#a slow and treacherous trudge

[bladeofthestars]

.

[musings-of-miss-j]

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part one: in which you, a genius graduate from the akademiya, are blackmailed recruited by the fatui

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will most likely not be romantic interests)

notes: slowburn. slowburn so slow u have to squint to even see the damn flame, long asf, snarky reader bc i said so, reader has a sprinkle of social anxiety, reader is referred to as 'miss' but no pronouns, mostly fluff and crack, slightly suggestive, blackmail, i just really wanna interact with these self-important pricks making out is honestly optional

please inform me of any pronoun slips!!

status: ongoing, updates every thursday-saturday

series masterlist

word count: 4993

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  

Standing before the not at all imposing entrance of the Fatui Headquarters (even now you vividly remember complaining to Lisa about it as you packed; "Couldn't they have chosen a more creative name?") you began to ever so slightly doubt your choices. Fresh out of the Akademiya and ambitious as any foolish valedictorian, you'd snapped up the offer of  continuing your diploma in Snezhnaya immediately. Or at least that’s what you told yourself rather than acknowledging the thinly-veiled threats in their letters. "It'll look fantastic on my resume," you'd remarked to Alhaitham, that arrogant sod of a professor, over a bottle of wine. He'd scoffed and taken it from you, downing a generous swig, before saying something along the lines of "I certainly think it'll be a relief to have you several hundred miles away from Sumeru, even if you're going to be an insufferable brat about it."

Absolute ass of a man, you thought fondly to yourself as you climbed the stone stairs up to the gates. Snow fell hard and fast and stubborn as Albedo when it came to the superiority of alchemy over all other areas of science, and by the time you'd hauled your luggage to the wrought iron gate your shoulders had a fresh dusting of white powder and the stairs had become really quite treacherous; you lost your footing twice. At the very least, the only witnesses to your humiliation were creatures of the night.

You paused on the top step to catch your breath. A scientific genius you may be, and yet your stamina left much to be desired; and damn was that a ridiculous number of stairs. Every puff of breath crystallised into a swirling cloud in front of you, and you suppressed a shiver as a cold gust of night air wormed through the openings of your coat. Craning your neck to survey the enormous building - perhaps "palace" would be a more accurate descriptor - you felt the full force of the Fatui's power. Which was definitely their goal. Hewn from black stone, most likely imported from Liyue, the tips of the towers disappearing into a clouded sky, the rare breed of albino ivy you'd researched in your second year crawling up every wall and windows with intricate stained glass patterns... Despite your resolute determination to remain unimpressed at most things in life, you had to admit the place was utterly stunning. You could practically hear Kaveh raving about it in your ear, though in your opinion the spikes atop the fences were a tad too much.

After another moment of sizing up the place and feeling very much like you were being watched, you pushed open the enormous gate. Frost from the metal stuck to your gloves, and it swung open with barely a whisper. You silently thanked whatever mechanic had been in charge of that as you stepped into the shadowed courtyard, which was about as welcoming as the stairs; completely deserted. Archons forbid anyone welcome a foreign student, and you trudged across the layer of snow towards the front door with your footsteps made an incredibly satisfying crunch as you walked. You marvelled at the snow for the millionth time since you'd arrived in Snezhnaya. It was hardly common in Sumeru, and while you knew you'd grow tired of it by the time your three-year study was over it was rather pleasant now, glittering and white and covering every surface; the whole country had a lovely consistency because of it. You ridiculous perfectionist, Dehya snickered from the recesses of your mind.

The front door was also enormous (surprise, surprise) and you had to tiptoe to reach the metal knocker. Fashioned to look like a roaring leopard (a snow leopard, you'd wager) it made a very authoritative and disproportionately loud sound when released. Superposition, your brain helpfully supplied as you stood on the doorstep, determined not to let the biting cold get to you. You tightened your gloves and checked the inner pocket of your coat for your identification paperwork and tidy stack of mora, debating the merits of knocking again. The middle of the night wasn't a forgiving time, and the building (headquarters, palace, whatever) was growing less and less interesting the more you had to stare at it. Just as you'd begun glaring at the door and mentally cursing the name of every Fatuus you could think of, it swung open to reveal a luxurious interior. You kicked the snow of your boots before stepping inside, immeasurably grateful for the rush of warmth the crackling fireplace provided. The main hall of the building was every bit as grand as the outside, with a thick, midnight blue rug and stone walls carved into beautiful designs and inlaid with silver. No doubt that it had warming properties.

Mildly apprehensive, you took a step further into the hall. The door, very unhelpfully, slammed shut behind you and much to your chagrin, you jumped a little at the bang. You shot the closed door a glare before setting your bags down and casting another glance throughout the room. Beautiful and empty. Damn it.

The urge to call out was certainly strong, but your voice would definitely echo and bounce off the walls and ridiculously high ceiling. Hardly a graceful way to begin your career with the Fatui. Instead, you tugged off one of your gloves with your teeth and rootled through one of your many pockets for the most recent letter you'd received from them.

Your acceptance of our offer has been duly noted. We expect to see you on the aforementioned date at the Fatui Headquarters with the required paperwork to prove your identity, education and other important information. You will be received upon your arrival by Number Eleven.

May the Tsaritsa reign eternal.

Signed,

Director of the Fatui Harbingers

Pretentious and unhelpful as the first time you'd read it. You pocketed the letter with a sigh and collapsed into one of the armchairs scattered in front of the fireplace. Might as well make yourself at home in the place you’d all but been dragged to. The flames flickered and danced, and in your tired state you were utterly mesmerised. The armchair was so very comfortable, too. You ran your fingers absent-mindedly over the arm and decided it was most likely genuine leather, and busied yourself with trying to decide whether the rug was real fur so you wouldn’t fall asleep. With your luck, ‘Number Eleven’ would never show up and you’d be found like this in the morning. The thought was mortifying enough to make you sit bolt upright and discard your glasses to vigorously rub your eyes, before staring intently at the engravings scrawled across the walls.

Bits and pieces you could recognize as Snezhnayan script, and some others seemed to be vague and artful depictions of the Tsaritsa. A corner of your brain toyed with the idea of meeting her as you continued to survey the room. It was highly unlikely, of course, considering you were offered a research position to continue your diploma and nothing more, but the thought remained intriguing nonetheless. More so still when you considered the possibility of meeting her before the famous Traveller and selling whatever information you found to her at a rather outrageous price. You refrained from snorting aloud as the logical side of your brain tore itself away from trying to decide if the silver inlay of the walls was pure or a compound and very firmly reminded you that you had no business entertaining impossibilities.

With a faint grumble, you pulled out your pocket watch and scowled at its ornate and unwelcome face. Twelve minutes past midnight and the damned ‘Number Eleven’ still hadn’t deemed it fit to appear. You glared at the watch. It was a lovely little trinket, one you had horrifyingly spent all your first-year savings on during your time at the Akademiya; Alhaitham and Tighnari had taken great pleasure in pointing out what an irresponsible decision it had been, while Lisa applauded you for, and you quote, ‘finally letting loose a little and actually doing what you want!’ You stared at your reflection in the watch’s pearly face. You couldn’t help but miss Sumeru and your friends already, even though this was hardly the first time you travelled; Liyue had been a similar experience, but it had been so long ago that the sting was barely there. The watch ticked on, and you refocused to find that another two minutes had passed. You snapped it shut with no small measure of irritation before grabbing your bags and making your way to the staircase; if these Fatui were so bloody behind schedule or unorganised enough to have forgotten that a new recruit was meant to arrive then you certainly didn’t intend to wait until they sorted themselves out.

Ugh, I miss the Akademiya. At least no one was behind schedule there.

The blissful exasperation lasted you all the way to the top of the staircase, and then abruptly fizzled out when you found myself facing two diverging corridors. The thick carpeting muffled the sounds of your footsteps, and the walls here were adorned with veins of silver too. Windows with ornate black framework lined the walls, and a faintly glowing flower that looked reminiscent of the jasmines in Sumeru bloomed from the cracks in the stone. Wind buffeted relentlessly against the windows, howling and whistling and fluttering the flowers’ white petals while you stared down the two corridors and debated which one to take. They were lit with a silvery, almost liquid looking row of lanterns that were blatantly disregarding the laws of physics by floating in mid-air. You shot them a contemptuous glance. Magic was no cheap affair, and who knew how the morally questionable inhabitants of the palace were maintaining their pretty little lights? Your eyes paused on an arched doorway to the right. Servants’ quarters, perhaps? Hauling yourbags back over your shoulder (Jean had been right yet again. You were regretting bringing so many books) you stepped towards the door and knocked as quietly as you could. The noise echoed smugly across the stone walls despite your best efforts, and you glowered resentfully at the door. A scuffling sound came from inside, and the door was thrown open with what you considered an unnecessary amount of force; it seemed like they were out to frazzle your nerves, and you jumped as the wood banged against the wall.

A lanky young man who couldn’t have been much older than you stood in the doorway, dressed in what you assumed was normally a very dapper grey suit that had been reduced to a pitiful array of wrinkles and what you hoped was red wine on the cuff rather than blood. After carefully letting your eyes sweep across the Hydro Vision without any reaction, you looked up and met a pair of unsettling blue eyes rimmed with dark circles that could even rival yours or Layla’s. A sleep deprived and possibly homicidal Vision holder. Joy. And now he’s smirking. The hell is he smirking at?

He continued to stare. Oh. They're... lovely.

“Hello,” you said, adopting what Mona called your “disinterested and politely sarcastic business voice.” He had the audacity to smirk even wider and lean against the doorway, as if you were somehow amusing. Resisting the urge to bristle and whack him in the face, you continued. “I arrived here around”- you took out your watch –“Seventeen minutes ago and I’m rather lost. Could you perhaps help me if you’re familiar with the layout of the building?”

He just stood there, arms folded and eyebrows raised slightly, looking overall much too smug for someone who was wearing a stained suit and clearly hadn’t brushed their hair in several days. Their shockingly ginger hair. He was probably called ‘carrot-top’ as a kid, and you bit back your own smirk at the thought. Your non-existent patience rapidly dwindled, and you wished for invulnerability so you could snap at this smug overgrown brat. It wouldn’t do to offend anyone now no matter how tempting the prospect seemed, that was for sure; even the offer of a position here had seemed more like a threat than anything else and you weren't keen on receiving any legitimate ones now that you’d arrived in Fatui territory.

Several uncomfortable moments passed, with the man looking at you like you were an interesting exhibition in a museum and you looking back with what you hoped was a well-restrained expression completely devoid of Archons I’d love to punch you right now.

“Well then. Thank you for your time, sir,” you said, breaking the silence with a dose of sarcasm that definitely left behind the entire concept of politeness and veered dangerously into ‘you seem to be quite the idiot and you refuse to spend a moment longer in your company’ zones. “I recommend a mint extract to sleep off the hangover,” you added drily with a meaningful glance at the crimson stain on his cuff.

His eyebrows (even they were ginger) rose a fraction of an inch higher, and he laughed. Once again, you resisted the urge to scowl, picking up your bags and preparing to leave this foolish drunkard loitering in the corridor.

“Ah, no, don’t leave,” he said between chuckles, pushing himself off the doorway and stepping closer. He even had the gall to take one of your bags, but at least his voice wasn’t slurring.

“I’m ever so glad you’ve finally deemed this situation worthy of verbal exchange,” you said, still firmly in the Fuck you, asshole tone of voice. It seemed to just further his amusement, and he grinned at you as he hoisted your bag over his shoulder.

“Comrade, don’t be upset,” he replied, still grinning as he closed the little door behind him and gestured at you to follow him down the left corridor. A quick run through of the facts confirmed that following this ginger idiot was likely your best option, and you strode after him. “I was just having a little fun, that’s all.”

“Right, at my expense,” you muttered under your breath, lengthening your stride to keep up with him. The flurries of snow outside the windows became white blurs in the corner of your vision. “May you ask who you are, good sir?”

“No need for the fancy titles,” he said in that same infuriatingly easy-going tone. You’d gotten the impression that he took nothing seriously, and it only solidified the longer you walked with him down this corridor.

“Just call me Childe.” He shot you another one of those cheerful grins over his shoulder as he led you through the palace, which still seemed utterly deserted besides the two of you. Realisation hit as you processed his words.  

“Oh, I see. You’re the ‘Number Eleven’ I’d been waiting for downstairs.”

“Perceptive of you, comrade.” You noted that he hadn’t bothered to ask for your name. Quite likely he already knew who you were, if the Fatui network was as well-informed as you’d heard. “You must forgive my oversight,” he added with a wink, of all things. “I found myself rather… shall we say entangled in some night time affairs.”

The implication wasn’t lost on you, and you carefully kept your face impassive as he watched intently for a reaction. Ah. A court jester is what this fool is.

“I’m certain you won’t repeat it. You seem like a professional,” you replied drily, following him down a narrow flight of stairs.

“I can’t say I can make any promises,” he shot back, smug and cheerful as a bloody- as a bloody Harbinger. At least the sarcasm wasn’t completely lost on him.

You settled for mentally calling him a spineless sod rather than retorting.

“I trust you’re well aware of the reason for my presence here?” you prodded, slipping on an uneven step and hoping he’d trip over his own feet.

“You wound me with your assumptions,” he replied in a mock hurt tone. “It's almost as if you’ve already decided I’m totally useless.”

You refused to dignify that with a response, instead staring at him pointedly until he relented. “Oh, alright, alright.” He sighed, making a wide, dismissive gesture in the air with his gloved hand. “You’re the new lab rat, right?”

“I am stunned by your eloquence,” you muttered. He chuckled, dashing any hopes you’d had that he wouldn’t hear. “But despite your crude description, I suppose it’s apt enough. I am here to continue my studies, yes.” At this point you couldn’t see the merit in continuing to be polite, not after his blatant admission of sleeping around on the job. You resolved not to take him seriously unless you absolutely had to.

“Archons, do all you scholars talk like that?” He remarked absent-mindedly to himself, pausing in front of what looked to be a long stretch of… wall. “Dottore does it too. It's strange.”

You knew ‘Dottore’ as Number Two of the Harbingers, but more primarily as the infamous Akademiya outcast who’d been exiled for the atrocious malpractice in his experiments. Irony of ironies, that you’d spent four years being warned against going down his path and now you were kicking off your career by working with him.

Childe, amidst your pondering, had begun to methodically trace an assortment of Snezhnayan letters within the silver engraving with his finger. They glowed blue, and a cursory glance at his Vision proved that he was using elemental power. Probably to break a seal of some sort. You watched him intently, discreetly noting the order of the letters down in a notebook. It didn’t pay to be uninformed, after all.

As he lifted his finger off the last letter, the wall slid and neatly tucked itself away to reveal what seemed to be a meeting room. A long table ran along the centre, with towering windows displaying the distant mountain. You spared the view a wistful glance; what with the thick clouds and relentless snow, the stars were blocked out entirely, and though the rolling expanse of glittering white was beautiful you knew you’d miss seeing the constellations through the gaps of the rainforest’s leaves.

The room was empty except for a single one of the velvet-cushioned chairs, where a striking woman clad in a jewelled white gown that looked impossible to pull off in this freezing weather lounged. She barely spared Childe a disinterested look before turning her eyes on you, and you were immediately nervous under the crushing weight of her gaze. One half of her face was obscured by an elaborate black mask, and you couldn’t help but feel thankful for it. Even with only one of her eyes trained on you, it still took an effort not to fidget and pick at your clothes or hair, and maintaining eye contact proved harder still.

What is it with the Fatui and uncomfortable silences? you thought desperately as you fought not to look away, the rushing wind, crackling fire and distant howls of wolves pressing against your ears as the silence and the woman’s gaze persisted with unwavering intensity. Childe watched with unbridled delight, clearly amused by the whole affair. Asshat.

Though the quiet smothered the room, you refused to break it. This was clearly an intimidation tactic, and though you had to admit it was rather effective you were even more reluctant to let it show; being the first to speak would be handing this fascinating, fearsome woman a measure of power you wouldn’t be able to take back. And so you met her stare with as much dignity as you could muster, trying not to appear defiant or rude. Which you discovered was a delicate balance that was ridiculously difficult to maintain.

When she spoke, her voice crawled through the gaps in the blanket of silence and lingered in your ears like clinging smoke.

“So. You’re the new recruit, are you?” She was impressed by your composure, not that she was willing to show it.

She crossed one leg over the other, regarding you with curiosity rather than outright hostility. You bit back a sigh of relief and bowed your head ever so slightly. Respectful, but not timid, you told yourself. 

“Yes, ma’am, that’s right. I thank you once again for this opportunity.” 

She pursed her lips, withholding an endeared smile. What a stunning shade of red.

“Hm. You see you’ve met Childe, our Number Eleven,” she remarked, adjusting the red and black cloak on her shoulders. “He’s quite the idiot, don’t you think?”

You swallowed. An elegant trick question; if you agreed you’d be disrespecting one of the Harbingers, but if you denied her claim you’d be throwing in your lot with Childe, a course of action you were determined not to take. This woman was clearly more influential than him either way. He watched you with a grin that was growing annoyingly familiar, as though he was privy to some joke happening at your expense, as though everything existed solely for his entertainment. You’d yet to decide whether he was a sadist or just incredibly immature. 

“I’d prefer not to impart judgement so hastily, ma’am,” you replied with the barest touch of humour. Make it seem like you’re part of the collective joke. “I had the honour of meeting him barely”- you pulled out yourwatch –“Twenty four minutes ago.”

She rewarded you with a dazzling and thoroughly terrifying smile for your careful answer. As clever as their reputation paints them, she thought.

“I see Pierro’s judgement is still sound even though he’s an old bat by now.” This she directed mostly at Childe, and they shared a private chuckle over the matter.

Pierro… their superior, no doubt.

“Welcome, dear,” she said to you, getting up from the chair. Even that action she carried out with flawless elegance, moving towards you as though the air itself could never have the audacity to pose any resistance to her. She stopped barely half a foot away from you, close enough for you to discern the remarkable craftsmanship of her mask, black glass and lace swirling in elaborate patterns and settling over her face like a second skin. She grabbed your chin in her hands, and you felt yourself flush at the scrutiny as she tilted your face towards the faint light of one of the floating lanterns. No doubt she saw your wavering composure, if the smile on her face was any indication.

“I am La Signora, Eighth of the Harbingers.”

Ah, no wonder she’s so self-assured and elegant.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

Her smile widened slightly.

“You’re very meek, dear. It doesn’t pay to be so docile in this line of work, you know.”

You flushed a deeper shade of red. Both Childe and Signora latched onto the change in your demeanour, discreetly revelling in your adorable flustered expression.  It was a calculated statement, crafted to make you question yourself and second-guess your attitude. The Eighth Harbinger was clearly a puppeteer, pulling strings and jerking limbs with her seemingly harmless words, and it irked you to think that this striking, frightening woman would try to make you dance for her. You could feel Childe’s gaze boring into the side of your face as well as La Signora’s, and the retort on the tip of your tongue escaped before you could stop yourself. 

“Does that mean we’re on a first name basis?”

Childe laughed, and you glimpsed him folding his long limbs into one of the chairs by the fire to watch the situation unfold. La Signora herself raised a perfect eyebrow and let her hand drop from your chin, surveying you thoughtfully. You were seized by the bizarre urge to cover up even though you were fully clothed.

“Ah,” she said softly. “You have quite the tongue on you after all, little one. Perhaps you shouldn’t bite it so often, hm? I’d hate to see your teeth be stained with blood.” Your poise certainly impressed them both, but your cutting wit was simply delightful.

Oh, she’s good, you thought.

You offered her a smile tinged with irony. “Of course, ma’am.”

Seeming to grow bored of swatting at your nerves with her perfectly manicured claws, she turned to Childe.

“Show the young recruit to their quarters, Eleventh. Without dallying,” she added with a meaningful glance between you. You would’ve been indignant at her insinuation if you weren't in a daze from her piercing questions and barbed remarks. She swept past you, trailing her cloak behind her, perfume lingering even as she disappeared from the room. Dark and smoky.

 You breathed a sigh of relief as her footsteps faded, and Childe turned his attention back to you from where he was sprawled in the chair. It must be a bother, having such long limbs that need to be arranged like that just to fit in a normal chair.

“You’re part of the family proper, now,” he told you cheerfully, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Mama Signora put you through the wringer and you survived. Really, congratulations are in order, Trixy.”

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“That isn’t my name,” you pointed out, taking off your glasses to rub your eyes. Exhaustion from the journey and the Harbingers was starting to rapidly set in, and you longed for a bed. And for Lisa and Dehya and Sucrose and Mona with a bottle of wine so you could complain about the situation to them.

“Well, you’re one of us now,” he replied, rising from the chair in a single, fluid motion that was oddly alien. “You need a code name!”

Archons alive, is he trying to get me to argue with him? Probably.

“Before we address your entitlement for thinking you can choose a name for me, code or otherwise, let’s discuss the fact that I’m not a Harbinger, shall we?” You leaned your back against the wall, replacing your glasses so you could shoot him a pointed look. He just grinned smugly in return, his eyes crinkling with the secret little joke he had with himself. You really were so sharp, he thought. Like the edge of a blade he longed to wield. 

“Says who?” He countered, winking. You raised your eyebrows, unimpressed at his attempt to throw you off.

“Show me to the quarters, would you?”

“Look at you, bossing me around even though you’re ‘not a Harbinger’! Don’t forget, Trixy, even if you do become one you’ll still outrank you by a mile.”

“I'm quite certain you could usurp you with relative ease,” you countered, enjoying the back and forth despite yourself. “You’re only Number Eleven, after all. And don’t call me that. It sounds like a juvenile nickname.”

He chuckled, making his way back to the door. Or the sliding wall, you suppose.

“I thought it was pretty fitting. You definitely have more tricks up your sleeve than you let on, charming Signora like that.”

You frowned, contemplating the exchange you’d had with her as you followed him out, dragging your bag while he carried the other.

“I hardly think that qualified as charming even by the most dubious of standards.”

He turned back to face and grabbed your bag, hoisting it over his shoulder with an ease that left you apprehensive. Clearly he had the raw physical strength to boast of.  He continued up the stairs, seemingly unencumbered by your atrocious luggage and you took two steps at a time to keep up with him and his unfairly long legs.

“Ah, you just don’t know her well enough to judge. Trust me, she was pretty impressed.”

“I’m afraid you lost my attention the moment you told me to trust you.”

“Come on, Trixy!” He shot the grin you were coming to think of as his trademark, wide and boisterous and faintly insincere, but good-natured nonetheless. “You can’t hate me forever, you know. You’re gonna be here for a while, and you’ll find yourself liking me eventually.” 

“Ah, yes. Stockholm Syndrome,” you deadpanned, hurrying up the last flight of stairs and onto an unfamiliar landing, nearly bumping into his back. He just laughed and walked onwards down the long corridor.He’d win you over, eventually. He led you past rows and rows of identical doors, each one numbered in silver and outlined with what you presumed to be protective spells and then stopped in front of number twenty five.

A good, solid number, you thought to yourself with an air of satisfaction, stepping into the room after him. He dumped your bags unceremoniously onto the rug in front of the fireplace (you prayed the protection charm Xiao had given you would prevent your glassware from shattering) and with one final smirk and a sing-song “Nighty night, Trixy” Childe tossed you the key to the room and disappeared.

The room – your room – radiated comfort. From the blankets piled onto the bed to the glowing jasmines flowering along the cracks of the window to the buttery leather armchair by the fireplace, the whole place was lovely. Too lovely, in fact, for a mere recruit, and suspicion reared its head. The room had been Childe’s, unbeknownst to you. and he sneakily made you its new tenant. You checked beneath the rug and the wonderful, sturdy desk by the window, and poked along the top edges of the bookcase and shook out the blankets, but nothing seemed out of order. Which only served to further your suspicion, though you didn’t have any clue what could be hidden. A bomb? Ridiculous, the Fatui wouldn’t risk damaging their headquarters to eliminate someone with no power. A kamera? impossible to hide unless it’s on the walls or ceiling. You decided you didn’t care very much. The likelihood of assassination was incredibly low, you reasoned as you stripped off your coat and settled into the bed, wrapping the blankets tightly around yourself to stave off the cold.

You estimate that you fell asleep less than two minutes later.

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Serial.

Pairing: Yandere!Killer!Childe x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 1.8k.

TW: Non/Con, Oral Sex, Threats of Physical Harm, Implied Murder/Violence, Implied Stalking, Implied Kidnapping.

In hindsight, your first mistake has probably been agreeing to stay at an isolated, decrepit cabin in the woods – so lonely and so far out, no one could possibly hear to scream.

Your second, in close succession, had been letting one of your sober-ish friend take your keys halfway through the night and hide them somewhere you couldn’t even begin to imagine. It’d seemed like a good idea at the time, a safety measure to make sure you wouldn’t end up driving off of a cliffside or into the nearest lake because your beer-addled brain refused to remember just how treacherous those mountain roads had been on your way up, but now, despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but wish you’d held onto them a little tighter. This would’ve been a lot less scary, if you knew you were able to get away.

Your third and, unfortunately, your most severe, was that you’d decided to hide on the second floor, rather than staying on the first. You definitely still would’ve died, but he'd probably put you out of your misery a lot sooner.

He – you were pretty sure the intruder was a ‘he’. His hair was cropped short, and you could still hear his voice through the well-worn floorboards; deep, slightly raspy, only occasionally rising above the wordless screams and thick, wet sound of metal biting into flesh. He was wearing a mask, too, something rough and rusty that looked like it’d been carved out of a bleeding oak earlier that night, but you hadn’t gotten close enough to try and guess what he looked like underneath it. You hoped you never would, but that didn’t seem very likely.

The slaughter downstairs fell silent, and you held your breath, listening for footsteps, or voices, or anything that’d let you know where he was, what he was doing, who he was going after next. From your position on the second floor, laid flat under the bed in the cabin’s master bedroom, you could hear someone trudging up the ancient, creaking stairs, throwing open doors as they started down the only hallway. After long, painstaking seconds, a pair of boots came into your limited view, the leather worn and the soles soaked in blood. You had to bite your tongue to keep from whimpering, but you managed to swallow you panic, to keep your heart in your chest as he made a slow trek around the cramped space, circling the bed like some awful, lurking predator. You heard him hum, click his tongue, and you watched as he started back towards the door, preparing to stalk for his next victim. Relief came in stutter waves, even if you knew it wasn’t really deserved, just yet. The sooner he left, the sooner you could find your keys, and the sooner you could find your keys, the sooner you'd be able to get off of this goddamn mounta—

A hand wrapped around your ankle, dragging you backward in a single fluid movement. You scrambled to kick, to push yourself up, but the intruder only tightened his grip, only stabbed something into the space between your throat and your shoulder – missing the side of your neck by a hair’s width. A machete, when you found the will to glance to your side. You could still see specks of red on the blade.

You stopped moving, instantly. The intruder laughed, and you couldn’t help but wish that he’d aimed for something other than the floorboards.

“See? It’s not that hard to play nice.” He let go of your ankle, but your freedom was short-lived. A second later, you felt the heel of his palm pressing into the small of your back, lingering for a second before falling to your waist, his grip simultaneously painfully tight and not painful enough. “I’ve been looking for you all night. Ditching your friends, hiding up here… It’s hard not to feel like you’ve been avoiding me.”

You didn’t answer. Anything you might’ve said got caught in your throat as he turned you onto your back, forcing you to face him. He was crouching above you, his posture slack and his mask pulled upward – leaving his mouth exposed. You were right about the color, but it looked older than you remembered, the featureless face littered in shallow nicks and deep, ragged scratches. Two curling antlers sprouted from either side, making him appear even taller than he already was. Making him feel like some terrible, unnatural thing, even when half his face was clearly visible.

“I’m usually a lot cleaner than this,” He went on, too nonchalantly for you not to feel a little startled. “I know saying that doesn’t mean much, but you’ll have to take my word for it. I’ll watch the house for a while, help myself to some of your supplies, pick off your little friends when they wander off – easy stuff, y’know? Things get complicated when you make them complicated, so I try to keep it simple.” He paused, let his head lilt to the side. “You should be flattered. I really don’t like rushing, but I didn’t want to wait around for you.”

He smiled, and you felt something drop in your chest. After a long, drawn-out moment, you realized he expected a response, and forced yourself to spit something out. “…are you going to kill me?”

There was a squeeze to your hip, a breathy chuckle. “Do you think you can do something for me, sweetheart?”

Something in your mind short-circuited. “What?”

He didn’t give you a chance to reply. Taking the collar of your top in a clenched fist, he hauled you to your feet. There was a moment of stillness, of evaluation as you felt his gaze rake over you, and then, he spoke. “Get on your knees.”

“It’s not that hard.” With a kind of sharp, jolting shove, he pushed you onto your knees. The collision brought tears to your eyes, but your didn’t have time to cry out before he called your attention elsewhere – to the hand falling to his belt, edging his ragged jeans down just far enough to reveal his flushed, leaking, disgustingly hard cock. “I just need you to help me out. We can talk about what comes next after you’re done.”

You felt something shift in your chest. His cock was in his hand, now, and he was staring down at you, his lips twisted into a loose grin. You wanted to refuse. You wanted to scream. You wanted to run, but your friends tried to run, and you’d had to listen to what happened to them.

Instead, you asked, “If I do this, you'll let me go?”

His grin widened. “Something like that, yeah.”

You let yourself swallow and take a slow, agonizing breath.

Then, you got to work.

The machete hadn’t been his only weapon. There was an unused crossbow slung over his shoulder, a hunting knife strapped to his thigh – the latter of which you were careful to avoid as you leaned forward, letting him trace his leaking head over your lips. Other than the mask, he was dressed almost too normally; a grey flannel hung over jeans and a black tank top, all torn to shred and covered in gore.  He smelled like dirt and cooper, but you tried to pretend you didn’t know why as you took his cock into your mouth, bringing your hands up to his thighs as you struggling to take as much of him as you could. As disturbing as it was, a part of you was glad he was already hard. It made it easier to fall into a steady rhythm, to stop thinking about what you were doing and focus on getting it over with as quickly as possible. It made it easier to find a steady pace, to tell yourself this would take a few minutes (or a few less, if you were lucky), and then you’d be free. You’d be safe.

And then, you felt his hand on the back of your neck, smearing something warm and thick against your skin as he pulled you towards him, laughing as you fought not to choke. “Don’t be shy,” He muttered, his voice heavier than it’d been, earlier. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve thought he was trying to be intimate. “As soon as I saw you and all your stupid friends come into my forest, I knew I had to get those doe-eyes on me. It was this, or carve them out bring them home, and…” He trailed off, let out an airy moan. You felt his cock twitch against your tongue, and you did what you could not to gag. “I think you like this option better, right?”

You forced yourself to nod, to relax as he held you still and thrust into your mouth – every little movement accompanied by another sound, another grunt or groan or whine. He was vocal in a way that made it impossible to block him out, to think about anything but the warmth radiating off of him and the taste of his pre-cum and the way he was still staring at you, his gaze piercing through the wood of his mask. You almost wished he wasn’t wearing it, but it was a half-hearted hope, more than a little spiteful and admittedly misguided. You weren’t sure if being able to put a face to a man with so much blood on his hands would be anymore comforting than looking at a monster.

“Just—Fuck, just like that.” His pace faltered. His fingertips bit into your neck, the head of his cock hit the back of your throat, and out of reflex, you jerked back, shoved at his thighs, did whatever you could to get away from him. It took nothing for him to pin you down, though, to keep your chest pressed into his legs and your nose against his pelvis as he reached his climax - his cum soon flowing down your throat and dripping from the corner of your lips when he failed to let you pull away. Even when he finished, when he let go of you, it was all you could do to fall back, to cough into your hands as he stood above you, tucking himself back into his pants with as little ceremony as possible. You watched through your eyelashes as he ran a hand through his hair, as he finally removed that fucking mask. You could only be glad it was gone, even if the dead blue eyes that took its place weren’t much better.

“I don’t—” You started, but your voice failed. It felt wrong to talk to him. It felt wrong to do anything but scream. “Can I—”

“Childe.” Calm, creeping, almost sweet. It might’ve been, if you could still taste anything but bitterness. “You can call me Childe, if you want to be so formal.”

“Childe,” You’d call him anything you had to, if it meant you could get out of here.  “Can I… Can I leave, now?”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ve been waiting for you to ask.” He kneeled in front of you, cupping your cheek. You’d been right.

His real eyes were so, so much worse than his mask.

“It’s about time I get you home.”

[inexplicifics]

💛 for either Geraskier or Eskel/Geralt?

Each year, Eskel trudges up the long steep trail to Kaer Morhen. Some years, there is a heavily-laden horse at his heels; some years, he carries his own packs and drags a dog-cart of supplies. Some years it’s snowing; other years, the fallen leaves are slick and treacherous beneath his boots. Some years he is so weary and gaunt that the Trail nearly defeats him. Some years he has the strength to help a weaker brother along the way.

Each year thus far, he’s made it to the top, to the great iron-bound gates and the roughly cobbled courtyard of the keep. Each year, he stables his horse if he has one and brings his supplies down to the cellars, empties the filthy clothing from his pack into the big communal laundry baskets and sets the alchemical supplies he’s brought neatly onto the shelves of the storage room near the labs. Each year, he draws himself a bath in the low-ceilinged, damp cavern down beneath the kitchen, and dumps Igni-warmed water over his head until it runs clear before he sits down in the tub and soaks his aches away. Each year, he ladles himself a bowl of stew from the pot kept always boiling at the back of the hearth, and eats his fill. Each year, he makes his slow way up the winding stairs to the familiar furs of his bed, and collapses into it with immense relief.

And it’s good, always, to be clean and well-fed and safe and comfortable, to know that for a few months he will not have to worry about where his next meal will come from or whether the next contract will be his death.

But it’s not home, not yet.

Not until Geralt comes slogging up the Trail - he always comes back late, after everyone else has already been back in the keep for days - and through the creaky ancient gates. Not until Geralt’s much-mended clothing is in the hamper waiting for whichever poor bastard has laundry duty that week. Not until Geralt has eaten a bowl or three of stew, enough to put a little color in his cheeks.

Not until Geralt is safe in the big bed they share, nestled down in the furs and blankets with Eskel stretched out on top of him, his arms wound around Eskel’s shoulders and his lips chapped and thin and perfect under Eskel’s own.

Then, and only then, is Eskel home.

(Or here on AO3!)

[yeolsaintlaurent]

Nocturnal Reverie  [PCY] ch.1

pairing - chanyeol x fem reader

genre - mature, smut, angst

themes - power imbalance, romance, crime, justice, class divide, politics, sex

synopsis - In the sprawling, dystopian city of Emberhaven, where power and corruption reign supreme, the lives of two unlikely individuals collide in a tale of passion, intrigue, and moral reckoning. Chanyeol, an enigmatic and wealthy scion of the city's elite, finds himself captivated by the elusive Y/N, a cunning and resourceful thief who navigates the treacherous underworld of Emberhaven. Their first encounter, sparked by a chance meeting in a luxurious club called The Velvet Lounge, sets the stage for a whirlwind romance amidst a backdrop of crime, politics, and danger.

warnings - none for this chapter

A/N - This is my first ever chapter from the series titled 'Nocturnal Reverie'. As the summary suggests, I wanted this story to be a commentary. Also a chance for me to write Chanyeol as this dark, mysterious hot dude who wants to change the world he was born into. Although his past should have molded him in a certain way (haha no spoilers), he develops a conscience and wants to be better and do better - which ultimately puts him on a path of justice. And what happens when he comes across a woman who he falls for, and who may or may not (again, no spoilers) bring up ghosts of his past. Has fate brought them together to team up? or will they be forced by circumstance and some harsh truths to fall apart. Who ends up pointing the gun at whom. Read on to find out. I'm not sure how many chapters this series will end up being (right now I've finished 5), but than you for joining me on this journey. If you love what you are reading - make sure to let me know!! Any and all feedback is appreciated.

Chapter 1: City of Shadows

In the heart of a city where dreams went to die, the sun's feeble attempts to pierce the persistent cloud cover were met with indifference. This place, known only as "Emberhaven" by its denizens, wore an air of perpetual twilight, as if the very sun had abandoned it.

The city sprawled, a tapestry of stark contrasts painted in muted shades of despair and dimmed hopes. It was a city where life unfolded in a slow, monotonous cadence during the day, as the weary residents trudged to their day jobs, shoulders slumped under the weight of mundane existence.

But when night descended, a transformation took place. The city's forgotten corners came alive with a vibrancy that defied the daylight's gloom. Neon signs flickered to life, casting a garish kaleidoscope of colors on the cracked pavements. Laughter, tinged with desperation, echoed through narrow alleyways as the nightlife claimed its dominion.

The city's inhabitants were a motley crew, each trying to navigate the treacherous terrain of their existence. The underclass, beaten down by the grind of their daily routines, had become intimately acquainted with the seedy underbelly of survival. For some, desperation had led them down the path of petty crime, a means of putting food on the table when honest labor fell short.

Yet, even amid the decay and darkness, a semblance of hope flickered. The city's denizens were not without their aspirations. In the face of adversity, they clung to dreams of better days, a glimmer of light in their otherwise shadowed lives.

The stark contrast between these lives of quiet despair and the city's high society was never more evident than within the boundaries of "The Velvet Lounge." This establishment, located somewhere in the city's heart, was a refuge and a revelry ground, a place where boundaries blurred and masks were donned.

At first glance, The Velvet Lounge was an unassuming venue, its entrance concealed within the jagged contours of the city's architecture. Passersby, oblivious to its existence, would never guess at the decadent world concealed within its depths.

Once inside, the ambiance was a paradox, an intricate dance between past and present, grunge and elegance. Smoke hung heavy in the air, creating a haze that cloaked the patrons in an air of anonymity. The murmurs of conversations blended with the haunting strains of blues music, filling the space with an eerie, almost mournful, melody.

The club was a haven for the city's weary souls, a place where the weight of their daily burdens could be momentarily shed. In the dimly lit corners, lost souls sought solace in the bottom of their glasses, their laughter mingling with the intoxicating rhythm of the music.

Here, the city's criminals mingled with the disillusioned working class, and the wealthy elite sought refuge from the hollowness of their opulent lives. It was a tapestry woven from threads of desperation and desire, a microcosm of the city's essence.

Chanyeol, a figure marked by piercing sparkling eyes and a physique sculpted through years of turmoil and work, entered the establishment as he had done countless times before. His hair was black matching his eyes and perfectly styled. His steps were measured, deliberate, as he ventured into the murky depths of The Velvet Lounge. In this shadowed sanctuary, he found respite from the relentless echoes of his father's criminal legacy, seeking a penance that eluded his grasp.

Chanyeol made his way to the bar, a realm presided over by Suho, the bartender known for his charm and the uncanny ability to discern a patron's desires with a mere glance. Conversation with Suho, as was the custom at The Velvet Lounge, was cursory and devoid of personal details. No one shared their real names within these walls, a precautionary measure born from the city's unforgiving underbelly.

As Chanyeol ordered a bourbon, his gaze roved over the eclectic assembly of patrons. The Velvet Lounge was a refuge, but it was also a theater of stories waiting to be told. Faces bore the weight of their personal histories, each wrinkle and scar a testament to the battles fought in the shadows.

Y/N, with her striking orange hair that seemed to blaze with an inner fire, made her entrance with a quiet confidence that commanded attention. She slipped into the establishment, a delicate storm in stiletto heels, her presence noted by the regulars who recognized her unique allure.

Tonight was different for her. Tonight, her target was not just any unsuspecting mark at the bar; tonight, her focus was drawn to Chanyeol. He stood out among the crowd, his build, his personable facial features and an allure that beckoned her with an irresistible pull.

With deliberate grace, Y/N approached the bar, her steps echoing the seductive rhythm of her high heels.

Chanyeol, absorbed in the haunting strains of a blues guitarist on the stage, seemed momentarily oblivious to the world around him. The glass in his hand remained untouched, forgotten as he surrendered to the melancholic embrace of the music.

Y/N, however, was anything but oblivious. Her gaze, like twin flames, fixated on the stranger beside her. She cast a sidelong glance, her eyes a bewitching blend of curiosity and mischief.

With a voice like smoky silk, she purred, "You seem lost in the music, handsome. Mind if I join you?"

Chanyeol turned to her, his piercing gaze locking onto her striking hair and the lure in her eyes. For a moment, the world outside The Velvet Lounge ceased to exist. He felt an inexplicable connection, a pull toward this woman who had entered his life like a tempestuous storm.

A wry smile graced his lips as he replied, "Lost is an understatement, but you're more than welcome to share the chaos."

Their conversation flowed with a natural ease, as if their words had been rehearsed in the cosmos itself.

As the night wore on and the blues guitar serenaded the lost souls, Y/N found herself drawn deeper into conversation with Chanyeol. Her voice was a seductive melody, her words carefully chosen to weave a web of intrigue around him.

"You know," she purred, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass, "this city can be a lonely place. But sometimes, when two lost souls cross paths, they find something they didn't know they were looking for."

Chanyeol's gaze remained fixed on her, his eyes locked onto hers as if under a spell. The music, the dimly lit surroundings, and the woman before him held him in a trance.

He chuckled softly, the sound laced with a hint of melancholy. "You're right," he admitted, his voice low and tinged with vulnerability. "Loneliness has a way of making the world feel a lot colder."

As Y/N leaned in closer, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his expensive trench coat, she continued to sweet talk him, her words dripping like honey. She had almost reached her mark, her fingers inching toward his wallet, when his focus suddenly shifted.

The blues guitarist on the stage had launched into a soulful solo, the haunting notes echoing through the dimly lit space. Chanyeol's eyes drifted toward the source of the music, his expression one of rapt absorption. He had his eyes closed and had a mildly scrunched expression on his face as if he was embodying the lyrics and the instrumental of the music.

Unbeknownst to him, the glass in his hand had been refilled more times than he realized. The bourbon flowed freely, blurring the edges of his consciousness. Y/N, sensing her cue, extended her delicate fingers toward his coat pocket, her touch feather-light.

But just as her fingers grazed the wallet, Suho, with an uncanny awareness of his patrons, intervened. With a subtle nod and a discreet gesture, he alerted Chanyeol to the imminent danger.

Chanyeol's hazy gaze shifted from the guitarist to the bartender, and then to Y/N. The realization washed over him like a sobering wave. He caught her in the act, her hand poised to pluck his wallet from his coat.

A flicker of surprise crossed Y/N's face as she met his gaze, but she quickly masked it with a sly smile. "Caught me," she murmured, her voice teasing as she withdrew her hand.

Chanyeol, now more alert, couldn't help but be intrigued by the audacity of this woman. He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. "Well, you certainly know how to make things interesting."

Suho, observing the exchange from behind the bar, couldn't resist a knowing smile. In The Velvet Lounge, where secrets were currency and connections were forged in the shadows, this encounter between Chanyeol and Y/N was just the beginning of a story that promised to unfold in the embrace of the city's night.

Y/N, quick on her feet and undeterred by being caught, decided to make her exit gracefully. With a sly grin, she tilted her glass just enough to spill its contents onto the bar, the liquid cascading toward a lit candle. The sudden sizzle and burst of flames seized the attention of both the men, their gazes snapping toward the unexpected commotion.

Candlelight danced wildly, casting flickering shadows upon their faces, and for a fleeting moment, Y/N became a ghostly silhouette in the chaos. Taking advantage of the distraction, she slipped away, her figure blending seamlessly into the dimly lit surroundings.

Chanyeol's hand moved instinctively to smother the small fire, but his eyes scanned the room, searching for the fiery-haired woman who had slipped through his fingers. She had vanished into the night, leaving behind only a trail of intrigue.

Suho approached Chanyeol with a knowing look. "She's quite the character, that one," he remarked, his voice laced with amusement.

Chanyeol, still captivated by the memory of their brief encounter, couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, bro," he replied, his tone thoughtful. "I have a feeling I’m going to see her again.."

Suho raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. "You seem rather taken with her," he observed.

Chanyeol's gaze remained fixed on the spot where Y/N had vanished, his thoughts a maelstrom of intrigue and longing. "There's something about her," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He wasn’t ready to admit it, no not yet, but he wanted to see her again, maybe peel back all the layers and get to know her. The real her, who he had a sense of, may not be all that different from him. 

And so, in the embrace of the city's night, the chapter closed, leaving behind the echoes of blues music, the flicker of candlelight, and the lingering hope of a chance encounter between two souls destined to be entwined in the tapestry of the city's secrets.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 1/5

Book Blurb: Ninth House meets A Deadly Education in this gorgeous dark academia fantasy following a teen mage who must unravel the truth behind the secret society that may have been involved in her classmates’ deaths.

Emory might be a student at the prestigious Aldryn College for Lunar Magics, but her healing abilities have always been mediocre at best—until a treacherous night in the Dovermere sea caves leaves a group of her classmates dead and her as the only survivor. Now Emory is plagued by strange, impossible powers that no healer should possess.

Powers that would ruin her life if the wrong person were to discover them.

To gain control of these new abilities, Emory enlists the help of the school’s most reclusive student, Baz—a boy already well-versed in the deadly nature of darker magic, whose sister happened to be one of the drowned students and Emory’s best friend. Determined to find the truth behind the drownings and the cult-like secret society she’s convinced her classmates were involved in, Emory is faced with even more questions when the supposedly drowned students start washing ashore—alive—only for them each immediately to die horrible, magical deaths.

And Emory is not the only one seeking answers. When her new magic captures the society’s attention, she finds herself drawn into their world of privilege and power, all while wondering if the truth she’s searching for might lead her right back to Dovermere…to face the fate she was never meant to escape.

Review:

In a world where people are gifted with different types of magics that correlate with the tides/moon phase, a teen mage must unravel the secret behind the death of her former friend and the secret society that she was caught up in. Emory is a student at the prestigious Aldryn College for Lunar magics, yet her healing magic is mediocare at best. Yet what happened to her the previous summer haunts her, what happened when she stumbles in on her ex best friend and a group of the most talented students committing a ritual that results in everyone dying but Emory.... she can't remember what happened or why and she'll do anything to figure it out. The only problem is that her own magic has changed since that incident and now she is discovering she has forbidden magic and that the only person to help her is the school's most reclusive student and her former best friend's brother. As Emory seeks answers she'll find herself drawn into the secret society and a world of privelege and power. Unfortunately for me this book fell completely flat after the 30% mark. I tried and tried to make this book work but I was completely bored and it was such a trudge to make it to the end. This book was SLOW and so long for no reason whatsoever. It's the first book in the series and I am not interested in continuing it at all. Emory is so annoying and there is literally NO chemistry between any of the characters. The mystery itself was boring and I really wish it wasn't. This book was advertised as Ninth House meets A Deadly Education, two book series that I absolutely adore and yet this one completely missed the mark in all cases. The characters weren't interesting, the mystery felt lacking, the pacing was clunky and slow, and honestly this kind of felt like a mess. I pushed myself to finish this books in hopes that it would get better, yet it didn't. Maybe it's a case of "its me not you" but for a book that features a magical school, murder mystery, and some romance, it should have been perfect for me yet it just wasn't. If you enjoy super slow magical school mystery stories then give this a go, maybe it'll work for you.

*Thanks Netgalley and Simon and Schuster Children's Publishing, Margaret K. McElderry Books for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[gentle-oddity]

The Path

For many years I walked the plain path.

I knew not beauty,

And I trusted those who walked beside me,

Leading me by voice,

Advising me to never remove my blinders,

For the forest to either side

was like a siren,

Singing a song of death

I would never have the strength to resist.

For I was weak,

And in my early years I never waivered.

Though I tread on nails,

I told myself they were

naught but pebbles.

For who was I to cry out

When no one else did?

If others found only joy in the path,

Then the pain must be of my own doing.

Right?

And so the years passed.

As my vision grew narrower still,

My feet grew calloused,

And while my path grew ever steeper

My peers could never be heard to even stumble.

But as the pain grew,

So did my mind.

Surely, a voice as benevolent as my guide would never provide pain without reward.

So I asked of it.

After it had finished berating me for my lack of faith it told me that the pain would become pleasure,

The thorny path a road of silk,

If only I gave up my will.

So with renewed faith, I trudged on.

I bit my tongue when I yearned to cry out in pain,

I clenched my teeth when the path grew ever steeper.

And when the challenge grew too much,

I cried out for mercy and aid.

For many nights I cried out, and for many days I made slow, agonizing progress.

For no answer ever revealed itself,

No higher power heard my plea.

And when I reached the summit,

I thought myself strong.

I removed my blinders, 

Reveling in the view.

To my left, a glittering ocean.

Ahead of me, a forest of breathtaking beauty.

But there was something wrong.

Though the forest was enchanting,

No song emanated from it,

Luring me to my death.

No sound at all existed upon that isolated peak,

None except for that still, small voice.

I looked to my right and beheld not the wisened elder I had come to expect,

But a shriveled creature,

An abomination feeding from my life force.

I threw the accursed thing off the peak,

Surprised at the strength I was told I couldn't possess. 

I looked back and saw the path I had walked, 

A treacherous thing leading to a peak higher than many.

And as feeling returned to my body for the first time,

I felt a new sensation.

I took a running start,

I leapt,

And I flew.

And as I marveled at the view of an eagle,

I beheld myself for the first time.

To my surprise, I was clothed not in the rags I had thought I deserved, 

But silken robes I now knew myself to be worthy of.

Robes we all are worthy of, by mere virtue of being the beautiful peoples of the earth.

Now I spend my days reveling in the beauty of each and every creature,

and my nights in the comforting arms of that vast forest. 

For that place of love and beauty was cultivated by no deific power,

But by the gentle hands of mortals who sought love and mercy for all.

[wretchedsums]

( Jonathan Tucker / Masc / He/Him ) — Skinner has been living in Port Leiry for A Few Years. They currently work as a Charlatan and Drug Lord, and are 73 years old. No one is sure if they’re actually a VAMPIRE or if they’re connected to KANEMARU. They tend to be quite TREACHEROUS and OPPORTUNISTIC, but can also be CHARISMATIC and ADAPTABLE.

TW; Drugs, Murder, Conditioning/Brain Washing

Early Life: Tommy Skinner was raised in Allentown, and his upbringing mirrored the crumbling industry and infrastructure of that collapsing steel factory town. He was young enough to miss the draft and the war, but the ensuing counter-cultural movements that followed it swept him up, and he left Allentown to pursue freedom and carefree living out west.

Skinner starts and fronts a band a rock band than leans heavy into libertine mentalities and Satanic iconography, which only increases in intensity as time wears on. The band enjoys moderate play but never really goes wide-spread or popular, and eventually, Tommy’s band collapses under the weight of drugs and a life of living well beyond their means. The slow, trudging ascent of the band doesn’t hold a candle to their fast and frenzied fall, and Skinner winds up a struggling and penniless addict in Las Vegas sometime by the mid nineties.

The Turn: Skinner, no longer going by his rocker nomme d’guerre of Deacon, makes a paltry living in Vegas, acting as a middle man in the town’s drug trade. It’s during this time he meets a Kanemaru vampire who sees a potential in him as a useful and intimidating cohort. Their dalliances begin tamely but eventually escalate and peak with the vampire’s turning of Skinner sometime near the turn of the century.

Skinner is taken with his new life, and adapts fairly quickly to a monstrous lifestyle; eternal life and endless night suit him, and he manages to find a clarity he’s never had before. But his emotions and human desires have heightened, and he craves the attention he’d only ever scrapped the underside of before. He lures in friends with promises of power, or at least the proximit to it, and together convinces them to overthrow his sire and usurp his trade and resources - before they leave him to dust in the sun, Skinner takes his fangs, which he wears around his neck to this day.

The Movement: Skinner uses his little cadre of fellow vampires to build an empire for himself out in the desert, becoming a supplier for all avenues of the drug trade between Nevada and California. To facilitate this, he begins trafficking in people, people that he keeps in line via torture and addiction - not just to drugs, but to his own blood - ghouls who are addicted to a drug that only he can supply.

One day, one of these ghouls manages to find some sort of loophole in the vampiric compulsion that helps keep her subservient. She lashes out, and in the heat of the moment, Skinner breaks her neck. He leaves one of his people to make sure she doesn’t wake back up.

A year later, and he’s simply moved on with things, but the past comes knocking when his lieutenants begin turning up dead, each of them with signs left behind. When he runs into the woman again, he throws people between them to save his own hide, and makes his escape. He heads north, to Port Leiry, where he and a handful of remaining flunkies are forced to start over, and from a small scale. The politics of Port Liery, Oregon present a new hurdle, and cause for discretion, but he begins to make small moves first, and starts drawing up plans to replenish his depleted ranks and ‘re-yoke’ them with more blood-tinged  drugs.

[drewzeitlin]

Cross Stitch Stories: Ember’s Journey: The Fire Within Part 2

Part 2: The Forest of Shadows

Ember’s pulse quickened as the glowing eyes stared back at him from the shadows. He had never seen anything like this before—those eyes, filled with an ancient wisdom and a predatory hunger. The growl rumbled again, shaking the very ground beneath him. But as much as fear gripped his heart, something deeper within him urged him not to flee.

The eyes blinked, and then, as if testing his resolve, the creature stepped forward, revealing itself. It was a large, sleek black snake, its scales glistening like polished obsidian in the faint light. Ember held his breath, his small body tense and ready to spring. But the snake did not strike. Instead, it coiled around a nearby rock, its movements slow and deliberate, as if it were merely observing him.

Ember realized then that this was a test. He had heard the stories—how the forest would challenge those who dared to enter, pushing them to their limits. The snake was not just a predator; it was the embodiment of the forest’s first trial, a guardian of the unknown.

With cautious steps, Ember edged away from the snake, his eyes never leaving its gaze. The path ahead was dark and treacherous, with thick underbrush that clawed at his skin and roots that threatened to trip him. But he kept moving forward, driven by the same force that had led him away from the log.

Soon, the snake was lost to the shadows behind him, and the forest grew even darker. The trees towered like silent sentinels, their branches interwoven so tightly that the sky was reduced to mere slivers of light. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and Ember had to concentrate on each step to avoid slipping on the slick ground.

The further he went, the more the forest seemed to close in around him. The shadows played tricks on his eyes, turning ordinary shapes into menacing figures. Every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig sent a shiver down his spine. Yet, despite the fear gnawing at his resolve, Ember pressed on. He knew that turning back now would mean failing the very first test of his journey.

After what felt like hours of trudging through the dense undergrowth, Ember heard the unmistakable sound of rushing water. The forest ahead opened up slightly, revealing a fast-moving stream that cut through the landscape like a silver ribbon. It was too wide to leap across, and the current was strong, swirling with unseen dangers beneath its surface.

Ember approached the edge, peering into the clear water. He could see smooth stones on the riverbed, but they were slippery and unstable—hardly safe footing. He realized he would have to find another way across, but the forest offered no easy solutions.

As he pondered his next move, a faint glow caught his attention. It was coming from a cluster of fireflies hovering near the water’s edge, their tiny bodies emitting a soft, golden light. One firefly, slightly larger than the others, flitted over to Ember, circling around him with a mischievous energy.

"Looking to cross, are you?" the firefly chimed, its voice high-pitched but friendly. "The water’s not as it seems. Many have tried, few have succeeded. But there’s a way, if you’re clever enough to find it."

Ember’s eyes widened. "A way? How?"

The firefly darted towards a fallen branch that lay partially submerged in the stream. "This old branch has seen many crossings, but it’s tricky. You’ll need balance, and a bit of courage. Or, you could wait for the stepping stones to reveal themselves. They only appear when the moonlight strikes just right."

Ember looked up, but the thick canopy above blocked any chance of moonlight reaching the ground. He knew waiting could take all night, or longer. The branch, though precarious, seemed his only real option.

He took a deep breath and carefully climbed onto the branch. The firefly buzzed around him encouragingly as he inched forward, the branch creaking under his weight. The stream gurgled ominously below, eager to claim him if he slipped.

Ember was halfway across when the water below began to churn violently. He froze, feeling the branch wobble beneath him. From the depths of the stream, a dark shadow began to rise, growing larger and more menacing with each passing second.

It was then that Ember realized—the stream wasn’t just a barrier. It was alive.

The water surged, and the branch buckled under the force, threatening to throw Ember into the depths below.

Come back tomorrow to find out what happens.

This story was brought to you by the Cross Stitch Pattern Animal Amphibian Eastern Newt With Story and Audio. Not only does this design look great, but it also tells a powerful story of coming of age, with an audio recap included. The hero of our tale, Ember highly recommends it. For more information, visit drewzeitlin.gumroad.com/l/newt. You can see all our cross-stitch patterns at DrewZeitlin.gumroad.com This is not your great-grandmother’s cross-stitch—it’s a multi-sensory experience! And one more thing: you get to choose the price. What do you have to lose? But how much do you have to gain?

[queeramblings]

The Path

For many years I walked the plain path.

I knew not beauty,

And I trusted those who walked beside me,

Leading me by voice,

Advising me to never remove my blinders,

For the forest to either side

was like a siren,

Singing a song of death

I would never have the strength to resist.

For I was weak,

And in my early years I never waivered.

Though I tread on nails,

I told myself they were

naught but pebbles.

For who was I to cry out

When no one else did?

If others found only joy in the path,

Then the pain must be of my own doing.

Right?

And so the years passed.

As my vision grew narrower still,

My feet grew calloused,

And while my path grew ever steeper

My peers could never be heard to even stumble.

But as the pain grew,

So did my mind.

Surely, a voice as benevolent as my guide would never provide pain without reward.

So I asked of it.

After it had finished berating me for my lack of faith it told me that the pain would become pleasure,

The thorny path a road of silk,

If only I gave up my will.

So with renewed faith, I trudged on.

I bit my tongue when I yearned to cry out in pain,

I clenched my teeth when the path grew ever steeper.

And when the challenge grew too much,

I cried out for mercy and aid.

For many nights I cried out, and for many days I made slow, agonizing progress.

For no answer ever revealed itself,

No higher power heard my plea.

And when I reached the summit,

I thought myself strong.

I removed my blinders, 

Reveling in the view.

To my left, a glittering ocean.

Ahead of me, a forest of breathtaking beauty.

But there was something wrong.

Though the forest was enchanting,

No song emanated from it,

Luring me to my death.

No sound at all existed upon that isolated peak,

None except for that still, small voice.

I looked to my right and beheld not the wisened elder I had come to expect,

But a shriveled creature,

An abomination feeding from my life force.

I threw the accursed thing off the peak,

Surprised at the strength I was told I couldn't possess. 

I looked back and saw the path I had walked, 

A treacherous thing leading to a peak higher than many.

And as feeling returned to my body for the first time,

I felt a new sensation.

I took a running start,

I leapt,

And I flew.

And as I marveled at the view of an eagle,

I beheld myself for the first time.

To my surprise, I was clothed not in the rags I had thought I deserved, 

But silken robes I now knew myself to be worthy of.

Robes we all are worthy of, by mere virtue of being the beautiful peoples of the earth.

Now I spend my days reveling in the beauty of each and every creature,

and my nights in the comforting arms of that vast forest. 

For that place of love and beauty was cultivated by no deific power,

But by the gentle hands of mortals who sought love and mercy for all.

#amateur poetry

[thestorysage]

PROJECT XENOS

LOG ENTRY #015

Date: [REDACTED] Location: Undisclosed

Subject: Survival Journal

The journey has become a test of endurance, a relentless pursuit of hope amidst the desolation. The closer I get to the resistance up north, the slower time seems to pass. Each step forward is met with new obstacles and unforeseen challenges.

The harsh winter grips the land with an icy grip, making every movement a struggle. The biting winds cut through my layers of clothing, and my breath forms clouds of mist in the frigid air. The solitude of the snow-covered landscape weighs heavily on my spirit, amplifying the weight of this lonely pilgrimage.

The remnants of once-thriving towns and cities bear witness to the devastation wrought by the alien invaders. Empty streets and crumbling buildings stand as monuments to the lives lost, a somber reminder of the world we once knew. It's as if time itself has frozen along with the landscape, suspended in a state of perpetual melancholy.

Each day blends into the next, marked by the rhythmic crunch of snow beneath my boots. The path ahead is treacherous, filled with hidden crevasses and icy slopes that threaten to send me tumbling into oblivion. I move cautiously, one careful step at a time, mindful of the fragility of my existence.

Survival has become a solitary dance, a delicate balance between staying hidden from the alien creatures and maintaining my own physical and mental well-being. The solitude gnaws at me, and the absence of human companionship weighs heavily on my soul. Memories of laughter, camaraderie, and the warmth of human connection feel like distant echoes, fading with each passing day.

Yet, despite the challenges and the creeping doubt that occasionally seeps into my thoughts, the radio signals persist. The distant voices of the resistance remind me that I am not alone. They provide the fuel that drives me forward, like a distant lighthouse guiding a weary sailor through the storm.

I take solace in the little victories along the way—a successfully scavenged meal, a sheltered night away from the creatures' prying eyes. These small triumphs are a testament to resilience, to the unyielding human spirit that refuses to be extinguished.

As I trudge through the snow-laden landscape, I find myself reflecting on the journey so far. It's not just about reaching the resistance; it's about the journey itself, the transformation that occurs within us as we navigate this nightmarish reality. I've grown stronger, more resolute, and more aware of the fragile beauty that exists even in the face of devastation.

I press onward, my resolve unyielding. The distant voices grow clearer, their messages of hope and unity resonating within my heart. The path may be treacherous, the pace may be slow, but I know that each step brings me closer to a community of survivors, to the possibility of reclaiming our world.

To whoever reads these words, hold on to hope. In the face of despair, it is the flickering flame that guides us through the darkest nights. Together, we will rise above the ashes, and our journey will become the testament of our strength.

END OF LOG ENTRY #015 -

[oldgcds]

for: @faeteds / calian

The Permafrost stretched endlessly. Miles and miles of ice and snow contained drifts that swallowed up all sense of direction for hours, until the group was walking in a white haze made up of small particles of ice that swirled around like glass, biting at exposed skin. The cold was so treacherous it ate through layers of fur and leather and wool. Iskra did not falter in her march across the plains, even as her muscles burned and her breath came heavy. She was faring better than the others, the worst off the few Summer Court fae that had foolishly offered to join the hunt for the killer, their teeth chattering so loud it sounded like the clattering of hollow bones. Honour kept the volunteers steps coming, duty alone propelled them forward. It would only be a matter of time before she would instruct for them to be winnowed back to the court. The Illyrian made up the number, left behind by his queen. She refused to look back at him. The hunt would be fruitless. There were no tracks to follow, no blood trail or signature— it was punishment for her failings, the short comings in security as deigned by the High Lord. Iskra deserved it. The discovery of a body on the grounds was inexcusable, but the corpse of a King? She suspected without Beyla’s interference, she would no longer hold her position. And so she trudged on, her hood shrugged back so her white hair streamed back like pale ribbon and the wind scoured her skin of her face raw and red. A few had already winnowed away, the numbers whittling. She would relieve them all soon, she decided, turning back to shout the command to return to court. Her mouth opened, but no sound could be heard. There was nothing for a moment but the roaring of sweeping snow, and then just white.

Twice a fool, Iskra cursed herself. How had she missed the signs? She was not skilled at winnowing in the way Beyla was— she could not cross the oceans with her power, but she was fast. Propelled forward she did not think— one jump and she was at Cal’s side, and another to push them to the edge of sea of snow. “We have to run,” Iskra hissed, tugging at him. She knew where to go, and her steps were light across the glazed over surface of old snowfall. Saving the others was beyond her power— she couldn’t winnow them all out alone. She would have to trust the rest of the volunteers had the sense to find their way out, at least until the storm calmed. Now, it pushed forward, swallowing up ground as Iskra picked up her heels, heading for a small cave that she had stumbled across in her years patrolling the unwelcoming landscape. It would protect them until they could get the others. When she looked back, her stride never slowing, her heart slammed against her chest. It was fear she was swallowing, and old, rusted emotion. Fear that he was not with her, that he might not make it.

[nvrmndtomorrow]

my fics: a masterlist

(BTS edition)

➤ kill our way to heaven (heaven & hell pt 1)

jikook / angels & demons au / 92k (complete)

Demons and angels have been in Jungkook's life for as long as he can remember. He can see them and tell them apart from the others when normal people can't. He has always had the good conscience to stay away from them and don't get involved as he was always told by his mother that he should keep his abilities a secret. However, as the battle between Heaven and Hell rages on and secrets from his past come to light, Jungkook is caught right in the middle.

tropes: religious themes, slow burn, queer themes, fluff and angst, love triangle

➤ straight to hell (heaven & hell pt 2)

jikook / angels & demons au / 7k (ongoing)

It has been a year since Jungkook reached his fullest potential and turned Hell to dust. Ever since, demons have been roaming around without orders and more and more angels have started to fall. Despite him being a fugitive for both angels and demons, Jungkook tries to live whatever normal life he can with his feelings for Jimin evergrowing. But now it seems both sides are out for him, wanting him to help defeat their final enemy: God.

tropes: religious themes, established relationship, queer themes, fluff and angst

➤ rupture

yoonjin / android au / 26k (complete)

The world has changed. The time of androids and segregated cities has come. As Yoongi and Jin trudge around the lower layer of the city in search of supplies, they get ambushed by a gang. Without a way out, they are forced to enter a government facility and extract information from the main computer if they want to make it out alive. But not all is what it seems. Secrets from the past surface as slowly Yoongi and Jin begin to realise just what kind of mess they got themselves into.

tropes: cyberpunk, secret identity, established relationship, major character death, sad ending

➤ what goes up must come down

gen (hoseok-centric) / folklore au / 10k (ongoing)

It's the middle of the eighteenth century. Fear has been struck into the hearts of the people living in the low countries by a band of robbers called the buck riders. Plundering, murdering and torching, they move through the villages and farmsteads, taking everything in their path. Hoseok, with his soul grasped tightly by greed, is the worst of all. On one faithful night, it all comes to an end when a curse is placed on him. Will he ever be able to find rest again?

tropes: psychological horror, religious themes, angst

➤ an open book (with a torn out page)

gen (yoongi-centric) / coming out oneshot / 3k (complete)

Coming out is never easy, Yoongi has learned that first-hand. It's nerve-wracking and dangerous and he never imagined himself doing it ever again. But when an opportunity presents itself on a slow, late night in the studio, he takes it anyway.

tropes: queer themes, bisexuality, light angst, found family

➤ feel the fire

yoonseok / magic au / 2k of 82k (rewriting)

Sorcerers are getting rarer and this nation needs their wisdom and powers. Hoseok, an uneducated sorcerer, gets offered to attend a school for sorcerers called the Academy. There he meets a natural called Yoongi. Both of them have their own struggles which they fight to deal with, but will one choose a darker path?

tropes: slow burn, found family, trauma, fluff and angst

➤ there's something about the hydrangea

jikook / college au / 12k (ongoing)

Life is complicated and tends to throw curveballs. Jungkook has been questioning his sexuality for as long as he could remember. For years he pushed it all to the back of his mind. But now, the universe has other plans for him. He knows that when he enters university, meets a man called Park Jimin and realises he can't take his eyes off him no matter how much he tries. But it's a long and treacherous way up.

tropes: queer themes, bisexuality, slow burn, angst and fluff, self-realization

[anordinarymuse]

Could I possibly request a Kaz imagine where the gang needs to split up and you end up severely wounded. Kaz gets extremely furious, an understatement, at whoever put you in this position and also really worried since you are very special to him: you guys are still in the early stages of your relationship so Kaz is still a little new to the whole comforting and being there for you part but you can bet that he is not leaving until he knows you’re okay

Just a lil’ angsty but super fluffy at the end 🥺🥺 Thank you so much if you want to write this.

fluffy kaz w angst is like the best duo it makes me feel so warm hehe

stairs.

Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Summary : hehe the request. also this was fun to write.

Warnings : swearing; unedited.

Word Count : 868

A/N : my hand keeps trembling and it won't stop what is happening.

the masterlist.

request here.

"How far's my flat?" You grimace as you hold tightly onto Kaz's arm each step staggers after last. You can feel Kaz beginning to feel the weight as he limps, holding his cane with a ferocious firmness.

"I can see the sign," he replies, you can feel him almost shake as you hold onto him. You'd told him you were fine but he insisted after everybody had left in the alleyway.

The two of you had been trudging for a solid five minutes now, making slow progress.

"We're here," Kaz states, doing his best to help you stand up straight, but you can feel his hesitance as he touches you.

Desperate to get inside you push open the door with your elbow. Your face falls when you see steps of stairs. You had completely forgotten that your cheap flat was four stories high.

"Saints," you whisper staring wide-eyed and in dismay at the staircase.

"I'll-" Kaz starts, he also stares at the treacherous staircase. "I'll carry- carry you...?"

"No, it's fine Kaz, don't worry about it," you reply, hopping over to grasp the railing, feeling sick when your skin makes contact with the cold iron metal.

"I'll carry you," Kaz repeats, this time more certain.

"Kaz, your leg. You should be going back anyway,"

"I'll carry you," Kaz once again repeats, though, this it's demanding. You know there's no point in arguing, so you shift yourself into Kaz's arms.

You had been afraid that he'd accidentally drop you from the pain in his leg, however he's quite strong and you can feel the tense strength in his arms.

Slowly but surely the two of you ascend up the dingy staircase that could fall apart at any second. You were about to suggest that you could walk up the final story, but one look at Kaz's face silences you. His eyes are narrow with perseverance, so you don't bother.

He only let's you stand back up when he carries you to your flat door. You had expected Kaz to leave as you search through your pocket for your key, but he doesn't.

"Kaz, you don't have to stay if you don't want to," you assure him as you enter the flat, stumbling around to any object you can hold on to.

"I'm not leaving until you're in bed," he objects, closing the flat door behind him and following as you hop around.

"It's fine Kaz," you argue, not wanting him to go out of his way.

"No it's not," he snaps, which takes you by surprise. "Your stomach is impaled and you're hopping around Ketterdam like a bird with a broken wing. I'm going to get Pekka Collins if it's the last fucking thing I do."

"It'll just leave a scar. I'll be fine," you assure, making your way to the bedroom. Kaz follows.

"I should've known better than to let you guys go down the east wing. I knew it, I knew there'd be people down there," he paces around the bedroom, speaking through gritted teeth.

"Kaz, it's late you should go home," you suggest as you try and find pajamas that you'd let get ruined with blood.

"No, and how could I let Jesper use the- the- whatever he calls them," Kaz continues with his tangent, his cane hits the wooden floor with every step. It was beginning to give you a headache, "I should've been by you at the beginning not at the entrance while you guys were getting-"

"Kaz, we're all ok, ok?" You reassure, hobbling as close as possible to Kaz without falling, looking him in the eyes.

"Ok," his gaze relaxes as it meets yours.

"Alright so-"

"I'm not leaving until you're in bed," he shakes his head at your impudence.

Begrudgingly you stumble to the bathroom to change into the pajamas you decided on, and then you slip into bed. Kaz just stands by the bedroom door, watching as you get comfortable under the covers.

"Kaz-" you begin, snuggling under the mildly scratchy blankets.

"Go to bed Y/N," he directs, his eyes flicker from you and the bed.

"But-"

"Goodnight," he silences you with one word, and you ultimately surrender.

Grumbling, you flip over in bed, immediately regretting the decision as you've fallen on a sore spot. You return to laying on you back and when you take a peek, opening your eyes, Kaz remains standing by the bedroom door.

You let out an exhausted sigh before closing your eyes again, and for the rest of the night you don't open them again.

*****

Your eyelids flutter open as the a sliver of sunlight shines in through the drawn curtains.

You wince when you try and sit up, forgetting the events of last night.

Exhausted and sore you grip the covers tightly as you push yourself up. It's only when you turn your head you crack a small grin.

To your left Kaz sits in a chair, slumped down and snoozing away. His cane is still in hand and his fedora is tilted a bit too much to the side. The sight makes you giggle and Kaz slowly wakes up, his eyes lighting up when he sees you in a good mood.

**********

taglist : @marimorena06 @missryerye @agirlwholovescoffee @nicole198205 @blackpinkdolan @gabitanaka47 @psychowanarchist @siriuspvdfoot @hufflepuffflowers @thatguppienamedbae @peachykeen3502 @missryerye @kaslupin @ayla-1605 @chazzyb73 @youngblood199456 @oranee @silly-little-bl0g @bobbyjohnsonbeat @jasgreen101 @will-to-live-who @erinblack003 @bellatrixscurls @krishavania @wh0re4blaise @thegirlwhocriedlupin @mrsaliciamalfoy @wwweasleystan @modernvellichor @westantheweasleys @lolaperezb @savagelysarcasticslytherin @zaraskyla @v4l3nt1n44 @sirisuorionblack @rinbyo @xdancinggurlx @lupinsravenclaw @hogwarts-boys @inglourious-imagines @siriuslyslyslytherin @grishaverse7 @aus10-matthews @losers-club6 @chewiethecatus @i-padfootblack-things

[literallyajax]

ʟᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀᴍ - xɪᴀᴏ

[NSFW] MINORS DNI

little bit of angst (?) but eventual smut

Xiao dragged his feet along the path through Dihua Marsh, his breathing uneven and a hoarse growl with every exhale. He had reached the base of Wangshu Inn, beginning his treacherous ascent up the staircase, which was for once repaired. Fear filled stares and glances were shot his way as he made his way past the reception area, trudging up to the balcony he spent most of his hours at. Once reaching the summit of the seemingly endless staircases, he went stiff. There before him on the balcony railing sat a seemingly young mortal, staring up at the star-filled sky.

“ Y/N. What are you doing here? “

“ I wanted to see yo- Archons, Xiao what happened..? “

You slid off the railing you had perched yourself on top of and turned, a concerned expression painted on your face that Xiao had long learned to hate. The adeptus hated worrying you, as his soul promise was to protect you and keep you cheerful. Your gentle eyes studied the yaksha in front of you, carefully raising his hand to caress the wooden cheek of Xiao’s mask. The shorter leaned into your gentle touch, mask slowly dissipating into thin air to reveal the face of a slightly roughed up Xiao. Small cuts and bruises decorated his face from a battle with many, many hilichurls, leading you to frown slightly.

“ You shouldn’t be hurting yourself this much. “

“ It’s my job, I have to. “

“ But look at you, Xiao, you’re all roughed up and bleeding! “

With careful fingers, you brushed over a cut, causing Xiao to hiss at the sting that came shortly after.

“ I’m fine, I’m used to this. “

“ Silence now, let’s get you cleaned up “

And with that you went to work, lips pursed in concentration as your hands skillfully brushed over Xiao’s wounds. You were no healer, but you made due with the medical supplies on hand.

While trying to get a closer look at his cuts, your hand found it’s way to Xiao’s shoulder, the applies pressure making him let out a low growl, sending you slightly aback.

“ …Apologies, I- “

You paused for a second, processing the somewhat… erotic sound that came from the man’s mouth. Acting on impulse, you slid your hands down to the hem of his shirt, gripping the silky fabric and dragging it up his torso, over his head, and discarding it to the floor. You examined the shoulder, a large purple and blue bruise bloomed from his pale skin. Your eyes began to wander, fingertips brushing his smooth skin, the moonlight sculpting him like he was a statue on display. Xiao’s cheeks flushed a deep red, turning away and coughing to grab your attention.

“ Y/N.., It’s rude to stare, you know. “

The mood switched, once a gloomy, cold night into a heated one. Xiao’s lips captured your own, roughly grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his lap. You let out a small whine when he bit your bottom lip, the small love bites trailing down from your jawline to your collarbone, dark blue and purple spots littered your skin, along with blotchy red patches, where the adeptus bit down roughly, licking over them to lap up the blood.

You began to undress yourself, shedding off the layers of clothing and allowing them to fall to the ground, leaving you in your undergarments. Xiao picked you up by your thighs, placing you down on a nearby table on the balcony. You shivered as the cool metal touched your back, the temperature difference making you let out a soft moan, which only riled up Xiao more. He fiddled with your bra, growling when he couldn’t figure the contraption out.

“ Archons sake- get this shit out of my way- “

He ripped the article off, tossing it to the side and attacking your breasts. You bit your lip to stifle a moan when Xiao tugged one of your nipples between his teeth, flicking his tongue on the bud and massaging the other one, occasionally switching his focus from one to the other. You slowly became impatient, whining as you spoke.

“ Xiao.. hurry up, don’t wanna wait “

“ Tch, you mortals are so greedy. Fine then, but don’t expect me to be gentle. “

Xiao ripped off your remaining underwear, discarding his own clothes in the process.

He gathered saliva in his mouth, spitting on his length and slowly pushing in. You gasped at the stretch, hands finding home at his forearms, nails digging into his skin and leaving crescent-shaped marks. The yaksha growled at the tightness, bottoming out and gasping. He started at a slow, agonizing pace, amber eyes studying your figure, face contorting from pain to pleasure.

Xiao’s thrusts began to grow faster, his hands gripping your hips as he roughly slammed into yours. You let out ecstasy filled screams, throwing your head back as tears spilled from your eyes.

“ more- more! of fuck, Xiao! “

The boy’s only response was a growl, his thrusts grew erratic as his dick twitched, signalling his climax.

“ Shit, Y/N, cum with me. “

“ Xia-ao~! Cumming— “

And with that, Xiao’s thrusts came to a stop. You both released, your juices mixing and dripping to the floor. The adeptus panted, staring down at you with lust-filled eyes, which you looked back at tiredly. Xiao picked you up, carrying you to his room and laying you on the bed, tucking you in gently. He climbed in after, pulling you to his chest and listening to your breathing even out, slipping into sleep.

[miyagihawk]

“Hi! I was wondering if you could do a Cobra Kai oneshot or head cannon where the reader is dating one of the boys and instead of Miguel falling during the fight it was the reader?❤️”

hiiii thank you for the request! this one’s gonna be a miguel one :)

should’ve been me | miguel diaz x reader

warnings: not much, just a bit of swearing i think. reader is in a coma???

summary: miguel is your boyfriend and you’re the one who fell during the school fight

Maybe you should’ve just stayed out of it. You don’t know one thing about fighting. But how could you just stand and watch your boyfriend getting punched over and over again?

It turned out to be the worst decision you’ve ever made: trying to pull Robby off of Miguel.

Because they were both too angry to see it was all going too far.

Because Robby didn’t think that much about pushing you away; he was too focused on delivering punches.

Because the railing was just too close.

It was all slow motion. Miguel running to the edge, yelling your name. Screams and gasps coming from the students who were watching.

All you could see was Miguel, the boy you love, looking down at you as you fell through the air. It felt like you were falling for a lifetime with your eyes locked on his, until you met the ground and everything turned black.

There was only the sound of Miguel’s steps ringing through the hall as he ran down the stairs towards your body. He kneeled down beside you, his heart breaking when he saw the peaceful expression on your face.

“Y/N? No, no, no. No, wake up, Y/N. Please, I’m sorry,” he touched your face, and his tears were falling down on you.

He cried out in heartbreak at the sight of you so lifeless, with no care of everyone watching. The paramedics had to carry him away from you as they laid you on the stretcher.

-

Your muscles ached and you felt as if your legs would give out any moment. The sky was an apocalyptic red in the lonely desert you were in, and even though you couldn’t see the sun, you could still feel its treacherous heat.

You don’t know how long you’ve been walking through this desert, but you were losing hope with every step you took. You must’ve been trudging on for hundred of miles, but everything around you looked the same; you can’t help but wonder if you were even moving at all.

The only thing that kept you going was his voice and the light.

Miguel.

He sounded sad. And when you kept going, it’s as if you heard him clearer. Once you heard him start to talk, you ran. Even if everything hurt, you ran, because you seemed to hear him better when you went towards the light in front of you. You pushed until you couldn’t breathe, collapsing on the dry sand, but feeling close to him was worth it.

“I’m sorry,” he would cry. “It should’ve been me, Y/N. This is my fault. What do I do without you? If you can hear me, please wake up. Don’t give up okay? I love you so much.”

“I love you!” you would try to yell back, but your voice was gone.

It was an endless torture, following the light, and the only thing that kept you going was the hope of seeing Miguel again.

-

You didn’t know when you fell asleep; perhaps you passed out from exhaustion. But you woke up in a different world.

The vicious red clouds above you were starting to float away, revealing a clear blue sky. The dead air was gone, and you could feel a fresh breeze blow through your hair.

The light. It was right in front of you. So close you could reach out and touch it.

“I love you, Y/N,” you heard Miguel’s voice ring through your ears as you stepped through to the unknown.

You gasped, your eyes shooting open as you took in your new surroundings. A white bright light made you flinch and there were tubes attached to your arms. There was a beeping noise piercing your ears and dozens of bouquets in vases were placed on the blue floor, leaving a strong floral scent in the air.

You felt yourself starting to breathe frantically, realizing that you were in the hospital and that you just came from your worst nightmare. 

You felt your hand being grabbed and you pulled away in fright. “You’re awake,” the person said from beside you, making you turn your head towards them.

It was him. Miguel. The one thing you held onto.

He looked so different. He had bags under his eyes, and his hair was longer than it’s ever been. He just looked so tired, and it made you panic, because you wondered how long you’ve even been out.

Your eyes watered as you threw your arms around him. After feeling so lonely in the coma, you dreamed of holding him. The both of you cried in each other’s arms with endless worry about the other, but you were so happy to just see him after the hell you just went through.

“I love you. I heard everything you said and it was what kept me going. It’s not your fault, okay? It’s not,” you spoke, grasping him tighter. He was crying too, and you’ve never seen him this emotional; it broke your heart.

He shook his head, “It was, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I-I really thought I lost you, and it would’ve been on me. This whole Cobra Kai thing was-”

“Just stop, okay? It was an accident, don’t do that to yourself. I’m fine,” you cut him off, pulling away from the hug to wipe your tears. Your back was starting to hurt and it sent you painful flashbacks of the fall, making you wince at the memory.

Nurses started flooding into the room along with your parents, and Miguel had to leave.

“So how long was I out?” you asked the nurse who was checking your vitals. You were scared to face the question, if you were being honest. Because you had no idea what the answer was.

“Three months, honey,” she answered softly. You blinked away the tears that wanted to surface at her response.

Three whole months. You were gone. You didn’t want to be dramatic, but missing a piece of your life, even if it’s small, felt terrible. Because your family worried about you for three months. Because Miguel worried and your friends worried and now you probably can’t walk normally and-

The more you thought about everything, the more you felt like throwing up from anxiety.

As if the nurse could sense your stress, she talked to you, “You see those flowers?”

She gestured over to the crazy amount of bouquets that were on the floor because they couldn’t fit on the table anymore. You nodded in response while she took your blood pressure. Her presence was very calming, and she had a wise energy around her that put you at ease.

“He brought you some every single time he visited. Poor Albert at the flower shop downstairs is probably sick of him,” she joked. “You are very loved.”

She didn’t even need to say his name for you to know who she was talking about. You felt yourself smiling at the sweet gesture, looking at the range of flowers. Most of them were your favorite color and some were his. But there were every kind; you told him that you don’t have a favorite flower because they’re all pretty.

“Did you feel anything?” the nurse asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “While you were... out,” she clarified.

“Uh... no. I didn’t,” you answered, still puzzled.

She gently touched your forehead with the tip of her finger. “He left you so many kisses. Right here. And you said you didn’t feel it but I know you did, because you’re awake. I’ve treated patients like you for many years, and as cheesy as it sounds, love is the best medicine. You got a good one sweetheart,” she smiled softly at you.

“I did,” you agreed, looking through the small window of the door to see where Miguel stood waiting with your parents. You caught his eye, feeling warm when he gave you a happy grin.

Everything going wrong only showed you that he was the one, and even a coma couldn’t separate you.

A/N: this was a mess i am so sorry my writing is ass lately i just don’t know why :/