#IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE WHY ITS CALLED BRANCHES

[pocket-dust-starr]

UM HELLO???

LOKI??

NOW THAT IS A FUCKING GOD

[with-my-calamitous-love]

HE SAW FOREVER SO HE SMASHED IT UP

katsuki bakugou x reader

the times bakugou broke your heart

heavily inspired by mbobhft

1) the denial

“are we breaking up?”

“…yeah.”

“oh.”

his reasons made sense. he had a job, a goal, a burning drive to prove himself as the best. he was burnt out, his fingers worked to the bones. he couldn’t give you not just what you wanted, but what you needed. and that killed him more than it did you.

it made sense. the gears turned. the writing was on paper. like almost everything he did, it worked out. of course it worked out for katsuki bakugou- he’s the best.

it wasn’t all that set in stone for you, however.

he could have given you a million more reasons before the tears spilled. “i’m an asshole.” true. “i don’t treat you right.” fair. “you deserve so much fuckin’ better, [y/n.]” yeah, he was right.

but you always liked to challenge the acceptable.

at first, it didn’t hit you as hard as you thought it would. you walked through your room, too numb to pay mind to the tears that rolled down your cheeks, and silently packed up his sweaters into a box. the necklace he gave you, the ‘k’ pendant, came off your neck like a butterfly lands on a branch, knowing that its death is inevitable and doing nothing to stop it.

at night, you cried, and cried, and cried. you called him about 27 times. he never answered. he texted you to make sure you were okay, but your tear-blurred eyes kept you from seeing the keyboard clearly. you left him on seen and prayed that he was worried, prayed that his heart would explode at your lack of an answer, prayed to god that he would come over just to check on. suffice to say your prayers were left unanswered.

you thought he’d call. but he didn’t. but your soul remained devoted, eyes glued to your phone screen and hands shaking. he has to call. he has to tell you goodnight. he has to tell you that you’re an idiot. he has to tell you he loves you. he’s going too, idiot.

right?

2) the anger

if he wanted you dead, why didn’t he just say?

your heart burned for anger. for salvation. for revenge. you knew katsuki bakugou knew anger well, but he had no idea the way your soul flared like a whole new depth of hell.

you laid in bed, awake, eyes excruciatingly drive from crying your tear ducts may as well have been burnt off. memories of him haunted your brain while your fists tightened.

you regretted giving him your heart. your love. your late nights and early mornings. your fights, your passions, your 2ams and your smiles. you hated the way you let him draw the laughter out of you, how he showed parts of himself to you he had never shown anyone.

and those little things that made up your love, he was going to use on someone else. you knew it.

he was going to cook them his special fried rice his mom taught him how to do. he was going to teach them how to punch because he doesn’t want them to get hurt- something he did for you. he was going kiss them how he kissed you, love them in a way that should have only been you.

but he shouldn’t. in fact, he should look back at what you had, and regret every. single. thing. he did to let is end. he should regret everything he didn’t do to keep you. he should burn alive from guilt. scream. cry. fight for his life while his body is doused in gasoline. attempt miserably to tear the fire off his skin while it burned him to a crisp. he should die screaming.

he should deserved it, after all. because he heard your screams, and put his headphones on.

3) the bargaining

please. you wailed. who do i have to talk to? what do i have to do to get him back!?

you suddenly thought of so many scenarios in your head, scenarios fuelled by false hope. things you’d do to kiss him one last time, to hold him, to love him and be loved by him. you’d dry the ocean water. you’d turn stones into gold. you’d bring him to heaven and back. you’d get out of bed. you’d compromise more. you wouldn’t forget to kiss him. you’d love him. you’d love him so much harder. please.

suddenly everything seemed possible. if someone answered your calls, if someone made a deal with you, you’d offer up everything. you were sure you’d place everything on the line for him. you want it all back- his yelling, his snark, his nicknames, his attitude, his everything- no, your everything. you’d pluck out your own eyes for his red ones, or your heart for his heroic soul that loved you brighter than anyone else. being loved by katsuki bakugou was something you wouldn’t trade for anything- turns out you couldn’t trade it either.

4) the depression

everything smelled like him. your sheets blossomed into his sweet, burnt scent, the one that he’d leave behind whenever he slept over simply because he left you. all your jackets felt like his chiseled arms, wrapped around you as if you’d be gone in a moments notice. his voice was everywhere. the songs on the radio, the words you read on your phone, and the memories that played like your favourite movie soundtrack.

you wondered if he knew you couldn’t get out of bed. sometimes you imagined him calling your ass lazy, and then dragging you out of bed with a kiss to your forehead and a breakfast he cooked for you. maybe then you’d rip off the sheets and face the day. but right now, your bed was the only place you could mourn.

it was cruel, in a sense. letting you fall in love with him only to leave. letting you fall in love with his stupid smug smirk, his laugh, his teasing, his anger, his unreasonable handsomeness, his millions of pet peeves and trigger words, his clinginess, his distance, his days and nights, ups and downs, his hate and love all tied into one. he made you love him, knowing you would never get to love another katsuki bakugou.

5) the acceptance

acceptance was bakugou realizing how badly he fucked up.

part 2 soon!

[devonpink]

A Thanksgiving Story

Arrogant, ignorant, and stupid, no three words could better describe my dad. I didn't always see him like that, though. Growing up, we were best buds—I admired and looked up to him as a role model. I truly felt like I could tell him anything, I could trust him. So, you could imagine my shock when after coming out as gay to him, he turned on me. He ignited into a homophobic rage, disowning me as his son. He couldn't stand the sight of me. The unpleasant feeling was mutual and I moved out as quickly as possible.

For almost a decade, there was nothing but radio silence between us. Until one day, I randomly got an email from him, inviting me to a one-on-one Thanksgiving. I read it over and over, completely stunned. As mad and hurt as I still felt, I knew I'd regret not accepting his olive branch. So, I accepted.

A few days later, in the early afternoon of Thanksgiving, I drove over to my dad's place, my childhood home. As nervous as I was, driving up the old driveway and parking in my old spot felt good. As I stepped out of my car, I was reminded of how sweltering it was for November, even for Florida. As much as dressing up sounded fun, wearing a white tank top, dark tan loose shorts, and flip-flops only made sense. My balls would have melted in a pair of underwear, so I freeballed.

My heart was racing, as I flip-flopped to the front door. I was expecting the worst but hoping for the best. I could smell the turkey cooking through the front door as I knocked, its mouth-watering scent calming me slightly. A few seconds later, my dad opened the door. Unsurprisingly, he was exactly as I had left him: bulky beyond belief, obviously my leaving had no effect on his serious workout routine. Then again, maybe he exercised to escape the pain, I know I did that. He was wearing nearly the same thing, the only difference being his loose shorts were black. His pit stains were just as bad as mine—like father, like son, I guess. To my relief, his nervous expression pleasantly told me he was just as anxious as I was.

Stepping inside, I got a good whiff of him as I passed him, that oh-so-familiar scent of cologne failing to mask the intense pit reek. The house, like my father's manly stench, was exactly how I'd remembered it, nothing had changed—it was nice. As my dad led me to the kitchen, with his back to me, I gave my hairy sweaty pits a sniff. They reeked, even worse than my dad's. Unlike him, I'd forgotten to put on deodorant or cologne. We both stunk, in slightly different ways, but that similarity was comforting—like father, like son.

I was expecting things to be insanely awkward, but it was like the good old days. We sat out on the porch, drinking beer and shooting the shit as we waited for the turkey to finish cooking on the barbecue. I forgot how much I loved talking with him, for an arrogant douch bag, he sure could make me laugh. Neither of us had brought up my leaving yet, I assume to not break the good flow we had going. In truth, I didn't want to bring it up. It felt good to pretend everything was as it was in the old days.

When the turkey was done, we brought it inside and gobbled it down like too starving beasts. Obviously, our nerves had calmed down quite a bit. Everything was fantastic, I forgot how good of a cook my dad is. We didn't say much to each other while eating, too distracted by our hunger to converse—like father, like son. Before we dove into dessert, he offered me another beer. As much as the pumpkin pie was calling my name, I couldn't decline.

Instead of the usual beer we were drinking, he brought a brand I'd never seen before, "Obedience." I didn't question why he only brought out a single can, I was too distracted by the pumpkin pie to care. I cracked it open and swigged it down, anxious to get to the pie. However, after I finished, I felt funny. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I felt different. I silently stared at my dad, watching an evil grin form across his face.

My dad spoke, dropping his nice-guy demeanor. "Now listen up, boy. It's time we finally get to the point of our happy reunion." My heart was racing, I knew something terrible was about to happen. Flashbacks of before I left flooded my mind. Strangely, as much as I wanted to move, I couldn't. My body was frozen like it was waiting for something. "Take another swig of your beer, down every last drop." What happened next shocked me to my core, my body moved on its own! It was like I was a bystander in my own body, only able to watch. I robotically brought the can up to my mouth and downed every last drop, doing exactly what he commanded. At that moment, I horrifily knew exactly why it was called, "Obedience," and why he only brought out a single can of it.

"Belch, boy. Like a man." My dad arrogantly commanded, knowing I'd helplessly comply.

"bbbbbbBBBBUUUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPpppppppppp!!!" Just as he commanded, the biggest manliest belch came out of me. I hated how good it felt to obey him, an obvious effect of the beer.

"Belch again, boy. Except this time, additionally, let out all that stress and worry. Also, uncross your legs and manspread! Sit like a man!" He commanded.

I wanted to resist but was helpless to his commands. "bbbbBBBBBBBuuuUUUUUUrrrPPPPPPPPPpppppp!!!" Like he commanded, all stress and worry had left my body. I then uncrossed my legs and manspreaded, just like my dad. Sitting that way felt so much better.

My dad laughed, like a cocky bastard. "Such a good and obedient son I have." I wanted to get up, scream, anything but just sit there. Except I couldn't move. No matter how hard I tried, I simply couldn't move. "Now, let's get to the good stuff," My dad excitedly proclaimed, unnerving me even more. "Let out all the useless liberalism! Become a rigid conservative, just like dear old dad! Like father, like son! Belch, boy!"

I tried as hard as I could to keep it down, but it was useless. "BBBBBBUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPpppppppp!!!! With that, all liberalism and open-mindedness had left me. My mind was assaulted and reprogrammed to believe all sorts of small-minded conservative ideas and beliefs. It was overwhelming, yet electrifying. With conservatism comes stupidity, so my mind had become completely moldable, exactly what he wanted.

"Real men vote red, don't they, boy?" My dad asked, every word dripping with superiority.

"Sir, yes, Sir! Real men Vote-BBBBBBBbbbuuurrrrPPPPPPPPpppp!!!" Before I could finish, another manly burp escaped from me, making my dad bust out laughing. I couldn't help but laugh too, being more stupider now. It felt good to make my dad laugh. I felt like… a good son.

"Now, before we continue, I want to make sure you have no remaining resistance. So, let it all out! Give yourself to me completely! Belch, boy!" My dad commanded.

"BbbbbuuuuuuuUUUUUURRRRPPPPppppppp!" I did as he commanded, like a good son. It felt good, right, to obey him. Why would I want to resist him? He's my dad! He made me, I must obey him!

My dad was grinning like a king, as he should. "Belch again, boy! Belch as loud as you can!"

"BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" I was more than happy to obey.

"Fuck yeah, son! You sound just like your old man!" My dad enthusiastically congratulated me.

Having him praise me felt good, so fucking good. More, I wanted so much more!

My dad then got serious, obviously, this next one would be important. "Belch, boy, and erase all gayness from yourself. Become the straight man I've always wanted you to be! No man wants a faggot for a son! Blech, boy! Belch and become straight!!!"

"BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" Like a good son, I obeyed. "BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" And just like that, all my gayness was gone. I'm now as straight as a freshly bought nail. I like women, only women, like a normal man. Who'd want to be fag, anyway? Fags are sick freaks!! Thank god I'm not one of them anymore. Thank god I'm straight, just like my dad! Like father, like son!

We celebrated my much-needed transformation over two massive slices of pumpkin pie. Afterward, we returned to the porch and smoked cigars, some of his finest. I feel so much better now that I'm following in my dad's footsteps. I want to be exactly like him, in every single way. I want to be completely interchangeable with him. He gave me a matching pair of sunglasses and a red cap, to protect me from the blistering sun. I obviously wore my cap backward to match him. I'm so thankful for my dad. Without him, I'd be lost.

[fleurmiss]

ೃ⁀➷ only you, my girl

- ,, neteyam x fem reader

- ,, you think neteyam is extremely attractive, others do too , its fine! you get it! but what happens when they cross a line ?

- ,, warnings - neteyam is head over heels for u, jealousy and the attitude that comes w it, fluff , all this happens before the events of awotw.

-‘๑’- dark red - steve lacy

Neteyam has always shown so much interest in you, and made his courting so obvious, but why do people still not get the damn hint?

Currently you are walking on a huge tree branch, high above the ground, with Lo’ak, Kiri and Spider. Neteyam isn’t here, much to your dismay, because he has “ Future Olo’eyktan duties” as Lo’ak likes to call it.

“it’s almost eclipse, let’s start heading back” Kiri mentions and for once, Lo’ak and Spider agree and make their way home without causing too much of a fuss

“woah guys, you barely even whined about having to go back home so early today, whatsup?” you question laced with sarcasm as you hear Kiri chuckle and nod in agreement with you.

“we don’t want to keep you away from your boyfriend for too long y/n, we all know how cranky my brother gets without you” Lo’ak adds and Spider cackles, thinking this is so super funny.

You shove Lo’ak and tell him to shut up, and that Neteyam’s not your boyfriend, and he doesn’t get cranky.

Your relationship with Neteyam was quite.. obvious , yet complicated. Both confused teenagers in love yet don’t know how to confess it, nothing was official, but everyone knew you were off limits, you were Neteyam’s girl.

you are clutching your stomach in pain from laughing too hard when you enter the Sully’s cave, wiping a tear from your cheek wondering how on pandora could someone be so stupid as lo’ak and spider.

You hear the laughter die down and your eyes set on a pair sitting together in the gathering room of the cave, Neteyam and Rini.

You eye both of them in confusion, so does Lo’ak, Kiri, and even Spider. You feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach but not in the good way, you don’t like how close Rini is to Neteyam.

“Guys, Rini caught me on the way back to our cave and said she wanted to hang out with everyone, hope no one minds?”

The four of you shake your heads and make your way to the pair to sit down with them. It was odd, Rini wasn’t good friends with any of you, maybe Neteyam? No, you would know. Why does she suddenly wanna hang out with us? Neteyam is often times too nice to say no, maybe he couldn’t deny her? You wonder if the others question the same, and maybe they do, judging by the looks on their faces.

“y/n” you hear your name in neteyam’s voice, he pats the spot next to him, the opposite side of where Rini is sitting, you don’t want to sit next to him, to be petty, but you oblige anyways, oblivious to the female na’vi glaring daggers at you, Neteyam gives you a bright smile, now that you got his attention, you’ll have it the rest of the night.

Neteyam embraces you in a warm hug, his hands sneaking around your waist as he whispers into your ear “missed you, you look good”

you smile shyly and open your mouth to thank him, but someone else beats you to it

“Neteyam! This cut on your arm looks terrible!! Are you okay? How’d you get it?!”

God. Her voice is annoying, why is she yelling? Neteyam is literally next to her?

You eye Kiri and she rolls her eyes at Rini, you stifle a laugh and Neteyam notices, smiling sweetly at your antics, momentarily forgetting Rini was even there, until he is bought back to his senses.

“Oh this? It’s nothing just a scratch”

“Do you want me to patch it up for you?”

Your eye twitches, you try to have a normal conversation with the other three, trying your best to ignore the two sitting right next to you, but Rini makes it unbelievably hard with her screeching voice.

“No I’m g-“

“I insist” Rini touches Neteyams shoulder and gives it a squeeze, you look at Neteyam and he knows it, you’re pissed. You stay quiet and enjoy the show infront of you.

“I’ll have y/n help me later Rini, it’s alright.”

“Oh- Oh yeah okay” she deflates, but you have a feeling deep down, this girl isn’t giving up so easily. You wonder who put her up to this. Her mother? Grandmother? Friends? Toruk Makto’s eldest son’s mate does have a nice ring to it, despite the length, but that title’s yours, she knows it.

You all are laughing at Lo’ak and Kiri arguing about who Spider likes better when Neteyam rests his head on your shoulder. You feel your stomach explode with butterflies again, the good kind.

“Tired?”

“mhm” Neteyam mumbles, you reach your hand up to the braid dangling infront of his face and move it behind his ear. Your romantic little moment is interrupted yet again by the same culprit from last time.

“Neteyammm, it’s so dark! Will you walk me to my cave?” Rini latches onto Neteyam’s arm and gives him a little tug thats powerful enough to have him pulling away from you and get him to stand up.

“Uh-“ Neteyam looks at you for approval, you’re not looking at him, instead opting the floor was a better option. Neteyam is no fool, he knows why you’re upset, he gets it too, if some random man was leeching onto you like Rini is, he’d be upset, hell, he’d be crazy. He doesn’t like that expression on your face, he doesn’t like when you’re sad, because of him too.

Neteyam look’s over to Lo’ak and Lo’ak immediately gets on it. “Bro don’t worry about it, Kiri, Spider and I will walk Rini to her cave, we know you’re tired and wanna be with your girlfriend”. Lo’ak smiles and winks at his older brother.

This throws Rini offguard.

“Thank you guys. Rini, see you around”.

“Awh Neteyam it’s a shame you couldn’t accompany me, y/n keeps snatching you away from me and if i’m correct.. she isn’t even your girlfriend.. you should spend more time with me and my friends!” Rini smiles slyly, her tone innocent but her intentions show clearly. Rini hugs Neteyam and whispers something in his ear, which you’re sure she said loud enough for you to hear on purpose.

“If you ever do need a mate that will actually commit, you know your options” she winks and pulls away from his embrace as the group starts to walk outside, irritated.

You stand up abruptly and walk past Neteyam who stood there dumbfounded.

“Y/n” He grabs your wrist to stop you from walking any further.

“Let go Neteyam, I wanna go home” You hate how wobbly your voice sounds when you speak right now.

“y/n, are you crying?” He sounds so worried it makes you even sadder

“i’m sorry baby, im sorry, i didn’t know she was gonna act like that” he pulls your head into his shoulder and strokes your back comfortingly.

“don’t call me that.. im not your girlfriend, and i don’t care how she acts” you say, though your tone and quivering lip betray your words

“y/n..” he pulls you away and cups your face with his gentle hands, afraid he would break you if he was any less gentle “cmon look at me” you meet his gaze and his eyebrows furrow at the sight of your slightly red but watery eyes

“you know you’re the only girl i ever want right? you’re so special to me y/n..why don’t you see that, i want you to be mine so bad, every morning i wake up and pray to Eywa to finally have let you see how desperate i am for you. why must you let someone like rini ruin your day?”

you sniffle, and Neteyam thinks its so cute he could kiss you right now, but he holds back.

“but i am yours nete” you say, unintentional doe eyes looking up at Neteyam that make him melt, he can’t hold himself back anymore .

Neteyam leans towards your face, held by his hands, and he stops right infront of your lips, asking for permission, waiting for disapproval “kiss me y/n” it sounds like a plead, like he’s almost begging, so you do.

you feel your head explode, his lips are so soft, so perfect against your own and you question why you didn’t do this before.

you pull away but neteyam chases after your lips and captures them again. You finally pull away and rest your forehead against his. Neteyam gives you another kiss that lasts shorter than your previous, “i see you, y/n”

you look up at him through your eyelashes and smile slowly

“say it back” he whispers against your lips and you almost give in.

“are you sure? you don’t wanna explore your other options?”

“you are the only option, ever.” you smile.

“i see you, neteyam” and you kiss him again, he whines into your mouth and you have to stop yourself from giggling at the sight of our future olo’eyktan being putty in your hands.

- you hear a sob from outside and later realize Rini stayed behind cuz she thought Neteyam would leave you and go after her but oh was she wrong

- loak, kiri, and spider dont even realize rini is missing and they start talking shit abt her once they know shes gone

- anytime rini saw u and neteyam after this, she would always have her fists balled up and bottom lip quivering

- she thought she still had a chance with neteyam after her eavesdropping on his confession but everytime yall hung out neteyam would be so clingy that eventually she realized he was too inlove with you

- fuck u rini hah hes mine btch

[libraryofloveletters]

The Right Way To Do It 

Sebastian Vettel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: it's ferrari!seb of course - he's the most husband, seb's so picky and reader is over it, one childish joke about balls, seb's a little OCD about his ornaments, some playfully husband and wife bickering.

Word Count: 695

Author's Note: welcome to my holiday extravaganza series! are we shocked im starting with seb? no :) I hope y'all enjoy this as much as I as do!!

--

Sebastian is the most meticulous person you've ever met in your life, and yes, that also translates to Christmas tree decorating. 

The 8 foot tree stood strong and tall in the middle of the window. You stood back a few feet, looking up at it in all its glory. The boxes of ornaments you had Sebastian lug up from the basement were scattered on the couches and the coffee table.

How are you ever going to get this done?

You took inventory of all the ornaments you had, making sure you had even amounts of the colours before you began hanging them on the tree.

Starting from the bottom, you rotate the colours every few ornaments. It took you a few tries and a lot of reshuffling before you were satisfied with it.

"That's not how it's supposed to go," he calls as he walks into the living room, dropping himself down into an empty space on the couch.

Kneeling on the floor to put the ornaments on the bottom branches, you shift to look at your husband. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," he nods, eating a bit of the popcorn you had made to string and put on the tree. "It's supposed to be red, gold, green. Not red, red, gold, green, red. That's messy, babe."

"Instead of nitpicking, why don't you just come do it yourself?" You huffed, turning your attuning back to the tree.

Sebastian liked to annoy you, picking at things just to raise your blood pressure. You often bit back, much to his amusement.

He liked it when you got feisty with him. He never took you seriously, not until today.

His warm hands rested on your shoulders, carefully shifting you off to the side as he started to rearrange the ornaments you had hung. "Seb, are you serious?"

"As serious as a heart attack, baby." He smiles at you, then turns to the ornaments you had scattered on the living room floor.

Sebastian starts muttering under his breath, his fingers moving 100 miles an hour as he sorts through something in his head. You looked at the man, watching in confusion.

"What are you doing?"

"Counting."

"Counting.. what?"

"Balls."

You snickered at his response. "You're counting.. balls?"

He rolls his eyes, "we need to go to the store." Your brows furrow and he senses the lack of understanding, as if you were missing a piece of the puzzle, and that you were. "We need more green, let's go."

Much to your displeasure, your husband drags you out into the cold. He promised to buy you one of those hot chocolates you liked from the stand outside of the store before you went home and that he did.

Five massive shopping bags in hand; Seb picked up anything from ornaments to throw pillows to Christmas candles.

He had a habit of losing his mind when the holidays rolled around.

After you two finally made it home, Sebastian instructed you the order in which you had to hand him the ornaments; red, gold, green, red, gold, green - in that exact order.

You huffed and grumbled, handing him the ornaments as he moved around the tree, saying that you could have done the same thing. Sebastian playfully rolls his eyes at you, reminding you that you don't have to help if you don't want to and as much as you'd love to stop, you knew Seb would get distracted and leave the tree halfway decorated.

It took an hour and a half, a trip to the store and a bit of bickering but the tree was finally done.

You stood up, watching as Seb steps off of the stool, the star sitting perfectly straight on the top. His hand rests on your lower back, pulling you into his side.

"Perfect, isn't it?"

You roll your eyes, "I would have done the same thing, Sebastian."

"Not the way I'd do it, though." He teased, nudging your hip with his. You find yourself rolling your eyes yet again, something you did often in the presence of your husband.

"Yeah, sure." Your hand resting on his jaw, your thumb brushing over his soft skin - he finally shaved, an early Christmas gift for you - you lean into your husband, reaching up to kiss him. "Whatever you say, Seb."

[team-avia]

Interview with the Vampire(s)

You flipped open to a fresh page in your journal, a newly sharpened pencil in your hand, with two more tucked precariously behind each of your ears, and another one shoved in the front pocket of your lab coat.

The room was dark, save for the lone candle illuminating the desk at which you and your guest sat at. Rain pattered behind the closed window, branches moving in the slight wind.

“I have some questions I'd like to ask you, about yourself, about Novit,” you told the person sitting in front of you. They held a long and delicate looking porcelain pipe in their hand, sweet smelling wafts of smoke pouring from their lips as they exhaled.

“I will answer any questions you have to the best of my ability. Though this knowledge is not something you should share readily with the humans in your world.”

You nodded your head. You understood how dangerous this information could be falling into the wrong hands. But you also knew how big a wave this could make in all the fields of science. You'd be a fool to pass up this opportunity.

Clearing your throat, you pressed your pencil to the page. “For now, I merely need a few details about yourself.” More in depth questions would come later once you knew what to ask about this mysterious new world and its occupants.

“My name is Cordelia,” the woman in front of you spoke, her piercing blue eyes glowing in the dark. She held herself with a sense of importance. “I am the head of this coven, and I own Corville manor. I am originally from a beautiful and serene island country called Yupin, before moving to Piedamonte to fulfill my duties.”

You scribbled down her words.

“I keep the peace between your world and Novit, and have been doing so for many decades. I have seen both the truimphs and horrors of man and I seek to prevent tragedy from befalling either worlds. Though there are those of my kind that seek to bring about chaos. It is why the rest of the coven and I fight diligently to keep them away.”

The scene changed and another vampire had taken Cordelia's place. This vampire wore a charming grin on their face, long brown hair swept up into a ponytail. “My name is Natalie and I hail from Cuniso, an island nation that curates the pursuit of knowledge. I feel you would love it there very much, given your curious mind.” She flashed you a bright grin. “Perhaps I could take you on a date and show you around sometime?”

You flushed at her words, clearing your throat awkwardly as you turned back to your notes.

“What do you do in the coven?”

“You could call me Cordelia's right hand person. She gives us orders and I make sure everyone falls into line to follow them. I'm a peacekeeper of sorts in the group.” She placed a hand to her chest, proud of this fact. “Someone has to keep Victoriqua in check. You know how Drunians get.”

“Natalie said they were Cordelia's right hand person?!” the red head's nostrils flared as she crossed her arms over her chest tightly. “I'm Cordelia's right hand person! I was there almost from the start, helping her build this coven, helping her build the defenses to keep the humans safe!”

“Uh, could we maybe move on from-” you began, not wanting to continue listening to this rant.

“I'm going to find her and shove my fist up her-”

“Where are you from?” you interjected loudly. Victoriqua glared at you.

“You're trying to distract me from giving her an ass kicking and it's not working.”

She hurried away from her chair, making it rock back and forth, before she slammed the door to the room shut. You sighed, wondering how badly things would go after this.

Willow was next and she sat stiffly in her chair, a semi vacant look in her eyes. You could hear crashing noises and muffled screams in the distance and you really hoped that someone would intervene between Victoriqua and Natalie.

“Mind telling me a bit about yourself?” you asked Willow hopefully.

The woman with white hair and dark circles under her eyes, sighed gently to herself. “I am Willow of Prevenio. I have been alive longer than several generations of your family.” Her voice was whispery, scratchy, as if she didn't use it often.

“Why did you join the coven?”

“What other option did I have?” she poised and you scratched your cheek with eraser of your pencil. Huh?

“Willow-”

“I must leave,” she said, already pushing her chair back. “The mirrors need a freshening.”

Now what did that mean?

Willow was barely out of the door when another vampire bounded into the room, sitting down hard and fast in the chair, almost crushing it with their strength.

“I'm Sierra!” she cheered, hand in the air, smiling sharp fangs at you. “I'm from Piedamonte.” She put her hand down. “I'll tell you anything and everything.”

“Are you...okay?” you asked in mild concern, noting the trickle of gold red on her shirt.

She glanced down. “Ah man, I'm gonna have to wash that. It's one of my favorite shirts too.” She looked up at you. “I'm fine. Vic-a-dic and Nat-a-lie we're going at it, so I kinda jumped in to give them the biz and they got annoyed I was getting involved so they chased me away and I had to run around the manor to lose them. Cordelia caught them tho and she gave them a thorough tongue lashing but it's all fine now cuz she made them apologize to me and I wasn't even mad at them.”

“Sounds like you were busy,” you said, noting this down.

“It's always a blast around here, human,” Sierra smiled. “Stick with us, and you'll never be bored...”

The candle on the desk flickered and gave out at this, throwing you both into the dark, leaving Sierra's pink eyes staring unnervingly back at you.

A little taste to give some more context about the setting and characters in MHD...

[prolix-yuy]

Olive Branch

Pairing: Francisco Morales x F!Reader

Summary: If Frankie doesn't like olives, then what does he like?

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: T, alcohol consumption, mention of drug use, incredibly tame for me, hints of spice. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: I was challenged by @happypedrohours to write a story involving Frankie and olives, and what do you know, these are two of my favorite things! I was snickering to myself the entire time as the olive metaphor rolled out, but what the hell, we're gonna keep it in! Enjoy my friends, and Happy Pedro Hours!

Cross-posted on AO3

When it slides in front of you, you know it’s a good one. You watched the bartender make one at the end of the bar and it was just how you like it. Dry, cold, three olives on a hardy metal toothpick. You were practically salivating by the time you ordered your own and it slid in front of you, shining like the Holy Grail.

“Didn’t know you liked martinis.”

Head whipping around, you stutter out a laugh as Frankie slides in next to you. He perches an elbow on the bar, free shoulder coming close as the crowd tucks you into each other. Your eyes dart to his crinkled brown ones, then to your drink, and back again to distract from the proximity. His hand is tucked into his faded jeans, but it wouldn’t take much to cup your elbow or wrap around your waist. 

“On special occasions,” you quip, tossing your head at Will and Tatiana surrounded by your friends. She’s showing the girls the ring, the men clapping hands on Will’s back and making him laugh. The air holds the fresh taste of new beginnings.

“Never had much of a taste for ‘em. Just gasoline in a glass,” he replies. Your face must be ten levels of indigent with how quickly his eyebrows shoot up.

“Do I look like a car to you?” 

Frankie’s eyes twinkle, and it flips your stomach.

“Definitely a hot rod.”

You laugh it off, rolling your eyes. He’s never serious, after all. He likes to ply you with compliments just short of flirty and leave you high and dry at the end of the night. The first time it stung so hard you didn’t go out with the boys for weeks. 

“He’s just a little fucked in the head, don’t take it too personal,” Santi told you when he finally wrestled the reason for your absence out. “Can’t stop chasing anything messy with two legs. Last girlfriend was a cokehead, even worse before that. He likes ‘em pretty and crazy, and he bags ‘em left and right. They always leave him worse for wear.” Santi’s eyes narrowed over his knowing smirk. “So now you like him?”

“Fuck no,” you spat out, arms folded tight. “I don’t deal with boys who play games.”

Yet here you are, again, with Frankie, ready to roll the dice yet again. At least he doesn’t know you’ve still got a soft spot for him ready to land.

“I’ll ignore the fact that you called Hendricks gasoline,” you scold, sliding your gleaming prize closer on its soggy black napkin. “There’s also vermouth, and olives.” You take a sip, the warmth of the gin and sharp salt of the charcuterie mainstay sweeping across your tongue. Frankie’s eyes drifting down to your lips on the rim of the glass.

What a cocktease. At least most men who eyefuck you actually follow through.

“Shaken, not stirred?” he quips in a rough approximation of a Scottish accent. You snort, instantly regretting it as the burn of brine and alcohol decimates your sense of smell. Trying to hide it under a tiny cough, Frankie’s face turns to the bar.

“Not much of an olive guy either, so you're 0 for 3 on convincing me.” 

You don’t know why, but your stomach sinks briefly as you gingerly twist the glass stem between your fingers. 

“Perfect, more for me then,” you shoot back brightly, but he looks back a fraction too soon before the disappointment flits away. 

“C’mon, you know you were never gonna change my mind,” he teases, jostling you with his shoulder as he motions for the bartender. 

“Never said I was,” you add absentmindedly. 

Frankie will never be an option. He’s made it clear time and time again that he doesn’t choose you. But sometimes, when you let your mind drift, you think about how it could happen. Some dark room where he finally finds something he’s been looking for. The brushing of noses and near-misses before one of you finally acts and you’d know what his lips feel like. Then he would lick into your mouth and his flavor would dance with acidity and botanicals on your tongue and he’d moan at how good you taste.

But he doesn’t even like olives. Or you.

Frankie’s drink is a golden lager, malt rising to your nose. You like beer too. You like a lot of things. You could sit at this bar and talk about your favorite drinks for hours. You’re not just the martini girl. You’re so much more. 

You need some air. Your daydreams are getting in the way of enjoying the night and Frankie’s none the wiser, so best keep it that way.

“I’m gonna bring my gasoline olives back to the party,” you say, ducking out from Frankie’s body without waiting for a reply. Maybe catching a glimpse of surprise, you strut back to the girls. The warmth of their excitement and enthusiasm reinvigorate your tight throat. 

Your drink dwindles slowly, savoring the clean flavor and crushing the olives one by one between your teeth. One of the girls tries the dregs of your glass and wants one of her own, so you weave back to the bar so you can help her order. A holler rises from the boys around Will, and when you look you catch Frankie’s face again. He’s all beaming smiles, eyes barely visible from behind his crows feet and gleaming teeth. He catches your eye and his smile softens, and over the din of the bar he mouths “you good?”

You nod. Of course you are. What would Frankie know about that?

The drinks come, followed by cheers and hums of contentment. You will definitely be tipping well tonight. Before you can make it back to the group Benny cuts off your path, swooping one arm behind your back and your free hand into his. 

“No no no, Benny, I’ll spill!” you shriek, feeling the telltale wetness of a sloshed drink over your fingers. “Shit, I think I got it on the back of your shirt…”

“Ah, I’ve had worse,” Benny says, mock-dancing with you to the barely audible music. 

“How’s Will?” you ask, leaning over his shoulder to snag a healthy sip of the martini. Now a more manageable level, you let Benny lead you away from the bar.

“So in love it makes me sick.” You raise an eyebrow. “In a good way!” he adds, turning you so the man in question is visible. Tatiana’s tucked under his arm, and his mouth drifts to kiss the top of her head.

“You know what, I get it,” you agree, the both of you snickering as the tempo of the music changes. It might be a Hozier song? It’s hard to tell over the babble of voices.

“How are you?” he asks, feigned innocence a red flag flicked in front of your eyes.

“Peachy. Why?”

Benny’s hand squeezes yours in a soothing rhythm.

“Hey, don’t bite my head off. Fish mentioned you seemed down. Something about olives?”

The flash of heat rocketing to your face has to be combatted, so you choose comedy.

“Oh yeah, the fact that they never give me enough in my damn drink. Could drive a woman to tears!” Your put-on mid-atlantic accent doesn’t sell it. Benny chews on the inside of his cheek before leaning to bring his mouth to your ear.

“I know you’re gonna tell me to fuck off…”

“Then you don’t have to say anything.”

“...but you and I both know this ain’t about olives.”

You lean back, jaw set and eyes cool.

“You’re right. It’s about absolutely nothing.”

“Hey…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Benny lets go and you down the rest of your drink. It burns and you hate yourself for it, but it feels good to let liquid frustration carve through the center of you. 

“It’s late, and bar snacks aren’t gonna soak up the hangover I’ll have tomorrow. I’m gonna say bye to Will and Tatiana, get a cheeseburger, and go home.” Benny puts his hands on his hips, blue eyes filled with a brotherly care you know better than to try and tamp down.

“And it’s not about olives?”

Plucking the toothpick full of metaphor out of the glass, you point it at him.

“It’s not about olives.”

Benny relents, and walks you over to the happy couple. Promises of more drinks and a bachelorette party are half shouted before you pick through the crowd and exit the front of the bar. 

The air is just starting to get cool, alcohol thrumming in your blood. You love the way a martini buzz feels, your mind crystal and your body sharp as glass. It’s different from the smoky haze of scotch or the sluggish thudding of beer. Martinis make you diamond.

Which is why you notice Frankie immediately upon his exit, even though you can tell he wanted to go unseen for a few moments longer. He fumbles his hands into his pockets, ambling up to stand beside you while you glare at the Uber app.

“Got a ride coming?” 

“Eventually.”

He nods and stares at the toes of his boots, which you observe surreptitiously. The progress bar keeps filling and emptying as the silence stretches. 

“I’m sorry for shitting on your drink.”

You can’t help but snap your face to him, eyebrows raised.

“I sure hope you didn’t shit on my drink.”

The poor choice of words quirks the corner of your mouth as Frankie tries to recover.

“Jesus Christ, I mean…you know what I mean! I didn’t mean to be a dick,” he says, now contemplating the sky with resignation. There's still a fight in you, but you try to meet halfway.

“S’all good, I shit on your terrible beers all the time. We’re even.” You glance back at the app and shut it out of frustration. You’ll try again in a minute. 

“I don’t hate olives, either,” he rushes out. You roll your eyes, shoulders slumping. God, could they just let this go? You’re embarrassed enough about it. Before you can make another joke, another deflection, he barrels on.

“To be honest, I’ve never tried…olives. I see them all the time - at parties, at the bar, at friend’s houses - and there always seems to be some reason not to try them. I’m always having something else, or just had something, and I don’t want to…I’m afraid if I try the olives, I’ll really like them. And I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens. And that’s been scaring me off from even trying.” 

Frankie looks up at you, mouth parted and brow furrowed, as realization rises slow and fizzy.

“Because I think I could really, really like them. Enough that I’d want them all the time. But I’ve never had anything like that before. And I don’t want to hurt the…olives.”

Your heart is thudding in your ears, lower lip close to a betraying tremble before you force it between your teeth..

“You don’t want to hurt…the olives,” you parrot back and Frankie sighs, lifting his cap enough to rake his fingers through his hair before resettling it. 

“Fuck it, you know what I mean, right? It’s not about…it’s not about the fucking olives,” he says, and one of his hands wraps around your shoulder. It’s hot and strong and your chest swells at the touch.

“If it’s not about the olives,” you say, tentative, voice dropping into a lower register. He’s closer, almost as close as in the bar, thumb worrying back and forth over your shirt. “Then why don’t you show me what it is about?”

You expected more hesitation, but with that permission he lunges for you, cupping your face with both hands as he crashes your lips together. It’s fast and messy, teeth pressed against your lips and his tongue slipping in to taste. He groans and your knees go weak, head spinning worse than any drink could hope to do. You clutch the lapels of his canvas jacket and pull him closer, sweeping strokes of your kiss filling your mouth with bitter hops. With a lurch he pulls back.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles against your lips, but he continues to clutch at you, arm banding around your waist to keep you snug against him. 

“For what?” you tease, sliding your nose along his proud profile. 

“Takin’ so fuckin’ long.” His teeth graze your jaw lightly, heat pooling in a place that’s demanding a more private location for proper penance.

“I think you owe me a lot more than one very good kiss, after everything you’ve put me through,” you contemplate, his grip tightening. 

“Still waiting for your ride?”

Your fingers wander to the nape of his neck, and his curls are just as soft as you imagined.

“No.”

A gentler kiss follows, broader, somehow still able to make your head spin.

“Good, you’re coming home with me so I can properly apologize.”

The next morning as Frankie opens his front door for his breakfast delivery, he finds a pristine jar of olives resting on his welcome mat. The scrawled note - better start getting a taste for these! - is clearly in Benny’s handwriting. The memory of your body, soft and sleeping in his bed, pulls him back inside. 

After everything that got him here, he could learn to like olives.

END

"This is where righteousness ends It’s a relief to wave this overdue white flag and My blind spots have tortured you enough How much salt could I pour in To think that I called myself a friend."

Alanis Morissette, Olive Branch

[closer-to-jungkook]

Esati | Ch 1

Pairing: Mercenary!Jungkook x ?? Female!Reader

Summary: When past comes knocking on your door wearing the face of unknown dangers, you can either refuse acknowledging it and be a sitting duck or find out what it was that turned your world upside down all those years ago—that has come back yet again to hunt you—with a stranger promising to keep you safe, by your side. One thing is sure: secrets will unfold. And it would not be anything you could've imagined.

Word Count: 8.4k

Genre: Fantasy au; adventure; action. Fluff; angst; future smut(??)

Rating: 18+ (violence and mature themes)

Warnings: Fighting ig. Not much for this chapter

Published: 18th December 2024

A/n: well look who's here. I finally completed the first chapter!! It was actually longer than this but I cut some parts since it seemed better that way. I guess that means the next chapter will come out earlier, I have more than half of it already written.

I really have a good feeling about this story, I have it all mapped out so if anyone is wondering if I will complete this or not then rest assured that no matter what I will for sure finish this! A special thank you to my friend Jae for cheering me on (you're the real one Jan I love you)

I'm really looking forward to y'alls response to this, I hope you enjoy reading it🤍

A/n 2: I thought I'd post it tomorrow but I don't want to wait so here it goes. I'm posting it at the 2 in the morning. Hope you enjoy. Hope I didn't make any mistakes.

Moodboard

Map and Glossary

Esati Masterlist

They say winter is cruel. Harsh and unforgiving. Anyone unfortunate enough to encounter it at its worst seldom survives it. It only knows how to take, how to steal—the warmth from your blood, the hope in your eyes, the life from your soul. The white snow spread like a blanket over the lands and waters alike: beautiful yet a warning of destruction for all.

All but one. Alastair has found no comfort other than these sharp winds and freezing soils in a long time. He took in a deep breath of peace, something he hadn't had the pleasure of for days—or had it been weeks?

It's been so long since he started his travels. Traveller. He liked calling himself that, much better than introducing himself as someone who's being hunted. 

It's been so long; being on the run didn't grant him a minute of peace, but now he could feel a stillness in his mind. A quiet, which only came from knowing no eyes were following him anymore.

He walked higher up the mountains; the path was rocky and difficult to climb, but he managed even in his current state. It also ensured that had anyone been on his trail, he'd have easily known.

But as much as these snowy mountains were liberating to his mind, his body was not in the same condition. After being chased, hunted, and hurt, his body was battered and starting to feel more numb with each passing hour.

A final feeling washed over his mind. Like he knew it was coming. He was dying.

And it seemed fitting. Appropriate. Considering there wasn't anything left for him to do. He fulfilled his duty and played his part in the play of universe, for which he was chosen by Cianbhàta himself. After all, he hadn't escaped for his own safety. It was something greater than his existence that needed to be protected. 

But now, he could sense it. His time was up.

No. No, he couldn't die like this. Not yet.

It felt selfish of him to still be holding on to this useless life. He tried hard, convinced himself it was over, but still, he couldn't figure out why he felt this strong need to keep moving.

His foot sunk in the soft snow, and he stumbled; leaning against a leafless tree he looked past the branches, up at the gray sky. Looking and searching, hoping to catch a glimpse of the almighty so he could get his answers himself.

He closed his eyes and sat down completely with his head against the rough, cold bark. "Oh almighty," he called out in a croak.

"Forgive your subject for being greedy, asking for more than you've graciously offered to us already. My body is giving up, but my heart is tearing apart," cough, "screaming, screaming at me that I'm leaving something unfinished," His eyes opened, filled with tears of anguished helplessness, "give me a sign. A reason, to-"

He coughed sharply, gasping and wheezing as the numbing winter air pushed its way past his lips, burning a path down his throat. Black spots started blinking across his vision, sorely standing out against the blurry white of the snow. This is it. This is how he will meet his end; he was sure of it.

Accepting his fate, he let his eyes close shut. His bones ached, and his skin was frozen cold. Just as he thought this was it, his ears picked up a faint sound. He didn't pay it any mind; if someone was here to capture him, it would be useless. He would be dead before anyone reached him.

But the more he heard, the clearer the voice became. A cry. He must be losing his mind. He blamed his growing incapability to differentiate in sounds and scenes the more he breathed in the bitter cold air. 

But the cries started again.

His eyes snapped open, he was sure now that the cries were real.

Gaining a burst of strength he didn't know he was capable of anymore, he dragged himself up with the help of the tree and listened for more sounds—trying to locate the direction where it was coming from.

His feet started moving in a direction with thicker vegetation on their own, like they already knew where to go before his ears could actually locate the source. 

He rushed past more bare trees, shrubs, and boulders and came face to face with a series of rocks protruding from the mountain, covered in a thin layer of snow, and then looked around trying to figure out the source where the sound could be coming from—which he now realised couldn't be heard anymore.

To his right, there were more trees packed together tightly, and he considered going in that direction when he heard the tiniest whimper, which he would've missed if he hadn't strained his ears to catch any noise. 

The sound was coming from the rocky surface; confused, as there was no way something could get stuck between them, he looked around some more trying to figure it out when he noticed a hole in the far left side of one of the rocks near a tree growing close to the black rocks. 

The hole was—he found out upon a closer look—no bigger than the size to fit a small dog, it seemed that the snow couldn't reach here because of the thick roots protruding from above, and the shrubbery that was still green and flourishing in the winter, but that's not what surprised him—it was the woven bamboo basket and a thick green blanket covering it and the whimpers that were coming from that basket.

He pulled it out, pulled the covers back, and revealed—

A child.

A very cold child with blue lips and the faintest of breaths puffing past its mouth.

Urgency immediately seized his limbs as he brought the infant out of the basket and close to his chest. It is going to die; this was the only thought echoing in his mind.

He took off running in search of someone. Anyone. He couldn't let the child die.

He ran and ran, holding the baby close to his chest, tucked in his coat.

"Is someone out there!? Help!" There was no response. He knew the tribals lived in this place, but he couldn't be sure of the exact location. And he hadn't been in his right mind to try and get a sense of the direction to figure out where he was at that moment.

"Please," he begged, "it will not survive, please," he cried up towards the sky. The black dots were back in his vision, stronger than before, but before he could succumb to the darkness, he took one more careful look at the child in his arms and assessed its soft breaths.

What a beautiful child. Shame I couldn't save you. 

With that final thought, he tucked the tiny being close and let darkness take him under. 

Warm. Everything felt so warm. Alastair hadn't felt warm in months. He shifted in his position, drifting in and out of consciousness.

The sound of fire crackling was what brought him out of his slumber at last. He blinked his eyes open, still a little dazed, and found himself lying on a cot in front of a blazing fire. He closed his eyes back immediately; his head hurt, and so would have his legs if they didn't feel numb already.

He tried to move his head, his neck protesting after being in that position for too long, and at first he couldn't, but his stubbornness won over his fatigue, and finally he managed to lift his head just a couple of inches. He tried to take in as much as his eyes allowed in that position and discovered that he was placed in a dark room. It seemed the walls were made of mud and the floor was wood.

Before he could think about how he got here, he heard the door behind him creak open. A chilly gust of wind entered the place along with the visitor. He tried turning his head again and just barely managed to lift it when the person came hurrying in front of him.

"Oh! You're awake," the person, who now he could see was an old woman, asked him happily, "must be confusing to wake up here, but not ya worry, ya were saved by our  gatherers." The woman continued, oddly cheerful, in her accented voice as she came around to sit on the mat beside his cot, her arms carrying something he couldn't focus on as she kept talking.

"Found ya freezing on the ground, oh, and ya girl is fine too! Strong child, Cianbhàta himself preserve the child."

Only now did he realise that the thing she put down on the floor wasn't a bundle of clothes but a child. The child—the girl—he found in the snow. She was staring at him, her dark eyes looking innocently up at him, and she definitely looked better too.

He was relieved. A little surprised how she survived long enough to make it here, wherever it is they were at, but he felt safe, and so he let the relief consume him.

He summarised what he remembered and what he was told just now and reached the conclusion that he was saved by these people—likely a mountain tribe—and was in their home right now; he saved the child, and now they think it's his child. That she's his daughter.

He opened his mouth to correct her, tell her that she wasn't his. That they might need to find her real parents. But somehow all that managed to escape was, "thank you for saving us."

"Not a problem! It brings honour to help our brothers in our  community." The woman said kindly and got up off the floor, "I'll go fetch more firewood and something for ya to eat, ya must be hungry too. I fed the child while ya were sleeping, so not worry about her." And with that she left the room.

He got up on his elbows and pulled himself into a sitting position; groaning, he looked at the infant now playing with her blanket.

She looked magical in the glow of the fire, and he felt an inexplicable affection for her.

He stared at her, with a mind full of hundreds of things, thoughts flowing faster than the warm water springs, but then she looked back up at him with those same dark eyes, and his brain stopped in its frenzy. She reached out, a hand making motions as if to grab the smoke rising from the fire. That was the moment everything became clear to him.

He'd decided. He will spend the rest of his life living and protecting this child; after all, she gave him a second chance at life. A will—a reason to live.

He will take this child as his own. He will do all he can to become a father for her.

And for the next decade and a half, he did just that.

huff huff

Hurried footsteps echoed in the silence of the forest. With nothing but the sound of tired pants that carried their way through the saplings emerging from the frozen cold soil, raising their heads to greet the summer only to be trampled by the heavy steps running from everything it had ever known.

"Aghh," a yelp was heard as a lock of dark brown hair got stuck in a branch hanging too low.

What am I doing?

A sharp turn towards a safer path with fewer branches on the way down.

I'm running. He told me to run.

The moss on the uneven ground slipped from under your foot, making you stumble.

Am I dreaming?

You quickly got up, instincts telling you that you had to keep moving. There was no time to collect the few things that spilled from your bag at your fall; you only grabbed the leather journal and kept running. A few coins spilling out from your pouch tucked in your waist. The sound of them hitting the rocks painfully loud.

The forest became a blur; you couldn't focus on anything other than the pounding in your heart and the pain that your brain didn't have the time to register—both physical and emotional.

The way downhill was not too steep, but there were places where soil had shifted away, making it harder to navigate where there was solid ground and where you'll encounter a gaping hole ready to swallow your feet. You'd never been to these parts of the mountains. You never needed to; you lived on the other side. But you have no other option; this was the path your father said was safe and asked you to run to.

Your father. The man who made you leave. The one you were getting farther away from with every passing second. The man who you might never see again.

"Pa."

You let out a sob. Leaning a hand against a leafless tree to brace yourself. This place was a lot warmer than the snow-covered hill you called home; you were sweating—your tears getting mixed with the salt. The evening sun, halfway hidden down in the horizon, warmed your skin, but your insides were freezing cold. 

You left home. left him. How did it ever come to this?

Before today you had been living in a bliss, unaware of the possibilities that such a storm could stir up in your life, one that you never would see coming and snatch everything you held dear. 

You sniffled, thinking back to how everything was so normal and okay just this morning. And now it's not. 

You stumbled, taking one step forward then the next. The sun had long disappeared, the moon hidden behind the clouds. The misty wind carried you forward, whispering a soft melody. You walked and walked, feet aching and heart heavy; your tears had dried off, but all you could do was move. 

There was a light shining in the distance. You didn't know how long you had already walked, but just a little more. A few steps. Another few. 

You reached the door, banging hard on it. The door opened, a middle-aged woman peeking out. 

She said something. She was talking to you. You were so tired. She was shouting now. 

But you couldn't hear her. Solid ground met the side of your head as you fell. Unconscious and numb. 

An owl let out a hoot, breaking the quiet of the dawn. A gust of cool breeze made its way across the empty spaces among the trees, yet to be warmed by the rays of sun. The same breeze rushed into your home, tickling the hair on your neck, announcing their arrival through the jingles of the bells on your window. You forgot to shut them. Again.

You looked out the window at the fog weaving a blanket of white in the evergreen canopy it claimed as home till the sun rose and chased it away. For a moment, just one heartbeat, you thought of home. Remembered the cold of snow, the steam rising from potatoes straight out of the coals and in your gloved hands.

You let out a shaky exhale, willing the memories away.

You picked up the woven basket and strapped the hunting knife to your waist. On your way out you grabbed the hooded cloak off of the hook. Dressed in the dark green of the forest, you ventured away from the deeper parts of the wood where you lived on your way to collect the 'dawn lilies.' They could only be found near riverbanks and must be plucked before the sun came out. You ran out of those after making the previous supply of burn ointments.

The grass was soft under your boots, the morning dew getting soaked in the bottom of your pants. The air was crisp and tinged with a chill; one wouldn't be able to live in the dewy and wet cold of a place such as this without proper gear, but you had always been a little more resistant to the cold. Still, you made a mental note to grab some gloves when you would go to meet Kenzie the week after.

Winter was just around the corner, and you ought to be prepared for the changing season.

On your way to the river, you made a detour and took the longer path. Dense shrubbery with no definitive footmarks, a less walked path. Crouching down in a few spots, you checked on the snares you had set up yesterday. The wires and ropes twisted in the way you had learnt when you were seven. Three out of five and no luck. It looked like one of them was triggered, but whatever it was, it got away.

But the fourth one did not disappoint, as you found a marmot trapped and wriggling. Carefully moving it, you untangled the rope from around its body.

You took the knife out from your belt and nodded your head once, "Thank you for giving your life to sustain mine," and swiftly pushed the knife deep in its neck. Swift kill.

You checked the fifth one too. Empty. And continue on your way to the river.

Emerging from the forest line, you ran your gaze along the length of the riverbank, making sure no wild animal was there that would feel threatened by you or threaten your life. It would be unusual, though—for any predator to be here. You have never seen any wild animal that could put your life in danger in all the time you lived here. You concluded that these parts of the woods must not be suitable for them, hence making it safer for you to live.

As you look around, there are only the occasional critters roaming the forest floor. Small animals, those you saw plenty of. You made your way towards the small flowers growing close to the water and began collecting them.

You got up soon, flowers and some wild berries collected in your basket. It also held the meat from the marmot that you had just cleaned in the river, wrapped up in large leaves. Scanning the area once more, you got ready to make the trek back to your home.

I'd have to make another trip to collect some water later in the day.

On the way back, you took the shorter path. The one you used regularly. Munching on the berries as you walked.

"Thank you, Mayah."

The tall girl gave you a smile in response as she heaved up the crates you had brought with you and started walking back towards the open door of the shop. 'Rennie's' written on a wooden board in bold letters. You pulled a wooden case from the wagon and handed it over to the other man, Kane, who stood there with arms stretched out.

"Is that the last one?" He asked, taking the heavy box.

"Yes, that is it." You grabbed your satchel and hopped off the wooden platform. "Take these ones straight to the storage,or else the potions may go bad." And he followed the girl into the shop.

Turning back to the carter, you handed him a silver coin; he examined it and then immediately said, "This would not be enough, miss."

You looked at him, confused. "Why not? It always takes this much. I would know; I travel to Fulroch every month."

You made ointments and health potions—a skill you had learned since childhood. That was what your father did, and you decided to continue on the same path as him.

Once a month, you would travel from your home, half a day's journey away from Fulroch, and sell them at the market here. You were not keen on making contact with many people—the lesser knew of you, the better—so it was comfortable for you to have secured a vendor who bought your products to then sell them himself, and on a fair rate too. This is how you've been doing business for the last few years.

"Ah, miss, you know nothing of the raids that happened down South?" You pushed your lips, eyebrows pulled down, raids? 

Before you could question him about it, he continued, "razed the whole town in days," he shook his head, "coins and cattle all gone. Those Aberrants," he sighed and tried coaxing the bulls attached to his wagon, who had started moving restlessly, "even the Lord turns his eyes another way when it comes to those Diels."

He continued to grumble some more before saying that he had to get going. You pulled a few copper pieces out of your pocket and handed them to him. As you watched him leave, you realised that someone was standing behind you.

"Kenzie," you said, turning back to the elder man.

"You look tired, miss." Kenzie replied, his wrinkle-covered face was kind as ever, and his voice warm. Meeting him always reminded you of a family you didn't have.

"The journey was long, and I left late today too. I'm fine, though. But that doesn't matter; what was that Carter talking about? Aberrants?"

"We shall talk inside, miss," his deep eyes swept the surroundings, and he started walking towards the back door. "Mayah? Bring a cup of water and also brew some tea, dear."

His daughter gave a short nod and went further inside the store, entering another set of doors.

You took a seat on the cot, and Kenzie did the same. "This far out, people are calling them raids," he started talking.

"And... they aren't?" You asked. You were never one to poke and prod about anything that had nothing to do with you. But this time you were curious; after all, this was not the first time you were hearing the name:

"Aberrants," he continued after taking a sip from the cup Mayah handed him. You thanked her when she did the same for you and mirrored him, "the second army of the Lord, I believe you know that much."

You nodded, also aware of how Lord Cras doesn't really have much control over them and lets them run wild. "They are bad news." Was what Pa once said. But that's all; word of their presence never came close to where you lived, and you never encountered them.

You stayed away from things that did not concern you. That's how you've lived.

"They came to a village south of Glenross first. Out of the blue, like they always did. No one knows where they come from or go to. But when they left," a grimace pulled itself on his face, "the village had become lifeless."

"Did they...?" You asked, your brows meeting in the middle as lines appeared between them. You feared they were killed.

"No. They just took everything. Valuables, grains, horses—"

"I suppose that's what a raid sounds like." You interrupted him in the middle, giving your empty water cup to Mayah, who came with a cup of tea in exchange—which you took with a grateful smile. His lips pursed as his eyes darted to his wall, on a painting of the forest on his right, before moving it back up the next second.

"Not quite. It was more than just that. Those deils brought a curse on the lands," Curse? This is not the first time you're hearing of something like this, but something about the tone in the old man's voice made you think of the stories from your childhood. The ones you had shut the doors to a long while ago, yet on the days the wind is stronger, you can hear their whispers rising with dust from between the cracks in the wood.

"By word of mouth, they drained the fertility from the soil and spat poison in the waters. The people became ill, so deathly ill." He coughed, chugging the rest of the water from his cup. "Nothing has come out of that town in the past half of the year. No yield, no supplies, no tax money that the incompetent Lord demands," Kenzie finished, his breath slightly laboured.

You made a note to make extra potions for him to use throughout the cold months. It did look like an extra harsh winter was casting its shadowy wings over the country. It is possible that your next trip down here might be the last one for this year.

You took his words in, trying to make sense of them. "And that's what caused an upsurge in prices?" You asked.

"No, that was not it. It has been months since the incident in there. They chose a small village at that time, but recently," he tried to continue but stopped as his daughter came back in the room, a hot water bag in hand.

"Don't speak so much at once, Pa," She scolded him gently in her soft voice. You looked at them, talking; your eyes that were tired just now had a glassy film to them, and your body stilled for just a second as she placed the bag on one of his shoulders. You turned your head away, focusing on the conversation.

"Then what caused it? All of a sudden?" You prodded, clearing your throat.

This time Mayah was the one who spoke, "It was after last month, when the same happened in Cunkeld." You've never been there, but you knew it took some time to reach there from Fulroch. 

Her face took on a grave expression, "this time though the country is suffering. Taxes are higher and commodities got expensive, we expect it to only get worse during winter."

You listened intently, forgetting about the tea in your hand.

"I fear what they are doing is more than just raids or spreading poison for just the wealth," sighed Kenzie, his eyes shut; you wanted to ask why he thought that and what more he believed was there. But you didn't. The less you got involved, the better, and you believed that you had already questioned about things more than you should have. 

Kenzie didn't look like he would be answering more of your questions either; he needed to rest. And so, you bid goodbye to Mayah, who handed you a small bag of coins. "I know it's not the whole amount—"

"Don't stress. Pay me the rest when you've sold all the stock," you smiled at her. Waving Kane off when he tried to walk you back.

Leaving out from the front this time, you slung your satchel across your body and decided to find a tavern for the night. It was late afternoon; the sound of bells ringing came from the center of the town having. The journey back would take hours, and it would be past midnight by the time you reach home. Not that you had any problem with traveling at night. But the wagon carters might not be too keen on that.

It didn't matter; you had errands to run either way, so you won't mind spending just one night here. And you were tired. You left later than expected in the morning; something had felt off, and you had checked around the perimeter. Although nothing was out of place, you still decided to be cautious, and it took some of your time.

So you started walking in the opposite direction of bells, on your way to the smaller market stalls.

"How much for the lotus seeds?" You asked around about different items, things that you needed for your workshop as well as other necessities. Soaps. New wires for snares. Some red clay.

You bought a few things and left behind a few others. There was not enough money for everything. You had to prioritize carefully.

A cat purred loudly as you neared a stall with fabrics of all colours arranged orderly. You scratched the cat on the head, and she went back to hissing at the stall on the left, one with shiny green apples. It was when you were inspecting a brown shawl that the vendor noticed you.

"What you lookin' for, girl?" an old-aged woman asked.

You looked up, hands pausing, "gloves for winter, leather."

The woman began rummaging around and produced a pair in a minute, "shoulda fit you, six silver pieces."

Your hands, previously reaching for said gloves, stopped in their tracks. "A bit too much, don't you think, madam?" Finally getting some movement back, you plucked the gloves, inspecting them, almost hoping to find some defect so that you can bargain for less.

"Leather comes precious these days, no bargain," She sniffed, then with a furrow in her brows, said, "No supply, so we're low on material; some rumored monster in the forest. No bigger monster than the cold and hunger, I  say." She scoffed.

You looked at the leather gloves, clutching your coin bag with one hand, deep in your satchel, "Can't do more than 3 coins, I'm afraid."

The woman's face took on a look of annoyance before she sighed, a look of understanding passing over her face. "Tell you what, here," She produced a pair of woolen gloves, "sellin' them for three silver and two copper, but they are the last ones, on a discount, take it."

You picked up the ones she tossed your way. You really would've liked the leather ones, preferable when working near water. You put your hands through, noticing how it swallowed your hand and still had space to sneak half a dozen grapes.

"Do you have a size smaller? They seem a bit big." You asked, biting your lips, hands tugging the wool between your fingers.

"Told you they are the last ones. They'll work just fine; the weaving is higher too, will stop the cold and water."

You left, walking further away from the crowd, with black wool adorning your hands.

The tavern you chose for the night was brimming with patrons. Tables full of people eating and drinking. Located on the outer part of the town, it was not your first time at this place, but yet it managed to look new to you every time.

You got yourself a room on the second story. The rooms here were cheaper due to the dripping roof when it rained and poor insulation caused by paper-thin walls. But for you it was more than enough.

You would have preferred to go straight to bed, but having forgotten to eat at the market earlier, you were currently on your way up the stairs after getting some food.

Gathering your skirt with one hand, you lifted your foot up to take the first step, only to stumble back as a body slammed straight into you. Hard.

"Ah! Whoa, be careful, mister!" You exclaimed as you righted yourself with the help of the wall.

As you looked up, wondering how you didn't hear his footsteps, especially on creaky stairs, your eyes made contact with a hand—outstretched, as if trying to reach you in case you needed assistance. You looked up, eyes now fixed on the dark face wrap covering half of his face, and a hood was pulled low, casting a shadow on the other half.

He looked scary at a glance, but when you looked a little below, you caught his eyes. Dark and wide. And beautiful.

You stood there breathless, tracing the kohl lining his eyes with your own.

He pulled his hands back and jerked his body, sitting down on the floor. Reaching for something near your skirt.

You jumped back, startled.

But he was only grabbing for the apple that had rolled away on the floor, which he must've been holding when he bumped into you.

He looked up at you, apple in hand, "Hope I didn't startle you."

You looked down, shook your head once, and opened your mouth to say something, but he straightened and was up in a flash.

He stepped closer, and you noticed how he was towering over you, the black of his flowy tunic—untucked from his leather pants—brushing against your arm crossed in front of your belly.

"Don't go bumping into things," he leaned down now whispering beside your ear, "you might get hurt."

You were barely breathing and didn't even notice that he had unfurled your fist and tucked something in there.

By the time you regained your senses, he was already walking in the direction of the bar.

You looked down when you finally felt the weight of something in your hand and saw that it was none other than the fruit he was carrying. A bright green apple.

You looked after him for another second before deciding not to think much of him and walked up the stairs. Off to get some sleep and start the journey early tomorrow.

Knock knock knock!

You woke up to frantic knocking on your door. Heart thundering, matching the raps of wood on the other side, you got up.

The knocking stopped.

In the silence of the darkness spread over the room, you stood still. One look out of the window and you confirmed it was early, the sun yet to rise.

For a moment you convinced yourself it was your imagination—a nightmare, maybe. It wouldn't be the first time. You decided to just go back to slee-

Knock knock knock!

The knocking resumed.

You walked up to the door and in a hesitant but loud voice questioned, "Who is it?"

The knocking stopped. You held your breath. Waiting for an answer.

Knock knock knock.

You felt through the slit in your skirt for the small blade on your thigh. Feeling nothing, you recalled having placed it on the side table. You grabbed it. Just in case.

"Who is it?" You placed a hand on the handle, another holding the blade.

A moment of silence. Just as you were about to question again, a voice called out,

"Open the door," a deep voice answered.

Body frozen, you took a big gulp of air. Where have you heard it? Warning bells were ringing in your head, telling you how this situation felt familiar.

You backed away, hand leaving the handle. I need to get out of here. In blind panic you started considering your options. You certainly couldn't fight whoever was outside. Maybe you could climb down the window?

But you stood still. You focused on the voice; it was familiar. Something in you was telling you that you should open the door.

Another knock, and you were opening the door before you could stop yourself.

The door cracked open just a sliver, but the stranger didn't make any attempt to make the gap wider or push his way in right away, unlike what you would have expected. It gave you a moment of clarity, and you came back to your senses. Raising your eyes, you were met with a half-covered face and dark eyes, lined with kohl. You knew where you had seen them.

"You are—"

"You need to come with me."

There was an urgency to his voice. His eyes were locked on yours, urging you to take a dive into the essence of midnight they held. A lock of hair fell in front of his eye; he pushed it back.

"Who are you?" The words were a whisper, but in the quiet of dawn they rang loud and clear.

One of his hands reached up, pulling the dark piece of cloth, hiding half his features, down. He gazed at you while you stole glimpses of the rest of him. Full cheeks but a sharp jaw. Soft lips but a tense tilt to them. If it were any other situation, you would have been captivated by his contrasting features. But now was not the time.

Breaking you out of your thoughts, the man in front of you glanced back at your room, then back at you, lips pursed for a moment, before he parted his lips and answered, voice clearer now without any obstruction. He answered your question.

"Someone who is going to make sure you don't bump into anything and get hurt."

You stepped back on instinct as he made his way in.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," He was crazy, and you had finally shaken yourself out of his spell. You needed to get him out of here and then get yourself out. Probably leave this town for good.

"You don't have a choice. Either you come with me or we die."

Your brows shot up in disbelief at the situation. This can't be happening. Was he messing with you? Trying to trick you? Make you think he's here to save you—from what?—and then thrust the blade deep in your ribs when you let your guard down.

You opened your mouth. To question him or cry out for help—you weren't sure. But you didn't get a chance.

Not when you heard a dull thud.

You looked behind his back, but your door was already open halfway, and no one stood there. The sound had been distant; it must have come from the room on the other end of the corridor.

While you didn't think much of it—too preoccupied with thinking how to get away—the man in front of you turned and walked back to the doorway. He only peeked outside for a single moment before sucking in a breath through his teeth and shutting the door close, rushing back towards you.

"Stay quiet!"

You jerked away, back against the wall. "What do you think—" you pulled the knife out, brandishing it in front of you, "—you are doing?"

"Shut up." He gritted through clenched teeth, eyes on the door.

"What—"

In the time it took you to release half a breath, his left hand rose, wrapping around yours, twisting your wrist, and bending your arms back. He tugged you towards him, forcing your right hand behind your back, making you loose your grip on the knife.

You stood there, chest to chest, as he peered down at you with hooded eyes, while yours squinted as you wriggled trying to get free.

"Shhh," he shushed you, putting the palm of his other hand up above your mouth and walking you a step back towards the wall. Your eyes widened as he trapped you there, with just enough force to keep you that way and not hurt you.

Heart thundering in your chest, your head pounded, matching its beats. You tried to come up with all the possible ways to get yourself out, but the warm exhales leaving his parted lips left your brain a scrambled mess.

It was stupid. To let this stranger in. You just might have invited your own death over, dressed in rugged leather, with gleaming orbs of darkness for eyes.

You shut your eyes tight as you felt him lift his hand up, releasing your mouth. You could scream, but what use would that be? Those blades you saw strapped to his back, they could slit your throat before the scream could fully form.

Expecting the press of the blade on your skin, you tried to prepare yourself. But soon were extremely surprised when a gentle finger tapped on one side of your jaw, just below your ear.

"Listen."

Blinking back at him, you squinted your eyes at his command. With no understanding of the situation, you had no other choice but to oblige. That's when you heard it.

Bang

That definitely came from the same direction as the sound before.

"What was that?" You whispered. Creases appearing on your forehead as you tried to listen more carefully.

"We should go." He stated calmly and stepped back. Putting his head against the door, he started listening for something.

"No. I don't understand anything, and unless I do, I'm not going—"

"You're not listening!" He hissed, and for the first time, his carefully managed emotions cracked, giving way to compelling urgency. He moved back to stand in front of you. "If we don't leave now and they find us, it will all be over."

They? Who is he talking about?

You eye him, your gaze full of skepticism, and it is then that you hear a muffled sound, neck snapped towards the wall as if you could see past the wood; you deduce it sounded like a scream. Your blood ran cold.

"That was a scream. We c-can't leave; we need  to—" Your breath hitched when you faced him again and came face to face with a knife.

"You're in no position to worry about that." It took you a moment to realise he was holding the knife by the blade, urging you to take it. It was yours; he must have picked it up from when you dropped it.

"But—"

"They are after you."

He you dead in the eyes and tilted his head, hair falling in his eyes, silently asking you to cooperate.

It was just like five years ago. The weight of your feet doubled, sinking you deeper in a darkness you knew too well. Your head spinning, a whirlwind of different shades of green flew past you. And you were fifteen again. Your father was asking you to leave, to run away. And you wanted to cry. "They are coming for you."

"Hey." He touched your shoulder softly, "It's okay; we'll get out of here. You can trust me."

"I don't." You replied shakily.

His eyes gleamed, "Good." You thought you heard a smile in his voice, but when you looked back at him, his face was as stoic as ever.

He motioned for you to follow as he cracked open your door just barely enough for his thumb to fit. He peeked out—assessing the corridor. Finding it bare, he pushed the door halfway open and stepped out, then motioned for you to follow.

You eyed the distance separating you and him, the doorway right in the middle. You could lock him out right now, when he was distracted. There was no proof he was telling the truth—that he was actually helping you. But deep inside you had an inexplicable inkling that doing that would not work in your favour.

You gathered the few things you had and were out the door, following close at his heels. You meant it—you didn't trust him, but at this moment he seemed like your best bet at figuring out what was going on.

And maybe, just maybe, even shine some light on a past you couldn't quite let go.

Giving your head a shake internally focused on the current situation at hand and started walking in the opposite direction from where the sounds had been coming from.

Behind you, the stranger shut the door behind you and urged you to move in front of him. He stood there for just a second longer before matching you step by step.

You walked faster, turning the corner before he did and missing the guy emerging from the other end. He locked eyes with the man walking behind you but didn't pay any mind, his attention focused somewhere else.

The other man—about to enter your room—stopped there for a second, hands on the doorknob. They were warm. The metal of the knob shouldn't be warm in this chilly tavern. Unless someone had made contact with it not too long ago.

The moment you both rounded the corner, safely out of sight, your partner wasted no time in taking huge steps forward, leaving you no option but to increase your speed as well. Not even two breaths passed before you heard thundering footsteps hot on your heels. You turn around, and your eyes meet with that of a man.

The man is dressed in peasant clothing, but it doesn't hide the sword at his waist. Hair a reddish brown, you only caught a brief glance of his enraged expression because the next thing you knew, a hand was grabbing your wrist tight and breaking off in a sprint.

The man gave chase. You change direction, disappearing from view, but you could hear him coming. The stairs were only a few steps away; you quickly tried to make your way there, eager to descend the stairs but felt yourself get tugged in the opposite direction.

"Not there," he said, moving up the stairs, you following behind.

"We will be trapped up there! We need to get out of this building if we want to loose that man."

"We are not trying to loose him," he calmly stated even as you both ran up the stairs. You reached the top floor and saw a large iron plate suspended in the middle, ropes dangling in front of it where there should have been a log hanging. You realised this place was once used as a bell tower.

"What now?" You asked him as he kept walking forward and did not stop until you reached the other side of the spacious place. The large open windows on all sides letting the cool wind in, spreading goosebumps all over your arm.

"Did you think these were just accessories?" He motioned back at the handles peeking out from behind his back, a pair of twin short swords. 

Your lips parted open and eyebrows raised up, "Are you—"

With a bang, the man slammed open the door where you both had just come from.

"Stay back."

Before you even registered what he said to you, you saw him pull one of the swords out and sidestep the other man who had already started lunging at him with his own sword out. Their blades clashed, a ring echoing in the empty space. Similar sounds followed the one before with the grunts of the two men adding to the cacophony of noises.

"Mako," the stranger let out a laugh, the sound light as the air, after deflecting his opponent's last blow, "I thought they would send their best?"

The man, Mako, raised his sword, aiming for the chest, but the black-haired stranger blocked him and raised his leg, kicking him in the gut. The man stumbled, almost doubling over before he took a swing at his feet. Hurriedly he stepped back as the Mako stood straight, slashing the air in front of his face.

This Mako was clearly trained in fighting, and you would be worried if your savior didn't seem just as good at it, if not better.

"You seem to know me," he heaved a breath, and they both circled each other, "but you don't seem to know who you're messing with." The man swung repetitively at him, but he couldn't land a single scratch on the stranger. After another swing, he shoved him back with a powerful push. "I get the girl, and you go free," he heaved.

You felt your heart drop but stayed silent. This was no time to panic.

Coming to a standstill, not a single drop of sweat visible, he replied, "I know what I am doing. The girl is going nowhere."

Mako, now furious, let out a yell and charged at him with more vigor. He met his swings with his own slashes and started walking backwards. Nearing one of the windows, he changed to offense and pushed back hard. Sending the man a couple steps back. He prepared for another attack and picked up speed, running at him.

Just where he wanted his opponent.

At that precise moment, the stranger stepped to the side in a swift movement. The man missed him, but before he could turn and deliver another attack, he was onto him, thrusting the sword at his neck.

Mako's upper body dangled out of the window, and his hands became useless as he tried to grip the railing to keep himself from falling over. He could easily have pulled himself inside had it not been for the blade keeping him there. He grunted, letting out curses directed at the owner of said blade.

"As I said, I know who I'm dealing with, but maybe you don't." He whispered lowly—doe eyes gleaming—so only the man in front of him could hear.

Breathing calmly and getting the beating of your heart back to normal, you stepped out from the corner; eyeing the door, you wondered if you could make a run before either of their companions came looking. But you were curious too.

Walking behind him, you chanced a glance at the man hanging out of the window. His gaze trained on you, and he did something unexpected. He had a wide grin that made you uncomfortable. You stepped back, away from his sight, and eyed the other man.

The fighting couldn't have lasted more than five minutes, and even though you weren't the one brandishing a sword, you felt winded.

"What are we going to do with him?" You voiced your question at the same time he shifted the sword to his other hand.

Mako screamed just as the stranger swept both his feet off the floor in a single sweep of his foot and sent a punch directly at his chest.

You watched in horror as the man fell out of the window and ran, leaning against the railing as you saw him groaning on the pile of hay. Alive. You released a shuddering breath and twisted your body to face your savior.

The first rays of sunlight began shining from the east, making their way through the scattered clouds. Their glow was soft and warm, and as he stood there looking back at you, his eyes glowed iridescently.

But that was not what caught you off guard. It was the upturn of pink lips, white peeking out between them.

"Haven't done that in a while," He groaned, stretching his arms back and sheathing his sword.

He was smiling; it was the first one you witnessed. He was smiling after he threw a man out the window. Something was wrong with him.

You couldn't will your eyes to look away. Perplexed. A little scared. Amused.

A question ringing out in your head: where do you go from here? But another quickly emerged, pushing past it—

"Who are you?"

Dark-lined eyes locked with your wide ones. His grin faded, and instead his mouth attained a genuine, friendly quirk.

"Intelligence gathered and former mercenary," he offered his hand in greeting, "Jeon Jungkook."

As you stared at his extended hand and up at his face, you came to a conclusion. One your subconscious had already realised the moment he appeared at your door. 

Wherever you go after this, it won't be back home.

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ!!

I hope you liked it. Feedback is always welcome. And the taglist is open so please let me know if you want to be tagged!

taglist: @kookiewithluv @runariya

[the-wandering-wonder]

By The River

I was rewatching Lord of the Rings, and oof. I now remember why I swooned over Orlando Bloom so much as a teenager...

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Word Count: 1,334

Rating: T (angst)

Chapter: 1/1

Summary: You've grown quite fond of Legolas, but when he disappears without so much as a word, your world is turned upside down.

You walk slowly towards the river Bruinen, occasionally glancing up at the clear night sky. A handful of trees litter the path of the river, marking where the beauty of Rivendell merges with the beauty of the forest. You take in a deep breath as you approach a particular beech tree, one that was slowly becoming your favourite.

You smile to yourself as you hear the feet landing behind you, slowing for just a moment as you see the familiar blond elf falling into step alongside you.

“It’s a beautiful night.” Legolas breaks the silence.

You merely hum in agreement, glancing at him with a soft smile, one that he returns.

You couldn’t quite remember how long you two had shared this routine, but he was always there, every night, ready to join you in your walks along the edge of the forest. Most nights you spoke, joking and laughing, but some nights, you enjoyed the simple silence, interrupted only by animals in the distance or the whistling of the wind. Truth be told (but never to Legolas himself) he was the reason you enjoyed your walk so much.

You eventually find yourself paused at the riverbank, looking down at the moonlight reflecting along the rippling waters. A breeze whips around you and you shiver, exhaling softly as you wrap your arms around yourself. You feel a warm presence behind you as Legolas moves to wrap his cloak around your shoulders, his hands resting on your upper arms. Without thought, you lean back into his touch, letting his warmth wash over you.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs.

You tilt your head to glance back at him, finding him gazing down at you, blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight. His hand comes up slowly, resting along the hollow of your throat, his thumb and forefinger pressing up against your jaw, lifting your face to meet his. He dips his head down, tentatively brushing his lips over yours before pulling back and letting his hand return to its place on your arm. Your lips part slightly, but no words come, so you give him a soft smile instead, letting your head fall back to rest against his shoulder as your gaze returns to the waters of the river Bruinen.

~~~~~~~~

The next day, you find yourself busy, running small errands for the council. But Legolas remains in the back of your mind, his soft kiss replaying over and over. Once night falls, you grab your cloak and slip out for your nightly walk. You quickly make your way to the beech tree, pausing for a moment. When all you hear is the rustling of the water and chirping of birds, you glance around.

“Legolas?” You call out, looking up at the branches.

Your heart begins to race as your elven senses pick up no sign of him. 

“Legolas?” You call out again, silently hoping that he had somehow lost track of time.

No answer comes and you feel your breath run short, catching in your throat as your pulse pounds in your ears. You force down a deep breath before turning to run back into the walls of the city. You make your way to the council room, steadying yourself before approaching Elrond, who greets you with a nod of his head before returning to the map he was studying.

“Lord Elrond,” you begin, bowing your head slightly, “have you seen Legolas?”

“He is gone,” the elf responds, “A messenger came from Mirkwood this morning, and he left.”

You feel your heart sink to your stomach as tears prick the corners of your eyes. Your jaw drops slightly as you turn away from Elrond, clenching your fists by your sides.

“This troubles you?”

“I was just-” You pause, unsure of how to explain yourself to the high elf. “I did not know he was leaving.”

“Do not worry for him,” Elrond says, turning to look at you fully, “he will return in time.”

~~~~~~~~

You try to follow Elrond’s advice, busying yourself with whatever you can find and forcing yourself to focus on anything but the thoughts of Legolas. But days soon turn into weeks, then into months. And the Sindar elf does not return. You eat out of habit, on the days that you remember, and hardly ever venture out of the walls of Rivendell. Some days your heart aches as it did when Legolas first left, other days it feels cold and numb.

One day, Elrond, who had kept a distant eye on you as you grieved, approaches you.

“You should take a walk,” he says softly, “the air would do you good, as would the sun.”

“The river reminds me of him,” you admit.

“An unpleasant memory?”

“No, not at all. I just…I miss him.”

You stare at Elrond with glassy eyes, tears threatening to fall. He lets out a small sigh as he places his hand on your shoulder.

“Then go to the river, sit with the memories.”

Elrond gives your shoulder a soft squeeze before turning to walk away. You watch him disappear around the corner before turning your attention to the waterfalls scattered around the city, listening to the sounds of rushing water. You slowly walk through the city, heading towards the waters of the river.

You eventually approach your tree, reaching out to run a hand along the bark as you look down at the flowing water. In the light of the noonday sun, the colour almost matches Legolas’ eyes. A tear slides down your cheek as you turn to lean against the beech, sliding down to the ground and bringing your knees to your chest. Your eyes close as you lean your head back against the tree, losing yourself and letting time fly by.

You hear footsteps in the soft grass and you leap to your feet, turning to face the approaching figure. The sun glints off golden hair and your jaw drops momentarily before you close your eyes, deciding that your eyes are playing a cruel trick.

“No.” You say softly.

You slowly open your eyes, taking in the figure that now stands before you. Piercing eyes stare at you as golden locks flutter in the soft breeze. Legolas…

“I thought you’d left,” you murmur, “never to return.”

“You truly think I would do that?” Legolas tilts his head slightly, striding forward to stand in front of you.

“I didn’t know what to think,” you reply slowly, “you were just…gone. You never even said goodbye.”

“I tried to find you,” the blond elf murmurs, “but I couldn’t. And it was urgent that I return to Mirkwood.”

You take a step back and swallow as you stare at the river again, fingertips digging into the bark of the tree as it presses into your back. Finally bringing your gaze up to meet his, you see pale blue filled with concern and… was that hurt?

“I would never abandon you.” 

Legolas’ voice comes out as little more than a whisper as he moves in closer, bringing up a hand to caress the line of your jaw, catching a fresh tear with his thumb. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you feel his free hand resting ever-so-lightly on your hip. 

“ Melethril…”

Your eyes flutter open as you feel Legolas’ warm breath dancing across your lips, his own within inches. Your hands find purchase on his cloak as his body envelopes yours, your lips finally meeting in a soft kiss. You lean into him as his grip tightens on you, holding you close as your lips mold together. Your lungs begin to ache, but your desire for Legolas pushes all other thoughts back as you cling to him.

Legolas finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you both take in a breath. He tilts his head back to look into your eyes, the intensity of his gaze filling you with warmth. He speaks in a low tone, slowly and assuredly.

“I will always come back to you…”

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

For your ask game ~ 📖 🦉 🔞

Worth the Risk - Jack Delroy/Reader

Warnings: Female reader, no use of Y/N, making out, almost fully clothed grinding, clothed fingering, bit of exhibition/voyeurism, vaginal sex.

Wordcount: 6317

Summary: He'd given you his card, invited you to the studio with the promise of a good time, and the show had been amazing for sure, but did the night really have to end once the cameras turned off?

Notes: I really wanted to write this the other day but I was too sleepy and went to bed early y'know like a baby 😖 anyways I've been wanting to do a sequel to Susceptible since I first posted it and somehow it ended up even longer so this is for you hehe hope you enjoy~ 💗💗💗

Wait for me by the back entrance at 11:00 Phil will let you in JD

You don’t know how many times you’d looked at the card he handed you since that night, but the corners were starting to bend and the pen marks were beginning to smudge, just a little. You forced yourself to leave it be as you checked your appearance one last time, the mirror by the front door to your apartment offering its final encouragement as you decided there was nothing left you could do to delay your departure before you were late. As soon as you were out the door you had to resist the urge to sprint, your heels sending muffled echoes down the hall as you headed straight for the elevator, a kindly old woman holding it for you with a smile. 

You had the sense to call a cab early so you wouldn’t have to risk waiting and missing your 11PM deadline, the car stalling right outside the door as you waved to the driver and got inside. ‘Fiske Studios, please,’ you tell him, the small building owned by a branch of UBC now very well known thanks to a certain Mr. Midnight. Your leg bounced the entire way there, the card once again in your hands as you stared out the window, neighbourhoods giving way to open city streets, more cars circling around you like a school of fish. You hated driving in the city, it was the main reason why you dedicated so much of your paycheck to cabs, but tonight you were starting to wish you’d driven yourself as you hit the tenth red light in a row.

The driver sensed your anxiousness as you bit your lip for just a split second before your purse was opened and your lipstick was uncapped, the tiny mirror in your hand reassuring you that it’d be fine, you looked great, it was an easy fix. ‘Hot date tonight?’ he asked over his shoulder, his voice startling you a little as you snapped the mirror shut again.

‘Uh, going to a live show, actually,’ you said cautiously, avoiding a yes or no to his question; it’d be too presumptuous to say yes, but god if you didn’t want to hope. ‘I’m meeting a few friends there, don’t wanna be late and all.’

‘Oh, well, girl’s gotta have some fun on a Friday night, I guess,’ he said as he looked you over in the rearview, your coat pulled a little tighter over your shoulders as you forced a smile and tried not to look to disgusted; this was yet another reason why you were so fond of Jack Delroy, he’d never make you feel that way, what with him being such a gentleman and all.

The memory of the night you met made you shiver briefly as the hallucination flashed through your mind again, the false feeling of his hands on you having haunted you all week. You sucked in a very long breath through your nose as you willed the pink to leave your cheeks again, the last thing you needed right now was this guy seeing you get covered in goosebumps and assume it was because of what he’d said. You actually hadn’t been able to watch Night Owls since that night, feeling almost guilty about it even though there was no way he would know you hadn’t seen all the exciting things he’d been talking about. You’d tried last night, but as soon as the wall had opened and he’d strolled on out with that smile and his eyes instantly finding the camera you’d become a right mess way too fast and had to turn it off again, your heart pounding and your legs pressed uncomfortably tight together just at the sight of him.

Goddamn you Carmichael Haig.

The studio came into view with the latest turn and you readied yourself to get out, money already in hand by the time the car had stopped. The bill was settled and you stepped out into the cool night air, cutting off the driver’s wish for you to have a good night with the slamming of the door, and you took a look around and tried to guess which way would lead to the back door he’d mentioned. You waited until the car was out of sight, pretending to see your ‘friends’ so it wouldn’t look like you were about to walk down a dark alley by yourself, another deep breath exhaled sharply as you summoned up all of your courage and headed to the right.

It was a large alley, big enough for a car to drive down and reach the parking lot out back, which thankfully held just as many people walking about as the front did. A lot of them favoured a large, metal door up a tiny flight of stairs, keycards flashed to unlock it before it was held open for several people at a time, everyone helping each other in the most efficient of ways. You had no idea which one Phil was supposed to be, and if you waited too long you might get pinned as a fan trying to sneak in, so the next time someone approached the area you were lurking in you got the card back out and held it out to him.

‘Um, I’m supposed to find Phil?’ you said uncertainly, the man looking you over before taking the card. ‘Ja- Mr. Delroy told me to meet him here.’

‘How’d you meet Jack?’ he asked, clearly recognizing the handwriting but wanting to be certain all the same as he handed it back to you.

‘At Carmichael Haig’s show, we got to talk for a little bit,’ you explained, your nerves starting to rise the longer you were out there, the paranoia that you wouldn’t be able to get in starting to rise in your chest.

‘Ohhh, so you’re the one he was telling Gus about,’ the man said with a grin, your back straightening at the very thought of Jack talking about you with anyone, let alone with someone in a public place. ‘Yeah, he told me to expect someone, I’ll take you up there now if you help me carry something, save me a trip?’

You agreed to his terms, the man apparently being Phil as he shook your hand and handed you the box he was balancing on one arm as you talked. He quickly jogged back to his car to grab another box before returning to you, the door held open for you both as you squeezed past another employee and followed him through the maze of hallways and way too many doors to count. The studio itself was actually on the second floor, the first dedicated to offices and meeting rooms and other businessy things, the elevator able to just barely let you both cram inside as everyone got ready for the taping.

‘Is it always this hectic?’ you asked before you realized you were even opening your mouth, Phil just laughing and adjusting his box.

‘Every single night.’

Once the elevator had pinged and the doors had slid open, Phil then led you through a few more hallways until he pushed through a locked STAFF ONLY door, even more people on the other side, although there was more to the area back here, your eyes widening when it hit you that this was the back of Jack’s set. Phil noticed your excitement and set his box down on the nearest table, taking yours in another swift movement before motioning towards the slightly ajar wall panel; the audience’s seats were just in view through the crack, some people already coming in and finding their spots, and you were just in the middle of wondering if you should attempt finding an empty one when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

‘Quite the view, isn’t it?’

You turned to see Jack standing behind you, a look of pure bliss on his face as he watched the band get ready, Gus talking to someone and going over scripts off to the right, the few audience members chatting with each other as they guessed what they’d see that night. He truly loved this job, you could tell he did even after doing it for so many years, and seeing him so in love only made you love him even more. He looked down at you then, a fondness in his eyes as he gave your shoulder a squeeze and led you around back, a little tour before you had to leave him.

‘I’m glad you came,’ he admitted as you took everything in, everyone shifting their gaze towards the both of you as long as they thought they could get away with it. ‘Been looking forward to tonight all week, what did you think of the lineup?’

‘I, uh-’ you trailed off as he pulled you out of the way of a staff member carrying the requested items for tonight’s guest, your coat suddenly feeling way too warm to still be wearing inside. ‘I missed out on them, actually, been a busy week,’ you lied, avoiding his face as your cheeks lit up; you were not about to tell him that it was because looking at him made you remember how he’d felt pressed up against your waist, even if it was fake.

A shiver ran up your spine as you then realized that the heat against your back very much wasn’t however.

‘I’ll have to tell you all about it later, don’t want you missing out on anything,’ he said with a grin, your lips trembling as you tried to keep your smile from getting any bigger. There was no way he’d actually do that, he had to be too busy to entertain you when the PMs turned to AMs, but it was a nice thought indeed.

‘I’d like that,’ you admitted either way, happy to live in the fantasy for just a little bit at least.

‘Jack!’ someone called from just out of sight, a curly-haired man in sunglasses hunting him down with expert precision as he hurried over. ���Gus just told me you’ve been saving seats all week, you wanna explain why that is?’

‘And there’s my cue,’ he whispers in your ear before using your shoulders to turn you and guide you back to the slit in the wall. ‘Middle front row, furthest left seat,’ he whispered before pushing you to the other side, his attention turned to his producer as he descended upon him for losing them money. You listened for just a second before it hit you that you were there, you were really there, your mouth dropping open as you slowly spun to check out the Night Owls set. People were whispering about who you might be but you didn’t care, not leaving until you heard Gus clear his throat and ask what you were doing.

‘Finding my seat,’ you mumbled, although maybe it had come out as nonsense in your delighted stupor, you couldn’t be sure at the moment.

‘Okay, do you have a ticket?’ he asked, still so polite even though he was very much confused. You just held up the card again, your eyes going higher as you stared at all the lights. ‘I see, so you’re the one he’s been waiting for, right this way.’

The one he’s been waiting for? Clearly you must’ve misheard, Jack Delroy couldn’t possibly have been that excited for you, you’d only spoken for maybe five minutes, tops.

Gus led you to your seat and you instantly sank into it, a 40 minute wait still ahead of you but it felt like no time at all as the rows all filled up and people slowly stopped walking across the set to prepare. On either side of you, cameramen took their places and lined up their shots, the blue screen of the viewfinder catching your attention as you couldn’t help but see what they saw. Gus got himself ready by the band, who were all tuned up and ready to go, and when midnight hit and Gus started calling out that night’s guests, you couldn’t help but bite your lip again as Jack’s name was announced and the wall opened up again to reveal him.

He’d been right, it was an incredible show, his presence so much more overwhelming as you could only focus on him no matter who he stood or sat beside. Every single one of his jokes landed, every eccentric wave of his hands drew you in without fail, and every single smile he shot your way when you laughed only confirmed more and more that you were genuinely glad you came. He tried to talk to you during the breaks but each time he’d been interrupted either by one of his co-workers or someone in the audience ready to snatch up his attention, Jack too polite to refuse either, although it was honestly starting to make you a little jealous.

Before you knew it, his hour had passed and he was saying goodbye, your chest deflating as he was played out again along with his final guest, your hands a little numb as you gave him his well deserved applause. You didn’t want to get up and leave as the rest of the people around you did without hesitation, a chorus of yawns starting to infect everyone like a virus now that it was officially bedtime. You were rooted to the spot, hands clasped in your lap as you wondered if it’d be too presumptuous to assume that maybe he’d come back out again when everyone was gone, wish you your own personal goodnight, people staring again as you waited until you accepted that you’d fulfilled his request, there was no need to stay now.

‘Oh good, you’re still here,’ Jack panted as he jogged over to you, a sheen on his cheeks and forehead from the excitement of the night mixed in with the hot stage lights, ‘I was worried you’d leave when Leo grabbed me just now.’ 

‘I’m in no hurry,’ you told him as you stood, your clasped hands hiding behind your back so he wouldn’t see you fidgeting. ‘It was a great show, I had a lot of fun tonight.’

His smile turned from Showman Jack to Genuine Jack at that, your ability to always tell coming in handy yet again as you tried to hide your blush by tucking your hair behind your ear. ‘I take it you had a more enjoyable time with me than at Haig’s, then?’ he asked, your blushing deepening at his choice of words.

‘I did, yeah.’ Everyone was packing up for the night around you, no one giving you a passing glance as the desire to get home and sleep overtook their curiosity, and when he stifled a yawn you couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty at keeping him. ‘All good things must come to an end though, I suppose; I should really get heading back, it’ll be a nightmare to find a cab this late.’ You didn’t want to go, but you also didn’t want to press your luck either, and maybe you’d get another invitation to another show, who knew?

‘I could give you a ride, if you wanted,’ he offered, completely catching you off guard as your eyes widened for a second in surprise. ‘Or, if you’re truly a night owl like me, you’d prefer to join me for a drink? I always grab one after a show, can’t sleep otherwise.’

You swallowed, mouth cotton dry as you went over his offer in your head a few times; was he asking you out on a date? He had to have been, who else went out to get a drink together at 1AM other than people on dates, right? ‘Yeah, a drink sounds great,’ you finally managed to squeak out, the corners of his eyes scrunching when he smiled before offering his arm for you to take, a true gentleman. He led you back through the labyrinth until you reached the parking lot, his car parked in a spot with his name plastered against the wall behind it, most of the other cars already gone now that their owners were free.

His car was simple, nothing too flashy like someone else in his position would own, the seats worn on the inside and telling you that he must’ve had it for many years. You tried not to look too nervous as he unlocked his door and let himself in, his long body stretching across the front so he could unlock the passenger side as well; an old car indeed, he was taking very good care of it for it to still look that good. You thanked him as you sat down and shut the door, the smell of his cologne stealing your breath away as you were surrounded by purely him, the faint smell of smoke mixing in with it, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried not to look too obvious.

He shot you a glance as he clicked his seatbelt into place, the noise making you come back to your senses and do the same so he could start driving. There were quite a few bars around there, some late night diners as well, and you grew more and more confused as he drove by all of them without a word. By the time you left the city and started to head towards a more residential area, you were starting to wonder if you were going for a drink at all, not remembering ever telling him where you lived, of course this neighborhood was much too nice, maybe you should be flattered if he thought you lived around here.

‘Are we still…?’ you tried to ask, your question dying out as he then turned into the driveway of a very nice but modestly sized house, all the lights off inside telling you that no one was home. He didn’t turn off the engine though, his eyes on the wheel before he turned to you, a hopeful something in his eyes that mirrored your own.

‘Would you like to come inside? Or should we try calling that cab?’ he asked you gently, giving you the choice of what you wanted to do now that you knew where you’d be drinking, your heart thumping a little faster as you adjusted the strap of your purse and flashed him the most confident smile you could muster.

‘You did promise to tell me all about the shows I miss,’ you reminded him, Jack’s smile softening as he agreed with a, ‘Yes I did.’ The engine shut off and you both exited the car, the night air making you shiver as you held your coat a little tighter over your arms. He noticed immediately, his suit jacket draped over you before you could confirm or deny you wanted it, heat spreading throughout you as the scent of his cologne hit you even harder. You wrapped yourself up in it, face tucked into the collar as you headed for his front door, always a few steps behind until he unlocked the door and pushed it open, allowing you to go in first.

It was a modest place, decorated more cozily than anything, and you felt right at home as you stepped inside and took a look around; the walls held photos of family and friends, his coworkers and people he’d met through Night Owls spaced out around them, the surfaces of every table and shelf decorated with something and filling the space while also feeling sparse. Cozy was definitely the right word, but it also felt like a bachelor pad in the way he’d left clothes draped over the back of the couch, how the kitchen was pristinely clean from rare use based on the amount of menus he’d collected into the holder by his phone, and the dedicated minibar off in the corner so he could entertain guests.

He headed there now as you observed your surroundings, his voice breaking your thoughts as he asked you to pick your poison. You gave him your desired drink request, Jack’s eyes shining as he located the bottle amongst the plethora of them in his reserve, whisky placed next to it as he located a couple of glasses next. ‘Ice?’ he asked casually as he poured both drinks, you kindly refusing as he grabbed a couple for himself. The ice crackled in his glass as he returned, the sound pleasant to you and filling the air as he handed you your drink. ‘I’d offer you a seat at the table, but my back is killing me tonight, if you’d rather join me on the couch?’

What a liar, you could always tell when he was acting. You accepted anyways, pretending to buy into it as you both took opposite ends of the old leather couch situated in front of his fireplace. The cushions creaked underneath as you sat down, Jack letting out a sigh that didn’t sound fake as he relaxed, his body sinking right in before he took a sip and turned to look at you. You blushed and looked away, focusing on your glass as you swirled the contents around, now wishing for ice since watching it would be a good distraction.

You’d been so focused on his home that it was starting to dawn on you that you were in his home, on his couch, drinking his liquor, his focus on nothing and no one other than you. ‘Dreamer, here, awake,’ you whispered softly under your breath, remembering what Haig had said to snap you out of it and needing to make sure this wasn’t just another dream.

‘What was that?’

Oh god, it wasn’t a dream, you were really here, and his arm was now on the back of the couch, casually reaching towards you as he tilted his head to the side with an amused grin. 

‘So, how did the shows that I missed go?’ you quickly choked out, Jack chuckling at how your voice sounded way more broken than you’d wanted before downing the rest of his drink and setting the empty glass on the coffee table in front of him.

‘Well, on Monday I got to interview someone about his upcoming play, so that was interesting,’ he began, his body turned more towards you as he spoke. ‘On Tuesday, we had a man who sailed halfway around the world and narrowly survived being shipwrecked, and he read us an excerpt from his captain’s log, which he revealed he’ll be turning into a book to preserve the memories of his shipmates.’ He slid a little down the leather, genuine interest in his eyes as he spoke, that another thing you loved about him. ‘Wednesday was Game Night, as you know, and one of our audience members managed to win the jackpot and gave us a victory dance to celebrate. Gus tried to attempt it and fell on his ass, so everyone made me try it and I nearly crashed into my stage, everyone had a lot of fun that night.

His voice started to soften as he moved a little closer, your body frozen in both awe at what you’d missed and also the sight of him starting to fill up your entire view, your drink forgotten in your hands.

‘And then on Thursday we took a call from a man who thought he had superpowers, can you believe that? He truly believed he got them from another dimension, so fascinating.’ He was just about to slide over the middle cushion, your legs pressing tightly together so you wouldn’t touch him on accident, your lip worried between your teeth again. ‘I asked him to come on the show, but he hung up, I hope he calls again next week.’ His arm was completely behind you you finally noticed as his thumb brushed against your shoulder just enough for you to feel it over your coat and his suit jacket, the heat of both starting to make you sweat as he stayed just outside your personal space, ever the gentleman as he waited for you to tell him to back up. 

You didn’t, your tongue darting out and tasting your lipstick as you glanced to the side, seeing just enough of him to know that he didn’t look dangerous, or overly sexual like your fantasy had been, his actual expression one of wonder as he remained just out of reach. You felt like you had to comment on his week, say something in response to what he was telling you but you couldn’t, the sound of his thumb running over the fabric directly in your ear as you finally took your first sip.

‘Sounds like I missed a lot,’ you eventually said, Jack nodding and shifting as he got comfier, the movement sending him a little closer to you. ‘Maybe you should invite me back again, I could probably make time for that.’

‘I’ll have to see if I can get you an actual ticket this time, then, Leo was very unhappy I snuck you in.’ His voice was so low as you took another, bigger sip, his arm sliding off the back of the couch and just barely resting against the very bottom of your neck.

‘Is that what that was? I’ll be sure to use the front door next time.’ Another sip, his other hand in plain sight on his thigh as it traveled down towards you. 

‘I think I’d prefer to escort you in myself, so you don’t get lost, it’s like a maze in there.’ You watched his hand just barely touch the hem of his jacket, a soft hum leaving his throat as his eyes half-lidded. ‘You look good in this, I might have to let you borrow it more often.’

‘You assume I’ll need it again? How presumptuous of you,’ you joked in an attempt to keep things light, but it fell flat as you looked at him while you said it, his expression rendering you speechless in seconds. Now that you were facing him he couldn’t resist the urge to touch your cheek, his fingertips just barely brushing against you and making you shut your eyes as you tried to lean against them, the contact causing shivers to run down your spine at how incredibly gentle it was.

‘I really am glad you came tonight,’ he whispered as he leaned in, breath soft against your face as you both held off from closing the gap, ‘god, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’

You nearly dropped the glass, Jack placing his hand over yours to make sure you didn’t before taking it away entirely. ‘Y-you’re just telling me what I wanna hear,’ you repeated from your fantasy, Jack leaning away to set the glass down before letting his forehead rest against your own.

‘Is it working?’

You grabbed onto his tie and pulled him into you, your mouths crashing together as you kissed him with all the need of someone who’d wanted this for years. He braced himself on the back of the couch as you leaned against the arm, your body arching up as he rearranged how he was sitting to kneel over you. He wasn’t as forward as your fantasy, which was understandable considering you knew very well that he’d only acted the exact way you wanted, but instead you discovered that he was slow, making as many points of contact as he could while giving you space. He was obsessed with kissing away the rest of your lipstick but he never tried to take more than you were giving him, your bodies still too far apart as he caressed you.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he repeated as his hand left your jaw to travel down to your hip, not to hold down or make you keen but just to feel the soft curve of your body; he was committing you to memory, tracing over each wrinkle in the fabric, each place that made you squirm just a little.

‘Jack…’ you sighed as he pushed both coats aside to gently kiss at your neck, small things that made you want beyond the sweetness, the love. ‘Don’t make me wait anymore, please…’

He pressed a single kiss to your jaw at that, sitting back just enough so he could look at your face. You turned away, embarrassed by your neediness, but he turned you back to him with only a whisper of a touch, a plea instead of a command. ‘How long have you been waiting?’ he asked, lips hovering just above yours, pulling away when you tried to close the gap.

‘Years.’

He kissed you again, a little rougher this time as his own need was made clear, his body shifting down until he was laying himself on top of you, and for however real your fantasy had felt, it was fucking nothing compared to the weight of him pressing pure want directly into your waist. It made you gasp how good he felt, your legs spreading until your skirt wouldn’t stretch any further, the desire to hike it up all the way so you could feel him a little better making you almost actually do it. It was him who made that move when he felt you struggling, your legs pressed into his almost uncomfortably, and he placed his hands at the hem and waited for your okay, not wanting to do anything without your permission.

What a fucking gentleman.

You nodded and he lifted your skirt, your back arching off the couch so it could be bunched up, your underwear on display just the smallest amount before your skirt was let go. That small amount made him blush, his lips parting as he then palmed himself to ease the strain of his own clothes, his nice suit pulled taut over his dick as he kneaded. It made you want him even more, the fantasies of seeing him like that deciding to play like the world’s longest and lewdest film in your mind, reminding you of every single thing you wanted to do to him, what you wanted him to do to you.

‘I want to feel you,’ you told him, his eyes fluttering shut like the quicktalking showman Mr. Midnight couldn’t handle a bit of dirty talk; he was so cute it almost hurt as he moved his hand aside for you, granting you access to the space while he tried to undo his belt. You rubbed him over his pants, listening to the sounds he was making and letting your desire grow with each one, and when his belt was undone and his zipper was down you tugged just his pants over his hips just enough to show off his bulge a little better. It strained over the opening, the sight so tantalizing that you’d risk staying hypnotized forever if this really was just another dream, his body laying down over yours again as you wrapped your leg around him.

He started to grind against you, the fantasy definitely not doing him justice as a sinful heat warmed you up in an instant, the coats much too hot as you tried to strip them both off. He helped you but didn’t stop moving, each thrust just enough to create the best friction you’d ever experienced. There was no audience this time, no one to risk ruining this for you, and you took full advantage of that as you let out a deviously loud moan when he rubbed against you just right. 

‘God…’ he panted into your neck, hips moving just a little faster, and it felt good but it wasn’t what you wanted, not entirely. You reached down between where your bodies touched to try and get a hold of his boxers, your nails catching over the waistband just out of reach. He felt your attempts and knew what you were trying to do, his face unsure even though he still couldn’t stop. ‘Are you sure?’ he needed to know, his hips finally stilling for the most part, your eyes watering with how much you meant it as you told him yes. He groaned as he reached between your legs, feeling your wetness seeping through your panties as you moved against him, your head instantly falling back.

The sounds you let out were indecent, he wasn’t even inside you yet and he was making you fall apart just because it was him who was doing this, his fingers rewriting your brain and telling you that you’d never be able to get off on just your imagination ever again. He played with you as his other hand pushed his boxers down the rest of the way, his dick falling free and making him hiss as he gave himself a few strokes, the sound getting you to look up. Your legs twitched as you almost came just from the sight alone, his eyes shut tight as his head lolled to the side, his impressive length looking even bigger in his hand as he got himself ready.

As soon as he felt your eyes on him he locked onto you, his big, showman smile showing a little more teeth than usual as he let you watch, his own sounds almost addicting as he let you know exactly how good his own hand felt. Between the sight and his hands making the both of you feel good, you didn’t know how much more you could take of this before you were shoving him down, Jack sensing your desperation and leaning back over you. He pulled aside your panties and rubbed you a couple more times before pressing his waist against yours, spreading your wetness along the underside of his shaft, grinding against you this way until you were practically begging him to do more, please.

He chuckled at your reaction before taking himself in hand again, spreading it even more before holding himself up to your entrance, one last chance to back out. You made sure to lock eyes with him as you grabbed his tie and pulled him down to you once more, your mouth falling open as he pushed deep inside of you the more you pulled. You didn’t stop until you were full, the two of you panting into each other's mouth before he started to move, both of your legs wrapping around him this time as you tried to take him even deeper.

It was hot, you were sweating, you could see the sheen on his cheeks and forehead again as he suffered in the almost entirety of his suit versus your outfit, and you helped him relieve some of his suffering as you started to unbutton his shirt. You shoved it off one shoulder before he was tearing it off of himself and tossing it away, your own shirt pushed up to reveal a heaving stomach, muscles working hard under the flesh as he thrust into you, your body unable to move with him thanks to the arm of the couch keeping you in place.

It ensured he always hit the deepest part of you since your body couldn’t shift away, one of your hands on your stomach while the other took his own and placed it on your chest. He began to knead you over your bra, it soon out of the way as he yanked it down and wrapped his mouth around a nipple, his motions speeding up a bit as you tangled your now free hand into his hair. ‘You feel so good,’ you couldn’t stop yourself from saying then, starting to get overstimulated, and at your words he jerked a little erratically, like it’d made him stumble. ‘You- you were so handsome tonight, did so well, I couldn’t stop staring at you…’

He was moaning nonsense into your chest as you praised him, something about what you were saying making him fall apart; his head rested against you as he rutted into you with wild abandon, your hands just holding him there as you kept whispering what he wanted to hear. You meant it, every word, but to know that this much was making him practically whine against you was also addicting, needing him to know everything you felt for him, how proud you were of him, how you’d never be able to feel anyone but him for the rest of your life.

‘Come inside me, make me yours, I want to be yours,’ you pleaded, Jack grasping at you like a drowning man grasps at his saviour, a few more thrusts making your head fall back before he did just that. His hips jutted a few more times as warmth filled your insides, the sensation mixed with his broken gasps bringing you over the edge as well, his nails digging into your flesh where he held you, your hands thoroughly messing up his perfectly styled hair. When he was done he collapsed against you, his weight once again so incredibly nice as he pinned you against the cushions, the leather sticking to your skin and keeping you very much in place.

‘If I’m too heavy-’ he started to say before he shifted and cut himself off with a whine, his attempts to get up thwarted immediately.

‘You’re not,’ you reassured him, your fingers attempting to straighten his hair back into place, a small courtesy for him letting you grab him so hard in the first place. ‘We can just… stay a while.’

‘Do you wanna risk that? I might fall asleep on you like this,’ he asked like it’d be a bad thing; what a gentleman.

‘I think that’d be worth the risk,’ you told him as you kissed his forehead, Jack reaching up to cup your cheek before gathering all his strength to kiss you goodnight.

[lu-is-not-ok]

Sonya themed ask jumpscare

Of his design, there are a few things to note. First is how he wears a strap full of bullets on his leg [though he hasnt yet been seen with a gun to my knowledge, its in his bag maybe?] but bullets in The City are notoriously expensive, and while Hermann did mention how he 'burned all that cash' I must wonder why he wanted them in the first place is he already carries a perfectly suitable weapon.

Smaller details that stuck out to me are the eye like pattern on his goggles, and his hair. Namely the lite specs of blue in it and how it was described as 'hyaline' - a word both relating to a form of cartilage and a way to describe something with a glassy appearance.

Onto his role in the story going forward: I believe that cantos 1-3 all set up the three major forces we shall be dealing with for the remainder of the story. N corp with canto 1, Demians group in canto 3 and the Yurodiviye in canto 2. Now at first it was unclear how exactly the YRDY would be able to have as much influence as the other two, but TKT sorted it all out. While Hermann represents the power held from corporations and Demian the power gained from the outskirts/stars/things that aren't fully understood, Sonia then stands as the representative for the power of people - namely in terms of tenacity and shear staying power.

He very clearly has connections to both Hermann and Demian, through both the chat at the end of canto 2 and the fact he's got the mark. This puts him in the position that oddly enough many though Asaeh was in before his icon was fixed, as one wearing multiple hats for his own gain. He does not hide his cause.

He actuallt reminds me a lot of Ayin. However this is already quite long and my brain is currently a plate of scrambled eggs so I shan't elaborate further. Plus I am not sure if what I've got is actual analysis or my desperate want to talk about Ayin again.

Only tangentially related but the author of C&P has also written a book called 'White Nights'. Neato.

That's all for now, we got like 2 hrs til we hopefully get a teaser and I'm bring so normal about it. I swear.

Ok let me go through this one paragraph at a time because Sonya is one of those characters that makes me go a little insane as well. Read more because. Yeah.

Point 1 - The Bullet Strap

The design detail of the bullets strap on his leg is intriguing and one I didn't notice initially. I went through to look through Canto 2 CGs of Rodya's flashbacks and all the Yurodiviye related character sprites in the recent Intervallo to check if this is something that's a part of the standard Yurodivy uniform and what I've found is... interesting.

For Canto 2 Yurodiviye, the only one whose legs we see clearly is flashback Rodya, and she doesn't seem to have that same strap as Sonya.

However, for TKT, something interesting happens. All of the Yurodiviye in District 20, including the Detective captain of their group, wear straps on the same leg as Sonya... except instead of bullets, the straps have a bag attached.

That difference in uniform between Rodya and this branch of the Yurodiviye is notable because of how differently they see Sonya. Rodya sees Sonya as someone with big ideals but not enough initiative to actually see them through, meanwhile the District 20 Yurodiviye look up to him so much as to call him a Saint, a term which we recently learned can refer to the most high-ranking members of the Dieci, the association that deals with knowledge (thank you Dieci Meursault uptie story). This difference in opinion would explain why these Yurodiviye are more invested in mimicking Sonya's uniform more closely, whereas Rodya's seemed more distinct and thus more distant.

Of course, the difference between the straps holding bags for the Yurodiviye while it holds bullets for Sonya is not lost on me. As you mentioned, bullets are expensive, which means it makes sense for the District 20 Yurodiviye to not be able to afford them and thus resort to using the strap to hold something else to have it still serve a similar function. Though it does bring up the question you posited: how was Sonya able to afford his own bullets?

It's important to note we don't ever get to see whether or not Sonya had the bullet strap before Rodya left the Yurodiviye. The only CGs we get to see his legs in are ones where his current self invades the flashback Rodya is having. If he got that after she left, it's possible his cooperation with N Corp granted him enough support to get the ammunition. Note that if Hermann is to be believed that Sonya would burn any and all cash he was granted, it's not impossible for N Corp to just give him bullets out right instead.

On a more symbolic side of analyzing his design, the bullet strap is a subtle way to show Sonya's own turn towards more direct action after Rodya left, while also emphasizing how he goes about that more direct action.

Just like a gun firing its bullets, Sonya's "direct" action is him telling people around him to do the deeds for him. Whether it's through inspiration like the District 20 Yurodiviye, or whether it's through networking and sending his people out to take money from the rich like we see in Canto 2. He's not the bullet actually breaking through a wall, he's merely the finger pulling the trigger. He aims and gives command to fire, but that's where his involvement ends.

Point 2 - The Goggles and Hair

This is something I touched upon in another post I made about Sonya, so I'm gonna be brief. Sonya's visual design with regards to his eyes, hair, and accessories, has a dual purpose.

For one, it implies that Sonya is albinistic. The color of his eyes, the lack of pigment of his hair to the point it's described as glass-like, and the inclusion of eye protection and gloves (accessories that is lacking in other Yurodiviye) points towards that idea.

This directly correlates with his own tendency to try and avoid the spotlight and redirect it to others whenever possible, see my point earlier about how his direct action involves sending other people out to do his bidding + his actions before and during the game in Canto 2 are all in favor of pulling attention away from him, such as deflecting Aida's comments about him by calling her the protagonist of life, or constantly asking Rodya questions to put the spotlight on her.

For two, it makes his design a direct opposite to Rodya's, matching with their opposite tendencies with regards to being put in the spotlight. Rodya's design is notably plain for what you'd consider a Slavic woman, with wheat brown-blonde hair and blue eyes, whereas Sonya's is extremely distinct with his purple eyes and hyaline hair.

And yet, like I mentioned earlier, Sonya is the one that wants eyes off of him, while Rodya is constantly trying to be the center of attention whenever possible. They're major foils to one another down to their visual designs.

Point 3 - Sonya and Yurodiviye's spot in the story

Ever since the first batch of Cantos, Sonya struck me as a sort of double agent between the New League and Demian's Blue Man Group. We know that he clearly has connections with both, but the fact that the color his name is put on in the dialogue box is purple, the mix of red (associated with the New League) and blue (associated with the Blue Man Group), only further adds to that idea.

Plus, I feel like his attitude towards Mirror Worlds and their usage should also be pointed out. Whereas Demian directly states he wants the Mirror Worlds to be left alone, comparing their exploitation to that of stealing chips from a bag, Hermann is on the other spectrum of that through wanting the desctruction of all Mirror Worlds.

Sonya is somewhere in between, clearly wanting to make use of them to bring about what he sees as his ideal world, but not wanting to touch them beyond that.

I think the above fact combined with how he acts in the Canto 2 post credit scene is leading to the possibility of Sonya outright betraying Hermann and the New League, which would make sense with how his side is meant to represent the common people. Project Moon ain't subtle about their critique of capitalism, so it only makes sense for Sonya to eventually turn on the representation of the power the Wings hold.

Which, speaking of that, I want to note how Hermann manipulated people to her side through exploiting Mirror Worlds. Yes, her main goal is to destroy all of them, but she's willing to twist the truth when trying to get other people to her side. With her and the New League representing the power of the corporations, those empty promises and white lies feel especially fitting. That sort of "Well if you join us we will keep This One Specific World You Want alive just for you" and "Well since we're already destroying them wouldn't you like to destroy this specific part of each of them with us" shit she's been pulling.

Point 4 - WAIT WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHITE NIGHTS IS ALSO A DOSTOYEVSKY REFERENCE-

Ok. No. Anon, you can't drop a bombshell on me like that. WhiteNight is one of, if not the most important Abnormality to Lobcorp and thus Project Moon lore. It's one of the Carmen abnos. It's the final Abno boss alongside Apocalypse Bird. It's symbolically tied to the White Nights and Dark Days event through its name, one of the most important events in the fucking series.

And. Here's the thing Anon. If that's true, then that means Dostoyevsky's works being consistently important to PM lore is no longer just a coincidence, it's a pattern.

You see, there's another important Crime and Punishment reference in this series outside of Rodya's existence, it being the other abno tied to WhiteNight.

One Sin and Hundreds of Good Deeds.

You see, this abnormality's name? It's a reference to a fucking quote from Crime and Punishment, and a pretty notable one in that!

Now, mind you, the exact wording in the version of the quote is a bit different, likely due to differences in translation, but it's pretty fucking close don't you think?

One Crime, One Sin. Thousands of Good Deeds, Hundreds of Good Deeds.

Add to that the fact that One Sin is always the first abno you get in every LobCorp playthrough AND acts as an instant alternate way to defeat WhiteNight, and the fact that these two are both named after Dostoyevsky references should start raising some eyebrows.

With all of that pointed out, I'd like to adress the potential importance of both Sonya and Rodya in the wider plot of Limbus Company, based on the fact that Dostoyevsky references have been highly important to the lore from the very fucking start.

Let's start with Sonya. He and the Yurodiviye are in a bit of a unique spot compared to all the other factions Limbus Company is contending with. While sure, both the New League and Blue Man Group have a leader who is directly tied to one single sinner (Hermann tied to Gregor, Demian tied to Sinclair), we see that it's not an exclusive connection.

We know from Canto 5 that Rim, someone from the League of Nine, is definitely a part of the Blue Man Group, and the New League has not only two former members of the League of Nine (and is named to be a replacement for that group), but also Jia Huan of Hong Lu's family fame is there too for some fucking reason.

Sonya and Yurodiviye are thus far the only faction that is only connected to one single Sinner - Rodya, and thus only connected to a single source - the works of Dostoyevsky. The fact that Sonya is all but stated to be the connection between the two other groups and the effect he's had on the City thus far only add to his future importance. I don't think I need to go on about that for much longer.

That only leaves Rodya's importance undiscussed. Thus far she's the only Sinner to have recieved a "second Canto" in the form of TKT heavily focusing on continuing her character arc, but that doesn't really say much. For all we know we could see something similar be done to both Gregor and Sinclair at some point in the future. No, there's something a bit more subtle potentially going on with Rodya.

However, to explain this, I need to go on a tangent.

Let's put this out here: The Little Prince is the single most important book with regards to Limbus Company's running themes and motifs.

The "Seeing with the eye vs Seeing with the heart" motif is the single most long-running and important theme throughout the work. Demian directly says the fucking quote at the end of Canto 3 and consistently references the Little Prince whenever he appears. Blue Man Group is set up to be the ones who see with the heart, while the New League and N Corp as a whole are set up to be the ones who see with the eyes. Eyes and Hearts keep coming up in random places all over Limbus. The fucking name of the game and company itself, Limbus, can refer to two different parts of the body - corneal limbus, a part of the eye, and limbus of fossa ovalis, a part of the heart.

Why is all of this important? Because two of the Sinners explicitly have their symbols be a Heart and an Eye respectively, that being Rodya and Hong Lu. Add to that the fact that, similarly to Rodya and Sonya, Rodya and Hong Lu are essentially foils of each other with regards to how they view the world , and the fact that they're assigned the numbers 6 and 9, which in numerology are associated with yin and yang, which we know PM loves making references to spirituality and religion, and all of this is just a big ol nothing Game Theory that I'm just spitting here.

The rundown is this: Rodya and Hong Lu are both associated with symbols that are seemingly tied to key motifs and themes of Limbus Company and PM games as a whole. Rodya's focus through TKT and her connection to the one faction that isn't tied to any other Sinner makes her stand out. PM seems to fucking love making Dostoyevsky extremely important for some fucking reason.

All of this to say I would not be surprised if Rodya turned out to be one of the most important Sinners out of the cast.

...This post was supposed to be about Sonya. Whoops.

[eldritch-spouse]

Relax, I know he's big and the phalluses are uh, intimidating but the subject is extremely docile. Who knew aliens would be so–why is he out of containment?

You're frozen. Catatonic.

You remember watching videos of animals in the wild becoming completely unresponsive when approached by predators, how the only thing you could see were their eyes, wide and frantic, and their chests heaving as they seemed to be praying to survive.

Those videos were so funny, right? Well, you're not laughing now...

The lifeform, the alien, the creature you had yet to see, that they'd been easing you into the idea of meeting so that it wouldn't be a colossal shock- Just effortlessly tore down the pressurized, extremely high-tech door to its cell. You didn't even know those doors could come flying off like that.

In seconds, mere stunned moments, the entity you can't even call a monster is staring you down. He's giant, truly, but gaunt like a beanstalk, all flowing limbs and unearthly elegance. You can't count the tentacles that comprise his lower body, you can't focus on the fins of his extremely human arms, the bizarre depressions on his chest area, and the only reason you know him as male is because of the mention of phalluses.

Curiously, he doesn't look hostile.

But he's very much focused on you, and that's not ideal.

It's as if he sensed you through the cell, somehow, and that caught his attention.

A large, water-filled glass dome envelops his head, but you can still very much sense those glazed eyes studying you from top to bottom. Like any human would, he procures eye contact before attempting to communicate.

But unfortunately, he doesn't converse in a language you can gouge.

A myriad of croons envelop the room, these soft tingling sounds that feel just barely within reach of your eardrums. The... Appendage, sprouting from the top of his head sways, an assortment of warm hues gently fading in and out.

Pink. Orange. Pink. Maroon. Pink. Shock pink. White. Pink blinking.

What is this, Simon Says?

He leans down, and trembling, you glance at the intern beside you in a desperate plea for help.

They look utterly fascinated by the interaction. Panicked, but amazed. You have no idea whether or not that's good for you.

Finally, they seem to come to their senses and realize that you are probably seconds away from pissing yourself if nothing is done.

" Okay. Okay- Listen to me. " They start murmuring, an audible gulp follows. Your eyes twitch to the worker, but you don't dare stare at them long enough to lose track of the literal alien.

" Like I said, he's very docile. There's no reason for him to attack you right now. In fact he's... Nevermind. "

What the fuck do they mean nevermind?!

" I need you to not move too suddenly, and don't scream, okay? "

You nod quietly, looking at the still pink-flashing light above their head. He dangles it in front of his face, as close to the glass as he can, as if to make sure you're getting the message. You hope pink signifies friendliness.

" What- What do I do now? " You whisper.

The intern looks at you like they themself aren't quite sure.

" U- Uhm... Let- Let me contact my- "

Out of nowhere, what you can only call a bark of noise rings out through the room.

This extremely loud sound that immediately frightens you, sharp and rough like a branch cracking but amplified a thousand times. Even now, it feels like it's still echoing within your eardrums.

Did he do that? Did something in the building just break?!

You shrieked, because of course you did, eyes nearly bulging out your skull when you realize the employee told you specifically not to scream.

They're looking at you with a tight-lipped grimace, finger poised over what you presume is a contact on their phone.

There isn't even time for you to say your last words, some kind of message for your family or even just a plea for help.

The alien reacts to your agitated noise quickly, but not at all in the way you'd expect. Instead of perhaps lunging to crack your neck like a twig or slashing your face off, the entity grabs you with both arms by the chest, lifts you into the air, and slides inside the cell it was previously contained in. The clutch is what prevented you from screaming again.

Once again, you channel the wisdom of prey animals in nature documentaries by staying absolutely stock still, and allowing the foreign lifeform to do whatever it wants. He keeps flashing colors at you in patterns you don't recognize, but involve a lot of pink tones. Purple now. Long and pudgy looking digits start poking at your outfit here and there, and you spot something rippling under the mass of his front, along that large opening you had never given much thought to until now.

It looks like something's bursting out of him...

Oh God, oh fuck what is that-

You blink, open-mouthed, at what has to be a dick. Some kind of wriggling, prehensile appendage tipped with a much too human-looking phallus. It flattens against your midsection, and you shudder in confusion. Confusion that soon grows into barely contained hysteria as more bizarre and unique extremities keep slithering out of his insides- What is he, made of cocks?

" S- Some help here?! " You finally manage to nearly sob out.

The worker is frantically trying to appease someone on the other end of their phone, picking at their collar while they watch you get vaguely harassed by an excited extraterrestrial.

" No, no sir he's never done that before- I-... No, I didn't- Sir, he tore the whole door off I can't just lock- " Their eyes widen as more hues of purple keep being flashed your way, like something horrendous is about to happen. " Get- Please get here quickly, I'm begging you! "

By the time they hurriedly mash the end call button and try to stuff their phone into a tight uniform, the alien already gently pried most of your shirt off, cooing some kind of melody that fails to lull you into calmness, which is understandable when a variety of reproductive organs are hovering far too close to your bare skin. Some of them are so... Strange. There's no stopping the thoughts of how they might be used.

Footsteps sound, and as soon as the worker tries to get within grabbing range of you, an already ballsy move in your eyes, the subject makes another powerful sound, the depressions in his chest vibrating while you groan in pain.

The filament in the alien's head swells significantly, blasting a color that your brain simply fails to comprehend, seeing it as a flash of pure black that momentarily blinds you before you have the wisdom to look away, trembling in his grasp.

The employee makes some kind of pained noise, you can hear the squeaking of their shoes as they run out the room and...

Leave you to your own devices.

Lord help you.

[yuri-is-online]

Any Hc's for Rook!Yutu? I'd imagine Rook would have an inkling of what was going on due to this child's abnormally heightened senses.

I did write a bit about Rook's Yutu in this post about artistic dad's and their sons. In it I mention that Rook says he was very shy as a child, which is something I don't think twst writers capitalize on enough. Rook's Yutu is very shy and does not have the same confidence boosting idol realization that Rook did.

Also, we will be taking something from this idea from Grim OB anon, thank you very much for sending it in!

This is a two part hc, please read this first and then go to the second part linked at the end.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here. This post contains some additional angst to the other Yutu posts, CW for discussions of child neglect, starvation, and extreme isolation.

The wind flutters through the tress as Yutu sits and tries to focus on the few strains of birdsong he can hear. The wind chimes he bought for your last birthday makes the task harder, but he can't say he minds. If it helps him hone this talent of his, maybe one day he can use it for something, something other than sneaking out of the house or looking through that box of things that causes you too much pain to look through but not enough to throw away.

"This world is filled with beauty, and it wraps itself around you begging you to lay your head within its bower. Stay and intertwine the melody of your breath with mine and never know how weary it is to wander again..." He is uncertain if this translation is satisfactory, the language used is familiar to Yutu but the words and some of the grammar is off. It's a beautifully written letter, the paper's maintained a specific perfume through the years thanks to how well you have kept it packed away. A branch snaps up as Yutu's eyes open and center on the thrush he's been tracking as it soars into the early morning sky, finally he leans back against the side of the house and lets out his breath. Someday he will find the thread that connects all of this, he's sure of it.

And somewhere across the universe, another child looks up at the sky and has as similar a thought he can without the words to form it.

Yutu is a quiet kid. Like his father was as a child, he's very shy and finds it difficult to connect to the other kids around him. They find his uncertainty annoying, and while his teachers enjoy having him in class they sometimes find his perspectives difficult to connect to. This is not helped at all by how keen his senses are, hiding things from Yutu is difficult and he tries to use what he sees to make friends, but he often comes off as creepy. Much like Rook he is very insightful in his media analysis and blunt in the way he puts things, but unlike Rook he does not find someone like Vil who vibes with him. Instead he finds teachers who take him aside and tell him to stop answering so many questions in class, peers who refuse to interact with him and openly call him weird, and a community who whispers loudly about where he came from behind his back as if he cannot hear them. It's exhausting.

Yuu has some letters from Rook that made it across worlds with them, long flowing things written in a language that takes him a while to figure out. Most of them are written in something similar to English, but there are bits and pieces of French in there. The letters spark an early interest in linguistics for Yutu, he feels like the letters have enough clues for him to learn who his father is and if anyone has answers for him about why he is the way he is it has to be his dad, doesn't it? He's the only Yutu who manages to isolate his father's name long before Yuu remembers, but he assumes that Rook is a pseudonym because who the hell names their child Rook? Not someone from France (which is where he assumes his dad is from... or maybe French Canada?)

Yuu tells him of his father's appreciation for the beauty of the world and his eagerness to encourage it in others. They speak of his protectiveness, and loyalty to his friends so often that Yutu wonders, why isn't he here? His parent calls him a "hunter" so often that Yutu wonders if they connected over hunting, he can't really see you doing something like that. Where do the poems fit into that, they cause you a lot of pain to look at so he tries not to ask about them and focus on the things you say he has in common with his father, such as his love for literature and nature.

His love of nature is much less, violent? Than his father's... as in he is not one for the hunt, at least not in the same way. He does not find the fight or the chase thrilling or beautiful, though he does deeply admire the skill it takes to thread the needle through danger. You aren't so strict about his trips into the woods that he feels like he can't go but you do try to encourage him to stay safe in a way that feels restrictive to a kid. He's very interested in wildlife photography, and enjoys darting through the wilderness to take pictures of animals in their natural habitats. This does not help his reputation at school, his teachers are proud to note his talent while his peers spread rumors about him because of how much time he spends alone in the woods or a darkroom.

While he does enjoy his alone time, sometimes he begs you to come with him, especially after he's found particularly beautiful place that he wants to show you. He takes a great deal of pride in being able to provide his parent with a sense of peace, especially when it's through something he enjoys. Given that Yuu was the owner of the Ghost Camera I like to think you would feel a sense of familiarity in taking photos of things, and Yutu would beyond overjoyed if it was an interest you could share with him.

As for how you remember... I like to think that what triggers the memory is that one day Yutu comes home sadder than usual, and confesses to you that he took a picture of you for a school contest but only managed to win second place with it. When he shows it to you, it triggers something:

"Oh now this is a funny coincidence." You were in the process of trying to pick which magnet you wanted to use to put it up on the refrigerator, a perfectly normal thing. A perfectly normal day, "I lost to Rook with a similar picture during Portfest, he'd love to have a matching set-" And then you had dropped the magnet, dropped your line of thought and turned to look at him in a way that screamed you were afraid, afraid of something he couldn't see and sorrowful in a way he couldn't describe. "Wait a moment, where is Rook, he was just stepping out for a moment and I was getting the letters together..." And then his world is upended as he is tossed over the rift into a group of people in dark robes, impressing them all with how he literally lands on his feet.

Rook! Yutu is left numb by Yuu's death. He doesn't speak much, it's not at all what Crewel expected of Rook's son given how odd and exuberant his student was. He tries encouraging him to open up by telling little stories about his father to him, about your time in Twisted Wonderland, anything to fill the empty space and help him form a connection with the child. He feels foolish when he realizes that Yutu is in shock, but once he does and gives him some genuine familial affection Yutu starts to perk up. The gift of the Ghost Camera makes Yutu actually speak, though one of the first things he says is that he doesn't think he's ever going to be himself again. Crewel's been mourning how he never got to know that boy for years now, hearing him say he's missed the chance out loud doesn't hurt as much as it perhaps should.

I kicked around what house I thought he would be in a bit, Rook was initially in Savanaclaw as we all know but Yutu... he's quiet. Withdrawn, still very intense about his passions and pursuit of beauty but not able to really speak about his interests openly. Pomefiore... it is meant to be based on the unrelenting effort, the tenacity of the Fairest Queen. It's very intense, and despite his quiet attitude this Yutu is very intense so I do think he would be placed in Pomefiore by the mirror. Something that would make Grandpa Crewel very proud.

Grandpa Crewel tells him bits and pieces about his father, but Yutu can just tell that he's keeping things back. The stories are always so odd, like he's very willing to tell Yutu his dad used to name the plants he grew for the science club and read them poetry but when he asks about the poems he wrote for Yuu, Crewel dodges the subject just saying it "sounds like something he'd do." When he asks about his friends he tentatively mentions that Rook's best friend is still alive, but that he's not in the best mental state so he probably won't want to talk to him. Which is of course, not true at all Yutu is very interested in speaking with Vil and that much more determined to do it the less information Crewel gives him.

It's "me and the boys looking for classmates" round 2, Idia has a heart attack when he sees ANOTHER HUNT on a broomstick outside his super secret island yoo-hooing at the security cameras asking to see Vil. He can't with this fucking family what is WRONG with you people. Vil doesn't exactly get a lot of visitors so he's surprised to hear he has one and unable to hold back his laughter when he finds out who it is. He can't even pretend to be strict or upset with the boy, though he does give him a scolding for being so reckless.

Most of the questions Yutu has are answered; his father was eccentric but well loved, he was very much a hunter, had nicknames for most everyone based off of things he noticed about them and claimed he himself as the "hunter of love." He was not from the City of Flowers he just really liked the culture and a play that was set there so that's why he talked like that.

"His nickname for Yuu was 'trickster' for reasons he never fully explained but I'm sure there were a mountain of them." Vil has a beautiful smile, even as haggard as the man now is it shines through giving Yutu some understanding of why his father was so willing to change dorms and swear some oath of loyalty to him. "He got it into his head it would be 'romantic' to send them secret admirer letter, we had to endure him writing pages of them and opining how his feelings would never be returned-"

"They didn't like him at first?" Yutu can't really picture that and Vil's smile twists in amusement.

"They thought he was odd but I don't think they ever disliked him. You and your brother came from somewhere-" and the rest of what Vil says is drowned in the hum of that last little bit of information as Yutu's world is flipped once again.

Yutu is meant to be a pseudonym, and I did say I wanted his name to be Oliver. And as Vil informs him, with care because Crewel really should have been the one to do so but he understands why he didn't, Yutu has an older brother named Roland, though not by much. The two of them are what Yuu had called "Irish twins." Rook had simply called them beautiful which does give Yutu a bit of a laugh but raises the question of where his brother is. Shouldn't he have been at school? Well no, as Idia decides to cough and remind Yutu he is in fact still in the room (he is being very brave and keeping all of his opinions on Rook to himself) they don't really know what happened to his brother. They know Rook is dead, transformed into a phantom by the Fairest Queen and closing off the Shaftlands hunting down mages with extreme precision, but no one really knows what happened to Roland. Vil is technically the last person to have both seen a living Rook and Roland. "He was depressed about you and your parent disappearing, but very convinced he could find you. Your brother seemed happy too, not that I understood what he was saying on account of him being an infant." No one says the word dead. Vil and Crewel are too depressed to think about it and Idia- well he has some suspicions. He doesn't have evidence yet, but he does (after yelling at Yutu for breaking and entering again) tell him to keep his ears open for a message from him because he might have a job for him.

So Yutu waits. He starts up the school newspaper again, makes some friends finally who are intrigued by the ghost camera and certainly met weirder people, and trains both his body and his magic in the hope he can maybe find a way through his father's defenses. "Into the Woods" is what he names his spell, it allows him briefly to move extremely quickly by becoming a shadow. The more he uses it the more magic it costs, but if he only uses it occasionally he can get away with using very little magic. He's proud of it, certain it will convince Idia he's strong enough to put his father to rest. Instead he's met with a different proposal: he and his friends go back in time to before any of this happened, before his parents were together, before he was even born to stop this future from ever happening.

He does not agree at first. Vil has to to talk him into it, though it is less of a talk and more of a lecture. Yutu does want to see you again, more than anything really, but his father is still a phantom. He has no idea what happened to his older brother, his friends have family too asking them to go back in time when some of them still have people worth fighting for in the here and now. Vil hears all of this of course, but he knows better than anyone how limited the time this version of Twisted Wonderland has. "There here and now cannot exist without the then and was" he's right of course and Yutu admits as much. He promises, much less flamboyantly but with just as much seriousness to create a world in which Vil can achieve his dream and for one small moment he allows himself a smile that would cause a wrinkle. It's like Vil has both of his best friends back, wrapped up into the tiny shining sapling that is their son.

The past is a strange place to Rook! Yutu. He has heard a decent bit about his father, and he likes to think he knows you pretty well but everyone else is just so... weird. Ace and Deuce are almost too normal, Kalim feels like a fairy tale prince, and he is worryingly interested in studying Azul under a microscope. The twins too if he could figure out appropriate caging techniques, everyone here is just so odd. Good thing you have such a normal son like him here to look out for you, he has no idea how you handled this in the original timeline. His shyness does a lot to cover for his eccentricities, though you do pick up on how familiar he is with some of your habits after a while.

He develops a new interest in movies and an enjoyment of watching them with you; neither of you know anything about this world's entertainment industry. It is pretty much dead in the future but hearing how excited Vil got about his work made him interested at least in those movies. The two of you end up taking notes and discussing the various ways the stories would or would not work in your world and Yutu finds himself surprised at how much praise he's getting for his insightful commentary... and that's before a certain someone joins and starts cheering his enthusiasm for Vil's catalogue.

Rook is someone Yutu tried to make a game of avoiding. Not that he did not want to get to know his father, but he was curious about what being a phantom did to his technique. His magic made him best suited to being a scout (bait if he's being realistic) when dealing with his father so he likes to think that he is well practiced at avoiding him but no. He thinks he has given the hunter the slip only to find he's been beaten home as Rook opens the door for him so they can hang out with you together. Rook picked up on this little game fairly quickly and it delighted him. It's similar to how Jade deals with him but with none of the obvious malice.

Rook does not think too much about this habit of Yutu's at first. He tells him that his dedication to his craft is truly beautiful; perhaps teases him a little to keep up the competition but the thought of "there is something slightly sinister about Yutu being here" does not come until he realizes what he feels for you is a bit more significant than normal. Rook, to me anyway as I kick around how to write for him romantically, is someone who does not fall into romantic love particularly easily. Or I suppose to be more specific, the line between platonic and romantic love isn't one he tends to cross over too often because he prefers to dance on it. He's a little bit in love with all of his friends and has no problem telling them as much or acting like he is, and he sort of thought that was the way he would be forever so to find the feelings he has for you spending more and more time across that line- it scares him. He's shy about it, not that you see his behavior as shyness exactly, he's still Rook but there are moments where he isn't as long winded in his praise as he typically would be if he was talking about Vil. It might make you think he hates you when nothing could be further from the truth. He's at risk of saying too much if he does.

There are certain habits Yutu has that once Rook finds himself unable to stop thinking about you start to stick out. Little ticks that suggest the boy knows you, and knows you in a very specific sort of way... but the information is just off enough to suggest that his information is not wrong but out of date. And then there are all the little ways that the boy acts like he did before he discovered Roi de Neige, it's like looking at an alternate timeline version of himself that has traces of you woven into him. And that gives Rook a thought that he knows by instinct must be dangerously close to the truth. So he does the only thing he can think to do: he hunts.

Yutu is pushing his magic to the limit, it hurts Rook to think that he might be the cause but it is clear the precious one has no idea what his signature spell is, otherwise he would know there was no point. But still, Yutu runs closer to the strange blot like clouds, stopping abruptly under what looks like the portal that brought him to this world. Ink drips out of it, dark and familiar as Rook swings down from the treeline to an unsurprised Yutu and readies his pen.

"Do you know what we are fighting, Monsieur Caneton." He tries to be gentle as he speaks, you have told him his voice is soothing and reassuring but still the boy bristles.

"No." He's run himself ragged, Rook would step in front of him on instinct even if he was in fighting shape. Even if it wasn't his fault that Yutu wasn't, surely he wasn't such a failure of a father that he doesn't know that? "You never do until it cracks." Like an actor who knows their cues the sygil breaks with a sickening noise akin to the groans of a dying boar as slick ink plops its delivery onto the ground. It groans, deceptively human before rolling itself up to stand, shaking the ink off its body like it was a nuisance and not vital for its continued existence. Rook readies himself, begins to prepare a spell and swells with pride as Yutu does the same until

"Fuck!" The person spits, away from both of them he notes after the shade. Red. Bright. Oxygenated this isn't a monster at all, it's a human, shaking himself like a dog to rid the ink that's practically soaking himself the whole the way through. "Hey!" he turns rubbing just enough ink out of his face to reveal an eye, familiar in shade and shape as Yutu finally untenses behind him and Rook feels tears begin to well in his eyes. "Dad! What'er you doing dressed all funny, give me a- hand?" A smile, or he thinks it's a smile spreads across the older boy's face when he finally looks past Rook. "Oh thank the seven!" Blob boy tracks ink across the pristine forest floor, everything else forgotten in a rush of genuine excitement that shatters Yutu's entire perception of reality enough to force his exhaustion to the surface.

He hears Roland calling him by his name as he falls.

pt. 2

[mask131]

The gods of Gaul: Introduction, or why it is so hard to find anything

As I announced, I open today a series of post covering what some can call the "Gaulish mythology": the gods and deities of Ancient Gaul. (Personal decision, I will try avoiding using the English adjective "Gaulish" because... I just do not like it. It sounds wrong. In French we have the adjectif "Gaulois" but "Gaulish"... sounds like ghoulish or garrish, no thank you. I'll use "of Gaul", much more poetic)

[EDIT: I have just found out one can use "Gallic" as a legitimate adjective in English and I am so happy because I much prefer this word to "Gaulish", so I'll be using Gallic from now on!]

If you are French, you are bound to have heard of them one way or another. Sure, we got the Greek and Roman gods coming from the South and covering up the land in temples and statues ; and sure we had some Germanic deities walking over the rivers and mountains from the North-East to leave holiday traditions and folk-beliefs... But the oldest gods of France, the true Antiquity of France, was Gaul. And then the Roman Gaul, and that's already where the problems start.

The mythology of Gaul is one of the various branches of the wide group known as Celtic mythology or Celtic gods. When it comes to Celtic deities, the most famous are those of the British Isles, due to being much more preserved (though heavily Christianized) - the gods of Ireland and the Welsh gods are typically the gods every know about when talking about Celtic deities. But there were Celts on the mainland, continental Celts - and Gaul was one of the most important group of continental Celts. So were their gods.

Then... why does nobody know anything about them?

This is what this introduction is about: how hard it actually is to reconstruct the religion of Gaul and understand its gods. Heck we can't ACTUALLY speak of a Gaulish mythology because... we have no myth! We have not preserved any full myth or complete legend from Ancient Gaul. The pantheon of Gaul is the Celtic pantheon we probably know the least about...

Why? A few reasons.

Reason number one, and the most important: We have no record of what the Gauls believed. Or almost none. Because the people of Gaul did not write their religion.

This is the biggest obstacle in the research for the gods of Gaul. It was known that the art of writing was, in the society of Gaul, an elite art that was not for the common folks and used only for very important occasions. The druids were the ones who knew how to read and write, and they kept this prerogative - it was something the upper-class (nobility, rulers) could know, but not always. Writing was considered something powerful, sacred and magical not to be used recklessly or carelessly. As a result, the culture of Gaul was a heavily oral one, and their religion and myths were preserved in an oral fashion. Resulting in a great lack of written sources comng directly from the Gallic tribes... We do have written and engraved fragments, but they are pieces of a puzzle we need to reconstruct. We have votive offerings with prayers and demands inscribed on it - and while they can give us the names of some deities, they don't explain much about them. We have sculptures and visual representations of the deities on pillars and cups and jewels and cauldrons - but they are just visuals and symbols without names. We have calendars - but again, these are just fragments. We have names and images, and we need to make sense out of it all.

To try to find the explanations behind these fragments, comparisons to other Celtic religions and mythologies are of course needed - since they are all branches of a same tree. The same way Germanic mythology can be understood by looking at the Norse one, the same way Etruscan, Greek and Roman mythologies answer each other, the mythology and religion of Gaul has echoes with the Celtic deities of the Isles (though staying quite different from each other). The other comparison needed to put things back into context is reason number 2...

Reason number two: The Romans were there.

Everybody knows that the death of Ancient Gaul was the Roman Empire. Every French student learns the date of Alesia, the battle that symbolized the Roman victory over the Gallic forces. Gaul was conquered by the Romans and became one of the most famous and important provinces of the Roman Empire: it was the Gallo-Roman era.

The Romans were FASCINATED by Gaul. Really. They couldn't stop writing about them, in either admiration or hate. As a result, since we lack direct Gallic sources, most of what we know about Ancient Gaul comes from the Romans. And you can guess why it is a problem. Some records of their religion were written in hatred - after all, they were the barbarian ennemies that Romans were fighting against and needed to dominate. As such, they contain several elements that can be put in doubt (notably numerous references to brutal and violent human sacrifices - real depictions of blood-cults, or exaggeratons and inventions to depict the gods of Gaul as demonic monstrosities?) But even the positive and admirative, or neutral, records are biased because Romans kept comparing the religion of the Gauls to their own, and using the names of Roman deities to designate the gods of Gaul...

Leading to the other big problem when studying the gods of Gaul: the Roman syncretism. The Gallo-Roman era saw a boom in the depictions and representations of the Gallic gods... But in their syncretized form, fused with and assimilated to the Roman gods. As such we have lots of representations and descriptions of the "Jupiter of Gaul", of the "Mercury of Gaul", of the "Gallic Mars" or "Gallic Minerva". But it is extremely hard to identify what was imported Roman elements, what was a pure Gallic element under a Roman name, and what was born of the fusion of Gallic and Roman traditions...

Finally, reason number three: Gaul itself had a very complicated approach to its own gods.

We know there are "pan-gallic" gods, as in gods that were respected and honored by ALL the people of Gaul, forming the cohesion of the nation. But... Gaul wasn't actually a nation. It was very much like the many city-states of Greece: Ancient Gaul was unified by common traditions, a common society, a common religion and a common language... But Gaul was a tribal area divided into tribes, clans and villages, each with their own variations on the laws, each with their own customs and each with their own spin on religion. As a result, while there are a handful of "great gods" common to all the communities of Gaul, there are hundreds and hundreds of local gods that only existed in a specific area or around a specific town ; and given there were also many local twists and spins on the "great gods", it becomes extremely hard to know which divine name is a local deity, a great-common god, a local variation on a deity, or just a common nickname shared by different deities... If you find a local god, it can be indeed a local, unique deity ; or it can be an alternate identity of a shared divine archetype ; or it can be a god we know elsewhere but that goes by a different name here.

To tell you how fragmented Gaul was: Gaul was never a unified nation with one king or ruler. The greatest and largest division you can make identifies three Gauls. Cisalpine Gaul, the Gaul located in Northern Italy, conquered by the Romans in the second century BCE, and thus known as "the Gaul in toga" for being the most Roman of the three. Then there was the "Gaul in breeches" (la Gaule en braies), which borders the Mediterranean sea, spanning between the Alps and the Pyrenean mountains, and which was conquered in the 117 BCE (becoming the province of Narbonne). And finally the "Hairy Gaul", which stayed an independant territory until Cesar conquered it. And the Hairy Gaul itself was divided into three great areas each very different from each other: the Aquitaine Gaul, located south of the Garonne ; the Celtic Gaul located between the Garonne and the Marne (became the Gaul of Lyon after the Roman conquest) ; and finally the Belgian Gaul, located between the Marne and the Rhine. And this all is the largest division you can make, not counting all the smaller clans and tribes in which each area was divided. And all offering just as many local gods or local facets of a god...

And if it wasn't hard enough: given all the sculptures and visuals depictions of the gods of Gaul are very "late" in the context of the history of Gaul... It seems that the gods of Gaul were originally "abstract" or at least not depicted in any concrete form, and that it was only in a late development, shortly before the Roman invasions, that people of Gaul decided to offer engravings and statues to their gods, alternating between humanoid and animal forms.

All of this put together explains why the gods of Gaul are so mysterious today.

[nolovelingers]

NOT TOO CLOSE ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ethan landry !!

⋆ ★ you remember the first night you met. the shared lingered feeling of a message you couldn’t quite decipher, something telling you all signs were red and pointing in the opposite direction; away from him. it’s too bad, you always had a thing for pretty boys. — short blurb !!

cw ᝰ.ᐟ sfw ,, ghostface!ethan ,, mentions of alcohol ,, first meeting ,, fem!reader ,, swearing

PURPOSELY LOWERCASE 🎧 &&. written on iphone , sorry if the formats funky !

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maybe it was the way the lights were strobing, the haze of the chattering college students lost in their own conversations; the smell of cheep booze and the familiar tinge of marijuana finding its way to your nose and leaving you with a twisted knot in your stomach, the effects of the own alcohol you previously consumed somehow contrasting itself by both numbing half your senses and heightening your other ones.

in the eyes of blackmore university, there was never a holiday too small nor an event too hyped to not celebrate in everyone’s own little way; a halloween party suited for what felt like a small village as you navigated the house packed of both familiar and unfamiliar faces, students laughing and socializing their way through their own buzzes.

not ethan.

clinging onto his roommates side, chad almost wanted to be annoyed by the way ethan couldn’t bare to branch himself off and meet new people but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so as a feeling often described as pity clouded his intoxicated senses.

“dude, we gotta get you a girlfriend.” chad joked (but not really), feet firmly planting on the ground next to the curly haired boy who leaned himself on the doorframe in front of the stairs; the two observing the party in their own little world.

chad wanted to meet new faces. ethan did not.

ethan rolled his eyes, clutching his red solo cup closer to him as a look contorted on his face that of annoyance and disgust before quickly letting his features fall flat and conjure a forced one, embarrassment.

“if it’s that much of a bother to you, you can go talk to some girls. ill just stay here.” he mumbled, looking like a child who just got rejected from buying a toy from their parent. deep down in the pits of his twisted heart he hoped chad would opt out of leaving, not wanting to appear like a loser as he stood alone and drank his embarrassment away.

“really? thanks bro, i was hoping to score some digits tonight.” chad smiled gratefully, already trying to turn away and leave the second ethan gave him his own sort of permission.

“what?! come on, dont leave me here by myself. i look stupid.” immediately ethan felt his heart drop of the idea being seen standing alone at a party, and no matter how much he had disdain to his so called ‘friends’, no matter how badly he wished nothing more than to see chads face as he plunged a knife sharp enough to cut through metal like cheese through his body; to see the life leaving his eyes and the wound oozing that beautiful crimson red color ethan couldn’t seem to get enough of, the last thing he wanted was to look awkwarder than he already was perceived to be.

“you just said i could go!” the dark-skinned boy argued, turning back around to face the taller brunette who gave him the most panicked look in return.

“yeah, cause i was hoping youd say no!”

“how does that make any sense?! if you didn’t want me to leave, just say that!”

ethans face turned into a bit of a pouting look as he silently pleaded for the martin boy to stay by his side.

“look, why don’t you just come with me? i don’t understand what you’re so freaked out about.” chad bargained with ethan who in turn immediately shook his head, planting his feet in the position they were in.

“nope, no way. girls are scary!” ethan spoke in a whiny tone, pausing for a moment before bringing his cup up to his lips and taking a swing of the hard hitting beverage, a stinging in his throat lasting for about a minute as he continued conversing with chad.

“and that’s exactly why you’ve never had a girlfriend.” the shorter boy witted back, causing ethans face to quickly form into what looked to be shock and hurt masking the actual feeling of anger he felt. joke or not, ethan was actually a very hot tempered boy who could get offended quite easily; not that anyone knew that.

the martin boy sighed and decided to rest a reassuring hand on the brown eyed boys shoulder, observing his face which was slightly shaded from the cardboard robot helmet he was wearing, probably another reason ethan was hardly getting any female attention. his costume.

“listen man, stand here and mope all you want, the whole part of a party is to meet people and have fun. i get your shy and you got that whole loner gimmick going on but i don’t want that to stop me from getting my chad on! ill be back here to meet up with you in an hour, maybe try meeting someone new, doesnt even have to be a girl at this point. just.. try, okay?”

chad offered ethan a sympathetic look which only made ethan cringe more before he removed his hand from his shoulder and took off to a group of dancing girls, smoothly sliding in and sparking up conversation almost immediately. how ethan envied that.

letting out an internal (and slightly external) groan, ethan brought his cup up to his lips once again and finished the rest of his drink, keeping his eyes trained on chad who was already talking and laughing with a group of students; entirely girls, that ethan shared a class with.

for almost a minute he didn’t move, suffering in silence and shooting a death glare at chad hidden under the dim lighting of the house. honestly? ethan couldn’t wait to kill him.

he felt isolated. watching everyone mingle and dance with their friends, lovers, and even strangers. he had no other solution than to to drink away his embarrassment, he thought, as he turned around to make his way to the kitchen where the alcohol was, taking one step forward and immediately running into someone shorter than him; their own drink splashing all over the both of them, wetting his cardboard chest piece and their outfit too.

“ah shit- fuck, im sorry about that, seriously.” he’s met with a small voice, not quiet but not extremely loud, gentle enough so that if you want to be able to hear it properly you’d have to tune the blasting music out and focus entirely on them.

jesus fucking christ, give me a break already! ethan thought to himself, annoyance brimming through his entire body as he glanced to the now darker and wet spots of his cardboard chestpiece before finally looking down and at the person who bumped into him, a girl.

“accidents happen, don’t worry about it.” he forced out, trying for the death of him not to want to reach out and strangle you right there; his face was met with an awkward half smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. despite his anger, he was able to take the time to notice that your face wasn’t half-bad to look at.

he continued to stare at you for a moment, waiting for you to say something, maybe to apologize again? to stumble out some stupid excuse? pathetically flirt? well, not that he’d really mind that last part if he was being honest. he liked the idea of having a girl liking him, but he was terrible at initiating anything.

“you all good? you’re not gonna malfunction on me or anything?” you joked, the both of you internally cringing just a bit at the awkwardness but it seemed to calm ethan from his current state of mind as he met you with furrowed eyebrows and a unsure smile.

“oh, the costume.” he spoke, mostly to himself, while scratching the back of his head. “think ill be good.”

you nod, the fainted tinge of pink lighting up your cheeks and ethan studies you for a moment longer.

“are you new? i haven’t seen you on campus before.” curiously, the brunette boy watches your face for a reaction, taking note of your every move while under his watch.

“sorta. i mean, if you consider three months to be new. i transferred here a while ago, it’s always been my dream to move to new york so once i saved up some money i chased my dreams.” you explain, and ethan nods, finally allowing a boyish smile to consume his features. for the most part it was forced, continuing to hold up his friendly image.

he doesn’t have to reply before you hop to the next subject, this time you’re asking the question.

“aren’t you chads roommate?”

“yeah, im ethan. ethan landry. nice to meet you..?” he holds his hand out for a handshake, trailing off the edge of his sentence as he waits for you to finish.

“(y/n). nice to meet you, ethan ethan.” you accept the short handshake, gently shaking hands and noticing the unreasonable strength and grip to his hold that didn’t seem the match the innocent, and dare you say weak look written all over his face while making a bad joke about his name from his introduction that still seems to score a smile from him; and ethan couldn’t help but notice the fact he didn’t have to force this one on his face. it came naturally.

“(y/n),” he repeated, as if trying your name out for himself. he smiled a little, that same shy nerdy facade written all over his face. “you got a last name?”

“does it matter?”

“i- guess not?” he looked a bit caught off guard but there was no actual hostility or mystery in your voice, just some sass. you were honestly entertaining.

“so why’re you standing here all alone?” you switch topics again, which ethan took note of. your mind seemed to wonder fast, moving from one thing to the next with no hesitation.

“ah, it’s kinda embarrassing.” the boy admitted, a small warm blush coating his pale complexion as he found himself not wanting to tell you the real reason why. wait- a blush? no, that couldn’t be right. he must just be feeling hot. all the alcohol was effecting him, or something. “i don’t really know a lot of people here, so i was just hanging out with chad till he left me to go talk to some girls.”

“ah, a typical chad move. literally and figuratively.” you nod, feeling yourself start to relax your body language more around the curly haired brunette the longer you were near him.

he chuckled, looking at you with those sweet chocolate brown eyes of his that gave you the most heartwarming feeling. “you’re kinda funny.” he tries to compliment, smiling now, a more natural grin than the ones he offered you originally. though it could be taken as a compliment or an insult, his tone genuinely sounded sincere, like he had no bad intentions. he was just an awkward guy who had no idea how to socialize or talk to the pretty girl in front of him pretty girls.

“i kinda thank you?” you respond, definitely confused on how to take in his comment.

he smiled awkwardly at you and seemed to look as if he was hiding his face as he glanced to the floor. “sorry,” he mumbled, and you felt your heart twinge as he resembled that of a hurt puppy.

“you’re good. i appreciate the sentiment.” reassuring him, he glanced back up at you with a crooked toothless smile, feeling his guard come down all around him. he had no idea why he was feeling this way, or why it felt so easy to talk to you.

there was a moment where silence fell between the two of you, staring deeply into your eyes he looked like he wanted to say something, an internal struggle of conflict in his mind while you simply watched in utter bliss and oblivion to the situation.

“i guess i should get going, i have to find my friend before they run off with some stranger they just met to hook up with. ill see you around though?” you offer him politely, and ethan felt a strange hollowness in his heart at the idea of you leaving him, but he pushed those feelings back and nodded anyway.

you’re about to turn around, start the search for your your friend in the mass of drunken college students, and you make it about five whole feet away before a voice calls your name. ethans voice.

“hey, (y/n)?” you turn around, meeting his eyes again. there’s something in them this time. it’s noticeable now as he locks eyes without you. something a bit sinister about the way he holds your gaze and his stance now looks like he’s taking over the whole room, confident but dark all the same.

“yeah?” you ask. you definitely notice the way his eyes have lost all emotion except one: danger. but this is ethan, ethans a nice boy. it must be the dim lighting and the short yet further distance between the two of you than it previously was.

“don’t get too close to me.” he warns you, and you feel a strange feeling crawl up your spine. the way he looks at you while he says it. the way his tone has completely voided from the sweet voice you were speaking to before and the aura all around him that now screams danger.

you don’t know what to do, unsure of what to say. maybe he was joking, maybe he was drunk, or maybe he really just didn’t want your companionship.

all you can do is awkwardly smile. “ill see you around, ethan.” and with that, you walk away from him, searching the packed house for your friend and forgetting about the short yet easy-going (up until the end) conversation you held with the landry boy.

and though you’ve pushed your interaction to the back of your head, ethans eyes never once leaves the back of yours.

𓂃  ࣪   ˖ 𖦹 a/n :: the most unrealistic part of scream vi is that ethans a virgin

started 08.04.23. finished 08.04.23.

(о´∀`о)

©️nolovelingers 2023

[aerynwrites]

Send Me an Angel - Chapter 1

Halsin x Fem!Angel!Reader

A/N: So so so excited to reveal this little series to you guys! Had this idea and with some wonderful brainstorming help from @thedreamlessnights it is finally coming together! Hope you all enjoy <3

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Reader is described using she/her pronouns in this part, female reader, canon typical gore/injuries, hurt/comfort.

Halsin's POV

The night, as all of them have been since arriving here, is cold.

The Shadow-Cursed Lands are just as he remembers them, if not worse. And, despite having saved Thaniel and reunited him with Oliver, his mind still feels heavy with the burden of this place. 

That’s why he stands here now, at the edge of the protective barrier of Last Light, eyes turned up towards the stars. Here, they are the only things of nature that are not corrupted by the shadows, and perhaps in these times of need, Halsin is silently seeking guidance from the celestial beings. 

He’s been outside for some time, lost in his own thoughts, and is just about to turn back towards the inn when a faint, flashing light in the sky gives him pause.

It looks like a star, at first, shining brighter in the blanket of night, winking at him as he gazes upwards. But as he continues to watch, Halsin realizes that the star is moving - and it’s moving faster as each moment passes. It seems to tumble from the heavens, leaving a trail of starlight in its wake as it travels westward, towards the mountain pass. 

Without much thought, Halsin’s feet carry him in the direction of the falling star, stopping only to grab a torch as he leaves the inn’s protection to head further into the Shadowlands. He tries his best to follow the star, but as it hurtles across the sky and gets closer and closer to the towering trees, he starts to lose sight of it. The only evidence that it makes it to earth are the sudden tremors beneath his feet.

The star has landed. 

Halsin’s heart races in his chest as he travels toward the last place he’d seen it. And for reasons he can’t describe, he can feel something calling to him. A power like he’s never felt before seems to reach out and wrap around him as it pulls him through the decaying landscape. 

Rocks crunch beneath his feet, dead tree branches rustle, and the only other sound he can hear is his own breathing and the blood rushing in his ears. These lands have always given him a sense of unease - a feeling that seems tenfold now as he wanders them alone. 

He walks for much longer than he’d anticipated, and he’s worried for a moment that he has somehow passed by the impact site when an otherworldly glow starts to break through the trees as he crests a small hill. He follows the light, and the feeling tugs at his chest until he reaches the top, his eyes widening as his breath stutters in his chest. 

The crater in the ground is larger than he expected and the sight before him is like nothing he’s ever seen. Dust floats in the air around the site, still unsettled from its misplacement among the earth. An acrid, burnt tang makes Halsin’s nose tingle unpleasantly, the smell settling on his tongue. 

But it’s not these things that bring Halsin pause. No. What makes the old druid stop is what sits in the crater itself–for it is not simply a star he witnessed fall from the sky, but an angel. 

He can see their form, illuminated by the ethereal pale white light they seem to give off, and as he walks closer, torch held high to warn off any shadows who may dare to venture close, he realizes that they are actually a she. 

He’s struck first by her beauty.

It’s nothing as extravagant as he remembers from the tales of fallen angels as a child, where those who looked upon them would be blinded by the otherworldly allure. This angel is in fact beautiful, but in a more natural way. Still striking to Halsin, but perhaps appearing more subdued to others. 

It’s only when he’s at the edge of the crater does Halsin’s mind finally shift from surprise, to utter concern. The acrid smell he first noticed must have come from the way the angel burned as she fell from the sky. He can see now that the great white wings extending from her back are heavily injured, the white feathers majority singed gray and black, and some even falling away from her wings completely. One of the appendages even seems to be bent at an odd angle - broken, if Halsin had to guess from this distance. 

Her person is in much the same condition. Her pearl-white dress is torn, ragged, and stained a dingy gray. Blackened smudges cover most of the skin he is able to see - soot, dirt, and what he assumes must be blood, if the various injuries have anything to say. For a moment, Halsin fears she may not have survived the fall. But as he inches closer, kneeling by her side, he is able to see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. This closeness also reveals another problem. Her breathing is erratic, and each breath comes out with a faint wheeze, as if something is flooding her lungs. 

Before Halsin can truly think, he is already acting. He plants the torch in the ground beside him, moving to gather the angel in his arms. First, he softly tucks the being’s wings behind her back,  careful not to jostle the broken one more than needed. Then, when he is confident that he can gather her into his arms, he does just that. He worries she may wake as he moves her, the pain stirring her from her unconscious state, but she stays under, not so much as twitching as Halsin stands with her gathered to his chest. 

For a moment, as he fully remembers his surroundings, an icy fear clings to him.  How will he traverse the curse with no hand to hold a light source? But when he steps from the crater, he is surprised to find that the pale white glow is emitting from the angel herself. As if protected by pure moonlight.

Haslin hasn’t been sure of much as of late, but he knows deep within his being, that he must save her. 

No matter what it takes. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The walk to camp is uneventful, but Halsin’s arrival with a woman in his arms, is not. 

He hears Astarion scoff before he sees the vampire, the sound echoing across camp. 

“Another one?” Astarion sighs. “I mean, really? The camp is crowded enough already.” 

Halsin, usually one slow to anger or frustration, pulls the angel closer to him as he bites back. “I will not stand by when another creature requires my help, even if you might, Astarion.” 

He doesn’t stay around to listen to the man’s reply, but thinks he hears Astarion mutter something about a bear and claws. 

Halsin makes for his tent, and the only other person to inquire about the being in his arms is Tav. They are kind enough to only ask if he needs anything rather than prying, which Halsin appreciates but declines nonetheless. 

He can’t help the sudden possessiveness that overcomes him, as if this angel is his to protect and his alone. Only Thaniel is by his side when he enters his small, secluded part of camp, the small boy eyeing the creature curiously. 

“An angel?” he asks as Halsin moves to set the woman gently on his bedroll just inside his tent. 

Halsin nods. “I saw her fall from the sky myself,” he says, now fully taking in her injuries. “She has been gravely injured. I only hope I am able to help.” 

Thaniel is quiet for a moment before he crouches beside the Druid and reaches out to run a soft hand along the angel’s wings, careful not to injure her further. 

“She is here for a reason,” he says cryptically, eyes turning up towards Halsin. “You were meant to find her. I can feel it as clearly as if the forest itself is speaking to me.” 

Halsin pauses his work to look at the child, always one to know more than he may appear. 

He knows at a fundamental level that Thaniel’s words are true. Nature does not continue without due cause, it was fate that allowed him to find this angel. 

What he can’t figure out…is why? 

Halsin shakes his head, ridding himself of these thoughts for now as he sends the boy away. He can worry about fate and reasoning later. Right now, he must try to keep her alive. 

Although he is powerful, he has only a limited supply of healing magic, a supply he chooses to use on her internal injuries, those he cannot fix without its aid. 

He focuses his attention inward, drawing on the power he has as he hovers his hands over the angel’s ribs, that familiar yellow glow pulsing from his hands and into her body. 

It takes longer than usual, telling Halsin her injuries must have been worse than he thought. But, after a few moments, her labored breathing eases, no longer a bubbling wheeze but a slow and smooth rhythm. 

The last of his magic, he uses to heal her wing, wincing as it snaps back into place under his hands. Only then does the magic glow ebb away. 

He reaches out to run tender hands along the main structure of her wings, checking for any other abnormalities. He’s just reached the tip of her newly-healed appendage when the woman jerks beneath him, her hand shooting up to grip his wrist with an unnatural strength. 

The cry that falls from his lips is one of surprise more than pain, but he can’t help but be aware of the ache settling deep in his bones as they seem to grind together beneath her supernatural grip. 

He glances down at her face, his lips falling open when he’s met with eyes glowing pure gold, complete power coming off the being in waves. She gasps in pain as she moves, and Halsin watches in complete and utter shock as the light slowly drains from her eyes, the strength in her grip waning as it does so. Only when the regular eyes of a human meet his own does the angel finally speak. 

“Halsin…”

His name is but a whisper from her lips before her eyes roll back and she slumps unconscious onto his bedroll once more. For a moment, Halsin is worried that she has passed on, her form eerily still once again. But the steady rise and fall of her chest assures him she still lives. 

Only when he is sure she still breathes does his mind jump back to what had just occurred. 

How did she know his name?