aera.

-Him.

-The magic only he had ever possessed, mixed with the warning snaps of Oracle gold that bite at him and make his human guise fall away as the Scourge rises up to snarl back. The boy looks horrified, he looks angry and ready to fight Ardyn to the death even though he has a heavy limp as he backs away with the child king and it hurts Ardyn, on a level he didn’t think he had anymore, because that is Aera’s child. Somehow, some way even though she has been dead and gone for so long. It is like looking at a dark skinned dream, a wish he’d once had that was never meant to be, but that makes no SENSE. Aera is DEAD and Ardyn has never lain with anyone. Ardyn never even laid with Aera, so he cannot be a descendant. And there is no other way for a child to come into being.

-Except there is.

-“Where did you come from,” Ardyn rasps, stalking closer even as the boy’s eyes flash emerald in warning and the cane hums with magic, “Who’s child are you?” The boy stares, and Ardyn roars over the crying child in the teen’s arms, “ANSWER ME.”

-“My name is Ozpin,” the boy manages past the terror Ardyn can see coating his every breath, past the tremble in his hands, “And I never knew the parents who gave me their blood. I woke up on the shores of an island with no memory of how I came to be there.”

-“You have Oracle and Lucis Caelum magic both,” Ardyn growls, “Is not the KING your father?”

-“No.” The teen chokes out as the magic of the twins and the king burns closer-closer-closer to his rescue, “They ran tests. The nearest blood connection I have to the current Lucis Caelum line is two thousand years old-.” He ducks, using his body to shield the child as a green shield flares and guards his back against the glass windows that just shattered. Pieces slam into place and for once even the screaming of the Scourge has no hold on his mind over the chant of Aera-Aera-Aera-Aera’s-child-MY-CHILD-AERA’S-CHILD-. Ardyn’s mind clears. For one moment he feels like himself again. Like the Ardyn he was before the sickness, before Somnus’s betrayal, before he was dragged out of his tomb by Besithia.

-The boy with Aera’s face and hair and Ardyn’s gold-tainted eyes and their magic mixed together in perfect harmony stands up again, and in his face is the sudden calm of someone who has stopped being scared because they are certain that they are going to die protecting another.

-He did that.

-He’s ... frightened the boy.

-He’s frightened Aera’s son.

-The royal twins, the king, and a host of guards burst in moments later, but Ardyn is already gone, flung himself out the shattered window and down into the city to escape, to grieve, to RAGE because he has frightened Aera’s son. A son that shouldn’t exist but DOES and-

-And he knows exactly who is at fault.

-Who should have told him.

-Perhaps it is time to sit down and have that conversation Besithia is always needling for. And when he is done, perhaps it is time for the Empire to find a new head scientist. Because he knows little about cloning, but he knows it can create life from dead bones, and anyone who desecrated Aera’s rest deserved what nightmares the Scourge screaming inside him wanted to unleash.

-(And if he is running from the guilt of frightening the child he never thought he would have, if he is running from the realization that he and Aera had a child only for that child to see him as a MONSTER for the scourge under his veins and the way he found the boy- well. That is his crisis to deal with another time)

-(Meanwhile Ozpin sags into the hold of his Shield and Sword, shaking and bordering on a panic attack as his mind replays the sudden appearance of a man who felt- who lOOKED- like SALEM. Corrupted and sick and not right in the head, and in that moment Ozpin had been so sure the cycle was going to start again, that the man would smile and somehow know to call him Ozma even though the man cannot be Salem and Ozpin knows it-.)

-(He hides his face in the crook of Raven’s neck and tries not to wonder about the way gold eyes had briefly, gut-wrenchingly cleared and become sane again. Become afraid and heartbroken again.)

-(The man had asked about who his parent’s were.)

-(Ozpin refuses to think about how in that moment of sanity, the man’s shade of gold had been exactly Ozpin’s own)

[jessicajonesrp]

He’s backkkk

 It took some careful planning, but eventually, Rikarah had what she needed to be able to bring Kilgrave back to life.

 She already had a safe and secure location where she would be uninterrupted during times of needed concentration- her open rented home, just outside of Manhattan. She had never bothered to inform Phillip that she had a rental house; it seemed a better bet to keep the information of her multiple living quarters, unused for most of the year, to herself, just in case. Phillip had been far from discreet, and there was a reason Rikarah had chosen a secondary lodging outside of the business of cities such as NYC, Hell’s Kitchen, Harlem, or Manhattan itself. She was a loner at heart, but her interest and her focus tended to be on others, and it was necessary to spend most of her time among them in order to know them and their lives. This distant secondary home was to be used only when necessary, to recharge, or for specific situations such as this.

 It hadn’t been difficult to obtain a picture of Kilgrave. After the incident on the dock, he and Jessica and Patricia Walker had been all over the covers of newspapers everywhere, so it was a simple matter of a few clicks on a smart phone to find and save a picture of the  man in question. It had taken more time to obtain something with Kilgrave’s DNA. Rikarah had attempted to trace the location of his body- somehow she suspected he had been neither traditionally buried nor cremated, and it was her guess that he was likely being used for scientific experimentation or study, legally or otherwise,  within the government or whoever else had been the highest bidder of access.

 With some creative thought, she had been able to trace back several of Kilgrave’s last known addresses, including the childhood home of Jessica Jones, which was unfortunately no longer standing after its bombing. Nevertheless, Rikarah had discovered that the “Kilgrave survivors” group Jessica had formed over a year ago, with the intention of drawing out Kilgrave and gaining information on him, was still active and meeting regularly.

 It hadn’t been difficult to insinuate herself into the group for a few weeks as a new member, pretending to be one of the traumatized survivors of the incident of Kilgrave-directed violence on the dock the evening he himself had died. Rikarah had enough research information to be able to nod along and briefly and tearfully provide her own version of events. Meanwhile she took note of the people who had spent prolonged time with Kilgrave- being his driver for a week, forced to let him live in their home for longer, or forced to wait on him as a cook, bartender, or masseuse.  

 Those were the ones that may possess something that would carry Kilgrave’s DNA, even now. Those were the ones that she made the effort to befriend, to offer a shoulder and a listening ear. And a few episodes of feigned attraction and friendship had been enough for one clearly still traumatized older man to allow her into his home and his bed, and with minimal encouragement from Rikarah, to lead her in a tour of the house Kilgrave had made his lodging for a time- the house the man still lived in.

 “It was terrible,” the man told her, actually tearful as he shook his head, eyes cloudy as though reliving what he spoke of. “I couldn’t leave the house, I couldn’t speak or even move without him giving me the okay to. He used my house as though it were his, and then one day he just left and didn’t come back. I was terrified that he might return, any moment, and I couldn’t predict when or do anything to stop him. He didn’t even take all of his things with him, and I was afraid to do anything to get rid of them, or even move them, in case it made him angry if he did come back. I know he’s dead now, but even now I’m afraid to touch his things. That’s pathetic, I know, but it’s the truth.”

 It was pathetic, in Rikarah’s view, but it was also fortunate for her. Because among Kilgrave’s “left behind things” were a comb, toothbrush, and some clothing including socks and underwear. All certain to contain Kilgrave’s DNA.

 She had charmed the man with sympathetic words and touches, assuring him of his bravery, lying without a flicker of remorse about her own supposed fear. It hadn’t taken more than twenty minutes for him to be convinced that he was now strong and brave enough to let some of those items go, “just a few to start with, the ones most associated with him personally”- and that she, Rikarah, in spite of her own fear, cared enough about his healing to be the one to take them away to make sure they were disposed of.

 She still couldn’t believe the man was gullible enough to fall for such nonsense. But he had actually leaked tears and hugged her, thanking her for her empathy and giving him the chance to start a new life.

 Ironic, and amusing, really, that in all actuality, she was bringing back what he feared the very most, all in the name of helping him put it behind him.

  So armed in her remote rented home with the personal objects of Kilgrave’s and a clear picture of his face, Rikarah sat cross legged on her bed and emptied her mind of all thoughts but those of her intention. She stared at Kilgrave’s picture, her hands stroking over each object containing his DNA, and pictured him awake, alive, and whole before her. She imagined the beating of his heart, the rhythm of his breathing, every synapse and nerve once more sharp with activity and use. She envisioned the blood running through his veins, and as her own small body grew taut and gave off fevered heat with the effort of her actions, she reached out for the knife beside her knee. Grasping it in her left hand, she slashed a shallow x over each of her palms, and then at the surface of each of her feet. Hands shaking slightly, she smeared the blood over the comb, the toothbrush, and the clothing, combining their DNA.

 With a final shudder of effortful focus, Rikarah spoke aloud Kilgrave’s name. She could feel the air grow thick and strained, as though holding something moving and living and shifting in shape, and she slumped back, exhausted, against the bed, watching with satisfaction as a human form began to slowly knit itself into view in front of her.

 It wasn’t a pretty sight. The revived bodies started first with skeletons, then filled up with internal organs and muscles and sinew, before finally being knit over with skin and hair and the other details normally seen on the outside. It was no different with Kilgrave, and eventually, there he stood, naked, panting, and wide-eyed at her bedside.

 Rikarah smiled, more in self-satisfaction at the accomplished task than at the sight of the man’s naked body. She didn’t consider him overly impressive in his physique, but he would do. It was the man and his mind, not his body, that mattered. She more than anyone knew it was a mistake to overlook people for their physicality.

 “Where the bloody hell am I?” Kilgrave sputtered, disoriented, seeming to struggle to draw in breaths. His lungs, being new again, were likely still adjusting to breathing. “What’s the matter with me? And who the fuck are you?”

 When Rikarah didn’t immediately answer, too tired to bother, Kilgrave straightened, pointing a finger at her, and took a menacing step forward, raising his voice. “I asked you a question, are you deaf? Answer me!”

  “I’m sorry, Kevin, but I don’t take orders from anyone if it doesn’t suit me, and certainly not from you,” Rikarah said coolly, lifting an eyebrow from her supine position on the bed. “As you quite literally owe your life to me, I would expect a little more respect and gratitude, but I’m a patient woman. I’ll assume you’re rather in shock at the moment, given you’ve just gone from bones and brain mush to a living body again, and let the rudeness slide.”

 Kilgrave’s eyes bulged, and he recoiled, alarmed as much by the nonchalant response he had just received as the strange situation he had found himself in. To speak an order and have it not obeyed immediately was beyond his comprehension.

 “But I told you to do it!” he almost whined, staring down at the small and clearly unintimidated woman resting on her side in the bed. “I told you to, and you just- the only person who could ignore me was Jessica, and-“

 He stiffened, his face paling, as he pointed an accusing finger at Rikarah again.

 “Jessica did this, Jessica used that sedative thing on me, didn’t she?! You’re with her, you’re one of her people!”

 “Certainly not,” Rikarah corrected him, exhaling with a weary and somewhat impatient sigh. “Jessica knows nothing of this- yet. As far as she believes, you are long dead, and she is glad of it. After all, she was the cause.”

 She sat up, watching wryly as the realization and the memory of his own last few moments of life, just before Jessica snapped his neck, came back into the forefront of his thoughts. Rikarah gave him a few more moments to process this against the obvious reality of his current status of being alive before addressing him again.

 “Yes, Kevin, you were dead, and for over a year now, too. You would have stayed that way, if not for myself and my own unique abilities. Some gratitude and a certain level of loyalty is not unwarranted.”

 “I was dead,” Kilgrave repeated, the words stunned, almost disbelieving. “And you’re saying- what, that you resurrected me? You?” He snorted, looking Rikarah up and down dismissively. “No  offense, love, but you hardly look the type to have that sort of power.”

 “And Jessica does?” Rikarah countered. “I’ll grant you that she has the advantage in height, but she’s of a smaller frame even than myself, and what she may have over me in physical strength, I can outdo in the sheer enormity of my ability. She may be able to kill someone with a punch, but I’m the one who can bring them back from the dead. If you ask me, I have the greater power, and therefore, the greater true strength.”

 Kilgrave looked her over again, more carefully this time, assessing rather than dismissing her. He took a step closer, still seeming not to care for his nakedness as he narrowed his eyes at Rikarah, anger losing out to eagerness in his eyes.

 “You know Jessica,” he asserted. “Where is she?”

 Rikarah wagged a finger at him playfully, a small smile curving her lips.

 “Am I really so uninteresting, that I bring you out of death, and you would forgo all details to chase after another woman? Perhaps I was wrong in my interest in you. Perhaps someone else is more deserving, and you can simply go back to where you were before.”

 “Wait, no, that isn’t it, love,” Kilgrave backpedaled, his smile at Rikarah forced at first as he raked a hand through his hair, then more genuine. “Of course I want to know how you managed this, and of course I’m glad for it. And I certainly want to know how it is you don’t listen to a thing I tell you to do,” he muttered, more to himself than to Rikarah, before addressing her again. “But if you know Jessica, then you must know something of our history, and why I would want to know where she is. She’s the one who killed me, you know. She’s the one-“

   “That,” Rikarah interrupted, to Kilgrave’s barely contained outrage, “is in the past. The present is right here, with me, in this moment. Choose wisely, Kevin Kilgrave, and choose now, while you still have the choice before you. You can realize that I am no ordinary woman you’re dealing with here, that you owe me your life and your loyalty, and I owe you nothing and cannot be ordered into anything you may want from me. Believe me, I hold no liking for Jessica Jones, and as long as I am the woman who comes first and foremost in your world, I care little for how you choose to play with her. And I am certainly not opposed to letting you know every detail of what you have missed knowing of her life over the past year that you’ve been dust and bones.”

 She paused, tilting her head, and gave him a moment to consider, before concluding, “Or you can choose to be foolish, ungrateful, and quite frankly, a bumbling, pathetic corpse, stumbling off on your own in a world that has moved on without you. You would have none of my help or my connections, none of my knowledge, and you would displease me greatly. When and if Jessica Jones kills you again- and she would, you know, if you just pop up on her in her new life without my assistance- then you can be certain I would not lift a finger to bring you back. So, then. What shall it be? I would think the decision obvious, but perhaps you’re not as intelligent as I believed.”

 For a moment Kilgrave stood there, motionless, perhaps still in shock, or perhaps genuinely weighing out his obsession with Jessica and his desire for revenge against the logical reasoning of Rikarah’s words. But then he nodded slowly, reaching forward to take hold of Rikarah’s hand in his.

 “Well, it would indeed be a fool’s errand to let a woman like you slip out of my grasp. Why don’t we start over with introductions, and perhaps something in the way of an explanation.”

 And as Rikarah began to speak, giving Kilgrave some if not all of the answers he craved, she noticed his body relax further, his expression growing more and more fascinated as he came to understand more of the extent of her actions and her power. It wasn’t quite the way, she was sure, that he had looked at Jessica, but for now, it was enough.

 It was enough, in fact, that after he had dressed in some of his old clothing and taken time to familiarize himself with Rikarah and her home, that Rikarah was willing to give him the phone number, if not the address, of Jessica’s new workplace, Heroes for Hire. And she sat back, interested and indulgent, as he placed a call, from a cheap prepaid phone she had bought in anticipation of his need for one.

 It was Trish who answered, her voice bright and cheerful as the company’s head. “Heroes for Hire, we provide help, heroism, and honorable services for those in need in a time where true heroism is more needed than ever. How can we help you today?”

 “Ah, Patsy,” Kilgrave purred, snickering to himself when he heard Trish suck in a sharp breath, immediately recognizing his British accent and self-satisfied tone. “So good to hear a familiar voice, but unfortunately, yours has never been the one I wanted to hear, and you prattle on enough as it is on that bloody talk show of yours. Give the phone to Jessica. Tell her she has a message from an old friend, would you?”

 “This isn’t funny,” Trish said tightly, her voice controlled but barely keeping back anger. “Whoever you are, pretending to be that man is not a joke, it’s cruel, and-“

 “Ah, but this is no joke, Patsy, can’t you recognize your own  would be lover?” Kilgrave asked rhetorically. “Have you had so many men now you can’t remember the voice of all the ones whose throat you stuck your tongue inside of? Let me help you out, then. I’m the one who told you to put a bullet in your head. Fortunately enough for you, that doesn’t appear to have worked out, I never did find out why. Care to explain it to me, Patsy?”

 He and Rikarah both heard Trish suck in her breath on the other side of the line. He doubted that this incident in the bunker was something anyone but she, Kilgrave, Simpson, and Jessica were aware of- and out of the four of them, both men were dead. Or supposed to be.

 “Who are you?” she asked, her voice softer than before. “What do you want?”

 “Unfortunately, Patsy, for me to really make you do what I’d like to make you do, you’d have to be a good bit closer to me than a phone call, something about pheromones,” Kilgrave said casually. “But I do have other ways of making you do as I’d like you to. Put Jessica on the phone, or I will have six people show up at her doorstep and  cut your name into their own foreheads. If she tries to stop them, they will cut her as well. Is that something you want to have on your conscience, Patsy? For a simple conversation?”

 The line went silent for a few moments. When Jessica came onto the line, her voice was hard and cold as steel.

 “Who the fuck are you, and just what the fuck do you think you’re doing, playing this kind of sick joke?”

 “And hello to you too, Jessie,” Kilgrave exclaimed, putting an exaggerated bounce to his voice. “No joke, you never did have much of a sense of humor to waste any on. I won’t say it’s good to hear from you, since I had to get murdered,  raised from the dead, and then still call your sister first and threaten her for you to speak to me, and I must say that hurts a man’s feelings.”

 “You’re not him. You can’t be, you’re just some sick asshole who needs to fucking go put his dick in a-“

 “Oh, Jessie, I can see your language is as filthy as ever, every bit as appalling as your fashion sense. Let’s cut off all the protests of my supposed death and just check your office email, shall we?”

 Five minutes before the phone call, Rikarah had shot a quick video of him smiling and waving into the camera, with the date and time of the video clearly time stamped at its bottom. With a few clicks, he sent the video to the public Heroes for Hire email address, cutting off the call.

 “But don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll hear from me again soon. If you miss me before we meet again, you have the video for comfort’s sake.”

 As Kilgrave hung up, glowing with renewed feelings of power over the fear, rage, and helplessness he had stirred anew in the two women he had just spoken to, he sent a genuine smile in Rikarah’s direction, who returned it in kind.

 “You know what, I like you, Rikarah Pallaton. I think we’ll get along just fine after all.”

[andorlorian]

okay so I do have an anakin fix it au floating around in my brain in which revenge of the sith goes as well as it possibly could BUT that's not the important part of this post the IMPORTANT part is what happens to maul in this au. (disclaimer: all I know about maul's backstory is from watching the clone wars and reading his wookiepedia page so some of this might be inaccurate. bear with me)

okay so because order 66 didn't happen, maul is brought before the council. he was sith so the council would want to deal with him personally

I think with palpatine dead (fully and completely 100% dead no take backs) the influence of the dark side everywhere would be lessened. everyone would feel a lot clearer, happier, brighter, like a dark cloud had been lifted from their mind. this would include maul.

however, for maul, diving deep into the dark side has been something of a coping mechanism. amassing as much power as possible and giving yourself over to this dark higher power means you don't have the contemplate the fact that you were stolen from your family and home world and fed incredibly damaging rhetoric from the man who 1) let you die 2) immediately upon finding out you were still alive electrocuted the fuck out of you and killed the last part of your family and (imo) the only person you ever truly loved

so maul upon arriving to the jedi council, while slightly less affected by the dark side, is still full of pure rage, hate, and a clusterfuck of other emotions brought about by thinking about the jedi. he's a whole disaster

okay this is going to get very very long I'm going to put a read more here

I imagine some in the council would like to kill or exile him and be done with it, but after the inherent trauma of the clone wars and seeing how far separated from their ideals the jedi order has become, they'd show him mercy. this part may not necessarily make 100% sense but shut up this is the good things for maul au maul gets good things

therefore, the council would vote in favor of rehabilitation. what I imagine this would look like is maul would be heavily guarded and watched, and whenever possible he would be visited by jedi masters (and masters ONLY. they're not dumb)

maul gets his own quarters, which are big enough not to be stifling or tiny but small enough to still fit in a jedi temple where they value austerity and forsaking possessions. they would want to give maul as much freedom as possible while making sure he couldn't be a threat to anyone around him, which would mean he doesn't have much freedom at all. he's fed and watered and visited by at least one jedi master a day. these visits are usually someone meditating and trying to rehabilitate maul's mind while not being openly invading, rather guiding maul's broken mind into its natural state and removing palpatine's influence. these visits are also good old fashioned therapy (maul desperately needs to talk some shit out)

it would take a very very very long time but with guided meditation and constant consistent kindness and understanding shown to him by the jedi maul would start to heal. one of the major things that palpatine forcibly shoved into his brain is a distrust and particular hatred for the jedi, but after spending so many years in their care and with constant (almost annoying) understanding that belief system would start to break down.

it would start small. like one day maybe instead of feeling rage and anger around savage's death he feels sadness because for the first time he's in an environment where he has the space to breathe and remember his brother

I think once maul has actually started to improve a little bit and moved past his rage and murder phase that's when obi-wan would visit him. which would definitely bring back some rage and murder but also it would bring maul some closure. I'd imagine they'd both need some sort of closure, considering maul killed qui gon and obi-wan essentially killed him. but obi-wan saying something like "I forgive you. I'm not your enemy." that might throw a wrench into maul's thinking

so over time, maul is becoming less and less emotionally tumultuous. he's in a stable environment in which a set group of people visit him daily solely for the purpose of rehabilitating him, both through the force and just regular conversation as equals. eventually, after enough time in this environment, whoever maul is beneath the rage and pain and the dark side would emerge

this is the side of maul that I wrote this for. this is why he's one of my favorites.

maul is deeply intelligent, and rather calculating. while he usually forgoes rational thought to scream "kenOBIIIIIII" into the night he's very good at assessing a situation and how to get the best possible outcome. he feels things very deeply but he's incredibly bad at naming exactly what his feelings are and he's not very good at reading the emotions of others. I think a flaw of his is that he really forgets to take emotions into account, while for the jedi that's kind of their whole thing. (yeah the jedi are stereotyped as unfeeling warriors but that's not true at all, they acknowledge and release their feelings into the force. for them their feelings are the force.)

I think one day when maul is beyond resisting his existence at the jedi temple, when he slowly realizes "hey my life sucks a whole lot less than before" he manages to actually solve a problem for one of the masters who visits him regularly and has become the closest thing he can really have to a friend. said master (maybe kit fisto just because I like kit fisto) rants about a problem or a mission that they're having and maul just goes "well it's obvious, really." and manages to solve the problem like that by nature of his unique perspective.

and after a looong amount of time has passed, maul's role shifts from enemy, victim, and a patient to being a voice of rationality, a problem-solver, and someone to rant to when the whole jedi master thing gets to be A Lot™

seriously though I cannot stress how long it would take for maul to heal and get to this point. MINIMUM five years.

eventually maul and some people he's forged friendships with petition the council to allow him to have some more freedom. while extremely hesitant, without palps clouding their vision they could much more clearly see maul's mental state and what sort of danger he would pose to the jedi, and they would let him move freely about the temple

okay here's my favorite part of this whole thing. maul is a fucking nerd. he discovers the jedi library and goes insane. maul would read so many books about so many different things because he's interested in everything and he'd want to build his knowledge in a myriad of subjects. he would spend hours upon hours in the jedi library just reading every single thing in there. he'd beg one of the masters to let him access the "forbidden knowledge" just because it's knowledge and he wants it. and if that didn't work he'd find a way to break in (the forbidden knowledge did not disappoint).

I also think maul would love to spar with lightsabers and stuff. he'd know techniques the jedi wouldn't, and so in friendly spars with people he'd managed to befriend, he'd actually give them a fight and teach them something, while also learning new techniques from the jedi

I think maul would consider becoming a jedi for a brief second. he's happier here than he's probably ever been, finally free from palpatine's influence and in a healthy environment. but he knows it's not his path.

after spending a long time living at the jedi temple, having carved out something of a life for himself, made friends for the first time in his life, having finally achieved emotional stability, he approaches the order on his own. they expect, after having been long used to his presence, for him to ask to be a jedi. but he comes with an unexpected proposal.

maul asks to leave the jedi temple to go home to dathomir, to see what had become of his family and of the nightbrothers. he's much much more stable than he was, but he still has burning questions that palpatine would never have let him find the answers to. and he genuinely does want to get there, eventually. but he also wants to learn more about the force that the jedi wouldn't teach him, to learn more about the sith.

his departure is surprisingly more emotional than he was expecting. the jedi temple was the first place he'd ever actually felt safe, that he'd been allowed to just exist. he would miss it.

armed with all the knowledge in the jedi temple, he searches for knowledge the jedi wouldn't have access to. he finds the remains of mortis, and researches the mortis gods. he spends a period of time wandering around like batman crushing the people he doesn't particularly like (usually people objectively morally horrible. he spent years with the jedi he has ✨morals✨ now). he even made his way to ilum, and found two crystals to forge a new double-bladed lightsaber. (the blades are yellow.)

maul would also study ancient sith texts, and spend a lot of time investigating old sith temples (like the one on malachor). however, he doesn't have the same burning desire to seize the power for himself anymore. it's an odd feeling.

eventually he does return home to dathomir to find the genocide of the nightsisters (with only one nightsister, merrin, remaining) and the nightbrothers in disarray after the loss of the dictatorial government they'd lived under for generations. maul ends up taking over a la mandalore (but with a lot less murder and awfulness. ✨morals✨)

what I'd love to see is maul founding an opposite sort of order to the jedi. not necessarily the sith, since the sith treated him horribly and destroyed his entire life, but i think maul would believe that for the force to truly be in balance, you couldn't try to eradicate an entire half of it from the galaxy. I would love to see maul found an order of dark side force users that teaches about how to use the dark side, how to avoid total corruption, and the correct channels for the power you control.

maul would be a very effective teacher in the dark side because of how much experience he has with it. he experienced the absolute worst of the dark side, the total corruption and loss of self, but he also used the dark side to save the nightbrothers from destroying themselves after the loss of the nightsisters and used his power to keep them together and safe (not to mention the period of time with Batman Maul where he used the dark side to help people).

also I would love to see the new generation of jedi and the new generation of dark side users not to be in opposition for once. by nature of maul being rehabilitated by the jedi, he would teach about them and their teachings with a modicum of respect, and the two orders would be seen as two sides of the same coin. twins, almost.

maul would not be a child snatcher, he was child snatched. the dark side is different from the light in that its always there. it comes much more naturally to force users, and unlike the jedi, it wouldn't require you to join from a ridiculously young age. his order is always known and always open to any force user who wishes to learn about the force.

maul's life comes to an end peacefully, at his home on dathomir, having built a new society for the nightbrothers and a new order for users of the dark side.

[silverynight]

My love, my life

Theseus wouldn't have allowed him to do such thing, but he's not there anymore; he went with the first group to find another place to for the others to hide, but only three came back. The ones that still remain say they lost the other two in the snow and they are probably dead by now, although Newt refuses to believe that.

The problem is that even though the few explorers managed to pass unseen close to Nurmengard they know thirty people won't. Which means at least half of them will have to "donate" their blood to the vampires that live in the castle.

But the people are too weak and they have a few young ones that won't survive if one of those vampires bites them.

Still, they come up with a plan and Newt tries to help carrying two children in his arms (he actually likes them and since there's no one left in his family he's completely focused on taking care of them, even if they're not his).

They managed to get to the other side, but they get captured and taken to the castle. Grindelwald, the leader of the vampires is not at all pleased.

"I'm sure you must know, Hellen, that all humans have to pay a tribute if they want to cross our territory," Grindelwald looks from her to some of the people gathered in there and smirks. "I should punish you for trying to sneak in my territory, but I'm not merciless... I will forgive you if your people feed mine this time..."

"Some of us haven't eaten in–"

Before Hellen can say anything else, Newt steps forward and thinks of how angry Theseus would be if he heard him saying what he is about to say.

"What if I stay?"

Some of the vampires look at him in shock, others just narrow his eyes at him.

Grindelwald finally looks at him and Newt realizes the color of his eyes is not the same.

"Forever?" He's surprised and genuinely interested in Newt's response and the human feels like he has a chance of actually helping the others.

"As long as I live," he mumbles and he's aware that to a vampire that doesn't mean much.

"You don't have to, Newt–"

Before one of the men can try to persuade him; Grindelwald rises from the chair he was sitting and gets closer to the redhead.

The vampire circles him; he stares and stares and Newt has no idea what he's really thinking.

"You won't see any of them again," Grindelwald says, caressing Newt's hair almost kindly.

But they'll be okay; Newt doesn't say, but thinks it, he believes it.

They'll have a better chance to survive in another place and perhaps they'll get to see Theseus again, because despite of what everyone else thinks, Newt knows his brother is alive.

"It's okay," he mumbles instead and hears one of the children sob (he knows it's probably Amber) until her mother takes her in her arms.

"Is that your child?"

"I don't have kids," Newt says, even though it's like they all are his in a way.

"What's your name?"

"Newt."

Grindelwald keeps looking at him until his smug expression turns into something more gentle.

"Alright, woman," he tells Hellen. "We have a deal, you can leave with your people and I'll keep Newton."

He feels relief and peace, despite that he's aware that he'll suffer in there or die in a couple of days if Grindelwald allows all of his vampires to feed from him.

***

Grindelwald gives him a room; it's his own room but vampires almost never sleep so Newt gets the bed all to himself. He can also walk around the castle as much as he wants, but he cannot leave.

The vampire with mismatched eyes doesn't let anyone drink from him; one of them tried once and Grindelwald took their head off, not in front of Newt, but Vinda told him a couple of days later.

Now they don't even dare to look at him; it's not weird... Newt knows some vampires are really possessive over their food... Although Grindelwald hasn't fed from him yet.

But he watches Newt, he walks in the bedroom and stares at him like he's trying to decipher him.

He sits on the floor next to him the day a small fox gets in the castle and watches patiently as Newt earns its trust.

When the little animal bites Newt, Grindelwald bares his teeth at the fox, but the human puts himself in the middle of the two.

"It's okay, I'm not hurt," he assures him. "He's scared, he's trying to protect himself."

Grindelwald nods and sits again, although he's not as relaxed or happy like he was when he walked inside the bedroom.

When the little fox starts getting closer to Newt, the vampire speaks again.

"You lied, pretty... You're hurt," Grindelwald comments. "I can smell your blood."

Newt looks at his hand and then offers it to the vampire; he's not sure if he's thirsty or not, but he hasn't drank from him since he got there.

Although instead of drinking, the vampire just licks his wound until it's clean and Newt watches as it heals quickly.

He stares at the vampire in confusion.

"Aren't you... thirsty?"

"The older a vampire gets, the longer he can last without drinking blood," Grindelwald says, smiling fondly at him. He's amused for some reason. "Besides, I won't drink from you until you offer me your neck yourself."

"And if I never do that?" Newt mumbles, stroking the fox until it falls asleep on his lap.

"I won't feed from you," Grindelwald says.

Instead of asking the reason behind that, Newt chooses another type of question.

"Why the neck? What's the matter with my wrist? Does it taste different?" Newt has always been curious; he loves to know more about any kind of topic, especially about living things.

Grindelwald chuckles and gets closer, he does it slowly almost like he's afraid Newt will flee if he is not careful. It seems like the vampire learned a thing or two from him.

It amuses Newt, although he doesn't smile.

"I'll answer all the questions you have, but only if you let me touch you."

The redhead feels both his brows quirking up in surprise; he hadn't realized, not until that moment at least, that the vampire hadn't touched him since the day they met.

Newt nods and tries not to gasp when he gets pulled onto Grindelwald's lap. Fortunately, the fox doesn't wake up.

"You're cold."

"I'm always cold, Liebling. But you always make me feel warmer, even if I'm not touching you."

Newt doesn't know how to respond to that, so he decides to repeat his previous question. Grindelwald nuzzles his neck before answering.

"It doesn't taste different," he explains. "But it means something different."

"What does it mean?"

"Well..." Grindelwald puts his head over Newt's shoulder and takes one of his hands. "If I drink from one of your wrists, it means you're food to me, although if you offer it it could mean you're my ally or even my friend. But if you allow me to drink from your neck... It means you want me as much as I do, because you see, Liebling, a vampire only bites the neck of the one they consider their lover."

Grindelwald kisses the back of Newt's head as soon as he whispers the last word and even as someone as oblivious like himself knows what the vampire is trying to say.

He blushes to the tip of his ears and doesn't say anything else, although Grindelwald doesn't seem upset by Newt's silence; it's almost like he enjoys it.

***

Nellie grows stronger and very protective of Newt and even though the fox doesn't trust vampires in general, she always allows Grindelwald to get closer to the human.

The vampire has noticed it too and it pleases him completely.

"Good girl," he says, after bringing her a piece of meat. "It seems you have taken good care of your Mummy."

It's the first time Grindelwald calls him that and after the initial surprise, Newt blushes and giggles, absolutely delighted. He kind of enjoys being called 'Mummy'.

"Ah... The first one. It's even better than I thought it would."

"The first what?" Newt asks, always curious.

"First time I make you smile," Grindelwald mumbles, kissing Newt's forehead. "It took me a while."

He gets flustered, just for a couple of seconds because he gets distracted by the shadows under Grindelwald's eyes.

"You're tired," he comments, worried.

"I'm fine, Liebling."

"You're lying," Newt narrows his eyes. And he realizes quickly what's going on. "When you said you wouldn't drink from me I had no idea you meant you wouldn't drink at all."

"I'm not thirsty," Grindelwald lies again, although this time he looks like he is truly sorry.

Newt takes a step closer and exposes his neck in front of him; he watches as Grindelwald's eyes turn completely red.

"No," he shakes his head, shocking Newt.

"Why not? I thought you wanted this..."

"Not like that," the vampire grimaces like he's in pain. "You're not ready. You don't really mean it. I know you, Newton. You just want to feed me because you're worried about me. You don't want this."

"I want to help you..."

"It's not enough, my love."

Grindelwald walks away before Newt can say anything else. He even starts avoiding the human and when Newt mentions it to Vinda she just rolls her eyes.

"He's so dramatic sometimes..." She huffs and she takes Newt to Grindelwald's private office.

The vampire freezes as soon as he sees Newt.

"Liebling–"

"If I'm concerned, it's because I care about you," Newt cuts him off, rushing into his office. He even sits over the vampire's lap, just the way he likes it. "I want you to bite me."

"Newton..."

"Gellert," he says in return and they both know it's the first time he uses the vampire's given name.

Although Newt definitely doesn't expect the reaction he gets from him. The vampire gets completely flustered.

"It's not fair," he says, staring at Newt in awe.

"Please, Gellert," Newt mumbles, really enjoying the power he has over the vampire.

"Now you're doing it on purpose," Grindelwald whispers, although he looks so proud of him. He kisses Newt's neck, but doesn't bite it. "At least tell me you feel something for me... It doesn't have to be love yet, but–"

Newt shuts him up with a kiss on the lips. It's quick, but it's enough to get his message across.

"Bite me," he insists and this time Grindelwald doesn't hesitate and Newt is not surprised by the pain he feels, but by the wave of pleasure that follows it.

Unfortunately, it doesn't last long. And Newt surprises himself by whining when the vampire pulls away and starts cleaning the mark he left on Newt.

"Why did you stop?"

"Because I had to, my love. I don't need much blood to feel satisfied," he chuckles, kissing Newt. "And I don't want to hurt you. Besides, there are other ways I can give you pleasure, if you allow me to show you..."

The human blushes but doesn't look away from him.

"I'd... like that." He whispers, enjoying the way Grindelwald looks back at him, eyes glimmering with happiness and love.

***

I wrote this for my friend Jason a while ago.

Patreon

[slasherholic]

(psst... did someone say Mikey whump? guys I think someone said Mikey whump…) 

Frisky February Prompt: Electricity~ (yes it’s 15 days too early shush)  @slashthedice

synopsis: Michael gets served up some nasty, nasty revenge by someone who really, really has it out for him.

warnings: torture in a medical setting, sexual assault, mikey has a bad time ok

foreword: the opinions expressed here by the POV character about certain sensitive topics in no way reflect my own beliefs <3

No Faith in Medicine | Michael Myers x Reader | NSFW

The hospital corridor is long and grey and stretches onward toward a single bolted door, labeled by the rectangular sign hanging above it as Therapy Theater No. 5.

This deep within the bowels of the sanitarium, below the patient wards and the enrichment centers and the checkered courtyard, there is hardly any of the familiar clamour; so as you stride closer to the door the clack of your bootheels over the beige linoleum carries like thunder.

Smith’s Grove was never the sort of place you had pictured yourself ending up during all those sleepless nights studying for your Ph.D, and truthfully, you can’t stand it here. The deliberate blandness of the hospital, with its color palettes limited to inoffensive whites and blues and greys—meticulously designed so as not to provoke its residents—wears on you more than anything else.

You feel like you’re suffocating here; but it doesn’t matter.

This job was never about you to begin with. It was never about some commendable interest in the healing of troubled minds, either; oh-no. There are two-hundred-and-forty-nine permanent patients living inside these sound-proof walls, and while it may not be a very doctorly thing to admit, you don’t give a rat’s ass about two-hundred-and-forty-eight of them.

...and as for that last “troubled mind,” well…

The breezy summer afternoon that Michael Myers was sentenced to life imprisonment exists in your head as vividly as a snapshot picture.

Almost as vivid is your memory of the Halloween that a policeman had come knocking at your front door to inform you in a strictly-business-voice that your sister was found dead in her kitchen, her throat slit open from ear to ear.

You remember watching from your couch as the gavel came down and the judge ruled the man who had taken your sister’s life away as criminally insane—and not responsible for his actions on that fateful October night—and therefor not legally a candidate for the death penalty.

You remember the burning, frustrated tears streaming down your face, the shatter of glass as you hurled the remote at the television screen, and then sinking down in a heap on the floor and screaming until your lungs were raw and your voice was in tatters, because it wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair.

So when the news came out that Myers was to be transferred back to Smith’s Grove—hardly a forty minute commute from your own house—you had been out the door that very same day, speeding in your car down the highway, ready to accept any available position the Sanitarium would offer you for your credentials.

It had been your one shot at revenge on the sick, evil fucker who had ruined your happiness; and you were prepared to move heaven and earth just to bring Myers hell.

It had taken eight months before you even laid eyes on the man for the first time.

You’d landed yourself a patient therapy position, but only had the clearance to treat patients who fell under the “medium” and “high-risk” categories. In the entire hospital there were only two patients who fell under the third and final category: a spitting lunatic of a man, who couldn’t be safely approached without first being drugged half-asleep with antipsychotics...

...and Myers.

You had possessed the patience of a saint, climbing through promotion after promotion.

And the very minute that you were handed back a fresh copy of your I.D, now with a little red stamp at the bottom, the stamp that meant you were cleared to work with Myers, you had raced down to the front desk to file your recommendation for treatment.

Three days later, after hours of debriefing by Dr. Ashton, Myers’ new court-assigned psychiatrist, you came face to face with the worst criminal the sanitarium had ever known.

You had seen Myers’ face pictured in black and white on newspaper articles and in fuzzy low-definition on T.V. 

And absolutely none of that could have prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh.

The thing that had startled you most when you were led by Dr. Ashton into Michael’s barren, cramped room—the thing that practically had you reeling when your eyes fell on the motionless figure sitting on the cot in the corner, chained at the wrists and ankles by a metal link fastened to the floor—the thing you still despise yourself for thinking—

—is that Myers was jaw-droppingly, stunningly handsome.

His were the kind of ethereal good looks that you might expect to find in some renaissance painting, or a Grecian statue, or a fantasy book.

You had stood staring across the room at the motionless young man, drinking in all the features of his vacant, pretty face; overcome by complete and total disbelief that this was actually the person responsible for all your grief.

And the very next second, that disbelief was shattered like a dropped vase; when you looked into Myers’ stare.

It brought down the temperature in the room like a cold-snap. It was not directed at you, only at the floor, yet it had you shuddering anyway, had all the hairs on your arms standing straight up. It was not a lights-on-but-nobody-home sort of gaze, the kind you were expecting from how Myers had been described by his former psychiatrist. His face was blank, yes; that was accurate enough.

But his eyes, they were the furthest thing from it. 

Michael Myers had the eyes of a ruthless, calculating, viciously deliberate predator.

The longer you had stood there, gawking at Myers as if he were a tiger in a cage, hardly listening to Dr. Ashton’s rambling about his admiration of your interest in his patient’s treatment, the more you became aware of the charge crackling in the air; like the moment in a thunderstorm just before lightning rips through the sky. It was as if every fiber in your body could sense the danger radiating from this man; you could all but see and smell the invisible blood staining his hands.

It had turned your vision into a seething cloud of red. 

Here was a murderer—the worst kind of murderer, who was perfectly, undoubtedly aware of his crimes, a fact you could tell from just his eyes—who carried in his heart not a single shred of remorse for the lives he’d ripped away. Who, when he was unable to kill, had resigned himself to sitting and anticipating the day when he might once again have his hands around a warm throat, the day when he would pick right back up where he left off and take another life as carelessly and thoughtlessly as one snuffing out a candle.

And this man had been allowed to keep breathing.

You think of all these things as you reach the end of the corridor and swipe your I.D card on the door to Therapy Theater No.5. Hidden locking mechanisms whirr and click open.

You place your hand around the cool metal handle. For a moment, you just stand there. Feeling your pounding heart in your chest.

It pounds not because you are fearful; you don’t care if you get caught because of what you are about to do. You don’t care if you get fired, or if you get your license taken away, or even if you go to jail. Those are the most trivial, unimportant things in the world. No. Your heart does not pound for those reasons.

It pounds because, finally, there will be justice.

Finally, the evil son-of-a-bitch who slaughtered your sister is getting what he deserved all along.

And you get to be the one to flip the switch.

You turn the door handle and step into the room.

Therapy Theater No.5 is bathed in bright fluorescent light and smells strongly of antiseptic and sterilization. Three people are already in the room: two armed guards, who nod in acknowledgment at you when you enter.

And laid out at the center across a white padded table, dressed in a pale blue hospital gown, strapped tightly down at the wrists and ankles by hospital-grade cuffs, looking up at the ceiling as if utterly uncaring, motionless save for the rise and fall of his ribs—Myers.

A nurse had come in before you to prepare the room for treatment. The therapy you’re meant to be administering is simple and painless: electrodes are fixed to the patient’s body and a weak electrical current is passed through, stimulating choice muscle groups—and in more recent cases, even parts of the brain.

You had emphasized that part specifically in your pitch of the therapy to Dr. Ashton, referencing a study which showed how violent tendencies could be soothed in patients who underwent the treatment.

And no, you’d reassured him, it was nothing like electroconvulsive therapy.

The electrical current used in E.S.T is never strong enough to induce seizures. The only thing the subject feels is a mild, if not pleasant, buzz...

·…or at least that’s how it’s meant to be administered.

Tampering with the wattage of the machine had turned out to be laughably easy. A few snipped wires here, a few crunched numbers there, and now the bulky device sitting atop the roll-around table beside your “patient” can deliver a shock nastier than a taser with every throw of the switch.

It’s not strong enough to stop a human heart (god, you wish.) But it is enough to make Myers hurt.

Enough to make him writhe on that table.

Maybe even enough to make the heartless bastard feel something for a change.

You thank the guards before dismissing them. They leave the room but you know they won’t go far; no further than right outside in the hall, waiting through the entire session with their hands on their batons in case Myers gets out of hand.

Their security would be a welcome thing, if you were actually about to /treat/ Myers instead of torturing the living daylights out of him. But now, the guards are just another problem in need of a solution.

Though you are almost confident that Myers will retain his silence throughout the ordeal—that he’ll uphold his veil of distance and aloofness and total lack of care with the stubbornness of an ass—you’re not about to bet your shot at justice on it.

That’s what the ball gag in your coat pocket is for.

Reaching down to check that it is still there, excitement swells in your belly as your fingers graze the black silicone.

On the table, Myers is still motionless. He doesn’t tilt his head to regard you. He pays you no attention at all, in fact, as if you aren’t even there to begin with. Never do his steely eyes move from their fixed place on the ceiling light hanging above him.

As you walk up to the roll-around table, plucking a pair of latex gloves from a box stashed on the shelf beneath before snapping them curtly on, for a reason that you can’t put into words, you find yourself hesitating to look Myers in the face.

It doesn’t matter that he’s restrained; it doesn’t matter that there are two armed and capable guards standing watch right outside. Despite both these things, that vitriolic, charged aura you had felt in his cell still surrounds him now, polluting the room, hanging like a storm cloud over your head. 

It’s as if some submissive animal instinct has gripped your brain and now screams warnings at you: Predator. Danger. Don’t look it in the eye. Don’t provoke it.

You do your damndest to dismiss the feeling as nerves.

In a little white tray next to the E.S.T machine sits a filled syringe; a sedative. Dr. Ashton has insisted on it to better ensure your safety, as well as Myers’ cooperation. In the psychiatrist’s exact words:

“These days Michael is, ah, fussier about this kind of treatment—you know, the kind they gotta bring in the guards for, the needles, the cuffs, the whole nine-yards. 

It’s a theory of mine that, after living with the sort of power Michael did, the loss of his own control doesn’t sit as nicely anymore. He doesn’t like it. And he’s not afraid to let us know just how much he doesn’t like it.”

Fussy. That was the word Ashton had used to describe Myers. 

It had taken every shred of self-control you possessed not to scoff in the Doctor’s face at that; as if the man laid out before you now were some sort of stubborn, overgrown toddler, and not a remorseless, murderous psychopath.

You don’t spare the sedative a second glance as you unravel the bundle of wires and nodes connected to the E.S.T machine; Myers is going to be awake to feel every goddamned second of what you do to him.

Only after you’re finished with him will you finally send him under.

You can picture the conversation with Ashton now: Yes sir, the sedative worked like a charm, he was out like a light the entire time; no sir, no complications at all.

You take your time setting up the machine because you’re still hesitant to even look at Myers, let alone touch him. But when the wires are all connected, the red power button flashing idly in standby, there is nothing left to do except attach the electrodes.

You force yourself to look him in the face as you approach. You should not be afraid of this man; you should resent him, should despise him, but should not fear him. He doesn’t deserve to hold that sort of power over you, or anyone else, ever again.

So you look.

Michael is still watching the ceiling. According to his eyes, he does not acknowledge you.

But just from how the hair on your nape stands on end you know you’re being watched.

Myers is regarding you coolly in his periphery with the curiosity of a feline, feigning detachment and disinterest; but the weight and pressure of that penetrating gaze could not be more obvious if it were a ton of bricks coming right down on your head.

With a deep breath to rein in your resolve, you reach down, your fingers working to undo the first knot on Myers’ hospital gown.

Quickly, you discover that it is one thing to look at Myers; to feel for yourself his ruthless awareness, the raw intensity of his presence.

But to touch him is another thing altogether.

He draws a breath of his own as you fidget with his gown, his strong rib cage expanding beneath your fingers. You shudder at the sudden pressure of his body; whether out of disgust, or anger, or some fucked up fascination, you aren’t sure.

After undoing the ties on both sides, you lift the front of his gown up and off—

—and find that Myers is totally naked underneath.

Standard hospital procedure for a therapy like this one. Nothing new.

But it’s different when the patient looks like this.

You hate yourself for ogling him. You detest the way your eyes rove across Myers’ body, lingering on all the features that your lizard-brain decides it likes; from the stark tendons in his neck to his sharp and angular collarbones, from his broad, rounded shoulders to the beautiful definition in his abdomen, and down even further than that before you can stop yourself.

To the V of his obliques—to the trail of curly brown pubic hair on his pelvis—and all the way down to his flaccid penis.

You snatch a towel from the roll-around and drape it hurriedly over his hips. Not for the sake of his modesty; just so you don’t have to worry about your eyes straying down to the cock of the man who murdered your sister.

As far as the placement of the electrodes on his body, you honestly haven’t given it much thought. It seemed like the sort of thing that would come to you like an epiphany, as if suddenly, in the moment, you would know exactly where to hit Myers to really make him suffer.

But no such epiphany comes. Oh well; you have an hour to experiment.

Grabbing the two nodes off their holders, you run the wires across his chest and press the little round circles down flat against his pectorals.

When your gloved fingers graze Myers’ skin you nearly jerk back your hand, startled. The man is hot like a stove.

Your medical fascination is instantly piqued—Myers must have the hottest resting body temperature you’ve ever encountered. You have to force away intrusive thoughts of sticking a thermometer in his mouth to see that number for yourself.

Focus.

Tugging up on the wires, you test the integrity of the node’s suction. They don’t budge from his chest, lifting his skin with them as you pull. Perfect; It’s nearly time. 

Now for the gag.

You just have to cross your fingers and pray that you can actually get it in his mouth.

Looking Myers in the face a third time proves to be no less jarring than it had been the second or the first. You’re just relieved that even after all your poking and prodding he is still pretending not to be interested in you, or in the things you’re doing to his body.

You clear your throat before speaking to him because you don’t trust it enough not to crack.

“Open up,” you command him, mustering every authoritative bone in your body and sounding very official even to your own ears.

Removing the gag from your pocket, you hold it up as if to show him, taking care to conceal the black silicone ball with your hand.

“Mouthguard.”

You doubt that Myers has seen this sort of gag before. Or that he even knows what a gag is. Still, you’re not taking that risk. If this doesn’t work then you’re going to have to drug him just to get the damn thing in place, then wait for him to sober up again—a colossal waste of time.

For a tense second, Myers does not respond to your command. He just lays there on the table, inhaling and exhaling, looking incredibly bored with you, with his nakedness, with the electrodes strapped to his chest.

Your jaw goes tense. You nearly repeat yourself.

But then, he opens up his mouth.

Beneath the harsh overhead lighting his teeth gleam wetly. You suspect immediately that he’s going to try and bite your fingers off the second you get too close.

Game on, fucker. 

From the shelf below the roll-around you snatch up a small blotting rag. Walking around to stand at the head of the table, you gaze down at Myers again.

“The strap goes underneath.” You inform him. “I need you to lift your head up.”

He does.

And you strike. Faster than you had thought yourself capable.

You drape the rag over his eyes so that he can’t see what’s coming. Thrusting the gag hard into his open mouth, you wedge it firmly between his teeth. In the corner of the room, Myers’ heart monitor spikes suddenly, the electronic beeping speeding up momentarily—a sound that has you beaming with pride.

You’ve actually managed to startle him.

As you clip the strap into place around the back of his head, a strange sense of accomplishment floods your body—you’ve done it. You’ve actually done it. Everything is ready. 

Every sacrifice you’ve made in these past eight months, every hour spent in this godforsaken hellhole, it was all worth it just to bring about this single moment.

The moment is made only sweeter when you rip the rag away from Myers’ face.

Oh. Now you have his attention.

Those pale eyes are looking straight up at you. Considering you with the cutting gaze of a hawk. Working out the situation. 

You glare right back down at him. You stare deep into his eyes, the triumphant fire now raging in your chest burning hotter than the ice in his stare, more furiously than all the danger—and you find that you are not afraid of him anymore. Like this, Myers is nothing. He’s not a boogeyman. Not a phantom. He’s just a man—stripped of all his mysticism. Strapped to a table. Naked. Gagged.

Powerless.

Just as powerless to stop what you’re about to do to him as each and every one of the people whose lives he took away.

“Hello, Michael.” You hold his fierce eye-contact as you speak. “Ten months ago you broke into my sister’s house and murdered her.”

Myers doesn’t blink. But neither do you.

“When they tried you, you were supposed to leave that courtroom a dead man walking; you were supposed to die. That's how our justice system works—when you do the things you did, you don’t get to keep on living.”

Nothing changes on Myers’ face as you speak. Nothing changes in his eyes. Not one molecule in his body has an atom of care to give about the words you’re saying. He breathes around the gag, his heart monitor beeping slow and steady.

“I don’t give a single fuck about what that judge said,” You continue. “And I don’t care how sick in the head you really are. You knew exactly what you were doing that night. I can see it in your eyes, Myers—you loved every fucking second of it. And that’s the only thing that matters.”

You draw a long breath. One that you hold in your lungs before letting slowly out again.

“You’re the evilest son-of-a-bitch on this entire fucking planet; and you deserve to die.”

Walking over to the E.S.T machine, fighting back with tooth and claw against furious tears now threatening your eyes, you place your finger over the power switch.

Myers watches you; and you notice something flicker to life in his glacial eyes. Not an emotion. Just a realization.

Good. He understands now. He understands what you’re about to do to him.

“Someone has to make you pay. Someone has to.”

Michael just stares. Watching you. Watching your finger on the switch. His pulse on the monitor ticks as leisurely as if he were about to fall asleep.

“And guess what, you sick fuck?”

Still staring—not blinking—breaths coming slowly.

“I’m so fucking happy that it’s me.”

You throw the switch—

—the wires crackle with live electricity—

—and all of Myers’ deliberate, calculated control is shattered like a dropped glass.

His body seizes. His eyes snap shut. His fingers curl into fists that turn his knuckles whiter than the table beneath him. The tendons in his neck and forearms jump out, straining beneath his skin. His heart monitor beats erratically, the little green line on the screen spiking sharply, racing out of control.

Your eyes are glued to the grisly scene. You devour each and every involuntary reaction, relishing in the complete and utter breakdown of his control.

Fifteen gorgeous seconds pass before you remember that you were supposed to be counting to ten. Whoops. You might be frying his brain into an unfeeling stupor at this point. You flip the switch off in an instant because you need him awake, aware.

Myers’ back falls flat against the table, the current cutting off as abruptly as it began. The muscles in his chest continue to contract and seize beneath his skin long after the electricity is gone; you count the spasms as they tear through his pectorals like sets of waves.

When the spasming stops, his chest heaves up and down, winded. His breaths around the gag come heavily. His eyes are still shut; but no longer are they /squeezed/ shut.

For a moment, you really think that he’s passed out.

Then his eyes twitch beneath their lids and flutter open again. Blinking. Focusing—

—flitting right back on your face. Right back to the spot where he had left them before the current forced them shut.

Myers’ eyes are devoid of care. He is entirely unperturbed by what has just happened to him; entirely unthreatened. But now, that murderous intent—the charge which until now you’d only felt in the air around him—is written in his stare as plain as day.

I am going to kill you, says Michael’s gaze, as nonchalant as if he were stating some trivial fact about the universe, like water is wet, or the sky is blue.

It makes your blood boil.

Adding insult to injury, the speed at which Myers regains control of his body is nothing short of infuriating. You fume as you watch the way his breaths level out again, the beeping from his heart monitor falling back into the former slow, rhythmic pace.

You feel as though you should say something to him; like you should retaliate to this defiance in some way that isn’t staring, because you’ve already lost that battle; you cannot possibly hope to match the severity of Myers’ gaze.

But you don’t.

In your heart of hearts you know that your words will go right through his skull, unheard. There is only one language that Myers understands; only one language that he can comprehend down to his marrow. So you’ll speak it to him.

Without wasting another breath, your fingers find the power switch again. And those defiant eyes of his snap shut a second time.

When you shut the current off the results are the same as before; Myers is heaving on the table. But he takes back his control just as quickly, his stoicism prevailing.

By the third time however, his breaths have begun to linger in their heaviness—

—by the fourth he draws them as shallow as a winded sprinter running a race—

—by the fifth, the intervals between the violent seizing-up of his body are too brief for him to catch his breath—

—and the way he now gasps around the obstructing gag, fighting and failing to suck in air past its silicone, his nostrils flaring rapidly to compensate, is the most beautiful display of desperation that you have ever witnessed.

The sixth time you throw the switch, Myers actually does pass out.

When the current stops his body loses its tension with the abruptness of a cut wire. You wait impatiently for him to open his eyes again with your finger lingering over the switch, preparing to meet that steely gaze with another brutal jolt of electricity.

You wait; and Myers’ heart monitor chugs away like a freight train going up a hill.

Still waiting… waiting...

...and nothing happens. Myers is out cold.

The contentment now pulsing through your veins is what you imagine a shot of heroin feels like. Snapping on a fresh pair of gloves, you walk up to the side of the table to admire your work.

The first thing you notice is the sweat. Myers’ body is drenched in it. It beads up on his chest and clavicle, on his biceps and shoulders, on his brow and cheeks, the skin there flushing a shade of stark, exhausted pink. Gorgeous.

Your eyes travel down his body to continue the examination; you stop at his hands.

Myers’ hands are bloody.

Crescent-shaped cuts litter the skin of his palms, marking the place where his own blunt fingernails had dug in uncontrollably, over and over and over again. The fresh blood streaks in little rivulets down his hands and pools on the white padding of the table beneath. 

You chew the inside of your lip as you stare at the mess; these cuts might be tricky to explain away. You’ll have to gauze them and tell Dr. Ashton that his patient did it to himself; maybe recommend that he be switched to a higher Thorazine dosage to really sell the lie.

Luckily, that’s a problem for the future. As for right now, you’re rather enjoying the irony of Myers’ own blood staining his hands for a change.

The inspection continues. Further down his body, you finally notice it; the bulge beneath the towel strewn across his pelvis. 

Oh my god, he isn’t. You think, lifting the side of the towel for a peek.

And oh my god, he is.

Rather frustratingly, just like the rest of him, Myers is pretty down here, too. Pretty and big. Which is not a compliment, you reassure yourself. Just a medical observation. You let yourself stare this time, because you’re not ashamed anymore. You’re not threatened by the notion of admiring Myers’ physiology anymore.

Not when he’s so completely at your mercy.

Somehow, Myers doesn’t seem to be the masochistic type, so you highly doubt that actual arousal is responsible for this. Sheer adrenaline coupled with his frantically pumping heart are probably to blame, his brain mixing and misinterpreting the signals, resulting in this little accident.

The longer you stare down at the “accident,” the more you find yourself wondering what Myers would look like fully-erect.

You cannot rip the electrodes off his chest fast enough. Plucking the towel from waist and discarding it on the floor, you stick the two nodes down flat against his obliques, then hurry to rig up a third. That one you plant just above his penis; as close to its base as the curly dark hair will allow.

You stand with your finger ready on the go-button again, opting to let Myers’ still-racing pulse dip out of the red before you pull the trigger and plunge him back into hell. Bloodied hands you can explain away, but cardiac arrest? Not so much.

The beeping slows. The green lines on the monitor settle. You throw the switch.

Myers’ pelvis bucks uncontrollably up from the table—

—and he grunts.

The sound makes your heart sing. It is muffled by the gag, low and reverberating, not very loud to begin with. Most definitely not on purpose; just a reaction that’s managed to slip through while his barriers are down.

Myers’ groin is still quivering when you cut the current off. His cock stands upright, stiff and swollen, totally erect. A line of saliva now dribbles down the side of his mouth, trickling between the gag, collecting in a shimmering mess on his shoulder. He blinks sluggishly up at the ceiling light as if transfixed; still dazed, you would guess.

Something twisted occurs to you as you drink in the scene. Something that you can’t deny.

Seeing Myers like this—fighting for his very consciousness, struggling to retain some sliver of control—is the single most arousing thing you have ever witnessed. You want nothing more in the entire world than to climb onto this dangerous, wounded man’s hips and claim him. 

You want nothing more than to give him a taste of what true powerlessness feels like.

It’s a lovely fantasy, a beautiful temptation, and a real shame that it can’t happen. You don’t feel like getting knocked up with the child of your sister’s murderer today; or ever, for that matter. Instead, you think you’ll make a game out of guessing how many more shocks will have Myers coming on his own thighs.

Striding up to the head of the table again, you plant your arms on either side of his shoulders, leaning over him, hardly ten inches from his face.

“Looks painful Myers.” You jest. “How about I make you a deal?”

Michael looks up at you. Unfocused. Blinking slowly.

“I flip the switch,” you continue,

“—and I keep it flipped until you’re covered in your own semen, and after that I jam a needle in your arm, pump you full of drugs, and you get to live out your next eight hours as an unfeeling fucking vegetable. Fair?”

You wait for Myers to do something. For your words to register in his brain. For some flicker of a response to let you know that he’s even still in there.

To your immense disappointment, Myers does nothing. Absolutely nothing. He just...

...well, you can’t even call it staring anymore.

He doesn’t seem able to manage that sort of focus, you realize, inspecting his face closer. His eyes are alarmingly barren; there really isn’t much of anything there, now. None of the ruthlessness, none of that predatory awareness, none of the murder.

You’ve actually shocked the bastard totally, one-hundred-percent out of it.

Whoops.

Back at the roll-around, you snatch up a hand light. Returning to the table, you shine it in his eyes, assessing the damage. His functioning pupil is slow to dilate. Worryingly slow. You click the light off with a contemplative frown.

Half of your mind begs whatever force might be listening that this isn’t a passing affliction, that whatever damage that’s done is done. If the courts insist on keeping Myers alive, then maybe reducing his brains to soup is what it takes to keep him docile. To keep him from hurting another living thing ever again. You can only hope.

As much as you’d love to do so, electrocuting the living daylights out of him some more isn’t likely to bring Myers back to awareness; and the session is supposed to be over soon.

You glance at the clock on the wall—

—Shit. Very soon.

You need to find out right the fuck now if you’ve just rendered Dr. Ashton’s patient catatonic.

Walking around the side of the table, you take Myers’ swollen cock in your gloved hand—trying not to think about the fact that you’re jacking off a condemned murderer—and pump hard, stroking him all the way from the shaft to the swollen tip, squeezing the head, massaging your thumb over it, rubbing all the way back down again.

“Come on, asshole,” you spit. “That can’t be all the fight you’ve got.”

Myers’ hips jerk slightly up from the table as you touch him. Probably just an involuntary reaction. You’ll need him to do better than that. Stroking him faster, squeezing even harder, you pray that the friction of your latex glove against his cock feels just about as pleasant as a rug burn.

As you watch his vacant face like a hawk you see him begin to blink harder, his eyes squeezing shut, twitching beneath their lids, staying closed for a beat before opening up again, like he’s struggling to wake from a deep sleep. A much more deliberate motion; he’s coming back to it.

“Can you feel that? Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?”

He breathes hard around the gag. His knees lurch up from the table, the cuffs around his ankles straining, holding him in place.

You give his cock another hard squeeze.

“Forget where you are Myers?”

His jaw goes absolutely rigid with tension.

Ah. He heard you that time. He’s back.

How unfortunate that his brain isn’t fried after all.

You can see it all coming back now as his eyes flit down, locking on your face, rebooting within him like a program on a script; the chilling intensity, the sharpness, all the things that had made your skin crawl in the days past. Despite the torture, nothing at all about Myers’ demeanor has changed.

“Welcome back.” You state dryly. “We aren’t done yet.”

As if to make your blood boil on purpose—as if the battered state of his body means less to him than dirt, as if he hasn’t spent the better part of the hour being brutally, mercilessly tortured by you—

—Myers just watches you. Damning you with his eyes alone to the same grisly demise as before.

An odd sense of something, not quite admiration, sparks in your gut. Looking into Myers’ eyes, there is one single thing that you are willing to give this monster credit for:

What sits before you is a creature that cannot be broken. One that will never be dissuaded from its primal, violent nature. To try it is an impossible task. You suspect that you could stand in this room for days, flipping the same switch, delivering the same current, knocking him to and from consciousness, and into all the states in-between.

And the result would never change. Not ever.

He’d still be looking at you with that same deadly stare. A stare as cold and sharp as the blade of a carving knife.

And it would only get more piercing.

And what a relief it is that your goal in the first place was never to break Myers,

just to bring the gates of hell down on his pretty, curly head.

And you have. You can hear it in every breath he takes; he’s struggling. Although he draws his inhales slowly, with mechanical control, the ragged wheezing in his chest is no longer possible for him to hide. Myers is hurting—he’s hurting bad.

As much as you would love to stay and twist the knife in even deeper, it's time to wrap things up. You’re all out of time.

Pulling the electrodes from his groin and thighs with one hand, you let two of the nodes dangle freely off the side of the table.

The third you stick against his cock.

“Count your lucky fucking stars that not everyone in the world is as heartless as you are.” You tell him, walking back around to the E.S.T machine.

Myers follows you with eyes the entire way, stone-faced, impassive. Like the fact that you’ve just fastened a live wire to his dick is about as boring to him as watching paint dry.

Flick goes the switch.

His back arches off the table like a bent bow. He scrunches his eyes shut, breathing hard around the gag, tugging furiously at the cuffs, the muscles in his calves and biceps straining dangerously, pulling upwards with a brutish force that has table whining beneath him.

You’re transfixed as Michael comes. His mess shoots out in thick ropes, reaching further than you thought possible, coating the table, getting on his legs. The sheer power of his body is a stunning thing to witness. You keep the current running to milk him down to the very last drop.

When he stops coming, you power off the machine.

The node comes away from Michael’s skin in a “pop” that is all-too satisfying. Bundling all the wires and electrodes back into place on the machine you listen to the only measurable signs of the man’s distress; the tortured intake of his breaths, the elevated beeping of his heart monitor.

Then, picking up the needle from the little white tray, you cross back to Myers’ side.

The vein in his forearm is thick and pronounced and the needle slips in beautifully. You press slowly down on the plunger, grateful when he doesn’t try to yank his arm away, relieved when he accepts the drug without a struggle. He must be exhausted.

The sedative works its magic quickly. You pull up a stool and sit down beside him to watch.

The vitriol in his eyes begins to melt and soften. One by one his strained muscles are allowed to relax again, the tension ebbing away; from his jaw, his shoulders, his abdomen, his legs. The electronic beeping on the monitor slows and slows until its powerful rhythm beats steadily again.

Evidently, Michael has decided he isn’t ready to go under just yet. Though sleep pools in his eyelids he blinks it away, clinging in a death grip to his consciousness.

Just to leer at you. Just to picture in his mind the day he will have his hands around your throat; as if it is already set in stone. As if it is just a matter of when.

Then, Michael’s eyelids flutter—

—fighting to stay open, still staring—

—closing, for just a beat too long—

—lingering shut—

—staying shut.

You move to clean him up quickly. The gag comes out first. Lifting his head to unbuckle the strap, you tug out the black ball, letting his strained jaw fall shut again for the first time in an hour; then carelessly drop his head. It thunks satisfyingly as it comes down hard against the table. Glancing at the gag’s silicone, you notice the deep markings worn into it, perfect impressions of Myers’ top and bottom teeth. You almost shudder; a bite from him would have been nasty.

You blot away the drool dribbling down his chin and shoulder with a rag, and then move on.

The last thing you expect as you begin to clean Michael’s bloodied hands is the tears that spring to your eyes. Even with your fear of the man gone and buried, you wish that you didn’t have to touch these awful hands; let alone treat them, bandage them, heal them.

You wipe away the tears on your sleeve as you gather your supplies together on the roll-around.

Grabbing each of his wrists just above the restraint cuffs and turning them so that his palm is facing upward on the table, you hastily swab him down with alcohol pads, wiping up the clotting blood from his skin, squeezing out a blob of antiseptic from a tube to smear across his cuts. As you wrap Michael’s palms tightly in gauze you try your hardest to snuff out that invasive thought when it comes searing like a bullet through your skull—

—these are the hands that killed my sister.

You simply can’t afford to linger on those thoughts right now. Maybe when you’re at home tonight, alone in your bed, you will let yourself cry; but not now. Not while you still need to clean up after Myers’ unfortunate mishap.

Toweling him down from his forehead to his calves, you soak away the sweat. And the semen. Then, you fasten back up the front of his hospital gown, knotting each and every tie.

And just like that, the job is done.

You knock on the door. The guards come in and wheel Myers’ unconscious body out of the room.

The next day, you have a debriefing session with Dr. Ashton. You feed him your meticulously rehearsed lie: that the therapy went without a hiccup, that you firmly believe this treatment could be the key to alleviating Michael’s tendencies for violence.

The moron laps up your every word.

Ashton ends the session with a delightful little surprise; he’s pulled some strings to allow for Michael’s therapy to be carried out bi-weekly. He is so impressed by your drive to treat his patient that he’s offering you a position as Michael’s secondary caretaker. He only hopes that you’ll accept.

The smile you give him is bright and sincere, one that beams from ear to ear.

“Doctor, believe me when I say that nothing in the world would make me happier.”

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

Forgetting His Benefits

"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits!" - Psalm 103:2

Every part of our being should join in praising God. The song of praise we sing - should not be a solo, a duet, or even a quartet - but a full chorus, the feelings, the affections, the mental powers, the tastes, the desires - all mingling in harmony and praise. There are some who praise with their voices - but not with their hearts. Others give intellectual worship, while their affections are not engaged. Others give emotional praise - but their wills and consciences do not join in the song; they have good feelings - but lack in practical obediences and in devotion to duty. Some sing missionary hymns with zest - but give nothing to missionary work Some sing consecration hymns - and then live selfishly and worldly. There is no heavenly music in such singing. The true way - is to arouse every faculty and energy and power and affection - to hearty, enthusiastic, practical praise.

"Forget not all his benefits." Many people have excellent memories for troubles, adversities, losses, and sorrows - but cannot remember the mercies and blessings of their lives. It is very unfortunate to have such defective memories. Suppose God would forget us for a time, and fail to provide for our daily needs, and fail to send us His ordinary gifts for a whole day, or even for an hour - how sore a misfortune it would be! Yet we forget continually that our blessings come from Him. We take them for granted, and never think of the Giver!

Sometimes we do not think of God for hours together. Yet there is never a moment when God is not thinking of us, and providing for us. Perhaps if there were some break in the flow of blessings - we would learn to be more thankful. The very unbroken continuity of God's gifts makes us oblivious to them. Someone kept a book for a daily record of blessings. It would be a good thing for all of us to do. Surely this matter is important. We think others are very ungrateful, who forget our little kindnesses to them. Must we not judge ourselves by the same judgment, in relation to God's goodness!

"Who forgives all your iniquities; who heals all your diseases." What an enumeration of divine blessings; and what blessings they are, too - in this and the following verses! They are all blessings, too, which the world cannot give. Any one of them is worth more than all earth's treasures combined! If we are not forgiven - we must rest forever under the curse of sin, a weight greater than all the Alps; but God forgives, and forgives all our sins, and forgives fully and forever! If we are not healed - we must be sick forever, sick with the plague and leprosy of sin; but God heals, and heals all our diseases, heals completely. If we are not saved from the destructive dangers of this world - we never can reach heaven; but God keeps, rescues, redeems our life.

Earth's crowns are made of thorns, and at the best, are only what the children call "play-crowns," for they are only made of leaves that wither, or of gold and gems that fire will destroy; but God crowns His people with crowns of loving-kindness and tender mercies, which are real and radiant, which shall never fade - but shall shine forever, becoming crowns of eternal life and glory in heaven. This world cannot satisfy a heart's cravings! Its possessions only make the hunger more intense; but God satisfies the souls of His people, meets all their cravings and hungers. These are some of the things for which we have to praise God.

"The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy." The prodigal's father waited years in love - how slow to anger! and then ran to meet his returning son - how quick in mercy! Is this not a true picture of God's treatment of us? He is slow to anger - but quick to show mercy.

"He will not always accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever." These are wonderful pictures of the way God forgives. The best human forgiveness is very imperfect. Men forgive - but they often "chide" and "harbor resentment." They say that they "forgive, but cannot forget;" they keep the memory of the wrong always in their hearts, never forgetting, even while showing us favors, that once we injured them. The old memories of wrongs block up the channel of love - as old wrecks block up a river, arresting its flow. But God does not chide nor harbor anger. His heart is like the smooth lake which the driving keel cleaves - but which soon becomes calm and placid again, retaining no mark or trace of the crude furrowing. He puts away our sins - as far as the east is from the west, that is, infinitely.

This was taught in the ancient ceremony of the scapegoat. One goat was killed and its blood sprinkled before God; this meant the atonement of Christ by which our forgiveness is procured. The other goat then, after the priest had confessed over its head the people's sins, was led away out of sight, into the wilderness, and let loose, never to return again; thus bearing away sins to an infinite distance, so that they could never come back again to disturb those who had been forgiven. There is a wonderful passage in Jeremiah which reads: "In those days, at that time," declares the LORD, "search will be made for Israel's guilt, but there will be none, and for the sins of Judah, but none will be found, for I will forgive the remnant I spare."

"Like as a father pities his children - so the Lord pities those who fear him." This is one of the most wonderful verses in the Bible. It brings God very near to us. It shows us His heart. He is not cold and far removed from us in feeling, indifferent to our sufferings, stern and severe in His judgment upon us. Rather, He is full of pity, like a human father in his pity toward his children. The best commentary on these words is Christ's own life. See Him moved with compassion for the sick, the lepers, the sorrowing, the sinful, the fallen; weeping by a grave at Bethany, deeply touched at Nain as He saw the widowed mother following her only son to the grave; weeping again over Jerusalem because the people would not repent and receive Him. All this is commentary on this precious verse.

"For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust." God does not treat us as if we were strong and perfect and unfallen. He does not forget that we are weak, that it is hard for us in our fallen condition to live right, that we are easily tempted and overcome. Therefore, He is very patient and gentle with us when we have sinned - binding up the wounds, restoring the soul. We ought to get a great deal of comfort out of these words.

You say you are so weak - that you cannot resist temptation. Yes, and God knows all about it. You are weary and worn out through trouble or burden-bearing - but God knows all about it. You find your work very hard, and cannot see how you are ever to get through with it; but God knows. He knows your frailty; He remembers that you are only dust. He is pitiful and compassionate, and always gives needed help. There is immeasurable comfort in the knowledge that Christ lived through the whole gamut of human life and experience. He knows all about temptation, for He was tempted in all points like as we are. He knows all about sorrow, for He was acquainted with grief. He is touched with the feeling of our infirmities, for He was tried in every way in which we are tried.

"As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more." A dear young friend has just brought to my table a cluster of beautiful flowers. They charm my eye, and their fragrance fills my room. But tomorrow they will be withered and dead, and I shall be compelled to put them out of my sight. So it is with human lives. They may be very lovely and sweet - but soon they are gone, and there is only a memory left behind. As we think of this we grow sad, and ask, "What is there that is abiding!"

Above our heads is the blue sky, and when night comes the brilliant stars look down and say, "We do not fade." We have shone upon all the passing generations of men, and still are bright as ever." There is comfort in that - there is something at least which does not pass away in a day. But here is something better still: "But from everlasting to everlasting the LORD's love is with those who fear him!" The love of God is from everlasting to everlasting. Here is a bosom, then, on which we may lean and know that our repose shall never be disturbed. Would you be safe eternally! Rest your hopes on God's everlasting love, and not on any frail thing of earth!

"To those who keep his covenant and remember to obey his precepts." All God's promises and blessings have conditions. We have something to do - to get them. Here the condition is obedience. There is a covenant, and it has two sides. There is not the slightest doubt about God's faithfulness. He will do His part. But we have a part to do, too. It is to those who obey His commandments, that the love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting. It is important to remember the commandments - but this is not enough. A great many people remember them and can repeat them verbatim - who do not obey them. The stress of emphasis is on the word "obey." So if we want to claim and secure the blessings here promised - we must be sure that we do our part and fulfill the conditions of God's covenant of grace. If this Psalm is a palace of love, here in this verse is the beautiful gate by which all must enter in, who would enjoy its rich gladness and blessedness.

[jedimasterbailey]

A sneak preview of the next chapter of my fic “The Padawans” in which Vader thinks of Ahsoka and Luminara as he plans his fated rematch with Barriss. Includes a flashback to a conversation between Anakin and Luminara post “Brain Invaders” that we should have seen! Link to the fic below, enjoy and thank you for the support 💚💙❤️

Darth Vader stares out to the busy metropolis of Coruscant from his personal quarters in the Imperial Palace, lost in thought. Behind the bulbous black eyes that served as the Sith Lord’s window to the world were tired blue ones still hoping to catch a glimpse of the former residence of Padme Amidala, the deceased wife of Anakin Skywalker. It was moments like this where the former Jedi Knight missed the Senator deeply. For Vader was about to encounter another ghost from his past, Anakin’s past. Soon Vader will be face to face with Luminara Unduli in the very place she used to call home, a home he destroyed.

In the months after the rise of the Empire, Palpatine had the Jedi Temple renovated into his own personal palace. Although the bodies of the dead Jedi have been long excavated and the relics of the Jedi long destroyed, echoes of the past were everywhere. Vader could still see the destruction he caused and he could still hear the terrified screams of the younglings and Knights that were at his mercy. No amount of refurbishment could ever erase what he had done. It was because of this that Vader avoided the palace as much as he could. The Sith apprentice despised being in the place Anakin Skywalker and his Jedi family once resided in. However, if being here resulted in the reappearance of Barriss Offee, then Vader will do what must be done.

The plan was simple. Luminara will be the bait and once Barriss was right where the Dark Lord needed her, Luminara would be disposed of. Vader wanted the Mirialan to feel the same scorching pain he felt on Mustafar when Obi-wan left him for dead. If he couldn’t have his Master’s love, neither could she.

Victory was inevitable. Anakin may have been weak, but if Barriss couldn’t defeat him, then she didn’t stand a chance against Vader, especially with a broken heart. Vader will prove Sidious wrong; that the girl is unworthy of the title of Darth or worth the attention of Ahsoka Tano.

Yet despite his quest for vengeance, Vader was admittedly nervous to see Luminara again. For months he has avoided contact, leaving the Grand Inquisitor to handle the matter. Seeing the woman Anakin viewed as a mother figure beaten and bruised by his own henchman was the last thing Vader wanted to do. It was no different than the Sith avoiding Padme’s tomb on Naboo; he could not face what he has done. As hard as the Emperor had tried to snuff it out, Anakin’s spirit was still trapped inside the machine that was his body. Vader was going to have to kill the one person he knew was Luminara’s whole heart and the Anakin part of him hated him for it.

The cyborg then walks over to a bedside table, the very table Anakin used to hold such possessions, and opens the drawer that contained the last pieces of his Jedi past he refused to part with. In one hand he held one of Ahsoka’s lightsabers and in the other, her Padawan beads.

Vader did not believe for a moment that his former apprentice was gone. Ahsoka had managed to survive situations that would have killed more experienced Jedi. He had taught her how to outsmart the enemy and how to defy seemingly impossible odds. The lightsaber had merely been a decoy and the presence of Morai was confirmation. Somewhere out there, Ahsoka Tano was alive and one day, they would meet again. Vader was sure of it.

“Forgive me, for what I’m about to do.” Vader says to the items in his hands. He didn’t know who exactly he was talking to; Ahsoka or Luminara. Regardless, the Dark Lord thinks back to a time where both women were safe and within arms reach.

Feeling ecstatic that Ahsoka has woken up from her healing trance after her encounter with the Geonosian parasites, Anakin takes it upon himself to find food for his Padawan. Just before the mess hall was a small lounge where visitors could sit and wait while the healers worked on patients. Having been up for several hours on end between their mission on Geonosis and waiting for Ahsoka to wake up, Anakin wanted to grab a cup a caf before waiting in line for food. Upon entering the quiet room, the Jedi Knight was baffled to see a very miserable Luminara Unduli staring into her own beverage.

The Mirialan’s hands were shaking and her eyes were red and puffy, presumably from crying. Never in all his years of knowing the Jedi Master has Anakin seen her look so broken. He takes a seat beside Luminara and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Master?”

Luminara raises her head up to meet the young man’s gaze, fresh tears streaming down her face, “Is Ahsoka alright?”

Anakin nods, “She just woke up. Physically, she’s on the mend, it’s her mind I’m worried about. Our Padawans have been through a lot, more than I’d like to think about.”

“Yes... our girls deserve so much more.” Luminara sighs, grabbing tissue to dry her eyes.

“Barriss is going to come through too, she’s strong and resilient like her Master.” Anakin says gently, earning a watery laugh from the woman.

“I’m not sure about that Skywalker... I’ve failed as a Master.” Luminara professes sadly.

Anakin would hear none of it, “Now hold on a second, you have not failed Barriss. None of this is your fault!”

Luminara shakes her head, “I’ve almost lost her twice within a day. It’s my job to protect her and I’ve failed. According to Master Fisto, Barriss’s head scans indicate that she may have suffered some head trauma between the worm and the extreme cold. First, she almost suffocates after blowing up a whole factory with herself still in it only to then get infected by a parasite hours later! Who knows how she’ll be when she wakes up!”

“Perhaps you were right all along. Maybe I should have accompanied Barriss inside the catacombs instead of endangering your student. Maybe I should have gone with the girls on that supply run. There were plenty of Jedi to interagate Poggle and Ahsoka would have been safer in your care. I’ve been a fool! I’m so sorry Anakin and I owe Ahsoka an apology too!”

Anakin then wraps an arm around the woman and pulls her close, “You're being way too hard on yourself, Luminara. You’re forgetting that there were a lot of factors that were beyond our control. Your plan on Geonosis was good! We probably would’ve been successful without it because Force knows I don’t think things through, I’m glad someone was doing the thinking!

“The assignment given to the Padawans was more than reasonable. I’m sure Ahsoka was thrilled to see Barriss’s photographic memory at work and I really do need to work on trusting her. You weren’t planning on those slimy bugs getting in the way nor were you counting on one of those nasty worms infecting the troops on that shuttle. I can’t believe I’m saying this to you of all people, but I think you should give yourself some grace!”

“If you’ve failed as a Master for things not according to plan, then I am a huge failure as well as Obi-wan and probably every other Jedi Master that’s ever lived. You saw how well his plan went when he thought he could talk sense into the Queen of bugs. You were just seconds away from being possessed!” Anakin argues, rolling his eyes at the memory of Obi-wan’s curiosity.

“Rest assured, I’ll be giving him plenty of grief for that!” Luminara smiles, her face brightening up a little, “But thank you Anakin... your kindness never fails to amaze me.”

“Let me know when you do because I’d love to see that. All things considered, he deserves a good beating.” Anakin winks with a playful nudge before getting serious again. “Did you want to see Barriss? I was going to grab something to eat for Ahsoka, but if you need the company, I’d walk with you.”

Luminara nods, “Yes, I wanted to give you and Ahsoka some time alone especially since it may be a while before Barriss wakes up given her injuries.”

Anakin beams at the Jedi Master. For as long as he’s known Luminara, she has always been considerate and gentle with his needs.

“I appreciate that, Master.”

“Can I ask you something?” Luminara says with a far off look on her face.

“Anything.”

“Did you really believe that I gave up on Barriss when the factory went down?” Luminara asks calmly, but Anakin could tell from her breathing that it was a facade.

“No.” Anakin admits allowing Luminara to exhale a sigh of relief, “I allowed my fear to get the better of me and I took it out on you. You were trying to console me and even when I didn’t deserve it, you never got upset with me. You were hurting just as much as I was and I was selfish. I know better than that! Of course you care about Barriss! I owe you an apology Master, I’m sorry.”

Luminara begins to cry again startling the Jedi Knight, “Did I say something wrong?”

Luminara shakes her head.

“No! I’m just so relieved!” Luminara sobs, putting her face in her hands.

“Oh, good! I’m sure Obi-wan would kill me if I upset you.” Anakin chuckles, rising to offer a hand to Luminara.

“Walk with me back to the girl’s room? I gotta stop and get Snips some food, but I’m sure she’d love your company. And who knows? Maybe Barriss will wake up! I’m sure your face is the first one she’d want to see.”

With a smile as bright as the twin suns of Tatooine, Luminara graciously accepts Anakin’s hand, “I’d love to.”

Gingerly placing the lightsaber and beads back where he found them, Vader turns to leave the room, sensing the Grand Inquisitor’s presence as well as a weakened Luminara. For the sake of his sanity, the Dark Lord prayed his true identity stayed a secret with the prisoner.

[princeescaluswords]

Fandom *still* thinks that Deaton and Morrell are "sitting on their hands" because they refuse to accept the only reason Jennifer was capable of all those flashy feats was due to killing people for sacrifices and thus throwing the Balance outta whack. Deaton is supposed to I guess be cutting up Derek's food for him and wiping his ass when not playing archmage. But ya know, they KNOW that Jennifer was only capable of those things through murdering innocents. Yet how often do they portray "druid" Stiles able to do the same things and more overnight? And portray him as sneering at Deaton for "doing nothing"? I read a fic where Stiles demanded to learn magic from Deaton while thinking that Deaton is "privileged" to "stay in his clinic" while he's out fighting and surviving

The glib answer is, they’ve watched too many episodes of the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, the Teenage Witch.   

The more serious answer is that they’ve missed several key themes in Teen Wolf.  The most important of those themes today is Balance, of which Deaton and Morrell serve as the primary examples: power must be balanced with responsibility to others.  

Every single villain in Teen Wolf neglects that balance.  They’re not antagonists because they have power; they’re antagonists because they use that power without regard to how it effects other people, especially those without power.  

Peter wants his revenge for his pain and he needs power to achieve it, even if it means deceiving and killing his own niece, even if it means deceiving and abusing his own nephew.   He kills allies (Nurse Jennifer), he kills innocents (the janitor), he terrorizes teenagers who just happened to stumble across him, and he even seeks to kill Allison, who had nothing to do with the Hale fire.  He does not allow himself to be bound by anything but his own desire; he barely treats his targets like individuals.   

Derek wants to rebuild his family so he can feel safe and loved again, which sounds like a nice pleasant idea, except he does it by dishonesty, manipulation, and violence.  He wants a pack, but he knows from Omega (2x01), that giving the Bite to teenagers puts them in danger from Gerard and then the Alpha Pack, which he knew was coming.  He treated Jackson abysmally because the teen annoyed him, yet everyone else reaped the consequences of Derek’s pettiness and disregard.  Season 1 and 2 Derek consistently put his own wants and needs above other people.

Deucalion and Jennifer are two sides of the same coin.   Deucalion was deceived and betrayed, so he essentially decided to burn the werewolf world to the ground to prove he was right.  Jennifer was deceived and betrayed, so she murders innocents in order to gain power in order to make it right.  See the pattern?

Now let’s look at Deaton.  Incurious viewers may believe that Deaton is ‘vague’ and ‘cryptic’ but what they’re really upset about is that he doesn’t pretend to have all the answers and he doesn’t feel obligated to share everything he knows.  On the other hand, when he does decide to help, it never ‘comes with a price.’  He never demands payment or even changes in behavior from those he helps, though he reserves the right not to act if he is morally unsatisfied, such as when he made it clear in Raving (2x08) that he wasn’t going to help Derek execute Jackson.  This doesn’t mean he’s weak or incapable.  It means he has set boundaries for himself and he keeps them, and those boundaries always involve respecting other people.  I always enjoy his behavior in two different scenes -- treating the de-aged Derek in 117 (4x02) and examining the chimera Tracy in Parasomnia (5x03).  You can notice that  he doesn’t give orders to the people helping him in those scenes, always asking if they’re comfortable with what he’s doing and focused on his patients.

Teen Wolf believed that maintaining the Balance didn’t have to mean that the character was nice.  Morrell played a dangerous game of trying to keep the Alpha Pack in check, working behind the scenes when any one of them could kill her.  Yet she also understood that she can’t manipulate them without having to sometimes ‘get her hands dirty.’  When Stiles is in Eichen house, she gives him amphetamines to help keep him awake -- something that could get her in trouble -- but she also makes it clear she’s not going to let the Nogitsune run rampant if a solution can’t be found.   People may not like her, but they have to admit she took action to limit the damage to innocent people and she doesn’t seem to get anything out of it.

Scott learned those lessons well.  He didn’t use his status as a True Alpha to get what he wanted.   He pursued his responsibility as Protector of Beacon Hills to protect everyone which included holding others responsible for their behavior and included standing up for people he might not like, such as Donovan Donati.  He couldn’t fulfill that duty if he let anyone -- no matter who it was -- do as they please.  

If we put aside the idea that without supernatural transformation, people like Deaton, Morrell, Jennifer and even the Doctors had to study for years and years and years for whatever power and knowledge they had, whereas Fanon Stiles frequently gets his power overnight, knowing ancient magics by chosen-one osmosis.  He doesn’t earn the power and he doesn’t respect the need for balance.  Indeed, if we go by fanfiction, fanon Stiles would immediately join the ranks of Peter, Derek, Deucalion and Jennifer, using his power without regard to other people if they weren’t important to him.

How many times have you read a story where Stiles kills, beats, or rips Scott’s power away from him because he doesn’t think Scott was using it right?  How many times has he tortured Deaton to death for not doing more?  How many times had he murdered the entire Argent family?   Theo?  Deucalion?   To these people, what’s the point of power if you can’t use it to destroy the people who made you unhappy?

Fanon Stiles would be the best villain for Season 7.  

Now, on the other hand, how many times in fandom, when the story has Scott or Deaton be the villain, have they possessed overwhelming power?   So seldom it’s hilarious.  In these stories, they never kill or hurt anyone important.  They are villains and they get destroyed, not because they hurt others for power, but because they deny a variety of good looking white men their deserved place as the rulers of the land, and it hurts the white men’s feelings a great deal.

Come on, find more than a handful of stories where Evil Dark Villain Scott isn’t painted that way without actually inconveniencing or even hurting a single white person?  He did make them feel sad, and for that he must be punished.  Their Evil Mastermind Deaton constantly schemes to deny the Hales their rightful place (why?  None of these writers seem to care).  Their motivations and actions are always just as incongruous as Archmage Stiles, and they never actually pose a real threat because they never really have any power -- Scott impedes people with moral authority (the fiend!) and Deaton does terrible, horrible things like not healing Peter while he was in the hospital and hiding Stiles’s Unlimited Powah until he doesn’t.

Teen Wolf proposed that villainy comes from the use of power for one’s own needs and wants without any recognition of its affects on other people, especially people that you don’t care about.  Privilege and connections and wealth and family doesn’t make someone more worthy of life than the people who audience didn’t care about or people who didn’t care about the main characters.  To the production, nameless extras have the right to live, too, which was the entire point behind Monroe’s plotline.  

Scott’s a hero precisely because he didn’t execute Peter, Derek or Gerard even though it would make his life easier, and because he cared about people like Donovan, people like the list of names on the Dead Pool, and people like those two children in the woods. 

Fandom missed it, like they missed so much of the story while trying to manufacture Sterek and/or Steter out of the ether.   Fanon Archmage Stiles is the ultimate expression of the power fantasy that what Stiles wants is more important than anything else.

[shoyouth]

*falls in* hi :D may i request a reaction (or actually analysis if that works better) with dazai and chuuya and their thoughts/feelings on committment?

chuuya ; it’s not a question of whether chuuya can commit, but rather to who, and to what level of importance.

I wholeheartedly see chuuya as a romantic and a family man, the kind to sprinkle roses on the bed, treat you to fancy dinners, and to take your child to school. I believe it’s realistic to imagine that chuuya does want that (he’s oddly very normal, sometimes), but it’s not a priority in his life at that moment—I mean, he’s in the port mafia and constantly in conflicts, so presently, he’s very focused on himself, his work, and feelings of anger within the same regard.

If given enough time to simply rest, he probably likes to fantasize about romance and spoiling a partner. He probably likes to flirt around the town (not as terribly as dazai did though, of course, make sure to never compare him) but in terms of actually committing, well, that’s an entirely different issue. chuuya would like a relationship, someone to cherish, but he isn’t sure if it makes sense for him, for the time and his lifestyle.

We know chuuya can be caring—he hates dazai, yes, but isn’t he the one who made dazai stop shooting the dead body in their old days? Did he not let himself get bossed around by the sheep because he wanted to look out for them? He’s on the “evil” side but he himself is not without reason, feelings, or morals.

The most crucial point of whether he can commit or not is based on his loyalty to the port mafia. If you were to somehow become involved, you would have to understand that you come second to the port mafia, no matter how much he loved you. After the sheep betrayed him, he committed himself wholely to the port mafia; his workplace is his family, his purpose—it must come first.

But we must remember that chuuya is not the kind of person to half-ass his loyalties; you either receive all of him or none. Therefore the easiest way for him to be willing to commit to someone/feel comfortable being romantic and starting a family, is if you’re already with the port mafia. If not, it would be more complicated.

I don’t see chuuya ever pretending to not be with the port mafia; he is a genuine, direct person and would despise the idea of fooling you, and if he is going to give you all of him, he must show all of himself to you to begin with. You must accept him as he is, and he would only ever dare to do more than flirt if he felt like you were not hiding anything either. And, if you were determined to stand by him, you would have to give up your old life and join the port mafia. If you weren’t willing to accept all of him or, God forbid, beg him to leave the mafia, he would cut off your romance (no matter how long you’d been together/loved each other) and never return.

When mori was out of commission due to the virus, chuuya was the stand in leader. Therefore, with the power he possesses, you would instantly be a target as his lover. You would have to give yourself over to him as he did to you, and you’d have to trust that he’d protect you in the port mafia, whether you worked for them or simply stayed in their headquarters. He would hate to take away your normalcy and freedom, so whatever was in his power he would grant you; chuuya would love to spoil you and make sure you’re safe and comfortable.

So, in essence, chuuya would love to eventually fall in love and protect his partner, but he would only commit if it was an all or nothing for both parties. The bond he would probably have with his lover would be deeper than many other relationships, and I believe a trusting romance would do a lot to make chuuya feel comfortable, stronger, and to heal.

There is a constant reminder of danger though: the port mafia always comes first. And if you were ever kidnapped to get at chuuya, he would do anything in his power to save you, and if he were to fail, he would probably never forgive himself nor would he ever be the same. But if there was nothing he could do and he was forced to choose between either you or the port mafia, well, you knew what his choice would be from the beginning.

dazai ; simple answer, no, he cannot commit. very, very complex answer? yes.

We know dazai is emotionally very complex, even “dead” sometimes, because he is quite morally grey. This is in due part to his traumatic experiences with mori and the mafia, but he joined the port mafia to fill the void in him. Something in dazai is, with lack of better wording, not right, and there is some kind of psychological clog in his emotions and mentality. So to reach him romantically? That would be very difficult.

Possibility, a romance could “fill the void” in him, and though I don’t think he would even want to try that approach, it wouldn’t work for him. dazai wants to find meaning in living for himself, and that can’t be found through proving his worth and protecting others, like it works for atsushi (because even oda told dazai that saving vs killing didn’t matter much to him, but it would be more “beautiful” and more meaningful for dazai, though it’s debatable whether dazai‘s view of the two has changed). If he were to enter a relationship with this broken mentality, the romance would be shallow and only damaging towards both parties.

I would even go so far as to say that dazai has either locked his emotions far below the surface or there’s an actual disconnect. I don’t see dazai as “guarded” so much as “calculated” because it’s obvious that dazai thinks very logically and he is intelligent, almost to the extent of rampo. He predicts many moves of enemies and he seems to always know what to do. Though he may flourish an emotional/dramatic attitude, when left by himself, he is a lot colder and it sends a shiver up your spine. He is, after all, still an ex-mafia member, and he carries those experiences with him, whether locked away or present on his sleeve.

At the very least, dazai has trust issues. He may care for his coworkers, but at arms length. The only true friend dazai had was oda, and I believe that part of dazai died with him. It was only when oda planned to kill that dazai’s calculating and dramatic exteriors dropped and he panicked. dazai most likely never wants to open up to that kind of pain again, for he hates it, doesn’t he? Just like physical pain, romance entails fights, betrayal, jealously, anguish—dazai probably wants a double suicide because he must admire the deep kind of bond lovers have, the idea that you would only want to go out with them by your side—but he wishes to escape all of the pain and skip right to that bond, just like he searches for a painless death.

If you wished to still pursue him, to take him and all his psychological wounds and bandages, it’s like a gamble because of how unpredictable yet perceptive he is. You would most likely have to know who he is inside, who he used to be, who he is consistently hiding to instead be who oda told him to be. but to do so you must be very, very careful. Based on your wording, your circumstances, your body language, you could be perceived as an enemy trying to get at him and he will block himself from you with no entry, even if you prove yourself later. It’s easier to maintain an act on high guard than it is to tear down the barriers and bare himself, to think through his past and actions.

The only people who have really seen that past dazai were the old mafia members: mori, chuuya, akutugawa. I’m sure he doesn’t pretend everything in front of the ada, but similar to chuuya, for him to open up there must be some acceptance of him wholely, that there’s no chance of you running away after so much is exposed; he would only clamp up further, more intent on becoming the “good man” oda told him to be. To take off the bandages, you must be patient and understand that you may never get them all off, that he may never fully open up to you.

I do not see dazai as a very romantic person. Yes, he flirts with many women and always talks about pleasing a woman, but I don’t see him as the type to desire a partner to rely on and love, like chuuya. He is a very private person, and most likely loathes the idea of sharing all of himself with another—even from a logical standpoint, it would only prove as a potential weak spot. He may joke, but he wouldn’t be the type for flings, one night stands, or marriage.

If you were able to enter a romantic relationship somehow, he would perhaps put on a show of physical affection for the ada, holding your hand and boasting about you. If you’re made for him though, you would also know it was exaggerated, and the truest way to know he cares is if he is able to relax that tiny bit with you in private, that he lets you gently unravel his bandages, that he kisses your lips with a slight hesitation. You may never have a relationship with an official title and he may still talk about suicide, but you know you’ve found a place in his heart if he speaks seriously and may question committing the act, even if his uncertainty is brief.

[sword-dad-fukuzawa]

The Monster in the Port Mafia's Basement

What tale will I tell you tonight, love? I have pretty ones, the sort of shiny baubles I could sell at a flea market for a dollar apiece. They glitter in the sunshine but they’re made of glass. You can see straight through them. But those are boring. Boring to tell, boring to listen to. You know how those end, anyway. 

Well, I’ve got a couple sad ones. Real tearjerkers, you know. A brother and a sister torn apart by the machinations of a great and hungry beast, a pair of lovers who can never truly touch...maybe a woman who would rather choke on flowers rather than ruin something lovely and pure. Do those bore you, my dear? You look as if you’re spacing out. 

I have just the story for you, then. I’ll tell it just as I was told, and you can’t complain about the ending. Or the middle bits. Do be warned, love. It’s not a nice tale at all. 

Deep in the bowels of the Port Mafia’s base, there lives a monster. 

What’s the Port Mafia, you ask? A group of smugglers, with their claws dug deep into the underbelly of Japan. Their reach stretched westward, consuming entire cities with their own lust for profit. In the end, they destroyed themselves, as all great and terrible things with claws and teeth do. But this story takes place long before that, so don’t worry your little head about it. Just listen. 

Now, where was I?

Ah. Deep in the bowels of the Port Mafia’s base, there lived a monster. For all I know, she’s still down there, writhing and snapping at anything that comes too close. 

The Port Mafia was well acquainted with monsters. Their boss was a serpent in human skin, with fangs held tight behind his smile. His second was an angry, rampaging god, who never did make much of an effort to keep his talons sheathed. And while he left of his own accord, though that’s an entirely different story, the man who kept the monsters caged was born under the Port Mafia’s stretching shadow. 

So when they found this particular monster, a young girl no older than thirteen, they did what they did best. Instead of letting the dark in her burn away with the sunshine, they tossed her deep into the bowels of the beast. 

She did terrible things down there, dear. Perhaps at first she was made to eat the apple, but soon she began to enjoy the taste. And that’s how little baby monsters, who can still become people through no small amount of healing, grow into adult monsters with eyes that flash in the dark and claws to pierce your skin. You were a baby monster, you know, just like me. Now look at you, all grown and clutching the handle of your teacup like a civilized being. I’m quite proud of how far you’ve come, you know. 

The sad bit about this monster in the Port Mafia’s basement, though, is that she was never meant to be one. By some accident of birth, some people are just going to grow up into dark, twisted little things, and no amount of happy circumstances will change that. But she was always meant to be a flower of the light, unlike you and I, who had to fight tooth and nail for sunshine. 

The greatest tragedy, I think, is that she never got that chance.

Ah, but I’m rambling. Do indulge an old woman, love. 

I heard this story from a boy who went down there, into that hungry darkness beneath the Port Mafia’s towers. He’s now a man, as old as I, and you’ll be pleased to know he survived the monster to run the candy shop on the north end of this city. Perhaps you’ve met him? No? Well, you never were one for sweets. 

Regardless, this boy knew the monster. Not very well, I’d say. He told me that they had only talked once, and so I asked him why he went. He told me that once was all he’d needed. 

Do I know what they talked about? No, unfortunately. You’ll have to ask him yourself. 

I do know, however, that they met because of their mentors. Hers was that great snake I mentioned. He was always so fond of warping young, powerful flowers into decaying husks of themselves. 

Ah, of course I knew him well. He was an improvement on the old Boss, if only because the snake had a brain and knew how to use it. He wouldn’t send me to my death out of spite, or out of paranoia. He would send me to my death if it served him. Though, perhaps that makes him worse. Regardless, the monster’s master gave her a short leash, and so she followed him wherever he went. 

The boy who told me this story also had a mentor. The Silver Fox, he used to be called. He’s dead now, long dead, of old age if I took his measure right. The snake and the fox were friends, once upon a time, and they remained friends as long as the fox turned a blind eye to his friend’s tricks. Perhaps the second tragedy is that he did so for too long to save her. 

Regardless, they met once, when their masters went for tea. A week later, the boy would infiltrate the Port Mafia base. It took him hours, he told me. The layers of security then might have stopped even the greatest assassin. As far as I know, it has.

How did he do it? Well, I can only speculate. He never did tell me the details—but I suspect he has forgotten them. It was a long time ago. But know this: the boy may be as human as you or I, perhaps more so, but his mind was something far greater than anything we may possess. He could have become the greatest detective in the world if he so chose. And while I don’t know for sure, he might well have, if he hadn’t visited the monster’s lair. 

It changed him, of course. Such things do. At the very least, you come out the other side of such a crucible fundamentally different, if not fundamentally warped. I do believe the boy was one of the lucky ones. 

Somehow, he walked into the lowest level of the Port Mafia’s base with his head held high. When he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, there was only one door, with a little glass window to peek into. It was a 2-way mirror, so he could glance inside without fear. And make no mistake, the room was undoubtedly occupied. But the hallway was as quiet as the grave. Even his shoes, he told me, made no sound. He is the sort of man who notices such things. 

Silently, the boy stepped to the window. It was a bit taller than him, he recalled, so he had to push up on his toes and brace himself on the door with his fingers. He only remembers because he had to wipe away his fingerprints after. He looked inside, then— 

What did he see? Dear, I’m trying to hold you in suspense. Be patient, and don’t interrupt. 

As I was saying, he looked inside. And he saw the monster, sitting as calm as you please, in a little metal chair. She was wearing the business attire that the Port Mafia favored, always pretending at civility when they’re all dark, writhing things stuffed into a mortal shell. She had her legs crossed and her golden butterfly hairpin, which the boy told me was the first thing that had caught his eye, sat jauntily in her hair. She was sitting across a table from a man. 

The man is not important. He must have been a failure of some kind, someone who hedged on a deal or leaked information to the wrong person. He could have been anyone. 

Oh, honestly, don’t look at me like that. I’m not callous, I’m realistic. 

But he was laid on that table like an offering, tied down with hospital-issue restraints. He had a strange expression on his face. The boy hesitated when he told me this part, as if he couldn’t quite find the words. I’ll repeat them to you. 

“Terror,” he told me. “Terror and bliss and some unspeakable dread.”

But also, the boy said, he looked so very tired, as if he could slump over at any moment. The monster smiled at the man, then leaned forward over the table. He couldn’t hear what she was saying to him, but he could read lips well enough at the time. Apparently, he picked it up during a stint in the police academy. From what he could tell, from that foggy two-way mirror, she was murmuring a poem to him. Some sort of lyrics, anyway. He told me that she recited an entire poem to this quivering mess of a man, but he only recalled one line after. 

“Kimi shinitamou koto nakare,” she whispered to him. “Thou shalt not die.” 

And a thousand butterflies burst from her, flashing red and purple and brilliant gold, descending upon the man in a swarm. They perched upon his head and shoulders, upon his arms, upon his chest. They covered him like a living blanket of jewels. But instead of looking awed, the boy told me, the man looked horrified. He began to babble pleas for rescue, for mercy, for salvation, but the monster only smiled wider. 

Then she flicked her fingers, twirling a scalpel between them. She cut the poor man open on that table, surrounded by butterflies. The boy could only watch as she dissected him with all the precision of a surgeon and the calm cynicism of someone who had done so a thousand times. And yet, when the man, by all rights, should have passed from this world to the next—the butterflies, the terrible, beautiful butterflies, flapped their wings. It felt like the air was sucked from the entire floor, the boy told me, as he watched the butterflies whirl around the man like a plague of locusts. 

When he could see the man again, he was perfectly whole. His skin unblemished, his blood no longer staining the table, and his face no longer slack with agony. The boy watched the monster cut him open again, and again, and again, each recitation of that poem bringing forth a new cloud of insects to pass judgement on his soul. 

He never opened that door. It had been his intent, he admitted to me, to open the door and tell her that they could run away together. That the snake would never find her, not if he had anything to say about it. But after watching her cut that man open a thousand times and putting him back together with a murmur, he turned around. He wiped his fingerprints off of the door. And he left the base, never to return. 

You look sick, love. Drink your tea. I warned you, you know. The story of the monster in the Port Mafia’s basement was never going to be a nice one, or one with a happy ending. I still don’t know what happened to her. She would be an old woman like me, now. Perhaps she has died. Perhaps that curious ability of hers means she cannot die at all. Perhaps she will live forever and ever, longer than any monster has a right to, and watch us all perish from this earth. 

Too dark? My apologies. And here you are, taking the time out of your busy workday to talk to your poor, elderly mother. I do adore you, Kyouka. I don’t think I tell you that enough. 

--

Thou Shalt Not Die always made me wonder if it could be applied to torture and interrogation. This fic exists in the same universe as They Took Her, if you were wondering--my dark little AU.

[the-inner-weebs]

K-Drama Recommendation Masterlist

RICH GUY POOR GIRL

Coffee Prince (2007) 커피프린스 1호점 ~

Genre: Food/Friendship/Comedy/Romance/Drama

𝐆𝗼𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝗼𝗼 ~ Choi Han Gyul

𝐘𝗼𝗼𝐧 𝐄𝐮𝐧 𝐇𝐲𝐞 ~ Go Eun Chan

Choi Han Gyul is the grandson of chairwoman Bang of Dong-in Foods, a company that has a thriving coffee business. He has never had a job and does not care for responsibility. Han Gyul is hung up on his first love, Han Yoo Joo, who only sees him as a friend.

Go Eun Chan is a 24-year-old tomboy who is often mistaken for a guy. Her father died when she was 16 years old and since then she has taken over as the breadwinner in her family.

When Han Kyul and Eun Chan meet, he, not knowing that she is a girl, decides to hire her to pretend to be his gay lover so that he can escape the blind dates arranged by his grandmother. After getting an ultimatum from his grandmother, Han Gyul takes over a rundown old coffee shop, later renamed "Coffee Prince," to prove that he's capable, both to his grandmother and to Yoo Joo. In order to attract female customers, he only hires good-looking male employees. Eun Chan, desperate for money, continues to hide her gender to get a job at Coffee Prince.

Director: Lee Yoon Jung

Secret Garden (2010) 시크릿 가든 ~

Genre: Comedy/Romance/Drama/Melodramatic/Supernatural

𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧 𝐁𝐢𝐧 ~ Kim Joo Won

𝐇𝐚 𝐉𝐢 𝐖𝗼𝐧 ~ Gil Ra Im

The drama tells the story of Kim Joo Won, an arrogant and eccentric CEO who maintains the image of seeming perfection, and Gil Ra Im, a poor and humble stuntwoman whose beauty and body are the object of envy amongst top actresses. Their accidental meeting, when Joo Won mistakes Ra Im for actress Park Chae Rin, marks the beginning of a tense, bickering relationship, through which Joo Won tries to hide a growing attraction to Ra Im that both confuses and disturbs him. To complicate matters further, a strange sequence of events results in them swapping bodies.

Director: Kwon Hyuk Chan/Shin Woo Cheol

Personal Taste  (2010)  개인의 취향 ~

Genre: Comedy/Romance

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝗼 ~ Jeon Jin Ho

𝐒𝗼𝐧 𝐘𝐞 𝐉𝐢𝐧 ~ Park Gae In

Jeon Jin Ho is a straight guy who is mistaken as gay when he applies to become Park Gae In's roommate. His hobbies include organization and ironing, and he's known for his stoic poker face. He's a stickler for cleanliness, but he also has a talent for figuring out a women's feelings. Gae In is very trusting even though she has a habit of being betrayed. However, that doesn't stop her from giving people the benefit of doubt and Jin Ho is no different. How will Gae In react when she finds out that her gay roommate is not actually gay at all and that he has fallen for her?

Director: Song Hyung Suk/Noh Jong Chan

What’s WrongWith Secretay Kim (2018) 김비서가 왜 그럴까 ~ 

Genre: Friendship/ Business/Comedy/Romance

Park Min Young ~ Kim Mi So

Park Seo Joon ~ Lee Young Joon

The series revolves around the narcissistic Lee Young Joon, the vice president of a company run by his family. He is very self-absorbed and thinks highly of himself, so much that he barely acknowledges the people around him. Lee Young Joon has a capable and patient secretary Kim Mi So who has remained by his side and worked diligently for 9 years without any romantic involvement. However, Mi So now wants to set her life & focus on herself so when she decides to resign from her job, hilarious misunderstandings ensue. After 9 years of their strictly-workplace relationship, can it now develop in something more?

Director: Park Joon Hwa

SUPERNATURAL

Goblin (2016) 도깨비 ~ 

Genre: Comedy/Romance/Fantasy/Melodrama/Supernatural

Gong Yoo ~ Kim Shin

Kim Go Eun ~ Ji Eun Tak

Kim Shin was once an unbeatable general in Goryeo's military who died a tragic death. He now possesses immortality but is tired of living while everyone else around him dies. For 900 years, Kim Shin has searched for his bride, a mortal who can pull out the sword and end his life. One day, he encounters Ji Eun Tak, a positive, upbeat high school student who can see the dead and has gone through tragic events, yet still stays strong. She claims to be the Goblin's bride who can end his immortal life, but what appears to be an easy task, only gets complicated, as the two fall in love.

Director: Lee Eung Bok

Moorim School (2016) 무림학교 ~

Genre:Action/Romance/School/Drama/Martial Arts/Fantasy

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐖𝗼𝗼 ~ Yoon Shi Woo

𝐇𝗼𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐢𝐧 ~ Wang Chi Ang

𝐒𝐞𝗼 𝐘𝐞 𝐉𝐢 ~ Shim Soon Duk

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝗼𝗼 𝐉𝐢𝐧 ~ Hwang Sun Ah

The Moorim School is a hidden school that can only be seen by special individuals, it isn't focused solely on high academic scores but on physical abilities. The school teaches its students great virtues which include honesty, faith, sacrifice, and communication. The teachers and students at the school come from different countries and each has their own stories. Everything is very extraordinary and normal until a student who doesn't seem to fill the role wanders into the academy and changes the destiny of all the students.

Director: Lee So Yeon

Strong Woman Do Bong Soon (2017) 힘쎈여자 도봉순 ~

Genre: Action/Thriller/Comedy/Romance/Drama/Supernatural

Park Bo Young ~ Do Bong Soon

Park Hyung Shik ~ Ahn Min Hyuk

Ji Soo ~ In Gook Doo

Do Bong Soon is a petite, unemployed woman who is honest and kind. She appears little and sweet on the outside, but she is in fact very, very strong. In her family, for generations the women have been gifted Herculean strength to use for the greater good. If abused, however, their power will be taken away. Whilst standing up for herself after gang members bully her, she finds herself approached by Ahn Min Hyuk, the handsome and somewhat childish CEO of Ainsoft, a gaming company. Ahn Min Hyuk, who holds a great distrust towards the police, witnessed the whole exchange of Bong Soon's superhuman strength, and now wants to employ her as a bodyguard after being threatened by an unknown enemy. Min Hyuk falls in love with super-strong Bong Soon at first sight, but there's a catch. Bong Soon has eyes for someone else; police officer and childhood friend, In Guk Doo, whom she has known since high school. When chaos ensues after a series of kidnappings in Do Bong Soon's hometown of Dobong-dong, Dobong-gu, Bong Soon must decide whether to use her strength and stand up to evil, or play it safe and keep her powers hidden from the world. Combined with the love triangle she faces between In Guk Doo and Ahn Min Hyuk, as well as having to keep Min Hyuk safe, Bong Soon's life is thrown into turmoil. Can she use her strength for the greater good, or will it prove in the end to be too much?

Director: Lee Hyung Min

He is Psychometric (2019) 사이코메트리 그녀석 ~

Genre: Thriller/Mystery/Comedy/Romance/Drama/Fantasy

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝗼𝐮𝐧𝐠 ~ Lee Ahn

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐞 𝐄𝐮𝐧 ~ Yoon Jae In

𝐊𝐢𝗺 𝐊𝐰𝗼𝐧 ~ Kang Sung Mo

After losing his parents in a fire, Lee Ahn acquires the power of psychometry, the ability to read a person or an object's past through physical contact, and he decides to use it to take bad people down. While he does not know how to control his power yet, he meets Yoon Jae In who tries her best to hide her painful secrets. Together with his foster guardian, prosecutor Kang Seong Mo, and the latter's colleague, investigator Eun Ji Soo, they team up to solve an elusive case that has been haunting the lives of Ahn, Sung-Mo, and Jae In. The case revolves around the life of prosecutor Kang his mother and father who were the main cause of the fire. Jae In and Lee Ahn heal each other through their past present and future and find the culprit.

Director: Kim Byung Soo

Memorist (2020) 메모리스트  ~

Genre: Action/Thriller/Mystery/Crime/Supernatural

Yoo Seung Ho ~ Dong Baek

Lee Se Young ~ Han Sun Mi

Dong Baek has an extraordinary ability. He can peer into the memories of whoever he touches. With his supernatural power, get it done attitude, and eye-pleasing looks, he is fervently revered worldwide as a superstar detective. However, when his punches meet with suspects before words, he can be a bit of a headache to his comrades. Starting from the age of twenty, Han Sun Mi is the youngest to have passed the bar exam, obtain a doctorate in criminal psychology, and become a senior superintendent in the police force. Having solved five cold cases that even a detective with supernatural powers couldn't do, she is a genius profiler. She has a secret that drives her to do what she does. These two highly-skilled professionals meet their match—a serial killer with abilities that transcend theirs combined. It's going to be a fight worth watching.

Director: So Jae Hyun, Kim Hwi

Tale of the Nine-Tailed (2020) 구미호뎐 ~

Genre:Action/Suspense/Thriller/Horror/Romance/Fantasy

Lee Dong Wook ~ Lee Yeon

Jo Bo Ah ~ Nam Ji Ah

The mythical nine-tailed fox, or gumiho, Lee Yeon had to settle in the city many centuries ago. Able to transform into human form, he eradicates supernatural beings that threaten the mortal world. His real aim is to find the reincarnation of his lost first love.

The talented television producer Nam Ji Ah works in a show that features urban myths. In the past, her parents were involved in a mysterious car accident and disappeared, and she suspects that Lee Yeon might be connected with this accident.

The half-brother to Lee Yeon is the captivating Lee Rang.  Despite being half-human himself,  he harbors a deep-seated contempt for all people. For sport,  he will unleash his seductive prowess upon his human-du-jour,  by promising to grant them their wishes, only to trick them into paying a hefty price for their earthly desires.

Director: Kang Shin Hyo

PSYCHOLOGICAL

Heal Me Kill Me (2015) 킬미힐미 ~

Genre: Psychological/Comedy/Romance/Drama

Ji Sung ~ Cha Do Hyun

Hwang Jung Eum ~ Oh Ri Jin

A traumatic childhood experience leaves Cha Do Hyeon, suffering from memory loss and dissociation. The latter has resulted in the creation of seven distinct personalities. Wanting to regain control over his life, he asks Oh Ri Jin, a first-year psychiatric resident, to help him, but she eventually falls in love with one of his personalities. Ri Jin’s twin brother, Oh Ri On, a famous mystery novelist, investigates Do Hyeon and his family.

Director: Kim Jin Man, Kim Dae Jin

It’s Okay to Not Be Okay (2020) 사이코지만 괜찮아 ~

Genre: Psychological/Comedy/Romance/Drama/Family

𝐊𝐢𝗺 𝐒𝗼𝗼 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧 ~ Moon Gang Tae

𝐒𝐞𝗼 𝐘𝐞 𝐉𝐢 ~ Ko Moon Young

𝐎𝐡 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐞 ~ Moon Sang Tae

The story of a community health worker at a psychiatric ward who lives on 1.8 million won (approximately $1,520) a month and a storybook writer suffering from an antisocial personality disorder. A man who denies love and a woman who doesn’t know love defy fate and fall in love, finding their souls and identities in the process.

Moon Gang Tae is a community health worker at a psychiatric ward who was blessed with everything including a great body, smarts, ability to sympathize with others, patience, ability to react quickly, stamina, and more. Meanwhile, Ko Moon Young is a popular writer of children’s literature, but she is extremely selfish, arrogant, and rude.

Director: Park Shin Woo/Jung Dong Yoon

MEDICAL

Emergency Couple (2014) 응급남녀 ~ 

Genre: Comedy/Romance/Drama/Medical

𝐒𝗼𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐢 𝐇𝐲𝗼 ~ Oh Jin Hee

𝐂𝐡𝗼𝐢 𝐉𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐤 ~ Oh Chang Min

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐏𝐢𝐥 𝐌𝗼 ~ Gook Chun Soo

Jin-Hee led a satisfying life as a dietitian. She then met medical school student Chang-Min. Despite his wealthy family's strong opposition, Jin-Hee and Chang-Min decided to get married. Chang-Min's family is full of doctors. Chang-Min though gave up his medical internship and began working as a pharmaceutical salesman. Their marriage life was not happy. Chang-Min's family looked down on Jin-Hee and even Chang-Min seemed to change. Chang-Min began to think terribly of Jin-Hee and they finally divorced. After their divorce, Jin-Hee became a medical student and now works as an intern. Chang-Min also graduated from medical school and begins to work as an intern. One day, they meet in the emergency room of a hospital where they will both work together.

Director: Kim Chul Gyu

Doctor Stranger (2014) 닥터 이방인 ~ 

Genre: Thriller/Romance/Drama/Medical

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐉𝗼𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐮𝐤 ~ Park Hoon

𝐉𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝗼𝐧 ~ Song Jae Hee

𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝗼 𝐑𝐚 ~ Oh Soo Hyun

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐇𝐚𝐞 𝐉𝐢𝐧 ~ Han Jae Joon

As a child, Park Hoon and his father were kidnapped by North Korea. In North Korea, he was trained to become a doctor by his father who was already a doctor. Park Hoon became a genius-like heart surgeon. He then flees to South Korea. Park Hoon begins to work as a doctor in South Korea's top hospital Myeongwoo University Hospital, but he feels like a complete outsider. To bring his love from North Korea, he does anything to make money.

Director: Hong Jong Chan/Jin Hyeok

Blood (2015) 블러드 ~

Genre: Action/Vampire/Romance/Drama/Medical/Supernatural

𝐀𝐡𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐞 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧 ~ Park Ji Sang

𝐆𝐮 𝐇𝐲𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝗼𝐧 ~ Yoo Ri Ta

Park Ji Sang is a doctor specializing in hepato-pancreato-biliary surgery in the best cancer research hospital in the country. He is also a vampire. Despite seeming cold and unfeeling, Ji Sang masks his soft heart and inner pain and yearns for closeness with people. He believes very strongly in the sanctity of human life and suppresses his thirst for blood to treat terminally ill patients and save lives.

Among his colleagues is Yoo Ri Ta, a hotshot physician who entered medical school at the age of 17 and is also the niece of the chaebol group chairman who owns the hospital. Ri Ta is highly capable but snooty and prideful, yet Ji Sang finds himself falling for her. He also gets drawn into a conflict between good and evil as he encounters Lee Jae Wook, a two-faced hospital chief who gains everyone's trust with his gentle demeanor but inwardly harbors a dangerous ambition for power and a talent for cruelty.

Director: Lee Jae Hoo/Ki Min Soo

D-Day (2015) 디데이 ~ 

Genre: Romance/Drama/Medical

Kim Young Kwang ~ Dr. Lee Hae Sun

Jung So Min ~ Dr. Jung Ddol M

An unprecedented 6.5-magnitude earthquake has struck Seoul, destroying roads and buildings, and preventing ambulances from reaching victims. Woefully unprepared for such a massive disaster, Korea can only watch the desperate situation and listen to the pleading cries for help. Hae Sung, a competent surgeon, can’t resist doing everything he can to help the injured people during the emergency. This upsets his hospital and they put him on a blacklist, as his benevolent help is against the hospital's profit. Ddol Mi, beautiful and ambitious, chased money and fame as a doctor, but now wants to become a truly compassionate doctor after meeting Hae Sung. Woo Jin has been building a successful career as Korea’s rising doctor, but secretly, he truly cares about being a genuine doctor, saving the lives of the sick. These three characters team up to rush into emergencies, holding onto hope in the most desperate situations, and taking all sorts of risks for the sake of saving lives.

Director: Jang Yong Woo

Hospital Ship (2017) 병원선 ~

Genre: Romance/Drama/Medical

Ha Ji Won ~ Song Eun Jae

Kang Min Hyuk ~ Kwak Hyun

Lee Seo Won ~ Kim Jae Gul

Army doctors board a hospital ship, which is a floating hospital that serves people who live on remote islands. But were these doctors interested in helping underprivileged people for free? Not at all. There is the non-army doctor Eun Jae, a cold perfectionist surgeon whose fast-track career was derailed. Kwak Hyun who practices internal medicine is the first army doctor to volunteer for duty on the hospital ship. Then there is the irritating Jae Geol, an oriental medicine doctor who drew the short straw and now has to serve on the hospital ship. A bunch of doctors with different backgrounds finds themselves afloat at sea. They are too old to be called youthful doctors as they are all in their thirties. Though they have skills obtained through long years of studying in medical school, their hearts and souls are barren. This is a coming-of-age story about doctors who have experienced setbacks in life that they are trying to bounce back from while they learn how to be a compassionate doctor and pursue fulfilling lives.

Director: Park Jae Bum, Kim Sang Woo

Doctor John (2019) 의사 요한 ~

Genre: Mystery/Comedy/Romance/Life/Drama/Medical

Ji Sung ~ Cha Yo Han

Lee Se Young ~ Kang Shi Young

“Doctor John” is a new medical drama about doctors specializing in pain management. In a refreshing take on the genre, “Doctor John” will portray the doctors’ search for the cause of their patients’ mysterious pain as a thrilling chase, almost like a detective hunting down the perpetrator behind an unsolved crime. 

Cha Yo Han is a genius anesthesiologist, who is also the youngest professor at his medical school. The brilliant doctor goes by the nickname “10 Seconds,” referring to his ability to figure out his patients in the 10 seconds that it takes for them to enter an examination room and walk to their seats.

Kang Shi Young is a legendary anesthesiologist, who was always at the top of her class throughout medical school. The talented doctor inherited her skills from her cool-headed, rational mother, while she inherited her empathy, listening skills, and warm bedside manner from her father.

Director: Jo Soo Won

ROMANCE COMEDY

Pinocchio (2014) 피노키오 ~

Genre: Thriller/Mystery/Comedy/Romance/Melodrama

Lee Jong Suk ~ Choi Dal Po 

Park Shin Hye ~ Choi In Ha

The idealistic Choi In Ha has her work cut out for her when she becomes a broadcast journalist, especially when she suffers from a condition known as “Pinocchio syndrome,” which makes her break out into hiccups whenever she tells a lie. Her rookie colleagues include Choi Dal Po, whose shabby appearance masks his true eloquence and sharp memory; Seo Bum Jo, a wealthy heir who has had everything handed to him in life; and Yoon Yoo Rae, whose fangirl knowledge comes in handy in covering the news. The 20-something newbie reporters pursue justice as they try to discover themselves in the process.

Director: Jo Soo Won

I am Not a Robot (2017) 로봇이 아니야 ~ 

Genre: Friendship/Comedy/Romance/Drama/Sci-Fi

𝐘𝗼𝗼 𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝗼 ~ Kim Min Kyu

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐞 𝐒𝗼𝗼 𝐁𝐢𝐧 ~ Jo Ji Ah

𝐔𝐡𝗺 𝐊𝐢 𝐉𝗼𝗼𝐧 ~ Hong Baek Gyun

Kim Min Kyu is the largest shareholder of a financial company. He suffers from a "human allergy", preventing him from normal interactions with other people. He becomes interested in a robotic project named Aji-3 created by the Santa Maria robotic team. The team is headed by Hong Baek Gyun,  inventor of Aji-3 and world-renowned robotics professor. He modeled Aji-3 after his ex-girlfriend, Jo Ji Ah, a struggling inventor that also works as a personal shopper to make ends meet.  Just when Kim Min Kyu wants to test the robot, an accident causes the malfunction of the robot's battery. Hong Baek Gyun begs Jo Ji Ah to take the place of Aji-3 and pretend to be the robot so they can get funding from Kim Min Kyu. But, Aji-3 becomes the closest thing that the lonely Min-Kyu has to real contact with another person.

Director: Jeong Dae Yun

My Shy Boss (2017) 내성적임보다 ~

Genre: Business/Comedy/Romance/Drama/Melodrama

𝐘𝐞𝗼𝐧 𝐖𝗼𝗼 𝐉𝐢𝐧 ~ Eun Hwan Ki

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐇𝐲𝐞 𝐒𝗼𝗼 ~ Chae Ro Woon

When a young, energetic employee joins a public relations firm with an introverted and severely misunderstood boss, she makes it her life’s mission to show the world who he really is.

Eun Hwan Ki is the boss at a PR company. He is really shy. So shy that even his employees don't know him that well. He prefers to hide in his office. Everyone thinks he is a cold, prickly, arrogant grouch. They call him the "Silent Monster".

Chae Ro Woon is a recent hire at the same company. She is energetic, bubbly, loves to be the center of attention, and always has something to say. The exact opposite of her boss, who she seems to have an old grudge against. Her goal in life is: to expose the big boss man for who he really is and take her revenge.

The same company also employs Kang Woo Il, co-boss at the company. He, unlike his partner, is warm, sensitive, and well-liked.

Eun Yi Soo is a chaebol heiress who has been engaged for three long years.

Director: Song Hyun Wook

Thirty But Seventeen(2018) 서른이지만 열일곱입니다 ~

Genre: Friendship/Music/Coemdy/Romance/Life/Drama/Family

Shin Hye Sun ~ Woo Seo Ri

Yang Se Jong ~ Gong Woo Jin

Woo Seo Ri, a violin prodigy at 17 who was about to study in Germany, got into a bus accident and fell into a coma waking up 13 years later. Mentally she is still only 17, while physically she is now 30.

Due to a trauma he experienced 13 years before, Gong Woo Jin does not want to have a relationship with others.

This series is about a man and a woman whose lives in their own ways essentially stopped when they were 17. Together, they use all their might to try and open the door to the happiness that they once thought had been closed to them.

Director: Jo Soo Won

Romance is a Bonus Book (2019) 로맨스는 별책부록 ~

Genre: Frienship/Business/Comedy/Romance/Life/Drama/Melodrama

Lee Na Young ~ Kang Dan Yi

Lee Jong Suk ~ Cha Eun Ho

Cha Eun Ho is a successful and handsome writer who is also the youngest chief editor at a publishing company.  He has a calm demeanor and remains reasonable at work.  He then becomes involved in the life of his childhood friend, Kang Dan Yi who was once a popular copywriter. She is now divorced, a single mother, unemployed and struggling in life though still attempts to find a job, but even with her once good career, she cannot. 

However, in a desperate attempt to find a job, she lies about her background and begins to work as a temporary worker in the same building under none other than Cha Eun Ho. As they become involved in each other’s life more than often, a love story begins to unfold.

Director: Lee Jeong Hyo

DoDoSolSolLaLaSol (2020) 도도솔솔라라솔 ~

Genre: Music/Comedy/Romance/Drama/Melodrama

Go Ah Ra ~ Goo Ra Ra

Lee Jae Wook ~ Sun Woo Joon

Goo Ra Ra is a naive rich girl, who dreams of being a great pianist with her father's love guiding her. But her path becomes rocky when her father passes away, and she finds herself going bankrupt. Being scammed of home and needing an escape, she goes on a ride where she encounters an accident trying to avoid Sun Woo Joon, a diligent worker trying to meet ends. Being hospitalized with a broken arm and no place to go, guilty Sun Woo Joon decides to take responsibility and take care of her. With Go Ra Ra’s naive personality, she slowly begins creeping into Sun Woo Joon's heart, while trying to deal with the challenges of living an adult life.

Director: Kim Min Kyung

YOUTH/LIFE

You’re beautiful (2009)  미남이시네요 ~

Genre: Friendship/Music/Comedy/Romance/Drama

Jang Geun Suk ~ Hwang Tae Kyu

Park Shin Hye ~ Go Mi Nam 

Jung Yong Hwa ~ Kang Shin Woo

Lee Hong Ki ~ Kang On Yu

The management company of the idol group A.N.JELL insisted on adding a new singer to the group as the lead vocal, Tae Kyung's voice was hurting. However,the new member, Mi Nam, had to go to the States to repair a botched eye job just before signing the contract. His agent came up with the idea of having his twin sister, Mi Nyu,to stand in for him and pretend that she was her brother. The two of them grew up in an orphanage and Mi Nyu, who was all set to become a nun, agreed to this charade as she didn't want to spoil her brother's chance of fame which would make it easier to look for their mother.

Director: Hong Sung Chang

Boys Over Flowers (2009) 꽃보다 남자 ~ 

Genre: Friendship/Comedy/Romance/School/Youth/Drama

Gu Hye Seon ~ Geum Jan Di

Lee Min Ho ~ Goo Joon Pyo

Kim Hyun Joong ~ Yoon Ji Hoo

Kim Bum  ~ So Yi Jung

Kim Joon ~ Song Woo Bin

Geum Jan Di comes from a poor family who owns a dry-cleaning shop. One day, she visits Shinhwa High School, a prestigious school for the wealthy, and saves a student trying to commit suicide because of bullying. For her heroic act, Jan Di receives a swimming scholarship and starts attending the school.

In school, she meets the notorious F4, the most popular and powerful group of boys at the school, consisting of Gu Jun Pyo; the leader of F4 and heir to the Shinhwa Group, Yoon Ji Hu; the grandson of a former president of Korea, So Yi Jung; a skilled potter who comes from a family that owns the country's biggest art museum, and Song Woo Bin; whose family runs the country's largest construction company.

Her life at school starts out miserable, as she doesn't fit in with other students because of her status, and later becomes worse when she is labeled as the new bullying target of the F4.

Director: Jeon Ki Sang

To the Beautiful You (2012) 아름다운 그대에게 ~

Genre: Comedy/Romance/School/Youth/Drama/Sports

Sulli ~ Goo Jae Hee

Choi Min Ho ~ Kang Tae Joon

Lee Hyun Woo ~ Cha Eun Gyeol

Tae Joon became Jae Hee’s strength during her toughest time, and she leaves the US for Korea to enroll in a men’s physical education high school to help Tae Joon restart his high jump career.

Tae Joon announces his retirement from the high jump national team and closes his heart, but his closed heart begins to open after meeting Jae Hee.

Eun Gyul is confused about his sexual orientation as he falls in love with Jae Hee who is masquerading as a man. The student-athletes have a fun time training with each other and are not tied down to setting a record or competition. 

Director: Jeon Ki Sang

Strongest Delivery Man (2017) 최강 배달꾼 ~

Genre: Friendship/Business/ Comedy/Romance/Life/Youth

Go Kyung Pyo ~ Choi Kang Soo

Chae Soo Bin ~ Lee Dan Ah

Choi Kang Soo is a deliveryman. In spite of his humble beginnings, Choi Kang Soo is fearless and gives it all in everything he does. Lee Dan Ah is another delivery worker. She hates her current socioeconomic status so much that she, like many young people, calls her country “Hell Joseon.” Lee Dan Ah is so focused on making money and changing her life that she has no time for men. But when she comes across the charming Choi Kang Soo, her attitude is due to be moved.

Together, Choi Kang Soo and Lee Dan Ah have a budding competition and romance in their quest for glory. And, for them, glory means being like rich folk Lee Jin Yoon and Oh Jin Gyu. They compete to conquer life but, as our two delivery workers soon learn, being the strongest does not guarantee success.

Director: Kim Shin Il, Jeon Woo Sung

Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok Joo (2016) 역도요정 김복주 ~

Genre: Friendship/Comedy/Roamnce/School/Youth/Sports

Lee Sung Kyung ~ Kim Bok Joo

Nam Joo Hyuk ~ Jung Joon Hyun

Bok Joo is a weightlifter who is pursuing her dream of winning the gold medal but she then finds romance for the first time in her life. While she is a woman who trains with heavy steel weights, she is also very feminine when it comes to relationships. To focus solely on weightlifting would jeopardize her relationship but leaving her weightlifting career for love would keep her from attaining her dreams. Can she find a way to have love as well as glory at the age of 20? The characters within this drama are elite athletes in weightlifting, swimming and rhythmic gymnastics who work hard to reach their goals in life. It covers their coming-of-age stories and relationships through hectic life.

Director: Oh Hyun Jong

Itaewon Class (2020) 이태원 클라쓰 ~

Genre: Food/Friendship/Business/Romance/Life/Drama

Park Seo Joon ~ Park Sae Ro Yi

Kim Da Mi ~ Jo Yi Seo

Kwon Na Ra ~ Oh Soo Ah

Park Saeroyi's life has been turned upside down after he gets expelled from school for punching a bully and his father is killed in an accident. Following his father's steps, he opens a pub named "DanBam" in Itaewon and, along with his manager and staff, strive towards success and reaching greater heights.

Director: Kim Seong Yoon

ROMANCE

One Spring Night (2019) 봄밤 ~ 

Genre: Romance/Life/Drama/Melodrama

Jung Hae In ~ Yoo Ji Ho

Han Ji Min ~ Lee Jung In

Feeling trapped in a stale four-year relationship and reluctant to take the next step into marriage, Lee Jung In stumbles into Yu Ji Ho's pharmacy one morning, nursing a hangover after a night of drinking with her friend. As she tries to reassemble herself before going to work, Jung In discovers that she has forgotten her wallet and cannot pay. Ji Ho kindly helps Jung In, despite her prickly personality. What begins as an innocent daily interaction, develops into a deeper attachment as the two find themselves drawn to one another. They embark on a secret friendship while navigating the minefield of familial and societal expectations. 

Director: Ahn Pan Seok

Crash Landing on You (2020) 사랑의 불시착 ~

Genre: Military/Comedy/Romance/Drama/Political

Hyun Bin ~ Ri Jung Hyuk

Son Ye Jin ~ Yoon Se Ri 

Tells the story of two star-crossed lovers, a South Korean heiress and a North Korean elite who also happens to be an army officer. One day, while paragliding, Yoon Se Ri has an accident caused by strong winds, leading her to crash land in North Korea, where she meets Ri Jung Hyuk, a North Korean army officer, who agrees to help her return to South Korea. Over time, they fall in love, despite the divide and dispute between their respective countries.

Director: Lee Jeong Hyo 

THRILLER

Extracurricular (2020) 인간수업 ~ 

Genre:  Friendship/Psychological/Crime/Life/School/Youth/Drama/Mature

Kim Dong Hee ~ Oh Ji Soo

Park Joo Hyun ~ Bae Gyu Ri

"Extracurricular” is centered around three high school students who start committing crimes to earn money and the unpredictable dangers they face as a result.

Kim Dong Hee will portray Ji Soo, who goes from a model student to a criminal after committing an unthinkable act. Jung Da Bin as school bully Min Hee, who gets caught up in Ji Soo’s crime. Park Joo Hyun will portray Ji Soo’s dangerous partner in crime Gyu Ri, while Nam Yoon Soo will appear as Min Hee’s boyfriend and the school’s most popular guy Ki Tae.

Director: Kim Jin Min