#are animals not living breathing creatures worthy of love too???

[jouno-s]

ok this might just be another thing i don’t understand but why do parents of Human Children get soooo pressed when people who have pets call themselves ‘pet moms/dads’ or whatever. i just scrolled through a comment section under a video about this topic and everyone was so bitter? like oh noooo people love their animals as much as children what a horrible thing!!! animals could never compare to human children!!!

like idk i feel like there’s more pressing issues in the world rn than this 😭

[amazable01]

A little quick write inspired by @dailysandersidesaudoodles mafia mociet drawings. Soz if it's not great, I wrote this at midnight <3

TWs: Mafia-typical gun violence; coercion; morally gray sides; mentions of sickness, poverty, intoxication; description of injuries (bruising and being tied up); implied animal death (hunting); toxic relationship dynamics

“Can you do it?”

Four words. Four deceptively simple words.

Patton held it in shaking hands, eyes trained on the barrel in front of him. He’d never fired a gun before; never even thought about it. His pop had tried to teach him when he was little, but he’d never had the stomach to hurt the animals he was told to hunt. The ripple of power, the loud bang, the whimpering pain the creature released as red sprayed across the ground before him. Patton had vowed then and there never to hunt again, never to shoot a living thing.

And yet, here he was.

The man they had chosen for this was someone Patton knew all too well. A stock broker. A conman. A monster and abuser. And, of course, Patton’s boss. He’d been bound to a chair, tied down tightly to the wood. The bright ropes cut into his bruised skin to leave colorful dots and lines, not unlike a pretty package on Christmas. Even the green gag had been wrapped in the front in a sadistic mockery of a bow, all ready to be splattered and frayed with the shot Patton had been gifted.

The hand on him shifted, now placing its palm flat against his lower abdomen. Patton couldn’t tell if it was meant to be comforting, encouraging, or mocking. He… really didn’t think he wanted to know, come to think of it. Seeing that crooning face all over again wouldn’t help his rapid, unspooling indecision any more than it had the first time.

This group was Patton’s last resort. Almost destitute, Patton had crawled pityingly to their doorstep with his ill son in hand. Logan was of a sickly nature; brilliant of mind yet feeble of body. It had taken only one boy at school to walk in feeling under the weather, and Logan was unable to move on his own. Patton had tried to cure him, tried to pay for the treatments, and no one bothered to give any real help. He’d lost every penny on the boy he so desperately loved, and he was rewarded with being kicked to the curb by both his landlord and boss.

Janus was the lucky one to answer his endless pleas for sanctuary. The man brought them in, nursed Logan back to health with no cost. Not only that, he housed them and gave Patton a job close by in order to get back on his feet. He wanted Patton around because it was apparently rare to see such a bright mind and a beautiful face together at the same time. Patton had fallen for the flattery and adoration on the spot.

As time had passed, Patton became more desperate for Janus’ affections. The man acted like Patton was the most interesting little doll he’d found at a charity shop: only worth bothering with because there was a spark of potential and the soft slump of obedience in Patton’s gaze. And as for Patton, Janus was the very air he breathed: smokey and husky and tainted with feelings best left in the quiet hours after intoxication. At this point, Patton was under his spell completely, willing to do everything Janus had asked of him and promising he always would be.

And here they were now. Janus wanted to see precisely how far Patton would go if asked. Patton had promised once more he would do anything.

The gun trembles. He runs a finger over the hammer.

“Is he not worthy enough to die? Is my word not enough for you?”

An immaculate finger ghosts over Patton’s earlobe, barely there but enough to make him shudder in equal terror and agony. A tear wells up behind his lenses.

‘No one would know’, Janus had promised. It was to be their little secret, a truth unspoken to all and carried to the dusty grave Patton would be lowered in. It was to be his hell, his horror, his beauty and acceptance. In doing this, Patton would belong to them, to him. There would be no point in leaving after he made this choice; Janus would have more than enough evidence to get Logan off him before throwing Patton away somewhere so he wouldn’t talk.

Not that Patton would ever talk. He was in too deep for that, now.

“Maybe you need direction? Perhaps you have forgotten what I need of you…”

A hand cups Patton’s shaking one, and steadies it as Janus gently shifts Patton’s hand into proper aim. Patton watches as a thumb reaches around ever-so-gently, and cocks the hammer into place to prime the gun.

The man in the chair squirms and screams. Janus chuckles gently under his breath.

Patton closes his eyes, and shifts his finger onto the trigger.

“Fire.”

There was no other option, in the end. There was no world where Patton would not choose to obey.

[dent-de-leon]

He’s caged—like a demon. Like an animal. A soul damned over and over; from the Matron’s curse to his own infernal blood, a wretched fate and the wrong family line, the folly of his last fatal mistake—a little trinket shining in the moonlight, a prayer unanswered. 

Was the weight of those chains worth it? 

“It’s just another devil,” an archmage assured him. And Bren is forced to remember all the demons and devils he’d seen since ascending to the city, every creature chained and bound, paraded through the streets for the mages’ entertainment. The way it chilled him to the bone, seeing collars emblazoned with the names and ranks of other wizards, symbols of wealth and status as surely as any finery or crown.

He can’t see what's engraved on the tiefling’s collar, but the cuffs at his wrists and ankles are gold, glinting with jewels and adorned in intricate runes. And it makes Bren's stomach turn, seeing the red eyes branded all over his body—the countless scars he carried—

He starts tugging at the bandages on one arm, nails biting deep into the old fraying rags. Doesn’t think about his own scars still raw and burning, the shards of residuum gleaming just beneath the skin. The pinpricks of pain that never fade. 

In the back of that cage, the tiefling stirs; head frantically tossing and turning, his whole body trembling. Eyes still shut. A nightmare, Bren thinks, knows, can feel it in the pit of his stomach. The anguished, muted cries. The breaths coming too sharp and fast. He’s woken far too many nights in a cold sweat—especially when the scars were still fresh. 

When the tiefling’s tail twitches and lashes, clearly anxious, Bren's heart breaks a bit. 

The Somnovem’s captive was locked away far below the enchanting halls of the Dawn Crucible, one of the greatest wonders of the clandestine, outcast Cognouza Ward. High vaulted ceilings and walls, all luminous with the dancing flicker and flare of an ethereal, azure light—a soft, warm glow suffusing the whole dome. The walls an array of endless shelves, every one overflowing with books and scrolls and tomes as old as memory itself. The threshold crest the crown jewel of it all, a glistening crystal centerpiece to illuminate the whole rotunda in dazzling radiance, a temple worthy of eternity. 

“The birthplace of dreams,” an unnervingly zealous philosopher had promised. Her eyes were hollow, sunken, rimmed with dark circles. Bren wondered how a person could ever love dreaming so much, when they hadn’t slept in weeks—or months. Her magic seemed to spark with a kinetic energy, electric as a live wire. Her voice echoed with a moonstruck fervor, a divine reverence that was surely blasphemy. And wherever Bren turned, he could still sense her unerring gaze.

And here, down below an archive of endless dreams and possibility, the only light was the faint flicker of arcane torches. And Bren was faced with rows of human cages. He tries not to think of all the other prisoners, where they came from or who they were, what horrible misfortune had cost them everything, banished them to the darkest corner of a reigning empire. 

“Why this one?” He can’t help but ask, even as he kicks himself for letting the words slip out. It’s foolish—dangerous. You were never this stupid before, he chides himself, Clever as you are, with things like this—you’re stupid. 

The philosopher, Elatis, smiles warmly. It makes his skin crawl. 

“Of all our research subjects, he has the greatest potential. Within his soul lies the key to eternity,” she said with a wondrous, contented sigh. “We are all of us the enemy to death, to suffering, to grief. But for all the horror she’s wrought, the Matron has also given us the very thing we need. She has planted the seeds, and now it is time to harvest.”

Fate touched, Bren realizes. Forever bound to a fate he could never hope to fight, strung up by the Matron like a puppet, the threads of destiny already woven. A prisoner, a pawn, another doomed soul to be sacrificed for the gods. 

And for an archmage, a soul touched by the divine was a powerful conduit for otherworldly magic. Enslaved like the devils they bent to their will, the very essence of their life siphoned away. Mages bathing in their blood for just a taste of the divine. 

With a whispered word and a wave of her hand, the cage door swung open, and Elatis stepped inside. She moved with a certain grace, as dignified as any noble. And when she knelt at the broken tiefling’s side, reached out a hand to embrace him—her touch was almost gentle. Kind. 

“Shh. Hush, Nonagon. You were destined for this,” Elatis soothes, her voice washing over him in a soft, lilting lullaby. 

She combed back a lock of hair to revel a crimson Eye branding his throat—a voracious hunger reflected in her own haunting stare. 

She beckoned for Bren to join him, and he was helpless to do anything but follow. Gaze pointedly averted as he crossed the threshold, forced himself to enter the tiefling’s prison. He can’t bear to look too closely, to see just how much the poor thing suffered. He could only bite his tongue and shudder, willing himself not to see. 

Beside him, the philosopher kept petting the long, dark locks of the tiefling’s tousled curls. It would have been comforting, perhaps even maternal, if not for the iron bars that caged him, the golden chains that bound him body and soul. 

“Aeor and Zemnias are the last remaining bastions of mortals,” Elatis mourned, her dark, piercing gaze softening for but a moment. “It was good of your master to send you here to learn, to join us in this time of so much war and strife. All are welcome here, in our design. You have but to ask, and we will open your mind to the Dream.”

My master wishes to see you fall, Bren thought darkly, Trent’s words still echoing in his head. “Join them. Learn from them all you can. Aid them, obey them. And steal whatever secrets you find. Bring back a weapon worthy of the Empire, one that can bring an end to Aeor.” 

“The tiefling you chose. He…was he alone when you found him? Has he no family?” The words taste like ash on his tongue, hanging heavy on his heart. Merely speaking them was tantamount to treason; any soul claimed by the gods, bound to their will—in the eyes of Aeor, their lives were already forfeit.

And when Elatis let him rifle through his personal artifacts, all that was confiscated from his person when they bound him in chains, Bren didn’t miss the shining little trinket of a crescent moon. The prayer to the Moonweaver foolishly scribbled on a bloodstained note. 

Another voice cackled, dark and gleeful. An elven archmage stood on the other side of the bars, teeth far sharper than any elf Bren had ever seen. His skin was a sickly pallor, and his eyes were rimmed by heavy circles just as dark and deep as Elatis’. 

When Bren looked at him closer, he swore for just a moment the man's eyes turned red.

Culpasi. He had seen the philosopher only in passing, but already loathed his company. 

“Oh, don’t you know where they got him?” The elf asked innocently, his smile sharp as a knife. “Some little troupe of traveling performers, in some shithole little town back on Exandria. A happy family of tieflings, putting on plays and nunnery. Quaint and adorable, I’m sure. Well, until someone looked into the caravan, and found out one of the kids was a walking corpse. Parents handed him over to some hag, if you can believe that. And the things they made their other son do, well…let’s just say, he’s far better off in here. Rather lucky we found him, really.” 

“He…struggled, the first few years,” Elatis admitted sadly. “Lashed out whenever someone got too close, afraid of our gifts. But we helped him to forget, the poor dear; opened his mind to the Dreams—cleared his troubled head a bit. And he’s been quite docile and tame ever since.” 

“Lost all the fight in him when we emptied out his thick skull,” Culpasi said, with a knowing grin that made Caleb’s heart twist. 

The way the philosopher looks at him, it’s like he knows, and it makes Bren sick. 

There’s this…hollow emptiness, that lives deep inside him, some vital part that was cut out and carved away. Excising the rot, so the rest of the tree can grow—that’s what they told him, when they took it. When he woke with weeks and months and years just gone, all of it slipping away. He doesn’t remember who Bren Aldrich Eremund was before he boarded his first skyship, the boy who lived in the world below. They took it, when they broke him. Reforged his soul in fire and brimstone, dug deep beneath his skin and tore him up from the inside. 

Did Bren have a family? A home? Did someone miss him, somewhere far below the sky and stars down there? 

Or was he like the tiefling, all alone? Abandoned? Forsaken by family and the gods both. 

From within the cage, a soft, mournful cry echoes. Inhuman, but so innately mortal. Anguished. Heartbroken. The kind of hushed, choked back cries that escaped Caleb in the midst of his own night terrors. 

Bren had seen his victims beg. Had heard the words, alien and distant, discordant—as if submerged deep beneath dark waters, drifting and drowning and fighting for breath. The rest of the world a distant memory. He hears it, sees it, but he’s choking and gasping, can’t move, can’t breathe, pulled under by the current. He suffocates, and everything burns. 

They were traitors, enemies to the Empire, Caleb told himself, chanting the mantra over and over, shutting out the sight of all those fearful eyes and agonized screams. But…if he was ordered to partake in this creature’s torment, to torture this being whose only crime was being born to a wretched fate—

He couldn’t. He couldn’t. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t the same, it wasn’t the enemy, a killer, a poison, a betrayer—

He had a family, Bren thinks, and for some reason, that more than anything breaks him. 

In Elatis’ arms, the sleeping tiefling continues to tremble and shake, thrashing in some subconscious attempt to break free of her grasp, twisting and writhing with a plaintive, desperate cry. “Empty,” he chokes out weakly, voice soft and slurred by sleep. He echoes the word again and again, a breathless litany, a hollow chant of shaking breaths. “Empty. Empty. Empty—” 

“Shh. Come now, dear. No more of that.” 

Elatis runs her hands over a single red Eye, and all at once the tiefling’s shaking body falls still, an eerie, disquieting calm falling over him like a shroud. As another dream claims him, the tiefling smiles faintly, as if finally at peace.  

“W-What did you do?” Bren whispers. 

Elatis pats the boy’s head fondly. “I merely let him have the Dream his heart desires. You see? Through dreams, even the most haunted soul can heal. It is our blessing, a gift—one that we wish to share with the whole world. Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

It’s cruel, Bren thinks. You’ve done nothing but carve out every part of him. You’re toying with him, pulling at his strings just like the Matron. “It certainly seems…useful,” he says, and lets the rest die on his tongue, choking it back like bile. 

Elatis’ smile is purely tranquil, beatific. “Whenever you wish, we will always be there to welcome you home. Now, forgive me, but I must attend to other matters before tonight’s ritual. I look forward to working with you, Bren; I can sense you have a wonderful imagination, one I’m sure will create the loveliest dreams. Sleep well.” 

She glided down the dark corridor, humming a soft, soothing melody as she disappeared into the dungeons’ depths. 

Culpasi made to follow her, but not before getting far too close for Bren’s liking, and resting a deathly cold hand on his shoulder. 

“A word of advice, friend,” he said, still smiling bright. “Maybe don’t do anything stupid, alright? I mean, really—letting a wild animal out of its cage? What do you think will happen?” 

Before Bren could stammer out that he had no idea what the mage was going on about, the elf turned on his heel, and vanished in a cloud of burning smoke. 

As the searing heat and choking taste of ash began to fade, Bren stood alone. There was only the darkness, the cage—and the hollow, empty soul who laid still before him. A sudden impulse seized him, desperate and foolish. Suicidal. What the hell are you thinking, Eremund? What in the world are you doing? He was reaching out to the tiefling before he could stop himself, acting on sheer instinct, compelled by some force more powerful than any charm or curse. 

Bren’s hand hovered above him uncertainly, hanging over the tiefling’s shoulder for but a moment. Verdammt. In a snap decision, he shook the tiefling roughly, enough to wake him from the mage’s spell.

“Hey! You—ah, you are, the traveling player, ja? From the little caravan troupe? Do you remember?”

The creature stirred from twisting dreams, tossing and turning as his tail lashed with every shaking breath. Bleary eyes blinked open wide amidst the charm induced haze, peering out fearfully into the darkness, glowing with a feral light. Eyes as red as the brands upon his skin, but…softer. Full of longing. 

Though Bren’s words didn’t seem to reach him, there was a waking intelligence in his piercing crimson gaze, the stirring remnants of a soul that had not yet been broken.

“Can…can you hear me?” Bren whispered softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, looking him in the eyes. Bearing a part of his heart he had long since buried. “I…I feel empty too. I know what it is, what they did to you…And I swear, I—I won’t hurt you.” 

A flash of fear flickers in those hollow, empty eyes, a brief spark of something in that vacant, glassy stare. You’re in there, somewhere, Bren thinks, latching onto it like a lifeline, seizing that single thread of fading consciousness. Reaches out and pulls until it all unravels. 

“You don’t want to die down here, do you?” He whispers, bending down to gaze right into the tiefling’s burning carmine eyes. “You want to live.” 

[albionscastle]

Baggage

Chapter 1: Little Brat

Guy of Gisbourne & OC

Sir Guy of Gisbourne, Black Knight, Enforcer of the Sheriff and general asshat finds a little creature that may or may not change his life.

*this fic came about while chatting with the lovely @captaintauriel77 about how soft we thought Gisbourne would be with a little girl. It has kind of exploded from there. Thank you for supporting all my crazy ideas.

tw* mild mentions of violence  AO3 link

Fic Masterlist

Sir Guy of Gisbourne was in a foul mood. He stomped through the castle and everyone was quick to get the hell out of the giant man's way before they were swatted, shoved or even stabbed. He had been known to do all when he was particularly pissed. No-one wanted to be on the receiving end of Gisbourne's temper, or any other mood he might be experiencing for that matter. As he stalked the passageways of the castle, all Guy could think about was how badly he wanted to escape. He couldn't breathe here, the walls always seemed as though they were closing in on him and he mostly felt like an animal trapped in a cage. He hated the Sheriff, he had always hated the man, and while he enjoyed the power he had, he didn't always feel the glee he portrayed whilst carrying out his duties. Neither did he enjoy some of the "attention" that Vaisey had been showing him of late. Oh he knew there were men and women in the world of a particular persuasion and ordinarily it didn't bother him in the slightest, but this man was a snake, evil to the core and the mere sight of him made him want to vomit. Gisbourne himself was a man of very questionable morals, he admitted, but he didn't think he was the monster that Vaisey was. Not yet at least.

Even if he appeared to be one.

He left the castle as soon as he could, preferring to ride to Loxley alone at night, rather than spend another moment in the stifling atmosphere of Nottingham. It wasn't as though Hood ever strayed from whatever hovel he was holed up in at night anymore. Apparently he had better things to occupy his time with, Guy thought bitterly as he imagined Robin and Marian together, not understanding why he tortured himself this way.

Pulling his horse up in front of his manor, he felt himself getting calmer, at least as calm as he ever could be. This wasn't home, not really, home was long gone, burned into ashes along with his parents, and his sister was somewhere far away where he couldn't reach her. Everyone he had ever loved no longer existed in his world, and he no longer cared much about anyone in this one. The one person he had dared to love had betrayed him, and she had broken his heart into a million pieces with a damn smile on her face. He had wanted, in that moment, to kill her, to make her bleed into the dust of the Holy Land as she had made his heart bleed into his chest. Guy had thought himself a worthy catch, he had money, a home and lands, a title. Had Marian married him he would have treated her like a queen, but instead she had now gone off to live in the forest with that skinny, sanctimonious hypocrite, Loxley. The man still looked like a boy and he really was far too judgemental for someone who had delighted in throwing rocks at him as a child.

A smirk stretched Guy's lips as he dismounted, leading his horse into the stable. He felt no guilt about usurping Robin's lands and living in his house, if anything the bastard deserved it for all the years of bullying. If the mother had still lived, things might be different, or at the least Guy would have made sure she was comfortable as Lady Loxley had always been kind to him as a child. If there was one thing that he truly hated it was the mistreatment of a woman or a child. Vaisey could never know that and as such Guy had too often participated in the harassment or killing of both. He took no pleasure in it and he never prolonged the event. If they had to be dispatched he did so with the efficiency of an assassin. If they had to be tossed from their homes, it was with a few coins hidden in their meager belongings. If Vaisey had any inkling then he would have another way to manipulate him as he had no qualms about hurting women and children, in fact he enjoyed it all the more. At least Guy had never crossed the line of killing for killing's sake.

Gisbourne would never admit it out loud but he had been ashamed of the way he had behaved after Marian had left him at the altar. It was why he had left her with Robin in the Holy Land. Burning down her home had not been his finest hour, but that was how he had always been. If he hurt he became like a rabid animal, fighting in anger and pain against whoever was doing the hurting. He had lashed out and acted as less than a man and for that he was sorry. Not that it mattered anyway, Marian had hurt him so badly that he had vowed to never let a soul get near him again. It was a lonely existence, but at least he would never hurt like that again.

A sniffle from inside the stable suddenly caught his attention and he was instantly on his guard. Silently drawing his sword, Guy stalked to the entryway, his eyes darting back and forth as he searched in the gloom for whoever was hiding back there. He bared his teeth, hearing another noise that sounded like a sob coming from behind the hay in the corner. His prey had no idea that he was even there and like a panther, Guy slid through the dark, looking forward to facing the intruder who dared to hide from him. He was spoiling for a fight.

Moving into place, he slid over the hay, swiping his sword through the air.

“Gotcha!” he sneered, taking a step forward to dispatch his unwitting victim.

The stopped dead in his tracks at the same moment a shrill squeal pierced the air.

It wasn’t a man he saw in front of him but a filthy little girl, who couldn’t have been more than seven or eight winters, crouched in the corner and gaping at him with fear in her eyes. Her skinny arms were raised, as if to fend him off and he could just make out a ratty blanket laying across a pile of hay. Guy was so shocked that he didn’t move for a moment while he tried to process his thoughts. For some reason the fear in the child’s eyes angered him and he snarled at her, causing her to try and back further away from him.

“Nowhere to go, little one.” his voice was menacing, he wanted to scare the little brat who had the audacity to sneak into his stable. He took a step forward, knowing his black cloak and large frame had to terrify her.

“What are you doing here?” He watched her gulp. “Tell me, before I run you through!”

Big, fat tears started to streak down the dirt on her face and Guy felt a tiny nudge of guilt gnawing at his gut. Still, he couldn’t take any chances, even a small child could easily be used as a spy for Hood or the Sheriff. She continued to silently stare at him, her little body trembling from both cold and terror. With a sigh, Gisbourne sheathed his sword and squatted down in front of the child, running a gloved hand down his face. He was tired, aggravated and he just wanted to go to sleep yet instead he was doing this, whatever this was.

“I am losing my patience, child. I won’t hurt you but I wish to know how you came to be here.”

“You just said you would run me through!” the girl cried out, before covering her mouth with her hands.

“So you do speak?” Guy’s eyebrow arched, her little spark amused him. “Then you can tell me who you are and where you come from.”

“I don’t know where I am.” she squeaked. “I come from Lincoln. Please don’t hurt me sir, I just wanted to sleep, I’m so tired. I didn’t mean to be a problem. I’ll leave, I promise.”

She started to gather her little satchel and blanket.

“Stop!” Guy commanded, and she instantly obeyed. “You go nowhere Until I’m sure you aren’t a spy.”

“I’m not a spy, I’m a kid.” she muttered.

A sassy kid at that, Guy thought.

“You are in Nottinghamshire, there are spies everywhere, many of them children. We hang little spies as well as big ones.”

‘I’m not a spy!” She stomped her foot as hard as she could. “I don’t have a home and I am tired. I didn’t think anyone would mind. It’s not like I stole anything.”

She thrust her satchel at him, sounding offended even though he had not accused her of stealing.

“Well this is my stable so I might mind you’re being here.” he looked through her bag and saw nothing but a ragged doll, some stale bread and a piece of moldy cheese. As if on cue, he heard the girl’s stomach rumble angrily. She was so skinny she looked like she was wasting away and even in the gloominess Guy could see the dark shadows under her eyes. He had been her once.

“And who are you then?”

“The Lord of this manor.” Guy shrugged.

“I figured that part out already.” she grumbled. “What Manor? Which Lord?”

“Locksley Manor, Sir Guy of Gisborne at your service.” He mocked, hardly surprised when her face went bone white under the dirt.

“Please, please don’t hurt me.” she started begging. “I’ll leave, I promise! I never would have come here if I had known.”

“Known what?” Gisbourne snapped.

“That, that….you were the Lord here!”

“I suggest you explain to me what you mean by that statement, child.”

She shook her head.

“Do as I say!” he roared.

The girl yelped.

“I heard people talking about you in one of the villages. They were very cruel to me.” she swallowed hard. “They said that Guy of Gisbourne was a monster.”

He had no doubt that he certainly looked like one to this girl.

“Go on.”

“Please sir, don’t make me.”

“Do it if you wish to live.”

‘Alright. They said you were a cruel man, that you enjoyed torturing and killing people. They said you were evil, like a demon from hell.”

Guy threw back his head and laughed.

“I am no demon from hell, child, just a man. But I am cruel, do not doubt that.”

“Do you really enjoy torturing and killing people?” she whispered.

“No.” he surprised himself with that admittance. “But I have done both, and likely will again.”

“Why?”

“Because it is my job.” he shrugged.

“You should get another job.” she stated matter-of -factly.

“Probably, but as you have heard, I’m a monster.”

She regarded him with a stare that made him very uncomfortable.

“I don’t think you are, Sir. Maybe a bad man, but not a monster.”

“And what makes you think that I’m not a monster?” he growled.

“You took care of your horse. A monster wouldn’t do that.”

The logic of a child. He rose suddenly and grabbed the girl by the back of her, whatever she was wearing, and lifted her off the ground while she kicked and screamed. She connected her feet with his knee a few times as he stomped to the manor and he was pretty sure she called him a bastard whoreson at one point. Begrudgingly he admired her spirit, even as he accepted that he would have several bruises the next day.

Throwing the door to the house open, Guy strode across the hall and back to the kitchen, the child squirming the whole way. Agnes, the cook, stood from her seat, eyes wide as the Master clomped in  and dropped the child at her feet.

“Please do something about…this.” he gestured to the girl who was glaring at him from the floor. “I think it's a girl, but I can’t be sure through all that dirt and muck. A bath, a meal, some clothing and a place to sleep. Don’t take your eyes off her for a second.

“Yes my Lord.” Agnes curtsied, bemused by this turn of events.

Guy left without a backward glance, certain that his orders would be carried out. He sat in his favorite chair, staring pensively into the fire as he contemplated his current situation. His time with Vaisey needed to come to an end, for his own state of mind, and soul if he believed in such a thing. It was common knowledge that the populace hated him, but somehow it bothered him to hear it from the lips of the little girl.

It hadn’t always been this way, once he had been a loving son and brother, an eager and hopeful young man. Until the harsh realities of life had shown him the way things really were. Only the strong and merciless survived and thrived. And so he had killed that young man and allowed something dark and unrecognizable to rise in his place.

Something that Marian had hated, and been afraid of. Something everyone was afraid of, even himself.

“My Lord?”

Gisbourne shook off his thoughts to see the cook standing a few feet away.

“What is it?” Agnes had been his nurse as a child, before everything went to shit, though he was the only soul who knew that little fact. She was the only person he respected, and in turn she was loyal to a fault. Even so, she was still very cautious around him and if he’d still had a heart, that might have hurt him.

“I did as you asked, my Lord. The baggage is asleep on a cot in my room.

He nodded.

“A girl, I presume?”

Yes Sir, a half starved one with a mighty mouth on her. She certainly made her opinion about your treatment of her well-known.”

His lips curved, almost into a smile before he tightened them again.

“She’s clean, fed and comfortable. What else did she want from me?” Guy huffed, picking at his gloves.

“She said you were no gentleman to drag a lady like that.” Agnes was amused by the baffled look on the Master’s face.

Several choked sounds escaped from Guy’s lips as he tried to fight back and failed miserably. Tears were in his eyes before he could finally calm himself enough to let the mask slip back down.

“The little brat is lucky I didn’t kill her for trespassing, she should be thankful for what I’ve done.”

Agnes sighed. For a moment she had seen a glimpse of the boy she had so loved, but just as quickly it was gone. Only the angry eyes and stony expression remained in place of it.

“You are right of course, my Lord. may I ask what is to be done with her?”

“I’ll send her off tomorrow and she can resume whatever journey she thinks she is on.”

He waved Agnes away and walked back out to finish with his horse who was quite peeved with him for leaving the saddle on for so long. A sneaky apple and a good brushing changed the animal’s mood dramatically and he relished the attention lavished on him by his master. It was as Guy was closing the wooden door of the stall that he remembered the satchel the child had been carrying. It still lay on the hay where he had dropped it earlier and he decided to take it inside and look through it properly. Again, all he found was the rag doll and the green food. The latter he threw away, the former he examined closely, noting the fine workmanship despite the tears and mends. Someone had loved the doll for a long time. He wondered how it came to be in her possession, maybe she was a thief after all.

Somehow though, he doubted that. His instincts told him the child was harmless, more an annoyance than anything. Taking the doll, Guy walked through the kitchen to Agnes’s room and quietly eased the door open enough to see the sleeping form of the little girl. Fighting his desire to wake her up and interrogate her, he simply leaned in and placed the doll on the pillow beside her head.

“Tomorrow you can go back to where you came from, you little brat.” he hissed into the darkness, pulling the woolen blanket up to cover the girl’s shoulders.

He left the room and stomped upstairs muttering under his breath, never once realizing that Agnes had been awake the whole time, a sly smile on her face.

Sir Guy of Gisbourne was about to meet his match.

[crater-lake]

5/29/23

I can only string together worthwhile sentences with my recipient clear in mind. Dear a future me whose responsibilities will be different from my responsibilities now. Dear what giving up looks like in a 21 year old. Hello my tongue which burns so much at its tip- the tastebuds irritated and bumpy red. And also I need to believe in "in mind." I write it and destabilize slightly, like suddenly the words cannot surmise the semantic leaps between orator, context, and audience, and how this act of reading and writing is what other animals do not get, to be understood in this literal way. I get to look at a loved one and know exactly where he is going. I can try to pinpoint the hurt with careful paragraphs and fish in the light of his eyes for purpose. (The person who writes this is not me anymore. Interpret this in a way that makes you a little sad and curious.)I say the great blue whales of my unconscious pass through abyssopelagic zones, even though they cannot breathe. My great blue whales breathe using the shrouding dark. The vast ocean of my brain matter chatters with animals which cannot find one another and need to. If I stand at the shore of myself, should that ocean also be mostly something that can kill me? What about the inevitable is so elusive and addictive. I say I am curious because it is attractive. A school of fish is German Vocab which inhabit the hadal zone of my right brain. Yes my corpus collusum is an estuary of serene voices and oracular proclamations. Yes, maybe if I am really serious I am worthy of careful listening. Like damn good listening which no one, including me, does. I worry I trust the word too much. Maybe it is loving. To be slow enough and gentle and small enough to hear the heart beat of a pebble or the minuscule weeping of a plucked dandelion or the cavalry of ant legs marauding their way through a battle field of grass stalks and silt and dirt mountains. Whatever this exercise is, I devote myself to it. I gather substance alone. I use my phone for good. My big theme is not desire. What comes after peace? A question? Who is worth saving? Does it even stir something in you that you cannot recall your old angst? Can Grindr be in an American classic? Can Grindr be my milk in a cereal bowl? Can Grindr be a Nobel prize winner or a Pulitzer Prize winner? Can Grindr be a wounded animal that is rehabitated to some secret enclosure? I check the messages to make sure I am beautiful. My fingers play with my hole. My thoughts plan a coup to break out onto my forehead like worms in an apple. Once my thoughts manage their escape then they'll tell everyone about how much I want to be ducked all of the time. I left the error because my phone won that one. I think of the myriad men I have blocked because I have found them ugly and also those who have done that to me. My body is beautiful like a thunder storm and beautiful without religion and beautiful like a kitchen filled with great food and good recipes. One day I'll make a whole room of people give a damn. One day no one has to smile at me and I will still matter too. One day I walk sonder on a leash like a dog distracted by every creature that moves. I want to maybe one day live in someone's eyes and use my phone less. I want to be in a place and mean that. I want to go across the country. I want to build a bunker under every word and be sure that that is where they're coming from. I want to be envision useful boredom and a small following who believes in my category of profundity. This timbre

[solomonish]

The Brothers and What You Are to Them

Do you ever wonder what it is about you that keeps your demon by your side? Not necessarily the traits you have that attracted them to you (and still do), or what they think makes you you, but the reason you’ve become so irreplaceable and imperative in their life that they don’t think they could live without you.

Nowdateables: here!

To Lucifer, you feel like stability.

Lucifer isn’t an insecure man, nor does he need someone to lean on. He doesn’t find himself overwhelmed by what the world throws at him. He is capable, and he can shoulder the responsibilities expected of him and then some, no matter what they should turn out to be.

...at least, that’s what he thinks, and that’s what he says.

But he does find himself asking you to run errands for him when he needs them done correctly. He does find himself entrusting you to keep the roof of the house connected to the rest of it if he has to go away. You are the one who knows how he likes his coffee and when it should be brought to him to power him through the rest of his work without cutting into his scant sleep time. You keep things under control when everybody seems hellbent on making sure things don’t go the way Lucifer plans, and then you’re there to kiss his forehead despite his empty protests and remind him to take care of himself, too.

Lucifer doesn’t feel like the ground is shaking beneath him, ready to topple down at the slightest breath. But if he did, he knew you’d be there to keep him from plummeting down.

To Mammon, you feel like acceptance.

Mammon is called a lot of things in his life, especially by those who are supposed to hold him dear. He’s never smart enough, never behaved enough, never trustworthy enough, never good enough. And, when he gives up and decides not to make himself sick over expectations he’ll never be able to reach, he only gets worse. To everybody else, he’s scum, and sometimes he can’t help but feel it.

You should be saying those things to him, too, with the way he can’t help but hoard your time and your affections and yes, even your things sometimes.

But you don’t. You pet his head and hold him close and give him affection. You do it even when he makes it difficult on you and tries to tell you that he doesn’t want it. He does. He needs it, even. For the first time, he feels like somebody, he feels like he reaches the expectations set up for him and that he actually has a shot to be what somebody wants.

And when you tell him that you don’t have any expectations for him, none except for him to just be himself, he believes you. And it feels so, so nice.

To Leviathan, you feel like peace.

You would think that a life spent nearly entirely in a room playing video games would be easy and peaceful enough. Saying so aloud is a surefire way to get Leviathan to snap.

Envy never allows him to know peace. His video games, manga and anime are a distraction along with a passion. At least he can fend off some of the negative energy with the knowledge that he is the biggest megafan of any number of franchises and titles. Still, despite that, despite the calming water he modeled his room after, he still feels the jealousy tearing at his inside like unstoppable tumultuous seas.

But you stop that. You are the greatest thing, and even if he isn’t sure why you’d ever consider him worthy, he can find that peace in being the one that you’d rather spend your time with and give your affections to. He makes it hard, and he knows he does - but you persist, and you cast that life raft out to him and finally, he feels like maybe he won’t drown anymore.

When he does allow himself to sit and just be the person that, for some reason, you love, his waters still and he knows what it is to really be loved.

To Satan, you feel like understanding.

Satan has had to build a wall around himself brick by brick to hide the ugliness that nobody would dare approach, that he never even asked for and never would have.

He is the king of masks. For any situation, he has about twenty that he can switch between flawlessly, keeping you on your toes and creating a labyrinth so involved nobody will ever figure it out. Well, everybody except for you.

You managed to find your way to his core, sometimes when he wanted you too and always when he didn’t. Sometimes, you figured out the riddles he laid out for you like breadcrumbs, your smile lighting up and lightening his heart so spectacularly he felt like a new person. Other times, you snuck in with a wrecking ball and made your own way to his center, leaving the walls he set up in ruins. Most of them, he isn’t sure he wants to rebuild - not if they keep you out. At the end of the day, even if it’s cheesy, even if it’s unexpected (and that bruises his ego to admit), he finds that you understand who he is so intimately, you may know him better than he knows himself.

Maybe, with your constant meddling, you invented the person he’s become, or at least helped in his formation - but, if you like him that way, that might not be such an insufferable fate.

To Asmodeus, you feel like sweetness.

The life led by someone with eyes on him all the time is ferocious.

Even for somebody who can charm anybody with a simple glance, Asmo has an equal talent for scorning those he leaves behind. For every person gushing at his Devilgram and tracking his whereabouts for an autograph or a photo, there’s someone cursing his name and spewing the worst kinds of insult that will never directly reach his ear. In his life, you take the pleasure with the pain, and you don’t complain about either or you’ll lose the only good you’ve got.

But nothing about you is so vile. You don’t chase after him just to prove that you’ve met him (even if, at first, he was a little miffed at the prospect), and you’d never say something so soul-shatteringly hateful it’d make even a demon lord cringe. You give him the kindness that doesn’t come with expectations or desire for something in return, the kind that might even come unconditionally. You make him feel like he doesn’t have to prove anything, like he’d still be the most wonderful, beautiful creature in all the realms to you even if (gasp!) everybody else turned their backs on him. There’s a sort of innocent kindness in the way you smile at him that gives him a sugar high, and he isn’t always sure of what to do with it.

Once, he was a creature made to be loved and adored, and you make him feel like there was never a time where such a privilege was ripped away from him.

To Beelzebub, you feel gentle.

Beelzebub is a big guy, and he’s a well-known athlete. People don’t look at him and think he’s fragile goods.

And he isn’t. He is his family’s defender, and he’s been through battles terrible enough they still hang over those who even know about them like storm clouds. But inside his tough exterior, the uncaring aura he accidentally portrays when all he can think about is keeping himself fed, there’s a person that craves the same affections everybody else does. Beelzebub isn’t just hungry for food - he feel empty, entirely hollow, like a void he’s worried will grow too big to be distracted and swallow everything he cares about whole. Sometimes he feels so empty he could just curl up and die.

But, whatever it is you have, it fills him up so deliciously and he’s hooked. It’s even enough for him to just know that you’re around and taken care of - that staves off the worst of it, and he suddenly doesn’t feel like a beast that will be the downfall of all he loves. You give him patience with his need to eat, you give him gentleness with your touches and your smiles, and your voice doesn’t have that exasperated edge everybody else’s does. 

He isn’t a powerhouse or a bottomless pit to you - he’s a person, and it’s more than he could ever ask for.

To Belphegor, you feel like forgiveness.

Belphegor does a lot, he is a lot, and most of it feel wrong.

If he could keep himself awake for longer, he might have enough time to dig himself into a pit of self-loathing in the way Levi does. But he just feels empty, a void broken by occasional bouts of fury, or hatred, or pain of some sort. It’s hardly an existence, so he does the bare minimum, hardly passing the threshold for living because to do so would be more than he could deal with. Hell, the only time he has to think and to do things, he spends trying to inconvenience the person who (supposedly) cares most for him or hurting others - hurting you.

God, how can you look at him like that? Like he’s somebody you can trust, like he’s somebody worth an effort when he himself doesn’t give a damn? It’s weird, it’s stupid, it’s just like you humans to do, and it can never stop. It’s too much for him to deal with, but that’s a good thing. The time he spends wrestling with your forgiveness is time spent being productive, something he’s not exactly been accused of before. And sometimes, that diligence spreads to other thins: his relationship with his brothers, his relationship with humans, his relationship with himself.

You make him want to put the work in because you make him feel like he amounts to something - and you make him feel like his mistakes haven’t completely blotted out his hopes for the future the way he used to think they did.

[dramioneficrecommendations]

Best Draco/Hermione Fics Dramione Shippers Read in 2020

A few days ago, I asked you what were the best Dramione fics you'd read in 2020. Here's the huge list of your excellent recs (in alphabetical order):

A Creature Most Unusual by JMilz: Draco Malfoy is on a mission. Unfortunately, Hermione Granger catches him in the act. When she sees that he has adopted a rather unusual magical creature, she becomes determined to make sure he takes care of it. Little does she know, the animal may hold her key to eternal glory . . . and a whirlwind romance. M, 9 Chapters, 24,460 Words

A Little More Alive, Far Less Lost by MGL_Dramione_Lover: After Draco's post-war trial, he finds himself attending his 8th year at Hogwarts with Hermione. As remorse and acceptance replace anger and hate, the old enemies begin a friendship that sparks into much more than they ever hoped for. Hermione's goal as Head Girl is to banish old prejudices and unite the school while Draco's only wish is to become a man worthy of her love. M, 22 Chapters, 84,823

A New Light by mithrilstarlight: Draco spent six years doing his best to keep his head down. Then he runs into Hermione Granger. Turns out, they actually have a lot in common.Chapters posted M/W/F. T, 18 Chapters, 33,876 Words

A Second Look by RiverWriter: Her best friend's life was a mess and she would have done anything to make things better for him and his sons. So, when she found her former enemy in a similar situation her heart went out to him as well... and the beautiful blond baby in his arms didn't hurt his case. It was certainly enough for her to give him a second look. M, 30 Chapters, 127,243 Words

All that is Rare by smithandbarrowman: In the wizarding world, it has long been assumed that men are Alphas and women are Omegas. However, when Hermione Granger discovers that assumptions are rarely factual, her status as one of only a handful of female alphas that has ever existed has men falling at her feet.But there’s only one man she wants, and like the male alphas before her, the hunt is on until he bears her mark. E, 31 Chapters, 119,755 Words

All the Wrong Things by LovesBitca8: Sequel to "The Right Thing to Do" - Draco's POV. Part 2 of the "Rights and Wrongs" series. E, 24 Chapters, 160,297 Words

All You Want by senlinyu: Eighth Year at Hogwarts was supposed to be Hermione’s. And it is, just not in the way she expects. Omegaverse fic. E, 36 Chapters, 172,651

apples & cream by LovesBitca8: She could have taken her things and gone through his Floo without a word. She could have ignored him on Monday morning, as though last night had been no more than a fever dream and too much Firewhisky. But she’d come back to bed. Inspired by the lovely NikitaJuice's "apples & cream." E, 1 Chapter, 1,426 Words

Beginning and End by mightbewriting: Years. Broken into months into weeks into days—into hours, minutes, seconds—into moments. Simple at one end, complex at the other. In Draco’s experience, moments, even when simple, had a habit of becoming irretrievable. Moments grew, stretched, multiplied into ages and eras that defined whole stretches of measurable time. Draco regretted several moments in his life, some within his control, some without: all of them irretrievable in nature. At a certain point, wedged between ‘what-ifs’ of his own devising, he’d stopped trying to keep track of those regrettable moments: now and then, pushing and pulling, coming and going, beginning and end. Moments were only moments for just as long. After that, he had no control. A Draco POV prequel to Wait and Hope. E, 48 Chapters, 242,100 Words

Bells on a Hill by HeyJude19: Left by his fiancée a month before the ceremony, Draco never got his dream wedding, so agreeing to assist Granger with her own wedding planning to distract himself from his broken engagement seems like a great idea—though Draco probably shouldn't fall in love with the bride-to-be. Based very (very) loosely on The Wedding Singer. T, WIP

Bending Light by scullymurphy: Draco Malfoy was in exile, though they called it protection. It was the summer after sixth year and he'd taken Dumbledore's offer, defected to the other side and been sent away to a small town in Italy for his troubles. No magic, few rules, and not a lot to do - until Hermione Granger showed up. M, WIP

Break for me by Ada_P_Rix: COMPLETE _______________ "-I told them this wouldn’t work.” He cut in through gritted teeth as he kept his eyes on Hermione, making her pulse quicken and she couldn’t help but clench her thighs together at the rough, husky tone of his voice. He didn’t miss it; his eyes landed on her thighs and they darkened even further. “I can’t help her when all I feel like I want to do is pin her down and fuck her into the mattress.” _______________ Hermione gets into a little accident at work and is infected with a hybrid potion created to cause certain heightened side effects. Draco offers to stick around to give his work partner a little support ... if he can Occlude long enough to resist her... E, 7 Chapters, 45,107 Words

Breath Mints / Battle Scars by Onyx_and_Elm: For a moment, she's almost giddy. Because Draco Malfoy's been ruined by this war and he's as out of place as she is and — yes, he has scars too. He's got an even bigger one. She wonders whether one day they'll compare sizes. E, 51 Chapters, 148,908 Words

Bring Him to His Knees by Musyc: Draco is on the case of a murderer, but to investigate, he needs a fake relationship - and a kink club play partner. When Hermione volunteers to take the role, both do their best to maintain the lie without letting each other know the truth: neither of them are acting. E, WIP

Calendar Boys by anne_ammons, Nadiapolyakova (Rijaya83): She had thrown out the idea on a lark, but now Hermione Granger was tasked with bringing the charity calendar to life. What was one more thing on her list? An art/writing collaboration between nadiapolyakova and anne_ammons - twelve photos and a piece of the story behind them. M, WIP

Cherry Mint by dirtymudblood: "He could smell her. Even multiple train cars away, he could smell her. Except, Draco didn’t know who she was. He ignored his natural instincts to pant like a dog and follow the scent to the omega in the beginning stages of heat. Instead he willed himself to rub his knuckles against the rough wood of the table in front of him." E, 27 Chapters, 58,081 Words

Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights by bexchan: One of them is desperately trying to remember their past while the other is forever trying to escape theirs. It's seven years after the war and Draco has managed to avoid almost everyone from Hogwarts, living a lonely life on a small island, far away from the wizarding community. But a familiar face in a cafe window capsizes his world into chaos. Dramione. EWE. Memory fic. M, WIP

Difficult by provocative envy: COMPLETE: "I should," I repeated. "But I don't want to." And then he smiled, and I was wrecked. HG/DM. M, 30 Chapters, 87,041 Words

Don't Look Back by Onyx_and_Elm: It’s the smell of it. Chemical. Bitter and sharp as a raw edge on metal. Just a hint of it as she passes him at breakfast — but enough to stop her dead, mid-step. There is Wolfsbane in his tea. E, WIP

Don't Threaten Me with a Good Time by monsterleadmehome: She scoffs. “If you must know, he ‘elected’ me because he thinks our shared animosity will keep you in check. He’s also not worried about you trying to shag me as a distraction.” He leans back, stubbing out his cigarette on the banister. His eyes rove over her from crown to toe and back. She lifts her chin and tries not to shiver. “Well, he’s right about that.” Lucius Malfoy hires Hermione Granger to whip his son into shape so he can find a pure-blood bride and receive his inheritance. What could go wrong? E, 10 Chapters, 48,092 Words

Draco's Gift by TriDogMom: Draco gives Hermione a gift because of an instructional YouTube video. M, 1 Chapter, 1,705 Words

Dragon in the Dark by GracefulLioness: The battle is won, Voldemort is dead, but the war is far from over. In the new Death Eater regime, Draco Malfoy does what he must to survive and keep his mother safe. Now a highly trained assassin, Draco has learned to think of his targets as inhuman beings, but when he is tasked with killing someone from his past, he can no longer hide from the horrors of the world around him. E, 31 Chapters, 164,782 Words

For a Present Under the Tree by grace_lou_freebush: When Draco and Hermione eloped, the Wizarding World turned against them. Hermione is stuck in a low level, low paying Ministry job with no hope of upward movement. Draco can't even convince someone to hire him. Now, it's Christmas, and Draco knows Hermione deserves the world - or at the least a Christmas gift. He finds the perfect hair comb to replace the horrid Muggle brush she's been making due with, and he'll do anything to afford the paltry present so he can have something to put under the Christmas tree for his wife. Making a beeline for the jewelry box containing the hair combs, Draco rifled through them, landing on an ivory comb with queen anne rose carvings and gold filigree detailing. He brought it to the startled shopkeeper and set it down gently. Pulling his sixth generation Malfoy heirloom pocket watch from his coat, he shoved it in the wizard's face without second guessing himself. "I would like to make an exchange." E, 1 Chapter, 10,141 Words

Fortuitous by MrsRen: Recently divorced Draco doesn't believe in the ideology of having one true love. He certainly doesn't expect to meet his match in a Halloween themed coffee shop, but fate has a peculiar way of giving you just what you need. M, 13 Chapters, 93,695 Words

Fuck, Marry, Avada by Lilian_Silver: Some years after the war, the gang meets up at the Leaky to play a silly game, with very real consequences. E, 1 Chapter, 3,106 Words

Give Me An Hour by RZZMG: As the war continues to rage on around them, Hermione Granger decides to seduce fellow Order Member, Draco Malfoy, one night while at Grimmauld Place... and everything between them changes after that. Fic follows the "five times" trope, and is dedicated to raspberryjukebox. One-shot. A/U-Extended War scenario. Dramione. Drama-Romance-Hot Shag! COMPLETE! M, 1 Chapter, 3,251 Words

Good Girl by arabellaleyes: Hermione is tired of their normal routine in the bedroom. What will happen when she asks Draco to spice things up? One-shot. Complete. M, 1 Chapter, 9,000 Words

Hindsight by floorcoaster: It's a New Year and Hermione decides it's time to make some changes. T, 12 Chapters, 167,694 Words

How to Love Thy Neighbour by WhatSoMalfoy: After her relationship with Ron falls apart, Hermione attempts to juggle a personal muggle life with a professional wizarding one. After encountering her high school nemesis in the most unlikely place, Hermione adds another ball to the juggling mix. M, 14 Chapters, 41,992 Words

How to Move On by longdistance: It's been nearly a decade since the war. A long time since she locked herself away. A long time since he faced his mistakes. She's what he wants. He's what she needs. It's time for both of them to figure out how to move on. M, WIP

Hydrotherapy by eilonwy: Draco finds a trip to the showers after playing Quidditch... enlightening. E, 2 Chapters, 7,163 Words

I Choose You by melanoradrood: At the end of Fifth Year, Hermione finds out why It is that none have approached her with a Marital Contract, the only way she can remain in the Wizarding World after Graduation. It has already been signed by her Magical Guardian, someone she has never met - she is to be the next Lady Malfoy. A year and a half later, she is a married witch, but still, Draco Malfoy, who had chosen her above all others, had not spoken of it. In fact, they barely spoke at all. And when trouble heads their way, Hermione means to change that. Really, she means to change a lot of things. E, 5 Chapters, 24,527 Words

Isolation by Bex-chan: He can't leave the room. Her room. And it's all the Order's fault. Confined to a small space with only the Mudblood for company, something's going to give. Maybe his sanity. Maybe not. "There," she spat. "Now your Blood's filthy too!" DM/HG. PostHBP. Now complete with epilogue. M, 49 Chapters, 284,050 Words

It Happened in Egypt by bionically: Wandless in Egypt: Draco's stranded in Egypt, but luckily, there's a Granger in sight. Now, if only he could be prevented from strangling her. Fun times abroad: It was supposed to be a leisurely solo trip down the Nile. Hermione didn't factor in one blond man from her past and all his drama. Then, of course, there's the fact that everyone's after him. Much hilarity ensues. Maybe. *** A rom-com adventure/mystery featuring two unwilling partners on the run from Lucius Malfoy, alien-hunters, Muggle police, and local wizards engaged in a civil war. T, WIP

Love and Other Misfortunes by senlinyu: Draco Malfoy is dying. He's part-Veela and needs his mate to survive. Post-war, Hermione Granger is a workaholic, up to her eyeballs in legal activism on behalf of Magical Beings, and hasn't yet noticed that Malfoy is the Magical Being who needs her most. “Because I don’t want to be saved by you just because you feel like you have to.” He was properly furious now. “I’m in love with you." Hermione stared at him. She knew but somehow hearing him say it made the air shimmer with magic. "I’m in love with you,” he said again, despairingly. “And that means I want you to be as happy as you possibly can. And you won’t be, not with me.” M, 23 Chapters, 98,584 Words 

Manacled by senlinyu: Harry Potter is dead. In the aftermath of the war, in order to strengthen the might of the magical world, Voldemort enacts a repopulation effort. Hermione Granger has an Order secret, lost but hidden in her mind, so she is sent as an enslaved surrogate to the High Reeve until her mind can be cracked.Now illustrated by Avendell. E, 77 Chapters, 370,473 Words

Measure Of A Man by inadaze22: To truly know someone is to differentiate between who they once were, who they are now, and who they're capable of being. Hermione realises the duality of one man as she rectifies what she knows of the past and begins to understand the pieces of who Draco Malfoy is now: a father, a son, and a man. E, WIP

Meet the Malfoys by raven_maiden: 4 Works, 21, 442 Words

of flavoured names and coloured sounds by Pink Panda (Ejacyeolation): "He doesn’t question it at first, the fact that sounds have colours and words have flavours. He grows up with it, grows up seeing powerful ruptures of colour when his mother plays the piano and softer, translucent bursts when the people around him speak. His father’s voice fills his vision with sombre oranges and lilacs while his mother’s is a pleasant mix of delicate greens, blues, and greys. The word father tastes like wet wood and the word mother tastes like the pumpkin juice the house-elves frequently serve him."In which Draco just wants to know what colour Hermione's moans would be. He also wants to know if her skin would taste as sweet as her surname or maybe as intoxicating as her given name. E, 2 Chapters, 10,351

Once Upon a Night by longdistance: One night will change everything. M, 17 Chapters, 57,444 Words

One and Done by PacificRimbaud: Hermione Granger has a career she loves, friends she can depend on, and a nice set of hand towels for her new flat. She's single and tired of tiresome men, but that doesn't stop her from wearing beautiful lingerie underneath her serious Ministry skirts. Or having pictures taken in naughty knickers. Just once. For herself. Draco Malfoy doesn't get upset at the sight of blood, which is good, because he sees a lot of it. What he doesn't see a lot of is Hermione Granger in her unmentionables. Usually. A series of meetings and mix-ups in which one cannot possibly mean done. E, 4 Chapters, 35,011 Words

Our shared silence by Vofastudum: She wakes up one morning and everyone is just gone, vanished like they never existed at all. Everyone but Him. And in this silent solitude, he's all she has. Hermione and Draco alone in empty castle. Mystery and a plot twist you didn't see coming! EDITED 10/2020 M, 17 Chapters, 40,149 Words

Pinned by bionically: Draco doesn't know what he's expecting when he follows Blaise down a dark alley, but it certainly isn't this. For a man with an addictive personality, this isn't going to turn out well. Assigned trope: Voyeurism *** Or, a chance encounter with a frizzy-haired witch from his misbegotten past in the last place anyone should have expected to see her sets Draco's disordered life on its ear. The path to redemption is truly paved with unexpected surprises. E, 20 Chapters, 110,886 Words

Really Sell It by RoseHarperMaxwell: Draco's having a rough eighth year, and Hermione's going to make it better for him. "Well, it’s clear what needs to happen.” She gripped his chin, tilting his head to make sure she hadn’t missed any injuries, before looking straight into his eyes. “You’re my boyfriend now.” *Featuring fake dating, exhibitionism, and sex-positive Hermione Granger. Submission for Farewell to Summer: The 31 Flavors of Smut Fest. E, 1 Chapters, 7,612 Words

Remain Nameless by HeyJude19: How did it feel? It felt like he was barely holding it together. She, of all people, should shun him. Or yell at him. Curse him. Spit at him. Take out her wand and blast him off the face of the earth. It was crushing guilt and relief and confusion all at once when he looked at Hermione Granger. The monotony of Draco’s daily routine had become both a lifeline and a noose. But this new habit of grabbing coffee with Hermione Granger is quickly becoming a reason to get out of bed and is unfortunately forcing him to re-evaluate his inconsequential existence. Hermione is living her life in fragments, separate pieces scattered about, and she can’t find a way to step back and let the full picture form. Why are morning meetings with Draco Malfoy the only thing that make sense anymore? E, 51 Chapters, 312,315 Words

Remember Us As War (but call us forgiveness) by Anyaparadox: Following the devastation of the Battle of Hogwarts, The Wizarding Population Growth Act is put into effect. All witches and wizards will be matched with their most compatible partner. Failure to comply will not be tolerated. Survival is key. Hermione reminds herself of this. Survival. She can fix this, if only she can survive. The war has made this a task she is equipped for. Marrying Draco Malfoy will hardly be the worst thing she's ever endured. M, WIP

Ring A Ring O' Roses by Gallivant: Dark Magic, Dark Wizards and a mysterious and deadly Dark Flux, which, in the wrong hands, has the terrifying potential to mass-murder Muggles and Muggle-borns ... It’s been fourteen years since the end of the Second Wizarding War and the Wizarding World is settled, stable and seemingly safe… Hermione Weasley has it all: a loving family, a successful career - and happiness… of sorts. But a series of unexpected events is about to turn her life upside-down, threatening those she loves, fatally undermining the peace between worlds that has prevailed for centuries … changing life as she knows it, possibly forever. If working with Draco Malfoy was the last thing Hermione Weasley ever wanted, falling for your enemy was the least expected. A quest to thwart a magical weapon of mass destruction has devastating consequences. A race to save the world, becomes a race to save themselves… M, 65 Chapters, 527,141 Chapters

Set Fire to the Rain by HarleyQuinn1317: What happens when the one you're destined for is the last person you should ever be with... When the Ministry of Magic asks for volunteers for their Marriage Initiative, Hermione Granger must come to terms with the one terrible deed she committed during the Second Wizarding War. Can she find it in her heart to forgive herself and finally learn to let love in? E, WIP

Sex and Occlumency by Graendoll: Hermione didn't escape from the war unscathed, and when she finally decides on a solution to her problems she's left to explore it on her own. A chance encounter with Draco Malfoy sets her world on it's head and leads her down a path towards healing that she would never have anticipated. E, 18 Chapters, 65,079 Words

The Art of Seating Etiquette by inadaze22: Hermione believes that every problem has a solution, and that solution can be found in a book. That is, until Draco starts sitting to her right every Friday. She has no answers until help comes in the form of an unlikely source: Ron Weasley. E, 1 Chapter, 9,734 Words

The Auction by LovesBitca8: In the wake of the Dark Lord’s triumph over Harry Potter, the defeated must learn their new place. Hermione Granger, former Golden Girl, has been captured and reduced to human chattel. Sold to the highest bidder as the top prize at an auction of Order members and sympathizers, she is thrust into the rabid, waiting hands of the Death Eaters. But despite the horrors of Voldemort’s new world, help—and hope—seem to arise from the most unlikely of places. PART 3 of the RIGHTS AND WRONGS series. E, 41 Chapters, 325,702 Words

The Binding by Curly_Kay: “Okay, what we know so far.” Hermione listed, "One, our magic is drawing us together. Two, we can use each other’s wands. Three, there were actual sparks when you touched me."After an infant binding ritual magically joins Hermione and Draco to counteract the Black family blood curse, they must navigate the secret binding through their years together at Hogwarts. E, 35 Chapters, 175,451 Words

The Carnal Club by Ada_P_Rix: COMPLETE The Halloween Ball is fast approaching with Hermione at the helm.... What a delightful time to suddenly learn of a centuries old secret sex-game club that is currently ran by a Blonde haired Slytherin. Oh, and it only happens once a year every October, when the winner takes all at the Halloween Ball ...The First Rule of Carnal Club: You do not talk about Carnal Club. E, 8 Chapters, 43,306 Words

The Disappearances of Draco Malfoy by Speechwriter (batmansymbol): The night that Harry and Dumbledore return from the cave, the Death Eaters are delayed from reaching the top of the Astronomy Tower for one more minute. Draco Malfoy lowers his wand. A Deathly Hallows rewrite in which Draco accepts Dumbledore's offer to fake his death and go into hiding with the Order of the Phoenix. T, WIP

The Erised Effect by Ada_P_Rix: Hermione and Pansy work in a shop together. Draco, Harry, Theo and Blaise all work together at the Ministry. They all meet up every Friday at the pub to have drinks. Pansy has a new fantasy potion that she likes to call 'The Erised Effect' that she's keen to try out on willing participants ... Boys are so easy to manipulate when alcohol is involved .... E, 13 Chapters, 88,852 Words

The Fallout by everythursday: Hermione learns about growing up through the redemption of Draco Malfoy. E, 49 Chapters, 310,229 Words

The Figures of Figuring Out by Vofastudum: You were the biggest riddle in my life. You were the one I couldn't figure out. You were the only thing I couldn't find a pattern to. You were something I couldn't look up from any book. Unwritten, with no instructions. And I was used to finding solutions! Post-war eight-year secret romance. Edited 12/2020 M, 13 Chapters, 26,951 Words

The Flat in Bath by Ada_P_Rix: Loosely inspired by 365 Days...-- Malfoy grabbed her chin, forcing her to look directly at him. “Don’t you dare, Granger...” He told her roughly as his intense gaze bored into her own. “I fucking forbid you to come until I’ve had enough of you...” Draco caught her cheeks now between the fingers of his free hand and then snapped her head to the side and licked her earlobe, trailing down to her jawline. “...one flutter of those delicious walls of yours and you’re going to wish you never opened your legs for me.” -- __________________ Hermione is kidnapped during a raid and taken captive by someone who doesn't plan on 'torturing' her in the conventional way... E, WIP

The Gloriana Set by ThebeMoon: The War is won, and Hermione Granger is back at Hogwarts as an “Eighth Year”, feeling reckless and determined to shed her prim bookworm persona. She will do as she pleases, and anyone who doesn’t like it will see the business end of her wand. Also returning is Draco Malfoy, universally hated but determined to restore his family’s name. Hermione’s hopes for a quiet school year are quickly dashed as she contends with mischievous First Years, killer plants, enchanted hair accessories, a totally inappropriate Moaning Myrtle, renegade Death Eaters, a nice vampire, a poorly named study group, a depraved party, and mysterious, threatening blood messages on the castle walls. We have redemption, partial redemption and (sadly or hilariously) no redemption at all. Throw in a snarky, disturbingly attractive Draco with his own secret agenda, and we have a very slow-burn Dramione with a side of who-dun-it. COMPLETE! M, 81 Chapters, 271,830 Words

The Library of Alexandria by senlinyu: The Library of Alexandria is not for just any witch or wizard. Many bookworms may try but few are permitted to pass through its doors. The books residing there are ancient and powerful and, if one happens to make a mistake, the consequences can be rather—novel. E, 6 Chapters, 26,383 Words

The List by AureliaBlack90: After her divorce, Hermione decides to get out of town to recover from the pain of her lost relationship and the miscarriage she suffered a year previously. She arrives in the Cotswolds depressed and aimless but compiles a list of things to do that she hopes will help her get back on her feet. In the midst of her journey to find healing she keeps running into Draco Malfoy, who is nothing like she remembered him. He invites her into his world, and Hermione finds exactly what she was looking for - in the place she least expected it. E, 10 Chapters, 70,526 Words

The Manuscript by alexandra_emerson: Five 1/2 years after the war, in the middle of a big fight with Draco, Hermione finds a manuscript. It’s a retelling of her and Draco’s love story, written by him. She never realized how much he was struggling before she read his words. Snippet: I could spend my whole life apologizing to you Hermione, and it would never be enough. Post-war, angst-filled Dramione with a happy ending. M, 21 Chapters, 154,918 Words

The Memory of You by PotionChemist: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger fell in love against all odds, but there was one big problem — he was already married. Pressured, Hermione does something she promised herself she would never do again and erases their affair from his memory. Completely devastated, she avoids seeing Draco or the Malfoys at all costs. But is their love too strong? Are they inevitable? What will happen if he finds out about their previous relationship? E, WIP

The Mountain and The Sea by AlexisDanaan: Hermione Granger was perfectly happy with her life, her job as a Healer Trainee, her ugly cat and her cute little house in the countryside. And then Draco Malfoy had to go and mess that all up, typical git. Post-Hogwarts, EWE, OOC, creature!fic. E, 12 Chapters, 40,441 Words

The Nietzsche Classes by Beringae: The Ministry takes action against the remaining prejudice in the wizarding society and asks Hermione for help. “What do you want? Money? Power? Name your price, Granger. I’m not about to let pride get in my way when an Azkaban sentence is on the line.” M, 15 Chapters, 45,807 Words

The Phoenix Potion by FedonCiadale: Twenty years after the battle of Hogwarts.... Harry is head auror and is worried about cases where Muggleborn children meet with accidents, Ron is a famous Quidditch keeper. Both haven't talked to Hermione for ages and certainly not to her husband, Draco Malfoy. Narcissa Malfoy struggles with a curse, and Neville and Luna try to stay friends with all. The key to solving the problems may lie in the past, a time nobody really wants to revisit and some can't. T, 111 Chapters, 237,745 Words

The Potioneers by omnenomnom: They need each other unfortunately. Hermione has tricked Draco under her tutelage, arrogant attitude and all. But she would be simple to think he would accept it quietly. They have both have secrets to hide, old wounds better left to fester, and a world full of mermaids, dragons, and magic to explore. T, 53 Chapters, 196,559 Words

The Pretense by Colubrina: Voldemort died, but the Death Eaters live on. Hermione Granger traded herself to Draco Malfoy in exchange for safe passage for core Order members. Now he's pretending to love her, Narcissa is pretending to believe that, and Hermione is walking a tightrope behind enemy lines as she figures out what is going on. Unfortunately, people fall off tightropes. (no non-con) T, 50 Chapters, 108,164 Words

The Right Thing To Do by LovesBitca8: Hermione felt the pounding in her ears again. She would see him for the first time since the Great Hall, gaunt and stricken at the Slytherin table with his mother clutching his arm. She hadn't meant to look for him. Not in the corridors, not beneath the white sheets of the fallen, not on the way to the Chamber of Secrets with Ron, but she was a stupid girl. E, 36 Chapters, 174,911 Words

The Seven Year Witch by TheLastLynx: A boy and a girl have been meeting – coincidentally – for seven summers. While they pretty much hate one another most of the year, for those secret summer moments, they manage to see each other in a different light. But will that be enough to bring them together? A Dramione story about growing up and changing perspective, told along - and in-between - the lines of canon. M, WIP

Thirty Times Lucky by galfoy: "Granger, I can't hire you on any longer," Draco said. Hermione stared at him. Losing her job might actually mean losing the War, and she had to bargain, but there was literally nothing she had that he would want. Or was there? M, 2 Chapters, 7,128 Words

Traditions by raven_maiden: She straddled him slowly, still biting her lip, her hands on his shoulders. He held her hips tightly as he stared up at her. “So beautiful,” he whispered, and she flushed prettily, like she always did from his compliments. “You never need to hide from me.” ** Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy fell in love during the war. One year later, they're heading home for the holidays so he can finally meet her parents. There's just one teeny little problem: her parents think they're both Muggles. E, 14 Chapters, 68,767 Words

Waifs and Strays by Kyonomiko: War leaves a lot of orphans in its wake. Hermione is one, by her own hand, and she struggles with the realities of her situation. When she finds an orphaned familiar, it seems meant to be, giving and receiving comfort helping to heal her fractured heart. Unfortunately, the animal is actually a wizard, and he has his own issues. M, 31 Chapters, 118,152 Words

What You Think Is Right by icepower55: Six years after the war, Hermione parents are dying and her marriage to Draco is crumbling. Nothing seems logical in her life anymore. Her healer tells her to start writing about it, so she does, as a way to figure things out, and remind herself along the way. Hell is proximity without intimacy -Dante's Inferno M, WIP

When the Bell Tolls by everythursday: As a Dark revival begins to rise four years after the war, Hermione Granger is placed on the assignment of putting an end to them – and her first task is to recruit the Ministry's best hope and last option in the form of Draco Malfoy. E, 20 Chapters, 148,033 Words

Wreck by JMilz: Serving as Minister for Magic, Hermione Granger is finally at the peak of her career. With a beautiful family, a successful book, and the public on her side, her life should be a fairytale. Unfortunately, there is trouble in paradise, and when Draco Malfoy pays her a visit, she begins recalling their history and questioning her marriage. The reality is: every relationship is hard. M, 53 Chapters, 187,992 Words

Thanks to every person who contributed (I hope I've mentioned everyone. If not, let me know. 😊): @certified-arsehole @fedonciadale kiwim22 @really-sad-devil-guy endless-musings @headfullofnargles @pinksunsets-world @rosseliz01 @dramioneden @all-consuming @elricsister @injailoutsoon12 reclusivebird @mariakov81 @notthatchhavi @mordanbooqs @haaatch @hpsassenach @ybaeby @farmgirl-in @coyg-81 @eiramrelyat metterschling-plus-two @a-maidens-fantasy @sansacat @vofastudum @lexayeon @1800-rewrite @aneiria-writes @anonymouslydramione 

It took much longer to compile this list than I thought it would. Hopefully, I didn’t skip anything. 🙈

Happy New Year. May it be better than the previous one and full of great Dramione fics and fanarts! 🥳🥳🥳

And here’s the 2019 list: https://dramioneficrecommendations.tumblr.com/post/190216354767/what-is-the-best-dramione-fic-you-read-in-2019

[blzzrdstryr]

Signed in blood

Yandere!Zhongli x Yaksha!gn!reader

Wordcount: 2541

CW: Yandere themes, mentioned violence and death, unhealthy power dynamics

Long before Liyue’s borders had been established and the harbor bloomed into the prosperous city that it is today, the Geo Lord, Rex Lapis gathered all lesser deities and spirits dwelling in the current nation’s territory and concluded a contract with most of them, ensuring the protection of his country and people. Some of them signed a contract out of fear before archon’s power, some did it for mutual benefit and some out of gratitude and deep reverence. You are in the latter category, a simple forest spirit that was saved from the distorted monsters left after the archon war by his grace and power alone.

It was a simple day when you felt an enormously malicious energy surrounding your green abode, and soon they showed up, killing intent and will of dead archons seeping out of them. You were fast and agile enough to dodge creatures' hits, which couldn't be said about the others. Your fellow spirits and animals with whom you were sharing this forest soon fell victim to the perpetrators' attacks. Dark energy entered and desecrated the lands, poisoned the waters and even possessed the bodies of your old friends.

You were running away, fatigue finally catching up to you, despite the inhuman nature and you soon fell to the ground. There were a myriad of thoughts and feelings reeling inside of you - grief for your now dead friends and home, anger at the monsters and most importantly frustration with yourself. You aren’t human, not a single part of you is, so why were you so weak and helpless, unable to do anything as you left your loved ones for slaughter and massacre?

Guilt and shame washed over you, as you allowed tears to burst free - you were bad, you were disgusting for not doing anything, not helping anyone. Monstrous roars and growls got closer, a promise and a threat of what will happen to you. You closed your eyes, accepting the imminent end and bracing for the upcoming pain. And then the most unexpected thing happened - the earth underneath you vibrated, tremors knocking the beasts off their feet, as a tall basalt pillar rose from the ground.

Soon the stranger appeared, ending the monsters in one swift and elegant slash of his spear. He donned an otherwise simple white attire adorned with golden threads, with a long ponytail showing from the hood, but the most eye-catching details were piercing amber eyes and the glowing patterns all over his body of the same colour. You forgot how to breathe for a second as you watched your unexpected savior - he was beyond handsome, possessing the kind of beauty that would have mortals blushing and stuttering.

He then looked around, finally noticing your sprawled form. “Are you all right?”he asked, his tranquil and calm voice tinted by the shadow of concern and lending his hand. “I am”, you sputtered out and took an outstretched limb, feeling infinitely clumsy and ugly, face heating up from embarrassment. “That is good”, his voice despite still possessing the same serenity took a warmer tone.

As you learned later, you were saved by one of the seven remaining archons, a lord of geo. Filled with shame for your dishonorable escape and gratitude for your unforeseen salvation you signed the tightest contract with Rex Lapis - a blood written pact.

Unlike the contracts mortals establish, a contract between two immortal beings lacks the parchment or ink or a signature, they use magic and techniques that echo directly into their soul, preventing even the possibility of the terms' violation. Blood written pact binds to the vital essences of one, an ancient magic flaring up once the contractor intends to break the agreement, stopping and warning them of what's to come once they do breach it.

Your blood sizzled and boiled as you pledged your life to Liyue, magic singing in your veins and resonating with your soul - Rex Lapis saw the potential in you to be a great warrior and designated you to serve him as one of the yakshas, so you obeyed, training your body and spirit to withstand the endless calamities you no doubt will have to face. One day, after a grueling training you almost gave up, but forced yourself past your limits. I must redeem myself and repay Rex Lapis, you thought, gritting your teeth and taking a battle stance again, and then a miracle happened: a blue glowing orb materialized in the air - a vision bestowed by the hydro archon.

Sometimes you still reminisce about this moment and recite the oath you gave back then - I pledge my life to the protection of the Liyue nation and the will of Geo Archon, Rex Lapis for all the centuries to come.

Soon, you ended your training and started to protect Liyue just like other four adeptis all of whom were also saved by the Geo Lord. For centuries you five defended the nation as it bloomed and grew into something that you couldn't even imagine. And even after centuries of slaughter as your karmic debt started to slowly eat you from inside, slowly, but surely devouring your sanity by the smallest pieces you always found strength to move forward by recalling your first meeting with Rex Lapis, reverence before your God and guilt before the dead driving you further and further.

With time a dull, yet constant pain made its way into your bones. Sometimes it would make your eyes fill with unshed tears, sometimes wake you up in those rare times you slept without nightmares, sometimes it made your hands tremble, almost dropping the weapon in the middle of the battle. You couldn’t suppress and endure it like Xiao does, letting out a pained whimper here and there, yet you still upheld your duty to the Liyue. It almost felt like routine, until two awful events happened: the death and defection.

The fear and hatred of all those who fell victims to your weapons were slowly seeping in your minds, driving you mad with bloodlust. It all happened so quickly: you were watching out for other demons as Bonanus and Pervases were patching up Alatus after the intense battle, while Bosacius looked at the other front, weapons ready, and then Bonanus lashed out, aiming for Xiao's neck. The anemo yaksha quickly darted to the side, but the weapon still grazed the copper bird's neck, his blood forming a quickly growing pool underneath. You had to put the bloodlusted yaksha yourself, something inside of you breaking as you did so - it was one thing to stand against hordes of demons and monsters and it was another to kill your friend.

You couldn’t talk or look into the eyes of the other two after that, despising yourself for yet another failure - first your forest, then your friends, you were helpless to save anyone. And then Bosacius left, you had no idea where he vanished, but these two events prompted Rex Lapis to visit both you and Xiao, as yakshas shrinked in numbers from five to two in less than a week.

You kneel before the Geo archon when you notice his tall figure between the ancient trees - unlike Xiao, you prefer to live in the woods, the familiarity of nature reminiscent of a home you once lost. Your Lord ushers you to stand up, his face solemn and grim.

“[First]”, he starts, exhaustion evident in each syllable: "For centuries you protected my Harbor, and despite turbulent times passing you still uphold your duty. I find that admirable".

Your eyes go wide and you turn your head, unable to receive such high praise from your God, you feel your cheeks heat up at the compliment, acknowledgement of your hard work, and even constant pain or the death and disappearance of your colleagues became less serious of the issue for a mere moment.

"I am not worthy of such praise, my lord, I am only doing my job, fulfilling the contract", you deflect, looking at him again. Archon's eyes crease a little and a small frown appears as you say "contract", yet he quickly wills his face into an impassive mask.

"I suppose I made a mistake when I asked you to be my yaksha back then, I have misjudged your worth ", he continues, voice becoming distant and strangely tense, as he reminisces about the days long past, amber eyes looking both at and through you.

"My lord, I…", you start and then stumble over the words, unsure what to say next. Is this his way of telling you that you're bad at your job? You cast your head down, eyes lowered in shame, hands that spilled adeptus' blood trembling and burning. "I am deeply sorry for letting you down in that way, I will do my best to redeem myself from now on” .

A warm hand touches your shoulder, squeezing it slightly in a comforting manner. His palm is warm and firm, comforting in its steadiness like a tall cliff standing proudly against the raging tides, indestructible and reliable.

"You have no reason to apologize for this. Something like this would inevitably happen sooner or later, you have no fault in the events that occured. I suppose karmic debt would drive one of you insane eventually".

He sounds calming, reassuring, like a parent soothing a child. You still don’t lift your head to meet his gaze - you’re too guilty and unworthy to do that. There are no words you can speak now, not when you have been so thoroughly destroyed by your lord’s kindness - how can he look at you and see someone innocent?

“No, I meant that all those centuries ago, when I first met you I didn’t discern the gem hidden in the crude ore” he adopts reminiscent tone again, his hand now moving on your shoulder in slow and steady rhythm: “I knew I wanted you to be by my side, I didn’t know who I wanted you to be though. I needed time to understand my own feelings and the way I viewed you, and then I needed some more time to accept those sentiments”.

“What sentiments, my lord?”, you ask, finally looking up to him, brows slightly frowned in confusion and curiosity - it’s rare to see the Geo archon talk about his inner workings so openly, as he usually prefers to keep a cordial distance or masterfully redirects the conversation into a completely different direction.

“Over the years, as you protected my nation and my people, I finally understood it”, his hand shifts from your shoulder and now he cups your own two palms in a firm yet gentle hold: “I cherish you, [First]”.

The sudden declaration leaves you stunned and speechless for a good minute: you look at your god with wide eyes, mouth opening several times like a fish out of water. A myriad of thoughts and feelings go through you: confusion, disbelief, inferiority.

“I… That is very sudden for me to… learn about your affections”, you finally utter, forgetting to add respectful “my lord” at the end. Your voice comes off as small and hesitant as you say so. Rex Lapis doesn’t seem to mind your confusion as he takes a second to collect his own thoughts.

“The yaksha title I have burdened you with takes a toll both on your mind and your body. I severely miscalculated, so I want to redeem this mistake”, he sounds regretful now, one hand moving to caress and cup your face. You go stiff, still overwhelmed by the whole conversation. “I can free you from your contract if you decide to become my life companion”.

“But, my lord, it’s so sudden I can’t just..”

“Hush, I won’t pressure you into an intimate relationship right away. No, we will wait and learn about each other and once you will be comfortable enough to let me enter your life and your heart we will marry, uniting our fates with a contract that shall never end”.

You lower your head again, but this time in contemplation instead of guilt and shame. What do you feel for Rex Lapis? Admiration - he is a powerful deity, capable enough to flatten mountains and raise new ones with a single slash of his spear. Gratitude - he was the one that saved you and sheltered you, until you grew strong enough, he gave you a reason to live when you had none. Respect - he is a capable leader, smart enough to build a foundation and guide people of the most magnificent nation in Teyvat.

You feel no love for him, not the kind of love he wants anyway. You know about his patience and how affections sometimes take years to finally mature and bloom, but the thought of spending decades, maybe even centuries in hopes that one day you will reciprocate is nauseating to you.

How do you feel about it? A part of you wants it - it’s an easy way out to get rid of the pain, of the fear and bloodshed, of the death that clings to you at every waking moment. You remember how you spend most of your nights sleepless, drowsiness leaving you the same second you dream of blood and carnage and massacre. You remember your whole body throbbing and burning on especially bad days, when even Remedium Tertiorum can’t do its job. You remember crying and gasping for air after the weight of the slaughtered gets too heavy for you to handle.

You almost say yes, out of these reasons alone, but you stop yourself - you think of Xiao, of how lonely he will become once you leave. You think of heartfelt smiles that mortals gift you with on those rare occasions you have to save them. You think of the slaughtered spirits before whom you still have to atone to.

“I am sorry, my lord” You look him straight in the eyes, bracing yourself for the words you are about to say: “I can’t match your feelings, nor can I accept your offer, not now at least”.

Amber eyes lose their warmth in the instance, the comforting aura he was exuding earlier replaced by the weird tension between you two. Looking at this image, you suddenly remember how ruthless Rex Lapis can be on the battlefield as for a fraction of the second he looks at you as you’re an enemy.

A horrible pain shoots right through your body, and your short scream follows. You fall on the floor, gasping for air, deaf and blind from the overwhelming pain. Geo archon quickly takes your form, carrying you to your sleeping place, as you try your best to breathe and not cry.

“It must be a blood pact acting up, the magic must have taken your refusal as disobedience to the contract”, he says once the agony lightens, enough for you to focus on the conversation, “you did pledge your life to my will”.

You try to half sit on your elbow, to look him in the eyes and say something other than the pained groans and whimpers, as his next words instill a sense of quiet dread in you:

“I hope you will rethink and take back your words out of your own volition, [First]. I would hate to order you to”.

[bukojuiice]

are you feline what i’m feline? — todoroki shoto

ೃ pairing: cat boy! ┃pro hero! todoroki shoto  x fem pro hero! reader

ೃ  tags: smut 18+ (the rest of the tags are below the cut!)

ೃ  warnings: nsfw

ೃ wc: 3k words

ೃ  my nav  →  my mha writing masterlist  → my katsuki bakugo x reader smau

ೃ  blessed with a quirk that can temporarily transform any human being into any living thing they want through the means of potions and concoctions, you brew up a cat girl potion to surprise shoto for your second year anniversary. however, some accidents and mishaps happen, and you’re welcomed home by a handsome cat boy instead.  

ೃ dedicating this fic to the lovely and amazing @todosweetheart​ bc her cat boy! shoto art is the reason why this fic exists. thank u for the content u feed us val! 🥰💓

additional tags:  use of natural aphrodisiac, cat boy! kink, overstimulation, fingering, kitten/cat play, rough but loving sex)

You had just recently moved in to a new neighborhood with your boyfriend, Todoroki Shoto. 

Your blissful domestic life with him was just about to begin and life couldn’t get any better than this. and yet... 

sometimes you wish you could do more for him. 

The two of you met when you were hired to work at his father’s agency, stealing glances at him by the reception area whenever you came in for work, and coincidentally getting into the same elevator as him. Not knowing that he was woefully smitten with you too. It was only through the probing of your co-workers that you had drunkenly confessed to him at a company party and he had (soberly) confessed to you too.

That was where everything started. 

That was how you and the No. #3 Pro-hero got together.

Sometimes, it made you think if you were even worthy of his love. 

You were just a hero with a support quirk; with it being used for more science and field-related work as your powers made you manifest and create drinkable liquids that could change the physical appearance of a person (make them invisible, turn them into an animal, or even turn them back into a child or into an elderly person) for a limited time and depending on how strong or weak the solution. This means that through your quirk, you are able to tamper with a person’s DNA through these concoctions without any consequences. It was a powerful quirk, just like magic, yes, but can it be used for offense? Sadly not.

Shoto’s quirk was the exact opposite. Bearing the quirk of fire and ice, he was the definition of perfection. The perfect quirk, the perfect combination of two exact opposite elements, and how adept he is at using both of them. Often praised and hailed by the public for not only being extremely powerful, but also for how painstakingly handsome he is. You were just waiting for some controversial tabloid to talk about the No. 3 Pro Hero and his girlfriend who was way out of his league. 

Shoto constantly reassures you not to worry about them, never failing to calm you down with his gentle I love you’s and forehead kisses whenever he sees you tensed up and nervous, and never failing to tell you that you are the light of his life and his strength to continue fighting. and yet, it still worries you sometimes.

Today marks your 2 year anniversary. 

The two of you decide to go out on a simple date tonight at one of the best-reviewed restaurants in the neighborhood as the two of you were busy with throwing out the moving boxes and unwrapping your furniture, combined with the hero work that the two of you do during the day. Completely ruling out the possibility of being able to plan an elaborate anniversary date. 

But, it was alright. As cheesy as Shoto makes it sound, no day can ever become the worst, as long as he’s spending it with you. 

“Ah~ Those crepes were super yummy! Plus, the cafe was really cute!” You beam with a satisfying yawn, the two of you walking side by side, hand holding the other, and his arm wrapped around your shoulder for that extra warmth against the cold summer night. 

“Yea. There was a classy vibe to it. That was my first time trying a galette, and I must say that was tasty.” He remarks, turning to you. Your radiant and lively energy was infectious and he can’t help but smile. “Leave it to Mina and Sato to know all the best restaurants, I suppose.”

You nod contentedly and the two of you continue to walk back home in silence. Shoto looks around, taking in the sight and wondering if he could point out any small details about your surroundings that could make you laugh or smile. He notices a small shadow perk up from beneath a bush and he casually points at it. “Hmm? (Y/N), look over there.” 

You follow Shoto’s gaze and also notice the small shadowy figure. “Oh?”

The quiet sound of a purr could be heard from the bush. The two of you wait a little bit for the creature to reveal itself. A black cat pounces out of the plant, it’s beautiful green eyes staring back at you. “Meoooow.”

The cat walks up to you and you crouch down, putting your hand out, and wait patiently. Sure enough, the cat nuzzles against it. 

“Ahhh she’s so cute.” You observe the cat a bit more and notice it’s femme feline features. Shoto crouches down next to you and pats it’s head. Clearly the kitty seems to enjoy all this attention as she’s purring up a storm. “She is.” 

You glance at Shoto and notice how his eyes glimmered a different blue-grey light as he continued to play with the kitten. Pure bliss present in his face. His handsome and soft features make you blush, with the heat rising up to your cheeks, you quickly turn away before Shoto could notice you.

Bingo.

What if you turned into a Cat Girl and made Shoto… ya know…

It was a simple formula after all. You could whip up a concoction, sprinkle in a little bit of natural aphrodisiac and that’s it! The recipe to the sexiest and kinkiest night of your life! Maybe you could show your love to Shoto in a different way than most girlfriends do to their boyfriends no?

“AHAH!” You suddenly jump up from the ground, your boyfriend perks up a little bit in surprise too. You then bring out your phone and begin scrolling through your notes. “Sho-kun! Come on! Let’s get home!” You grab his hand and drag him away. He adjusts his running to your pace, smiling at your sudden burst of eagerness and excitement. “Alright alright, love. Be careful so we don’t trip.”

That night, you told Shoto to not wait for you as you had to brew up some potions for tomorrow as specially requested by a hero from your agency. Although reluctant at first to leave you, he intently watched you work your magic at  the little science lab in your house. The smell of the strong chemicals waft around the living room, prompting him to retreat back to your bedroom, but not without a quick kiss (that was about to turn into a make out session) before bed. 

“Happy anniversary, Love.” Shoto holds you by the waist, resting his head on your shoulder. The two of you swaying slightly to the non-existent rhythm and this makes you almost want to go to bed with him. “Shall we continue this tomorrow?” He peppers kisses down your neck, you giggle in response. 

“We shall.” You turn to him and deliver a kiss to his lips. You pull away before you could even begin to think of yearning for more. “I’m sorry if we had to cut our anniversary short. It’s your day off tomorrow right? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

He nods first before giving you one last kiss, this time on the forehead. “Goodnight (Y/N). I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He pulls away. you watch him leave your lab first and make sure he’s out of sight before you get back to work. 

After a few more hours of solving the formula and crafting the recipe for a potion that doesn’t necessarily turn you into a cat, but rather, give you only cat ears and a cat tail, yu bring out a thermos bottle from the cupboard and pour in the liquid solvent along with the natural aphrodisiac. You stir it a little bit before using your quirk to add the finishing touch and to make it a viable and an actually working potion. 

“Can’t wait to drink this tomorrow.” You snicker to yourself, as you pour all of the liquid onto the thermos, storing it in the fridge and then proceed to go to your bedroom and finally hit the sack.

“AHH I’M LATE!” You rush out of the bedroom, messy bedhead hair, your hero suit not even fully zipped up, mismatched socks, and your bag tossing and turning, most of the contents falling out, your thermos being one of them. “I’M LATE FOR WORK! BYE! I LOVE YOU!” You greet Shoto who was eating his breakfast in the kitchen, planting him a farewell kiss on the cheek as you dash your way out of the house. 

“I l-love you too.” He bids goodbye with a wave, but you weren’t even there to hear it anymore. Shoto’s eyes cast downward, a bit disappointed that he wasn’t even able to greet you properly this morning and how your anniversary date felt so short even though you promised each other you would spend more time together later today. 

He then notices your water bottle on the ground. A sticky note that was labeled “Drink me!” was attached to it and of course as every other person would react once they see a note like that,

Shoto thought that was for him. 

“SHO! I’M BACK!” You call out to him, closing the door behind you. “Sho~?” You sing-song, peering through the kitchen and the living room but your boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. “Where are youuu?” You continue to traverse through your house, looking for him. You grind to a halt when you notice your thermos bottle on top of the dining table… All empty.

Oh no.

Oh no no no no.

“Shoto!” You call out, your voice cracking with nervousness. You rush to your bedroom, hoping and praying that he was there. Only… for the lights to be out. 

“Sho?” Your hand reaches out for the light switch. But, you hesitate. What if a demon had kidnapped your boyfriend and you had to save him!? What can your quirk even do to save him!?

“(Y/N)...” He finally responds. Although his tone was soft and still a bit suspicious, you breathe a sigh of a relief and finally turn on the lights.

The lights illuminate the room to reveal your boyfriend in his usual turtleneck fit that you always ogle at. You look up and down, noticing that this is still the same man you know and love and nothing bad actually happened until… 

You look up and behind him.

He’s still the same man you know and love. 

Just this time however. he’s a cat boy. 

“I drank the potion that you made.” He says ever so casually, nothing ever fazes him as usual. “It had a “drink me!” sticky note attached to it and I thought it was for me.” He continues to speak plainly. You thought you could get out of this situation scotch-free and you didn’t have to explain to your loving boyfriend what had happened to him. That was until he crossed his arms, his feet tapping the ground, and his cat tail waving behind him. “Please explain to me why I am now a cat boy.” 

“Well…” You began twiddling with your fingers, trying your very best not to make eye contact with him or else you would end up squealing in delight because of how adorable he looked. “You see, I made this potion to turn me into a cat girl so that I can… ya know… please you and stuff. I saw how affectionate you were with the cat we saw last night so.. I guess you can consider this as my late anniversary gift to you?” You laugh sheepishly, still trying your best not to look at him as his gaze intensifies. 

Shoto’s black and white cat ears twitch as he tries to stifle a laugh. “Fine. I forgive you. This will wear off eventually right?” You nod in response and Shoto’s shoulders slump down in relief. He was about to approach you and envelop you in a hug, until his legs wobbled midway and he practically fell down onto the floor. 

You rush to him and help him stand up, propping himself on the bed. “Sho… are you alright love?”

He starts breathing heavily, cat ears twitching once again, fingers trembling, lips quivering, and his face as red as a tomato. “(Y/N)... what was even in that potion you made?”

You suddenly remember the aphrodisiac you added to the recipe.

Oh no no no no (2)

Shoto suddenly turns away from you before you could notice the bulge rising in his pants. He covers his face in embarrassment, refusing to look at you. 

“I also added some aphrodisiac and some catnip into the potion ahahaha…” You scratch the back of your neck. Shoto turns to you again, his eyes glowing like that of a cat and giving off a smoldering feeling. He shifts your position, gently yet somehow arduously pinning you down on the bed. He steps closer, hands moving up your sides, going around your back, pulling you flush against him. Shoto nips at your earlobe, sending sparks through you. 

You bite back a moan as he kisses your neck, his tongue hot, the gentle scrape of his teeth (slightly sharped like that of fangs) leaving you shivering. 

The two of you stop for a bit. He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. Tension coils around him, barely contained energy. As if Shoto is preventing himself from showing you his animalistic and feline hunger wanting to ravage you.

“C-can I-”

Before Shoto could even utter another word, you grab his face and pull him back into a desperate kiss, capturing his gasp and the throaty moan that follows. You capture his mouth with yours, and he responds eagerly, his kiss fervent, all his restraint crumbling at your touch. 

He kisses your chin, and you tip your head back as he trails his lips down your neck, murmuring praise.

He lays you down, hiking your shirt up, tossing it to the floor, then deftly unhooking your bra, and exposing your breasts. You giggle and reach for his pants, unzipping the fly and getting a little thrill when you see the huge bulge in his boxers. 

You push up his turtleneck sweater to admire his abs and Shoto smiles back at you seductively. 

“Like what you see?” He says teasingly, a little quip that he barely does when the two of you make love, his husky voice makes your stomach swoop.

“I can only tell you if you purr first.” You tease back, running your fingers over his cat ears. Shoto  feels the tickling sensation build up inside of him, slowly about to give in to his raw animal instincts. While you continue to run your fingers through his cat features, he begins to suck and nibble on your breasts. You feel yourself get lost in his gentle caress, barely even notice him pulling off your panties and sliding them off between your legs. Shoto’s fingers slowly slide into your womanhood, as if testing out the waters. He works them in and out for a bit, then pulls them out, brings them to his mouth, and licks them. 

Like a kitten licking its milk. 

“Sho…”

You feel the last of Shoto’s restraint break as his cat ears twitch again, you can practically feel the energy crackling around him, and the hunger in his eyes more evident than a while ago. Shoto then braces his arms beside your head, as he slots his hips between your thighs. You rise up to meet him, a low moan spilling from your lips. 

“(Y/N)... I’m going to put it in now…”

You bite your lip and nod in confirmation. 

Shoto gently sets a slow pace, your head spins at the sensation and the arousal coursing through you, your hips rolling to meet the movements of his cock. As he enters, the thrilling sensation courses through you again and your mind feels like it just melted. 

You gently rub his cat ears again, and his cock twitches inside of you, the enthralling reaction resulting in a shudder of pleasure shooting through your body, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. And that pleasure transmits to Shoto loud and clear from your pussy. 

Meanwhile, his breathing was ragged, more wild and animalistic than normal. Which is to be expected due to the potion but… this hot and intense feeling radiating off of him was different. 

And you love it.

“I-I feel like I’m losing control…”

As Shoto speaks, he slams his cock into you, making your legs shake and you moaning louder than you should. Everything seems more intense, from his thrusting to the look on his eye. 

At this point, it’s getting harder and harder to form a coherent sentence. 

“Is it alright if I go faster?” Shoto says softly, you hold his hand in reassurance, unable to respond properly as every intense emotion running inside of you makes you let out hitched and breathy moans instead. 

Shoto pulls out halfway, then slams back inside of you, making a loud sticky sound.

The two of you were acting like animals in heat. 

“A-ah! Shoto!” You mewl out, each of Shoto’s thrust hitting an undiscovered part of your insides. Spurred on by your voice, his pace further increases, until you’re both moving frantically. You gasp at his intensity, at the weight and heat of his body pinning you down.

“(Y/N)! I’m going to-” 

You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him on, and his fluffy tail briefly brushes against you. Shoto’s body tenses up as he prepares to unload inside of you.

Shoto’s body spasms- including his tail. Waves of pleasure flood over you as his semen shoots full-force into your depths.

The two of you gaze into each other’s eyes for a minute before he slowly lays himself next to you, his feline features slowly disappearing as you try to catch your breath.

“L-look they disappeared with one whoosh.” You say in between pants and giggles, Shoto covering the two of you with your bed duvet, chuckling along with you/

“Next time, please label things properly and tell me if you added any sort of ingredient that could increasingly highten my sex drive.” He says with an exasperated sigh, yet satisfaction plastered all over his face as he looks at you lovingly. “I love you (Y/N). Happy anniversary… nya~” He whispers the last few words, shooting you a wink. 

Your eyes widen, your mouth forming into an O like that one Chris Pratt meme. “Y-you just said…”

“Let’s h-have a nap and just have some late dinner instead.” He shushes you by planting a kiss on your forehead. 

You were about to protest, but as soon as Shoto shut his eyes, you didn’t bother doing so anymore.

You plant a kiss on his knuckles, snuggling closer to him. “I love you too Sho. Happy anniversary.”

[battybatzgirl]

Hey Mr. Sandman, You Missed a Spot

AO3

Summary: 

It's not that Hunter doesn't ever sleep, Eda's come to realize. It was that he falls asleep sporadically, most of the time in really weird places.

Or: 5 times Eda catches Hunter taking a nap

Part 1 of the Finders Keepers Series

---

Here’s the thing about Eda: she loves naps. Eda likes to be cozy, so usually, that equated to curling up under a blanket, lazing around, and falling asleep. The Owl Beast shared that sentiment, the creature that lived within her constantly wanting to nest. Those animalistic instincts were weird, but when you lived in a house with a demon who also liked to bury himself under a pile of stuffed animals, you kind of got used to it.

Here’s the thing about Hunter: he doesn’t sleep.

The kid has been living with them for only about two weeks, officially replacing Eda as Public Enemy Numero Uno in the eyes of the Emperor. When he’d showed up on Hooty’s doorstep, all bloody and barely conscious, Eda thought it was some kind of cosmic trick. The Powers That Be had to be pulling her leg because this was the second time the leader of the Emperor’s Coven had shown up to the Owl House with nowhere else to go.

Luz had been ecstatic to welcome him in, apparently excited to finally fulfill her dreams of becoming a middle child in their weird little found family. King was less thrilled, but eventually warmed up to the idea of Hunter staying with them as long as he taught King his secrets on how to command an army.

Hunter himself even seemed unnerved at the thought of living with them. He tried to leave a few times when he was still wounded, but his little bird palisman (Rascal, she’s heard him say) effectively herded him back into the house by continuously dive-bombing him and nipping at his ears. And after Belos put out a wanted poster for the kid, making him the Isles’ number one most wanted traitor, leaving wasn’t really an option. Not if he wanted to stay alive.

So eventually, Hunter begrudgingly accepted that yeah, he lived in the Owl House now.

And alright, Eda isn’t heartless. The kid was lost, wounded, and an enemy of the Emperor. She can work with that.

Getting to know him has been a challenge, though. Hunter has a lot of weird quirks. He holds himself so seriously that Eda has a hard time remembering that he’s a teenager and not a fully grown middle-aged man. He hardly ever smiles. He’s jumpy, practically jolting out of his skin every time you walk into the same room. He’s clearly Going Through Some Shit, as Eda so eloquently calls it, remembering how Lily went through the same thing when she slowly broke free of Belos’s freaky subjugation.

But still. The kid doesn’t sleep.

Eda first notices it around day four of his residence. She’s up early to go to the market, stepping into the living room and nearly transforming into her Harpy Form out of pure shock when she sees a figure messing with her bookshelf in the back of the room. Wide maroon eyes lock on hers from across the room and she feels the feathers that sprung to her skin recede.

“Titan, kid,” she breaths, “You nearly killed me. What are you doing up? It’s Saturday, you should be sleeping in.”

“Um…I did sleep in,” Hunter responds, as if it’s obvious.

Eda feels a frown tug at her lips, “The sun isn’t even up yet.”

The kid just shrugs a little lamely, and Eda feels a twinge of concern in her chest. (And ugh, feeling concerned for a guy who dangled you over the Boiling Sea is certainly weird.) If this was sleeping in for him, he couldn’t have rested more than five hours.

She steps closer, taking a second look at what he’s doing. Half the books are spread out on the floor, the other half stacked neatly back on the shelves in some kind of order.

He notices her looking, “I, uh, took the liberty of reorganizing your bookshelf. Or organizing it, since it didn’t really seem to have a system.” The kid ducks his head, the tips of his ears flushing pink. “I- I can put it back the way it was if you want, or organize them in a different way.”

That’s another thing about Hunter: he always has to be doing something. Being useful. Without direction, he crumples. It was always, What do you want me to do now, Miss Clawthorne this and I completed this task, Miss Clawthorne, what’s next that. His brain operated on a transactional level—I do this thing for you, you do this thing for me. And since Eda was housing him, he felt like he had to constantly be doing things for her. Constantly proving himself worthy to be here, repaying her. Hunter couldn’t seem to wrap his head around that she didn’t want him to do anything except stay comfortable.

Eda has thought up a hundred different little tasks for him to do in just his first four days. She’s running out of odd jobs to give him, and if she has to keep telling him what to do she’s going to start pulling out her hair.

“You’re fine, kid,” she says. “Keep doin’ what you’re doin’ if it makes ya happy. But you shouldn’t be up this early. You should at least take a nap later.”

Hunter tilts his head. “But that wouldn’t be accomplishing anything.”

“You don’t hafta be working all the time,” Eda stresses. “It’s okay to sit around and just exist once and a while. Actually, I think that should be your priority. Take a nap, relax, go cloud watching, take a walk—any or all of the above.”

“That sounds like doing nothing.”

“That’s because it is doing nothing.”

His face hardens, taking on that soldier-like seriousness that encompasses his entire demeanor. “Being lazy can’t be a priority.”

“Don’t think of it like that, then,” Eda almost snaps, wishing for a nice hot mug of apple blood. It was too damn early to deal with the repercussions of Belos’s all-work-no-play mindset. “Think of it as acting your age. Did you ever get to take naps as a kid in the Emperor’s Coven? Is relaxing just a foreign concept to you?”

He doesn’t answer, staring at her with those bagged eyes and guarded expression, and Eda throws up her hands in defeat.

She leaves then, her patience running too thin to continue arguing with him. She doubts he’ll actually go back to sleep. He probably goes back to doing whatever he was doing with that bookshelf. Eda makes a mental note to tell King to knock all the books off, just so Hunter can reorganize it later. Just for something for him to keep him occupied.

1.

Eda doesn’t even notice the first time it happens. It was one of Luz’s friends, Gus, who pointed it out.

The kids were gathered at her home after school, spread out on the floor of the living room along with various pillows and blankets. Luz found some card game she knew buried somewhere in the piles of human trash Eda has laying around, and the girl has been spending the better part of an hour trying to explain how it works.

“So the Wild Card doesn’t make you turn into a wild animal?” Willow questions, holding up a black card with looks like a colorful pie chart on it.

“Nope!” Luz says cheerfully. “It just becomes any color you want it to be to go with the rest of your hand.”

“But the card doesn’t actually change color?” Amity asks.

“No, it only represents the color,” Luz clarifies, and Eda has to admit, her girl has a ton of patience. She’s been quietly watching from her place on the couch, half-listening to their conversation, half-reading the Isles’ latest edition of You Gossipy Witch, a tabloid where a writer is speculating about her true form. Apparently, some people think she was raised by feral, wild owls on some far away barrier island, and has come to reside in Bonesborough just because she ran out of mutant rats to eat.

Weird.

But entertaining!

Gus holds up one of his cards, “So are blank cards bad, or—"

King jumps over his shoulder, landing on the deck of cards in the middle of their little circle and making them fly everywhere. “I have taken dominion over ALL YOUR CARDS. All of you must grovel for a taste of my wealth!”

“Actually, the point of the game is to get rid of all your cards,” Luz reminds him gently. “That way, when you get down to one card, you shout Uno! And you win! If no one else makes you draw anymore, that is.”

King deflates a little, apparently put off by the idea of less is more. “Oh.” Luz smiles and pats him on the head, and he brightens up. “Okay, let’s play, because I wanna make all of you draw as many cards as possible! You'll drown in your cards! Choke on them, even!”

As they start gathering up the cards that King threw everywhere, Gus lets out a little gasp. “You guys—is Hunter asleep?”

That immediately draws Eda’s attention away from the magazine. Her eyes flicker to the blond witch, laying on his stomach just on the edge of their group. He was still having a hard time socializing, especially with Amity, but Luz was determined to include him in all friendship activities. She said wanted to teach him how to be a kid, and hell, if anyone could knock some seriousness out of that boy it would be Luz.

Hunter is indeed asleep—his face is mushed into the forearms pillowed under his head, and his red palisman has weaseled its way to nestle in between the crook of his elbow. His breath comes out in soft little sighs, and Eda feels something in her melt.

“Awwww, he looks so peaceful,” Luz croons, mushing her palms against her cheeks. Amity’s already scooched past her, snapping photos on her scroll. Eda can’t blame her. She knows a good blackmail opportunity when she sees one.

Eda’s off the couch and catches King mid-pounce. “Whoa there, none of that buddy.”

“But Edaaaa,” the demon whines, his little arms and legs flailing in mid-air. “I have to conquer him when he least expects it!”

“Ehhh, let the kid sleep. Save your conquests for when he’s awake and can put up a fight.” Eda sets him down in his place in the circle, and the kids all glance at each other before turning back to the cards.

She notices that they’re more mindful to keep their tones softer, probably to not disturb the sleeping boy. And when Hunter wakes himself up about half an hour later, they don’t mention it, seamlessly integrating him back into their game.

2.

The second time it happens, Raine is walking Eda home. It’s early in the evening, and the pair just got done with a fabulous date—a picnic with apple blood and sweet (and stolen) baked goods? Titan, take Eda now, she’s found her perfect match.

She’s still riding that high, not noticing Raine stopping until they tug on their clasped hands. “Hey, who’s that? Is he okay?”

Eda follows where they’re pointing their finger. It’s Hunter, slumped against the base of an oak tree, fast asleep. His chin is tipped forward and a book open on his chest, and even more strangely, there’s a small pile of leaves on his lap.

“Oh, that’s just my—” Eda stops herself, the word catching in her throat. Hunter was a child in her care, yes, but he wasn’t quite her kid. Not like Luz or King. The blond witch was still too jumpy, baring his teeth and snarling at anything that tried to get close to him.

He calls her Miss Clawthorne, for Titan’s sake.

“—Hunter,” Eda finishes lamely.

Raine raises an eyebrow. “Your Hunter?”

“He’s uhhh, one of Luz’s friends who just so happens to be living with us. Not a big thing.”

Raine shoots her a deadpan look but strides forward anyway, kneeling next to the sleeping blond. They keep their voice to a low murmur, “Should we wake him? That can’t be comfortable for his neck. He’ll probably be sore later.”

“Eh, let him rest. This is more sleep than he usually gets.” Eda steps closer, kneeling down on his other side. It’s the side that has his scar, the slightly raised red tissue standing out even more so than usual now that he wasn’t constantly moving. She’s almost asked him how he got it, but he’s clearly sensitive about the subject. She’s seen the similar marks on his arms, and something tells her there are a whole lot more scars that he’s hiding.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who gave them to him.

Still, it’s hard to ignore just how young he looks. When he’s stripped of all of his snappy comebacks, quick defenses, and that guarded demeanor Belos forced onto him, he’s reduced to exactly what he should be:

A kid.

“Oh!” Raine startles in surprise. Eda looks up to see the cardinal palisman fluttering down from above them, carrying a few leaves in its beak. It hops down onto Hunter’s lap and deposits the leaves in the little growing pile on his leg.

A smile worms its way onto Eda’s face. She runs a finger across the little bird’s head, “Trying to keep him warm, huh?” The bird lets out a trilling note of confirmation. She lets the bird be, turning back to Raine, “I think Rascal’s got this covered. If he hasn’t come in before nightfall I’ll come out and get ‘em.”

The bard casts one last glance down at the sleeping boy before they stand. “Y’know, he kind of reminds me of someone.”

“Oh yeah?” Eda weaves her arm through Raine’s as the pair reassumes their walk.

“Yeah,” Raine hums. “He kind of has the same build as someone I met when I was held hostage in the Emperor’s palace. The Golden Guard. Did you hear that he ran away from the palace? There've been rumors that the Emperor himself is tearing apart the Right Arm looking for him.”

“Uh, about that...”

Raine stops, turning to look at her square in the face. Eda gives them a sheepish, toothy grin.

“Oh my god,” Raine says. “You adopted the Golden Guard?”

“Hey now, adopted is a very strong word—”

The bard cuts her off with a delighted laugh. “How am I not surprised?” Eda feels heat rise to her face, but can’t help but return Raine’s infectious smile. “Only you, Eda. Only you.”

3.

The third time it happens, Eda’s passing through the upstairs hallway, intent on curling up into her nest for an afternoon nap of her own. She hears a shuffling noise as she passes by the glorified storage closet that they gave Hunter as a room, and can’t resist a peek inside.

What she finds is definitely…not what she was expecting. Hunter is laying flat on his back on the floor, his feet elevated on the little cot they’d given him. Yeesh, that couldn’t be comfortable. Soft snores woosh past his open lips, his face turned toward a crystal ball that’s playing some cartoon he must have been watching before he fell asleep.

His body is nearly covered in stuffed animals.

“King,” Eda hisses. The horned perpetrator is in the middle of dumping his entire army onto the blond witch’s chest, pinning down his arms with plushies. “What did I tell you about burying people alive?”

The demon pauses from where he’s been slowly arranging his army over Hunter’s sleeping form. “He’s got plenty of room to breathe! I didn’t cover his face,” King protests. “Can’t subjugate someone who’s dead.”

“No subjugating—” your brother, she almost says, “—Hunter.”

King squints at her, but then grumbles and starts slowly taking the stuffed animals off the boy’s body. Crisis averted, Eda slips back out into the hall, mind swirling. That was the second time she’d almost referred to Hunter as hers in passing. The feeling is too raw to speak out loud yet, but there’s a growing warmth in her as she watches Hunter acclimate to his surroundings in the Owl House. With every day that goes by, he’s more comfortable around her, around Luz and King and Hooty, and he’s starting to come out of his shell. He’s growing softer, less quick to snarl, becoming more Hunter and less Golden Guard.

Unconsciously, Eda’s started viewing him as part of their little family. Two weeks ago, that thought would have made her uncomfortable. Now, she welcomes it with open arms.

Ugh, she’s getting so soft.

4.

The fourth time it happens is when Eda’s flying home from visiting Lilith. She’s only been gone for the day, and is hoping that leaving Luz in charge hasn’t led to any freak fires, the resurrection of the dead, or other various natural disasters. Unfortunately, even her most responsible kid is pretty reckless, so Eda’s expectations are set pretty low.

It’s probably sometime around 2 a.m. when she makes it home sweet home. She swoops in close, intent on landing on the front door but stilling mid-air when she sees something on the roof of the tower. Even from up here, it’s not hard to distinguish the form of a looming body.

Eda’s heart leaps into her throat and she takes Owlbert down into a dive. Her body is tense when she lands, her staff already aimed toward the person lurking by the edge of the roof. “Alright listen bucko, you better step back or—wait.” She sees what looks like a lump of feathers sitting on top of the person’s head, and Eda squints in the darkness. She quickly pulls out a light glyph, sending the tiny ball of sun forward.

“Hunter?!” Eda’s tense posture relaxes. The kid doesn’t answer, and it takes her a beat to figure out why. He’s dead asleep, slumped precariously over the telescope they use for stargazing. Eda has no idea how he’s even standing at all. Kid probably had a ton of practice of falling asleep on his feet during long, boring meetings with the Emperor.

“Wakey, wakey.” She places her hand on his shoulder, gently, but he wakes up with a full-body jerk, startling the palisman on top of his head. The cardinal chirps once in irritation, fluttering to rest on Eda’s shoulder instead.

Hunter’s eyes are wild for a moment until he seems to register where he is and who he’s with. He relaxes then, letting out a yawn so huge it would put any lion to shame. “…Eda?”

“The one and only,” Eda says, ignoring how her heart squeezes at the kid finally calling her by her name. “Wanna tell me why you’re up here in the middle of the night?”

“Waitin’ for you,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. His eyelids drop and he sways dangerously on his feet. “Wanted to… t’make sure y’got home safe.”

The warmth in her chest expands and eclipses her entire body in that fuzzy feeling she gets whenever one of her kids does something particularly adorable. Thank Titan it’s dark and Hunter is too out of it to notice the smile that spreads across her face. If he was fully awake, Eda gets the feeling that A) he probably never would have admitted that he was worried about her, and B) would have snapped at her for smiling at him like that. “Well, I’m home now, so let’s get you to bed before you topple over.”

Eda wraps her arm around his waist and nudges him along, practically carrying him back downstairs, their palismen following close behind. She doesn’t mind. Someone had to make sure he didn’t fall off the roof.

“Night, kid,” she says, tucking him under the blankets on his cot. Hunter doesn’t respond, already having slipped back into unconsciousness. And if she brushes his bangs tenderly out of his face, no one ever has to be the wiser.

5.

The fifth time it happens, Eda’s gotten used to it. It's not that Hunter doesn’t sleep, she’s come to realize. He just falls asleep in weird places. Why, she has no idea, but honestly, the kid looked so tired all the time, she wasn’t going to question it. They had bigger things to worry about.

The Day of Unity is just around the corner, and Belos has become more irritating than ever.

Eda hadn’t even thought that was possible for him, but apparently, it was. The scouts around Bonesborough have tripled, their captains leading more and more raids, butting into shops to check everyone’s papers, and invading random districts.

Oddly, Belos’s priorities seem to have shifted. He’s still sending out grunts to round up any wild witches, but the guards have been playing a weird sort of hide-and-seek, going beyond just patrolling the marketplaces to actually tearing into people’s homes. From what she’s heard, the guards never take anything, just searching the place top-to-bottom before leaving empty-handed and moving on to the next house.

Belos was looking for something.

And unfortunately, Eda’s got a pretty good idea of what he’s after.

Said thing just so happens to be slumped across from her at the kitchen table, dead to the world. It’s late into the night, and most of the kids have already gone to sleep. Too on edge to lie down, Eda’s been keeping herself busy by concocting more potions while the late-night news plays on her crystal ball in the background.

Hunter, striving to be helpful, volunteered to stay up and help.

It wasn’t long before the kid slowly started to nod off, face supported by his palm as his eyelids started to droop. He’d been in the middle of mixing two ingredients—highly flammable ingredients, mind you—and Eda plucked the vials out of his lax grip just in time. Honestly, it was a miracle the kid never killed himself in the Emperor’s Coven with how randomly he falls asleep.

He probably never got the chance to sleep at all, a voice reminds her. She remembers how dead-exhausted Lily was during her first few days at the Owl House. It was probably safe to assume that the Emperor had a habit of running the head of his Coven into the ground.

Hunter has been picking up on Belos’s tightening grip, too. He’s been getting quieter, more reserved. He’s come to the same conclusion that Eda has: the Emperor was tearing apart the whole of the Isles to get him back.

Why, though, is anyone’s guess. Hunter has long since explained that his uncle always said that the Titan had big plans for him, and it probably has something to do with the Day of Unity, but beyond that, the Emperor had always kept him in the dark. Luz has a crazy theory involving clones and blood magic, but that sounds like it’s a plot point straight out of one of her Azura books. King thinks Belos wants his artificial staff back, and Hooty predicts the Emperor is just sad because all his Coven leaders are leaving him to join Hooty’s superior best friends club.

Whatever the reason, Eda’s made it pretty clear that she’s not gonna bend to Belos’s intimidation tactics and turn him over. That smarmy gold jerk could set the whole Isles on fire and Eda still wouldn’t hand him over. Hunter’s part of the Bad Girl’s Coven now, and Belos can just suck it. And she’s not afraid to say that to his stupid face, either.

So when the cauldron at the end of the table that holds the scrying potion suddenly begins bubbling on its own, Eda may very well get her chance.

She’s up on her feet in an instant, dashing to the other end of the table just as the steam rising off the potion begins to warp into a familiar figure.

“Edalyn,” Belos greets, his voice sharp like a dagger. “I do hope I’m not interrupting your evening, but I needed a word with you.”

Ugh, scrying potions weren’t supposed to work both ways! Belos was too damn powerful. He could probably peer into their lives as much as they could peer into his.

“Sorry, but now’s a bad time,” Eda shoots back. “Why don’t you hang up and call back literally never?”

“It’s come to my attention that you have something of mine,” the masked man continues smoothly as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’d ever so appreciate it if you gave it back.”

Eda’s lip curls back, feeling the itch of feathers poking out of her joints. She wants to shift into her harpy form and leap through the potion to claw out his eyes. “Sorry, Belos,” she says, dripping smug bravado, “We wild witches operate solely under the laws of finders keepers. Your kid? Mine now.”

Eda expects that the Emperor would very much like to vaporize her. “Make your threats wisely, Owl Lady. You have no idea what you’re up against. Everything will be easier for you and your little friends if you just hand the boy back over to me.”

“Fat chance.” Eda throws back her shoulders and shoots him a sharp grin. “Sounds to me like you’re threatening one of my kids, and we weirdos stick together. Going after one of us is basically asking for all of us to bring you down. Remember how well that went last time? How my human cracked your mask and publicly humiliated you during your big let’s-turn-Eda-to-stone ceremony?”

The Emperor looks as though he has some choice words to say, but Eda doesn’t care. Hunter is her kid now. She glowers at him through that mist, voice lowering in with deadly promise. “You’ll have to drag him back to your Coven over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged,” sneers Belos.

“Try me, antler boy.” Then Eda whacks the cauldron and sends it tipping over the edge of the table. The connection is immediately severed as the potion goes splattering over the hardwood, and the resounding CLANG of the bowl makes Hunter shoot violently out of sleep.

“Huh?! Whassit—Eda? What happened? Are you alright?”

“Fine, kid,” she says, swallowing down the rage that’s still bubbling hot in her throat. “’S alright, just got a little clumsy and knocked over a cauldron. Sorry for waking you.”

“Sorry for falling asleep,” Hunter responds. He grabs a towel and hurries to clean up the oozing purple goo.

Eda waves him off, “Eh, I don’t mind. You kids need your rest. Growing bodies and all that.”

Hunter still hesitates, looking at her for a beat too long as if double-checking to make sure she wasn’t really upset. Eda holds back a sigh, a twinge of pity flickering through her that he’d even have to look at her like that in the first place. All the damage from Belos couldn’t be wrapped up in a month, she supposed.

She snatches up the cauldron, still dripping with the ruined potion. Peachy. She’ll have to call Lilith to get her scrying potion recipe. Though maybe not having this in the house was a good idea. Eda doesn’t want to risk His Royal Highness dropping in on any more unexpected house calls.

“Eda?”

She looks up at Hunter. The kid chewing on his bottom lip, wringing the half-soiled towel between scarred hands.

“I just…I wanted to say thank you,” Hunter says shyly. “I know having me here hasn’t exactly been easy—not only because of the fugitive thing, but because I’m…” He flounders for a moment, and Eda can only pretend to know what’s going through his mind right now. “…me,” he finishes finally. “You’ve been so kind and patient with me, it’s so much more than I deserve, and no matter what happens next—”

“Hey, no.” Eda cuts him off with a swift and gentle beratement. She sets the cauldron on the table and crowds closer to him, curling one hand around his cheek. The kid automatically leans into the touch, and Eda can’t help but wonder how Belos could have ever hurt a child who was as sweet as this one.

“You may be one bratty little shit, but you’re my bratty little shit. And Mama says you deserve all the smothering that comes with being a child of the Owl Lady.”

Then, to prove her point, she swoops down and quickly places feather-light kisses on the tip of his nose, forehead, and his scar, until Hunter squawks and shoves her away. He’s practically glowing, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Gross,” he snaps, rubbing furiously at his face. “I’m never helping you with your potions ever again.”

“I’ll accept your terms. Now get upstairs, it’s way past your bedtime.”

“I don’t have a bedtime, I’m not a baby.” Hunter sticks out his tongue but obeys, slipping out of the kitchen and disappearing into the rest of the house. Eda shakes her head as she watches him go.

Kids. What could ya do with ‘em?

[n1kolaiz]

THE GREAT FITZGERALD

thank u @dazaistabletop for getting me so interested in Fitzgerald's character. ur my favourite Fitz kinnie ok mwah( ˘ ³˘)♥

Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald's novel— The Great Gatsby— was a love story that involved Jay Gatsby, whose mannerisms and characteristics appear to be quite similar to Fitzgerald in the Bungou Stray Dogs adaptation. I just finished reading The Great Gatsby so I thought I'd just make a comparison between the main protagonist of the novel and the main antagonist in BSD's Guild Arc.

Other than the fact that both Jay and Fitzgerald share similar character traits (ambitious, arrogant, and optimistic) the relationships Jay had with the other characters of the novel and the interactions that Fitzgerald had with the other characters of BSD are quite similar, too. I'll focus on three specific associations that both Fitzgerald and Jay experienced in a parallel manner:

Zelda Fitzgerald and Daisy Buchanan

Tom Buchanan

Louisa May Alcott and Nick Carraway

SPOILERS FOR THE GREAT GATSBY!

in case anyone hasn't read it but wants to :)

To avoid confusion, every time I mention Fitzgerald from here on out, I mean the character from BSD; I will specify my references if it comes to the author.

The Great Gatsby had its plot set around the time of the Roaring Twenties: the aftermath of World War I, the peak of socialite culture, and the growth of a prosperous economy and general wealth altogether.

The Roaring Twenties was also a time of luxurious pleasure and liquor, where people indulged themselves and got addicted to hedonism— the pursuit of gratification.

The Great Gatsby was actually written on the basis to prove how corrupt this age was, and the existence of such corruption was vaguely hinted by various factors, one of which included Jay Gatsby's actual source of income: being involved in the affairs of the black market. This proves that illegal activities were not uncommon around that time, as people did anything they could to achieve materialistic gains.

This isn't a history lesson, I promise.

Both Jay Gatsby and Fitzgerald had grown up in poverty and disliked the concept of being anything short of wealthy. They both worked extremely hard to attain financial abundance.

I presume that not everything they did was actually legal when it came to gaining money. As mentioned before, Jay was involved in criminal activities which founded the basis of his wealth, while Fitz once mentioned that in order to own a gun, he had to kill 4 people. He goes on to tell us that he ended up owning that specific gun's manufacturer eventually.

Daisy Buchanan and Zelda Fitzgerald.

The Great Gatsby is actually centered around Jay Gatsby's rather obsessive infatuation with Daisy.

Daisy was a beautiful lady with a incredibly charming nature— she didn't have much trouble with attracting many men back then before she got married to Tom Buchanan, the antagonist of the story and the rival of Jay Gatsby.

"Her voice was full of money," he said suddenly.

That was it. I'd never understood before. It was full of money— that was the inexhaustible chair that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it. the cymbals' song of it... High in a white palace the King's daughter, the golden girl...

Daisy and Jay Gatsby fell in love right before he was sent off to war and a few years before she met Tom. Before they were separated, Jay's dream of gaining wealth and status was primarily flamed by his intention of reaching Daisy's social ranking in order to be worthy of her love.

Initially, because of how passionate he was about his love for her, Jay lied to Daisy about his wealth. It was only after the War did he actually gain the riches he aimed for. By the time he did achieve his monetary goals, Daisy had married Tom already. Consequently, Jay hosted a bunch of lavish parties in order to gain her attention, prove himself and his love for her, and ultimately, win her back.

Jay perceived Daisy as a literal angel, void of any flaw whatsoever. He even tells Nick, the main character, that the fact that numerous men got romantically involved with such a lady just increased her value altogether.

But what gave it an air of breathless intensity was that Daisy lived there— it was as casual a thing to her as his tent out at camp was to him. There was a ripe mystery about it, a hint of bedrooms, of gay and radiant activities taking place through its corridors, and of romances that were not musty and laid away already in lavender but fresh and breathing and redolent of this year's shining motor cars and of dances whose flowers were scarcely withered. It excited him too that many men had already loved Daisy— it increased her value in his eyes. He felt their presence all about the house, pervading the air with the shades and echoes of still vibrant emotions.

As the story unfolded, Daisy's character was torn apart for a proper, more brutally realistic perspective of her true character, revealing a shallow, selfish lady who solely placed her interest in money and luxury, the things which she often took refuge in when things went wrong. As the plot developed itself, the actuality that Jay fell in love with the idea of Daisy, instead of Daisy herself, was much more evident. And it took quite some time for him to discover and acknowledge the truth.

Fitzgerald's love for Zelda was very apparent, too, except that it seemed more genuine and pragmatic. Not much is speculated about Fitz and Zelda's relationship in the Guild Arc, but his love for her was very deep, as everything he did was for her and their deceased daughter.

Side note: Fitzgerald (the author) based Daisy's character partially on Zelda, as both women were brought up in wealthy families and took a general liking to lifestyles revolving around money and ease.

Fitzgerald was in love with Zelda, a woman plagued by a debilitating illness. In The Great Gatsby, Jay was in love with a woman who was plagued by the deceptive addiction of self-satisfaction gained by pleasure and whatnot. Zelda was impaired by an mental illness, while Daisy was intoxicated by the security of money and prestige. This is an abstract suggestion though. Personally, that's how I interpreted this correlation when it came to examining these dynamics in their respective universes.

Tom Buchanan

As mentioned before, Thomas Buchanan was Daisy's husband and Jay's rival who had similar characteristics in matters of personality. The Toms in both book and anime were arrogant and cunning, which pretty much vouches for their selfishness.

In the book, Tom is supposedly the love of Daisy's life, except that she just married him for his money instead of waiting for Gatsby. Then again, Tom was involved in a love affair outside his marriage with a lady named Myrtle Wilson. Tom cheated on Daisy by getting involved with Myrtle. On the other hand, Daisy was unfaithful to Tom by keeping her love and relationship with Jay a secret from him.

The climax of the story partly revolves around Myrtle dying in a hit-and-run car accident. The grand twist was that Daisy was the one driving the car, and the car actually belonged to Gatsby. Because the car belonged to Gatsby, George Wilson, the husband of Myrtle, was bent on revenge and tracked down the car. He ended up killing Jay Gatsby, and soon after that, he killed himself.

It was quite a scandal, but Daisy estranged herself from such a tedious matter. In fact, when Jay died, she did not even attend his funeral. Tom was under the impression that Gatsby was the one who killed his mistress, not Daisy, his wife. Either ways, Nick described them in a way that sums up what became of them after Jay's death:

They were careless people, Tom and Daisy— they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made...

It's interesting to note that in chapter 45 of the BSD manga, Tom appears as the antagonist who was later found guilty of murdering his employee, but the blame was originally put on T.J Eckleburg, the inventor of the Eyes of God.

Side note: T.J. Eckleburg was actually an optician who appeared on a billboard advertisement in the novel. This billboard was used as a personification by Nick Carraway, which was meant to embody the representation of a displeased overseer who observed the events that unfolded before him. The Eyes of God has a similar concept: scrutinising everything with an accuracy of 97%. It's a personal speculation, but the Eyes of God was proven to be of utmost importance in the Cannibalism Arc when it came to capturing Fyodor Dostoevsky. Likewise, T.J. Eckleburg's eyes showed how corruption and misconduct never escaped his judgmental visage.

sorry about the quality of the manga panels ;-;

In the manga, Fitzgerald manages to triumph over Tom by betraying his trust altogether in order to obtain the ownership of the Eyes of God and Tom's company. This stands in contrast to what became of Jay in the novel, but the protagonist got what he wanted in this universe.

Keep in mind that Fitzgerald didn't act according to fulfil what justice required; it was purely business. Just like Jay Gatsby put on the facade of a plain, rich man who was really just bootlegging his way to opulence, Fitzgerald wasn't afraid to betray someone's trust to get what he wanted.

Nick Carraway and Louisa May Alcott

If I were to pick a character that represented Louisa May Alcott in BSD from the book, I'd pick the narrator himself: Nick Carraway. Again, this is my personal interpretation, so the association between these two characters is just my personal opinion.

Nick Carraway was known as the more reserved, cynical protagonist compared to Jay. The both of them developed a cordial friendship as the story progressed.

Nick initially took a liking to Gatsby, who was his neighbour. The enigmatic aura Gatsby emitted called for Nick's attention, and in the same way, Gatsby reciprocated his interest in Nick by making the effort to acquaint himself with him.

He had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced, or seemed to face, the whole external world for an instant and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself.

There were a few times which suggests that Nick didn't like the way Gatsby acted or spoke. Nevertheless, Nick was the only one who stuck with Gatsby until the end.

"They're a rotten crowd," I shouted across the lawn. "You're worth the whole damn bunch put together.

(This was the last thing Nick said to Jay before he died.)

At first, Nick was intrigued by Jay's mystical nature and peculiar idiosyncrasies, but found that Gatsby was a very strange, but 'morally bad' man. However, over time, Nick became one of the few who managed to recognise Gatsby's idealistic ambitions; he saw through all the fame and wealth and found a mere human being capable of being entrapped by love's snares. Basically, he understood Gatsby, despite disagreeing with his actions and even his behaviour at times.

As for Louisa, well, it is a known fact that she was loyal to Fitzgerald because of how much she respected and trusted him.

Both Nick and Louisa were intelligent, witty people with generally nice, honest, and reserved dispositions. Their self-contained demeanours make it very easy to get along with the more exurbent/dominant personas of Gatsby and Fitzgerald. So in the event where each pair was isolated from the rest of the world, they had each other to depend on.

Next morning I sent the butler to New York with a letter to Wolfsheim, which asked for information and urged him to come out on the next train. That request seemed superfluous when I wrote it. I was sure he’d start when he saw the newspapers, just as I was sure a there’d be a wire from Daisy before noon – but neither a wire nor Mr. Wolfsheim arrived; no one arrived except more police and photographers and newspaper men. When the butler brought back Wolfsheim’s answer I began to have a feeling of defiance, of scornful solidarity between Gatsby and me against them all.

Such a dynamic created a close bond of trust. Just as Nick was not hesitant to stick by Gatsby's side, Louisa went to great extents just to return Fitzgerald back to his former leading position and work together with him.

Side note: Nick Carraway is suggested to have the INTP personality type, while Louisa is most likely an INFP. Both these personalities are strikingly similar in many ways. They are individualistic in thinking and described as 'seekers' of their place in the world. If you're interested in a more detailed comparison, check this post out

Alright, that's about it for my speculations; I hope they weren't too messy. Thank you so much for reading!

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

- Nick Carraway, The Great Gatsby

[apaintedfoxx]

Day 4- Couch

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read on ao3 here

--

She should’ve headed the ominous warning the dark, dense clouds tried to give her as she stepped out the door. A quick walk, she had told herself, she could beat the rain. The sky had laughed at her challenge, and about halfway through her usual route, the downpour began. Fat rain drops fell in an unrelenting torrent, cold and menacing and threatening to take every last bit of warmth from her body. Her clothes were soaked through after just minutes, the hood of her jacket a mockery of a covering.

Lena quickly runs through her route in her head; there should be a shortcut up ahead somewhere she could take if she made a turn at the café she liked to frequent with Kara…

With a decision made, she ducked her head, pulled her soaking hood tighter over her head, and trekked onward. As promised, the café soon came into sight. Lena turned into the alley that would take her back to the apartment building. She only made it a few sopping steps before she heard it.

There was a pitiful mewling coming from somewhere in the alley.

Loathe to leave any creature out suffering in this monsoon-like weather, she stopped in her tracks, trying desperately to locate the sound above the sounds of rain in the city. It was a miracle she had heard it in the first place, and of course it had stopped as soon as she noticed. The alley itself only added to the problem. It was wide, enough to fit two cars side by side, and consequently filled with stuff. A couple of dumpsters stood sentry outside back doors of businesses, while litter and trash lined both sides of the makeshift street. An abandoned couch sat further down, obviously dumped with little regard. The sound could be coming from anywhere.

“Come on little guy, where are you?” Lena muttered, as if it could hear her. By some miracle, the mewling began again almost in response to her prompting. She followed it as well as she could; it brought her to the broken couch, which looked more dilapidated the closer she got. The fabric, like everything else around, was soaked through, so the original color was hard to determine. Combined with the many stains covering its surface, the best Lena could tell was that it used to be a brown couch. There were tears in the cushions, and obvious wear in the places that were sat in the most. The sound she was searching for had gotten louder, but Lena was not looking forward to touching any of it. She decided to check the most obvious, and least repulsive, option first. She lowered herself to a crouch, ignoring the collection of water on the asphalt, given how wet she already was, and leaned over, peaking underneath the worn piece of furniture.

A tiny pair of eyes shone back at her, and she could just make out the silhouette of a small kitten.

Lena knew in an instant she was not going to be leaving it there a moment longer. It had stopped making noise as it spotted her, peering at her with an unmistakable look of curiosity. She contemplated her next move. She didn’t have anything on her that she could use to tempt the kitten out from her hiding spot, but reaching for it might scare it even further underneath.

As she considered her options, the kitten continued to observe her. It took a tentative step forward, and Lena held her breath, not wanting to scare it into retreat. It squeaked at her as it inched forward, it was getting closer and closer, almost enough for pick up.

“You can do it, little one,” she murmured encouragingly, ever so slowly extended a hand out. She made no move to grab it yet, instead resting it a few inches from the edge of the couch. She gave her fingers an experimental wiggle, hoping to entice the kitten. It froze, and Lena began to panic, she had no idea how long it had been out here by itself, and knew it needed care immediately. Before she had too much time to worry, however, the kitten gave another squeak and pounced on her hand. She quickly, and carefully, got ahold of it with her other hand and stood.

“There we go,” Lena said, finally able to get a better look at the small creature now cradled safely in her hands. Though she knew next to nothing about animals, this kitten was obviously still very young. It’s mottled black and ginger fur was plastered to it’s shivering body, and it stared up at her with mismatching eyes, one blue and one green.

Though her jacket was far from dry, Lena didn’t want the kitten directly in the rain, so she carefully cradled it close to her body, hoping some of her own natural heat would help warm it a little, and covered it with one side of her jacket. She spent another few minutes looking around to make sure the kitten had been alone, but the mewling had stopped as the kitten settled against her. After deciding it had well and truly been alone, Lena quicky made her way back to the warm, dry safety of her apartment.

---

The next few days were a kitten-focused blur. Lena had taken it to a vet as soon as she had gotten them both dry and warm. She’d learned the kitten was just barely seven weeks old, that she was female, and that besides from a bit of dehydration, she was perfectly healthy.

The problem now was figuring out what to do with her. Lena had told Kara and the others about the kitten the morning after she had found her, which resulted in a bombardment of pleas for Lena to keep her. But she couldn’t keep a kitten. Her apartment wasn’t at all prepared for a pet of any kind, and with how much time Lena spent at work, it hardly looked like she herself lived there. Sure, it was functional as far as somewhere to live was, but the décor was sparse; Kara called it empty, Lena preferred minimalistic. That, however, was rapidly changing. After initially getting used to Lena and the new space, the kitten had taken ownership of the admittedly spacious penthouse suite. It ran from room to room, the thud of little paws could be heard almost constantly during the day, and especially the middle of the night. Wishing to save her expensive furniture from the fate of sharp kitten claws, Lena quickly invested in some toys for her to play with, just until she figured out a home for the little one, she sternly told herself and any teasing friends.

Having to eventually return to work resulted in Lena bringing the rambunctious kitten with her. Being her own boss did have some perks, after all, and she didn’t trust the little monster enough to leave her unattended in her apartment. Watching the kitten explore the new environment was admittedly adorable, and when Kara visited for lunch, she spent the entire time curled up in the other woman’s lap, watching her with rapt attention. Kara threw out some not so subtle name suggestions.

Gradually, the kitten became something more permanent. Lena got more toys for her to play with, and some proper items for kitten care, including soft food and a litter box. Lena’s strictly neat, magazine cover worthy apartment became something a little more lived in. On a day Lena wasn’t able to take the kitten to work, she reluctantly left her at the apartment with plenty of food and toys in her vicinity. Upon return, Lena was surprised to see the apartment still standing, and the kitten fast asleep underneath Lena’s couch, her little black paws a stark contrast to the white fabric of the couch. It had become a favorite nap spot of hers, unsurprisingly.

After that, she wasn’t as nervous about leaving the kitten alone. In fact, without realizing it, she gave Lena a reason to come home at night. Late nights at the office were no longer an option to a kitten that had a seemingly endless appetite and energy level, and with the apartment not being so startingly empty anymore, she found herself enjoying spending time within its walls. Even her friends began to notice, teasingly pointing out how messy the space had become when they came over.

It was game night when it all clicked for Lena.

Her friends had a long-standing tradition of game night, everyone took turns hosting, and tonight was Lena’s turn. She had tried to clean up after the kitten the best she could, but the little creature had had other ideas, and shortly after everyone had arrived, she proceeded to throw all of her toys around and climb into everyone’s laps.

It was many hours later, however, and the fun had wound down for the night. Most everyone had left, and Kara had stayed behind as usual to help clean up the games and leftover snacks. They now sat comfortably on Lena’s couch, each with a glass of wine in hand, a late night tv show playing quietly in the background. The kitten was, to no one’s surprise, curled up happily in Kara’s lap, purring contently.

“She likes you,” Lena said softly, watching the sleeping kitten. Kara only gave a hum in response, gently running her fingers through the kitten’s soft fur.

Several minutes passed in this comfortable silence, before Kara spoke up. “She still doesn’t have a name,” she said.

Lena lifted her gaze from the kitten to find Kara’s eyes on her, watching her curiously.

“I haven’t found anything that really fit,” Lena admitted, giving a slight shrug of her shoulder.

Kara smiled. “She’s good for you.”

Lena didn’t ask for an explanation, nor did she need one. It was obvious, though surprising. She would never have considered herself a good candidate for owning a pet, considering how demanding her job was.

“I love how much energy she has. How rambunctious and curious she is. I found her starving under a broken couch, and yet she hasn’t let any of that affect her,” Lena admitted, taking a sip of her wine. She had clearly already had too much of the stuff, if she was getting this introspective already.

Kara only smiled in response, and as silence fell once again, Lena contemplated her words. A smile broke across her face, and she looked at her closest friend. “I know the perfect name for her.”

“And what’s that?” Kara asked with a sweet smile of her own.

“Hope. Her name is Hope.” 

[some-dr-writings]

Gundham x Reader one-shot: Seasons of Love

Spring, the season of new beginnings and the blossoming of life, that was when he had first met you. It was towards the beginning of the school year. With his ever-loyal Devas by his side he had set out to explore this new domain, after all he and his companions would be living in such a large facility for the next three years, knowing the lay of the land would be useful.

Stepping out onto the field he found himself trailing along it on a stone pathway. Sparse wispy clouds speckled the sky, the sun’s rays so warm and inviting while the air cool, for a moment one might think they were high up in the mountains. Which made it even more of a surprise when his Devas skittered away! Gundham kept a vigilant eye out, allowing them to wander for a moment since they were likely getting antsy from being in his scarf all day in an unfamiliar place. What he found curious though, was who they ran straight too. A person in Victorian gothic clothing, looking dreadfully exhausted, sighing as they flipped through a writing pad. They sat on the stone planter which held a small cherry tree. Several of the petals had fallen atop them, so simple and plain, beautifully contrasting with the more complex designs in their clothes. Even their posture, how they carried theirself, there was this sort of contrasting elegance to it. Slumped over, resting their chin in their palm, their legs crossed, foot swaying to the beat of some tune unknown to Gundham.

“Hmm? Oh, hello little ones. Come out here to revel in the splendor nature has given us today as well?” They looked to the Devas who scurried about beside them. They lightly chuckled, placing down their writing pad. “You seem to be in lively spirits. I should hope your time has been in better graces than mine and you’ve not come here for shelter from some beast which may wish to harm you.” They raised a brow, smirking at the Devas’ chattering. They sifted through a bag they had beside them and took out something. “My, since you have dared to be brave enough to travers these horrent plains, I suppose you do deserve a reward.” They gave each one a seed from the bag in hand. “Hold thy tongue for a moment and answer me this. You hold a high enough power level to speak with the Four Dark Devas of Destruction!?” “So the Overlord himself finally approaches.” They glanced to him, briefly shaking their head before their attention had returned to the Devas. “Sadly, that is not a power I hold, though one I would give much to achieve. Having created and traversed many worlds, even if I may not understand the language I may read and interpret action and tone. That is the power of Y/N, the stringer of fates, the Super High School Level Playwright.”

With tired eyes you gave him a strained smile. “Hmm, I see. Not as powerful as myself or the Dark Devas, yet still much higher in level than a mere mortal. I’ll grace you with my name, never forget it for I am Gundham Tanaka, the Supreme Overlord of Ice. This is the name that shall rule the world!” He sat beside you, the Devas immediately hopping into his lap or burrowing into his scarf. “I can’t seem to find your true power though, an impenetrable fog has consumed thy being, making searching out your true form nearly impossible.” “Yes, even I can not seek out myself. I am lost, unable to find my way. I had come here in search, yet all has still left me. As of moons ago, this begun, the endless chase, and now a curse most foul has befallen my world and so here I lay, frozen in time.” A sigh escaped you and you flipped through the writing pad, beautiful handwriting sprawled across every last page, and yet something seemed lacking. From what he could glean they were all dark tales, but it seemed there was no reason for such bleakness, no tale to tell through it all. Seemingly a reflection of what you were lost in, only feeding it more and more in an endless cycle.

…

“Huh?” Your drowning thoughts came to a stop hearing the pitter-patter of little paws against stone and paper, and seeing the Devas trot across the writing pad, one even perching on your shoulder. “The Devas wish for more tribute from you, but that of a different form.” A giggle soon erupted from you feeling the Devas scurry about, their whiskers tickling their neck. You held them close, a light blush spreading across your cheeks as you pet them or lead them around with treats. Man, though animal, was one step away from them. It was not often The Overlord of Ice found such beings to be beautiful, but in that moment, perhaps it was how such a person got along so well with himself and his Devas, perhaps it was how the sun rays has beamed between the leaves and how they framed your figure, perhaps it was but the spring air, perhaps it was all those, whatever the reason may be, he instantly found a connection with you, and it was one he’d like to nurture.

Summer, the season of fun and excitement, that was when you had officially gotten together. Chiaki managed to organize her rambunctious class into a trip to the beach, and Gundham had invited you, Hajime was coming along as the honorary member of the class and the others liked you, so it was no surprise to them that you had showed up.

“A castle worthy of gods to survey this new land, truly the Overlord of Ice has mastered many arts.” “Of course, for this is but one step for the Tanaka Empire, I must master all things!” You simply adored hearing that uproarious laughter as you watched his Devas race about the sandcastle. Now was your perfect chance. Suddenly that laughter was cut off, Gundham frozen for a moment wondering what exactly had happened. Seeing you giddily running away with a water gun in hand he immediately puzzled out why he was cold and wet. Thankfully you had the forethought to avoid shooting his scarf. Swiftly he scooped his beloved companions into his scarf and took the second water gun you had conveniently left behind. “Wait, San-D!? Where are you!?” A malicious cackle filled the air, even greater in power and volume than the crashing waves. He looked up finding you standing atop some large rocks by the shore. “Poor, foolish, Tanaka. Haven’t you realized it now!? San-D has joined my crew, and together we shall take over this island!” You cackled once more, San-D simply sitting on your shoulder munching on a seed. “Wha- How could this be!? You fiend! Stand down from your perch atop that treacherous cliff and face me in battle! I shall show you the true strength of Gundham Tanaka!” “Tch, how pathetic, if an Overlord of the most horrendous and dangerous of Waters wishes it, come face me yourself you coward! What kind of king of all things, even pirates such as I, are you even if you can’t reach me!?” “Fine then, I shall steal back my treasure. Pick a god and pray that you may survive this fight scoundrel of the seas!”

You dashed about, kicking up sand wherever you went. It was a fierce battle filled with betrayal and trickery; even underhanded tactics were used! “Nevermind, hide me!” “What the-” You ducked behind her just as a shot grazed past the pair of you. “Hah! No longer can yee fight, for I have captured the Queen! Take another shot and I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger!” “Not the Dark Queen!” Sonia looked between you and Gundham in confusion for a moment before noticing you had a water gun pressed to her back. “Ah, I’ve been taken hostage!” “You WHAT!” You, Gundham, and Sonia ignored Kazuichi’s panicked cry as she continued. “Don’t worry about me Tanaka, do whatever you must!” “Hah! The Overlord is much like the ice he so controls, he may seem cold hearted, but he can melt and lose his edge, he’d never attack you! Now he may never seize this day and it is mine and mine alone!” “Is that so?” Before you knew it, Sonia had done a leg sweep, knocking you onto the ground, in the process she had even taken your water gun and shot you. “Excellent move, I would have expected nothing less from the Dark Queen!” You shrieked, holding San-D, shielding the little creature as you ran from their shots. “What’s going on here!? I heard a scream!” “Nidai!” You dashed up to him, absolutely beaming. “Teach me how to be the greatest at water gun fights!” He smirked, seeing Gundham and Sonia not far away chasing after you. “Alright! Let’s do this!” He passed you a tub of water balloons from seemingly out of nowhere and that was how your battle had grown. Soon Kazuichi and others had joined your side while Akane, Hajime and others had joined Gundham and the entire shore had become a battlefront for you.

When the sun had begun to set, that orange, yellow, and purple sky was reflected across the rippling water, all had collapsed, the battle having no winners. Out of breath you sat by the shore, dried off and ready to head back to Hope’s Peak, simply waiting for the others to get ready. It was a little lonely with San-D having returned to Gundham’s side, but soon you’d be packed in a car or truck with many of the others, so you wanted to enjoy the peace and space while you could. Then… someone sat beside you, but you didn’t know who it was till several hamsters had ran across your lap. “Ah, so the Overlord of Ice, now pirate king wishes to gloat over his well won victory?” “…” “Supreme Overlord?”

Finally, you had turned to face him, finding his seemed to be lost in thought, his face partially buried in his scarf. “Wrighter of Dimensions… the world you had summoned us all to, it was an extravagant event I had not found, let alone partaken in, the like of in eons. I give you my thanks for this… Though I have yet to reach my treasure.” “Hmm? I know not of which you speak, is there a meaning undefined to me laced in your lines?” “…” He… blushed. Pulling up his scarf he attempted to hide it though. “A being such as you, only you have yet to cease to astound me. Never has there been any akin to you. As much revelry there is in locking horns, attempting to out match one another… I find… the most… the most… fantastic, most astonishing of recollections were formed when you are by my side, not across. My treasure… it not yet exists, but it is one that which can only be formed with you. I… I-I- Ugh! BE STILL MY RACING HEART!” You desperately held in telling Gundham how adorable he looked when flustered, you wanted him to take his time with this and not accidentally tease him and possibly hurt his feelings. Taking a deep breath, he locked eyes with you. “D-do you too treasure us together? If so then… would you partake in courting rituals, to… a-are you my soul’s mate?”

“o-okay.” You would have said more, spoken it within Gundham’s flowery vernacular as you always had with him, but in the moment, you mind was blank, you weren’t setting the scene or manipulating the world for a story you were just… in the moment.

“Wait, does this mean they’re dating now?” “Uhh-” “Yes, Yes, they are! I’m so glad for you Tanaka!” “Are you sure?” “Hey, if Sonia says they’re dating, they’re dating!” Gundham abruptly stood up, wiping around finding his entire class hiding behind various items and Kazuichi lighting fireworks while Ibuki began to play some rock love ballad. “WHAT SORT OF DEVILRY IS THIS!?” Chiaki looked to the others for a moment before looking back to the completely flustered you and Gundham. “Celebrating you two finally getting together. And I win the betting pool.” You now stood up. “You guys were making bets on this!?” “Oh, no, not about IF you got together, but WHEN, we all believed in you two.” “THAT’S NOT THE POINT! Though I do appreciate the support.”

Autumn, the season of departure, that was when he first said he loved you. The Devas huddled close in his scarf, seeking shelter from the chilling winds that rolled past the early morning hours, tossing the leaves off the trees, carrying them along through the air and across the ground. He didn’t wish to remove his hand from his warm pocket, yet he must to unlock his room. He adjusted his arm for a moment, making sure the package tucked under it wouldn’t fall out before dispelling the barrier which sealed his domain.

As he yawned tears percolated in the corners of his eyes. After placing the box and scarf on the bedside table he flopped onto his bed. As his Devas hopped onto his pillows and raced around his bed, he took the package. He first opened the letter attached to the box. Though you texted and video called everyday you still sent letters which always filled the Overlord with unimaginable excitement. Just as always it was a script and notes you had sent in a desperate attempt to not get stuck working on it when you were supposed to be out partaking in plays, not writing new ones. He kept it in the file folder where he had placed the others for safe keeping… not before reading the entire thing first, he simply could not resist to see the rough draft of your creativity since you were alright with him doing so. Then when opening the box, he found the most beautiful of jewelry, this time a small broach, one that would fit perfectly on his scarf, an abstract, light design fit for one such as he. Though he planned on donning it not long later in the day he still placed it on the shelf where all his pieces were spread across, covering the whole thing. Countless rings, necklaces, earring and many more, all from this single trip, Gundham had planned on getting a separate box for it all once you had returned, given he wasn’t sure how much more you were going to send to him.

Then his phone came to life, screen turning on, an alarm playing. Unlocking it and accepting the video call he tried rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes. “Aw~ Good tidings my Supreme Overlord. I trust that veil of darkness had enamored thy mortal form?” “Most certainly.” “And did my most recent artifact find you well?” Smiling Gundham pointed the camera towards his collection. He swore his heart melted hearing your giddy laughter. At least you weren’t able to see his ever-darkening blush. “My Emperor… this tribute, as much as I adore it all, I can’t stifle myself from being concerned. You only have so much time and gold to give, do you leave enough for thy own wellbeing?” “… Tanaka, I may only find calming respite sending you my affections. No space, no sight, no hearing, I long for even the smallest of embraces. Giving you my sentiment in any form is the only way to put at ease my aching heart. You have no need for concern, this will be just the same when I return. Due to your poison, I may not touch you so I must give my affections in forms such as this.”

…

“I love you too.”

Wait…

Gundham froze, dropping his phone in the process realizing what he had just said. Immediately he heard his Devas chattering away. “S-shussh! Enough! Cease! I- Enough of that! I may express my feelings to my partner, it’s not-… My own Devas how could you do this to me?!” He covered his face with his hands, kneeling to the ground unable to stand on his unsteady knees. “Uh… My Overlord?” Then he remembered the phone, the smile so evident in your tone. He scrambled to pick it up, dropping it again a few times in the process. “I-… Just… re-return when you can!” And he ended the call…

Gundham almost missed class that day embarrassed yet… happily indulging in that entire encounter.

Winter, the season of endings and romance, the season… the season he first kissed you. Awaking the morning of his birthday he was surprised by the amount of gifts he had received in the mail, and… many were from strangers? Very confused he went to class anyway where he ended up explaining the experience to his classmates. That was when Nagito and Sonia pipped up. “Ah so it seems Tanaka’s fans are celebrating too.” “Tanaka, here I’ll show you!” At the computer room Sonia had shown Gundham the message boards made of Hope’s Peak, ones of specific students, such as him. “So many already know of my rule. Excellent. And they even pay tribute!”

The moment class had come to an end you were already by his side, holding his gloved hand. “So, have my ears been deceived, or have you received the tribute you rightly deserve from the world?” “Indeed, I have. Though no matter gifts of the thousands may never compare to a single moment with you.” “ah, so my Overlord is feeling affectionate today I see.” His blush darkened at your sickeningly sweet tone, and he stiffened as he felt how you so tenderly squeezed his hand. He could see how you were holding back. He so appreciated how you had always respected his boundaries with touch, instead lacing your affection through words and gifts, but… at times he wondered how affectionate you would be if he held no reservations… “Well, should you be prepared let us set off for our ritual!”

It was a lovely and calm evening, the pair of you simply walking through a few botanical gardens. Most places were already decked out in holiday cheer, some parks even offering out cocoa for any who visited. Having been on your feet for hours, you decided to rest at a gazebo. To Gundham’s confusion though, you stopped before the building, even letting go of his hand. “My Emperor?” “My apologies, it’s but nothing. My gaze had just caught something.” “Certainly, it’s not nothing, you’d never let loose your embrace otherwise.” After appearing to think of something for a moment you pointed to… some plant tied to the ceiling of the gazebo. “Moons ago, back when autumn had taken root, when I was training in America I learned of their traditions. One such is that should a pair stand under mistletoe when ice and frost had consumed the world… they must kiss.” Gundham simply stared as you walked inside taking a seat. “Just a tradition I recalled, as I said it’s but nothing.”

You simply looked out to the gardens and forested shrubbery that surrounded you, cooing over the atmosphere the snow had made blanketing the world. Then with a questioning expression you looked to him, feeling he held your upper arms. And you froze as he leaned in.

…

And he stopped.

Gently, he gently placed his bandaged hand over your mouth before closing his eyes as well as the distance between you. The grip of his hand on your arm tightened as his heart pounded in his chest, nerves striking him as if it were lightning. As he parted his breath hitched, shakily letting go. “… You okay, Tanaka?” Unable to speak he simply nodded, covering his face with his scarf, desperate to hide his blush. You smiled, your own blush darkening as you placed your hand atop his bandaged one. And Gundham lightly pressed your fingers together, loosely interlocking them.

Spring, the season of meetings, the season Gundham was rather fond to see again. Though he had experienced the passage of time for so long, the seasons seemed to hold new meaning to him now. He wondered what new meaning he’d find for spring this year with you.

[curly-bangtan]

A Drop of Heaven IV: Unravelling

[Series Masterlist]

Pairing: ot7 x reader // this chapter: Yoongi x reader, Seokjin x reader

Series summary: Seven vampires have secretly been roaming the darks of your world for millennia. Each brother selects a Feed who becomes supernaturally bound to him, whose blood will be fed on until their inevitable mortal death. They have spent their eternity hunting for the exorbitant rarity that is angel blood - the most heavenly of food for vampires that fuel them with desire, lust and satiety. So what happens when they all find you, the first angel-blooded being they’ve encountered in two centuries?

Genre: vampire au, poly au, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (e2l)

Warnings in this chapter: mentions of blood drinking, depression and suicidal thoughts, slightly gruesome, probably a lot of confusion, plot heavy chapter

Word count: 11.1k

A/N: I’m not sure if it’s just me but I feel like my writing style for this series has kind of shifted, so apologies if you don’t like the change. Thank you for being so patient with this update, I know it took forever, but I hope it was worth the wait! ❤︎

[prelude, i, ii, iii, iv, v, vi, vii, epilogue]

❦

They say that humans are immensely adaptable creatures. In the face of a drastic change, when thrust into a foreign environment, we possess a biological plasticity that allows us to mould into our novelle surroundings, no matter how alien. All for the purpose of survival. Humans are resilient. Humans survive.

You have survived, and you keep on surviving.

A week has passed. Almost in a flash, yet also agonisingly slowly. But in your memory, all the feeding has merged into a blur. Every time a pair of fangs sink into you, you’ve come to switch off your mind completely. You don’t recall where your consciousness has travelled to, you just remember floating in a cold darkness. Stagnant. Void.

On Thursday, broken and hanging on by a thread, you were tossed to Hoseok. The flash of craze in his eyes, despite your gaping wounds that took longer to heal than it should have, even after drinking Yoongi’s blood, managed to instill a droplet of fear in you. But only just.

Because after Yoongi, you no longer know fear.

Still, Hoseok’s insanity is something you’ve never seen before, a wildness exacerbated by the centuries he has lived.

Hoseok looks at you like a brand new toy. When he touches you, you can feel the tremble of excitement beneath his skin. Sometimes, you wonder if he is the worst one of them all, even worse than Yoongi. Because you at least know what the others are thinking. With Hoseok, he speaks to you as if you’ve been acquainted for years, asks how you fare as if he doesn’t know of your suffering. He smiles at you like he means it, and you know he is genuinely happy to see you, but not for the reason you hope for.

“You seem sad…” He had said, staring at you intently as he brushes the sweat-dampened hair out of your face. “Yoongi hurt you?”

Your eyes were transfixed on one spot of the colourful wallpaper of his Feed Room. Your head barely nodded.

You didn’t see his mouth quirk up in amusement, but you could sense it. Hoseok was prodding you, like a zoo animal. Testing your temperament, seeing how broken you are. And you were too tired, too drained to put on a show like the circus monkey he wanted.

“No worries, Y/N, it won’t hurt with me, I promise.” The ghost of his lips traced your shoulder. “We will have so much fun together.” His long fingers prickle your thighs as he pulls you onto his lap. “Just relax and smile for me.”

It had hurt, at least very briefly before you could shut it out. Out of everyone, Hoseok has the least control. He never knows when to stop. Though he wasn’t bleeding you dry just yet, it visibly took him his entire mental strength to cease his drinking. And once he stopped, he began laughing maniacally.

“Sweet Satan, we’re in for a ride.” He kissed around the puncture wound at your collarbone where blood was weeping out of you. You didn’t move or make a sound.

The sire bond hadn’t surfaced at all. But it didn’t need to in order for you to ignore the pain; you’ve grown so accustomed to it by now that you hardly even blink, sire bond or no. You’re afraid of yourself, the lifeless husk you’re becoming.

The scariest aspect of Hoseok is perhaps how quickly he changes his mood after feeding. His ability to act as if he hadn’t just ripped into you, taking your around the house and telling you stories of his adventurous life while you eat, is uncanny. And when you fail to put on a smile for him, because how could you, his eyes would darken, jaw tighten.

“Isn’t that just hilarious? Can you believe I did that back then?” He would ask, and you’re not sure why your entertainment brings him validation.

But for self-preservation, you have learnt to giggle like you’re enjoying yourself and say cheerily, “I know right! That sounds wild!”

And Hoseok would nod madly, giddy from your approval, acting blind to your ingenuity as if he hadn’t forced the response he wanted out of you.

That was your Thursday.

.

Jimin was a salve, a soothing balm over your hidden wounds.

You no longer care whether his affection towards you is genuine. Beggars can’t be choosers, you’ll take any kindness where it is doled. It’s funny because, amidst suffering, amidst torture, you are able to resist the floods of tears that should be completely justified in your predicament. Yet as soon as someone shows the remotest care towards you, you feel the ocean pushing against your brick walls, threatening to rupture the dam.

It wretched your heart how tender Jimin was with you. You had almost broken down in his arms when he brushed over the skin where Yoongi and Hoseok had torn into. Your wounds are invisible. Vampire blood hides your cuts under fresh new skin, but doesn’t truly heal them. Yet Jimin had managed to sense your scars nonetheless.

He kissed them softly. You knew he wanted to kiss your mouth too, yet he didn’t. Is this what respect feels like?

Thus, you were completely willing when he fed on you. His preferred feeding spot is the inside of your thighs. When his cold breath arrived there, you could have sworn you felt something flutter in your core.

You had wanted him. You’re embarrassed to admit but you want him. Completely on your own accord, as the sire bond had also failed to lock in place with him too. You wondered if it was the damage Yoongi had done…

But then Saturday came, and the moment Taehyung’s fangs touched your flesh, you were swept away.

At first, it felt like drowning, as you struggled against the formidable waves that would not let you resurface. But then you calmed, a serenity took hold of you, and you began floating in the most soothing, clear blue water. The water healed you, almost, as you just drifted there on your back, watching the star-splatted night sky.

Taehyung swam up beside you, those sharp fangs of his never withdrawn, a wolfish yet reassuring smile, telling you it’s okay, everything will be okay, I can make you feel good.

And he did make you feel good.

The one thing you crave the most in this world is affection, you’ve come to learn. With Yoongi, you had wanted to feel something so badly, something other the numb wreckage of your mind you had trapped yourself in. Except he had made you feel worse, worthless, self-loathing just like him. With Hoseok, you were a broken doll, smile when expected to, laughing when required. You weren’t a person. With Jimin, you had been too grateful for his tenderness to function, unable to comprehend how, for once in the longest time, someone is treating you as if they care about you.

With Taehyung, you grew desperate to cling onto this intimacy.

It was like a drug, flooding your mind with peace and euphoria, drinking him in as much as he is drinking you. His kisses felt unhealthily good, and they tricked you into thinking that you’re worthy of someone like Taehyung, someone so beautiful, so intoxicating. He fucked you like he was making love to you, but also not. It came as waves - his sweetness, then his ferality.

You couldn’t get enough of it. You know it’s no good to feel so attached, when he probably sees you as no more than an object, his meal, but you couldn’t help it. You were just so desperate for that feeling of being desired.

He promised to make you feel good, make you forget, and that he did.

You hadn’t known what to expect from Jungkook. As you sat, waiting, on the bed of his Feed Room on Sunday, you pondered Jin’s words of his past.

He was a bright star once, before this curse. And even after, he had fed on humans once. The curiosity gnawed at your brain, pleading to find out what had happened.

Jungkook never showed up.

And so you slept the day and night away, replenishing your health with soup that Seokjin delivered, until you woke up and the cycle continued once more.

.

You watch the round dewdrop roll off the viridescent green leaf, and splatter onto the cold white tile. The greenhouse has soon become one of your favourite places to pass time. The walls of that manor are suffocating.

The faint sound of a piano whispers into your ears. You shut your eyes, appreciating the beauty of the pieces as it plays flawlessly. You wonder who is pouring out their emotions to the ebony and ivory sisters.

The glass of the greenhouse is fogged by the dawn dew, shielding you from the world outside and those who wish to take from you. Almost smiling, you pace around the kingdom of plants, enjoying the tranquility. Today is Thursday; Hoseok allows you to do as you please after he feeds on you; though it could be of his genuine good intent, you suspect it’s to instill you with a false sense of freedom. Let the dog out of its cage, let her roam their land, so the bitch never seeks to leave the house.

The thought of escaping had crossed your mind a profusion of occurrences the past week. Though, at this very moment, you don’t think there is much purpose in leaving anymore. Here, you at least are provided food and shelter, and maybe one or two friends whose friendship comes with a price. It’s not living in here, you’re merely surviving. But you’re surviving nonetheless. Compared to out there, where you’d be left to fend for yourself, constantly fleeing from seven vampires who you’re eternally bonded to.

You’ve thought about killing yourself too. A coward’s way out, but hey, you’d rather be a coward than a blood bag for the rest of your life. But when you had snuck into the kitchen last night after Yoongi’s heartless torment and raised a knife to your chest, an invisible force had pushed against your arms, freezing them in place and preventing them from taking action.

The sireship is so cruel. It humanises the vampires who captured you, makes you empathise with them, and forbids you from harming yourself.

On deeper thought, you wouldn’t have been able to kill yourself that way anyway. The moment your blood is spilled, in a house full of vampires, at least one of them is bound to smell it right away. They would have healed you before the pain could kick in - their way of sweeping everything under the rug nowadays - and you would’ve been back to the start. Except worse, as they would then know of your intention.

You crouch down beside a rose bush, petting its velvet white petals between your fingers. Flowers are beautiful yet fickles things, but roses have thorns. They lure people in with their beauty, but if anyone tries to pluck them off and keep one for themselves, they get cut. Your fingers travel down its stem to where a thorn is staring enticingly back at you.

You push the pad of your finger into its prick, hard. You don’t feel a thing. Not even as a bead of crimson oozes from the cut. It’s chilling.

Then you sense a presence behind you. When you turn, your eyes meet with those of Namjoon. Watering pot in one hand, he watches you, brows furrowed at your previous act.

“What are you doing?” There’s a hesitancy in his voice, almost as if he doesn’t recognise you.

“Admiring the roses.”

You no longer speak to Namjoon in that defying tone of yours. He was right, there’s no use in challenging him, trying to topple his superiority complex. It only took a week to tame you into a docile creature. You’re ashamed.

“No, I mean why did you purposely touch the thorns like that?” Still frowning, he stomps over, water in his gardening can sloshing about. As he sinks down beside you, his air of intimidation infiltrates your peaceful bubble.

“I… I don’t know, I just wanted to know what it feels like.” You mumble. Setting the pot aside, Namjoon snatches your finger and brings it close to his face for examination.

“Well, it was obviously going to cut you.” He hisses. When his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your blood is vastly tempting him.

“I know.” You pull your finger away, not that you don’t trust his self control, but because his touch was beginning to scald. The bond was trying to take hold of you despite it not being the day where you belong to him, and you hate how drawn you are to him because of it.

Spinning away, you stand and begin pacing towards the door. Your moment of peace has been disturbed, there’s no point in staying here anymore. But then you hear him call after you, “W-Wait.” The vulnerable expression that greets you when you look back takes you by surprise. “Um… You spend an awful lot of time in here nowadays… How come?”

You hadn’t been aware that Namjoon notices your growing presence in the greenhouse, not since you have never come across him here before. “I like it in here, I feel safe. Why, am I not allowed?” Your question lacks the challenging impudence it should have, more like a young girl asking her father for permission. You’re disappointed in yourself at how quickly you’ve deflated, even at the obnoxious Namjoon. Yet, you’ve lost your drive at standing your ground, you’ve got no fight left.

“N-No!” He is quick to dispute, standing up from his crouch as well. “I just meant… Nevermind.” His voice trails weakly to a tense silence. You watch his eyes flicker up at yours rather nervously, trying to decipher his intention. Then he speaks again, “I’ve just seen you here quite a few times… I enjoy being here myself; I find tending to my plants right before the sun rises fully a therapeutic pastime.”

His admission strikes you. You would never imagine a man as demanding, efficient and severe as Namjoon to enjoy a hobby as mundane as gardening. You’re not sure what to make of it to be honest, nor can you understand why he’s speaking to you so… conversationally. Is this his attempt at making peace with you?

“Well, you’ve tended to them very well, they’re beautiful. I enjoy being here too.” You guess you should accept his decency. He had been rather distant on Monday, leaving you to your own devices, only feeding on you once and hardly speaking a word. His contrasting moods are confusing.

Namjoon’s lips purse, brows raise ever so slightly, as if surprised by your kind response. His eyes flicker to your finger again. The tiny cut has yet to dry, fresh blood still leaking from the open wound despite its miniscule size. You should probably have some food; your body is frail, especially after Yoongi yesterday.

“I’m going to leave you to it, sir.” You nod courteously, but freeze as the name you address him as slips out of you. No, it was drawn out of you from the bond. It doesn’t take a second for heat to rush to your face in embarrassment. Namjoon noticeably stiffens. Gulps.

The coil within you is starting to wind. It tightens around your chest like thorned vines, piercing into your heart the more you try to wriggle free.

You know he feels it too.

But before he can take a step towards you, as you sense he intends to, you’re turning around and speeding out of the greenhouse. And it’s not until you’re within the confines of Hoseok’s Feed Room that you feel the liberty to breathe again, Namjoon’s sire bond reluctantly waning into the background.

.

You could tell something was off about Hoseok straight away when he entered the room. There were multiple telltale signs.

One: He was stumbling over his feet, tripping over to the bed in a drunken manner as he navigated the room. His words were slurred, hardly coherent sentences at all. His wine red hair in disarray.

Two: He smelled noticeably different. Though you’ve not spent more than two days as his feed, Hoseok has a clear distinct smell, most notable from the other vampires. He smells clean, sweet even; it’s the one thing you can’t help but indulge in about him. Yet even to your human nose, he had a weird, doggish musk to him as he approached you.

Three: From his rogue smile dribbled drying blood. And no, it wasn’t a mere droplet of crimson, he was drenched in blood, chin to toes. Despite the gore you’ve witnessed, it was still a chilling sight.

And four: Though his eyes were half shut, you briefly saw the way they flashed beneath his lids. Only half conscious, the other half gone and crazed, though full of purpose - purpose to get to you.

You catch him in open arms as he falls onto you, the mattress dipping at the sudden crash of his weight. “Hoseok, what happened?” Your voice harbours more concern than you would like to show, and you don’t know why you care at all.

His face presses against the crook of your neck, his lips stretching into a smile at your presence, right over your pulse. His hands wander to your waist, pulling you into his embrace. You recoil from his forwardness, but with nowhere to back away to except further into the bed. You try to ignore how pleasant the tip of his nose feels as it rubs against your skin.

“Missed you…” Hoseok mumbles, still grinning widely, mouth travelling to your jaw where his warm breath tickles. His breath should be cold; the heat tells you that the feeding of whoever’s blood this was recent.

You can’t help but feel flustered at his sudden touchiness. Of all vampires here, save for Jungkook, you would say you’ve been the least… intimate with Hoseok. It has never been your dynamic. It was always him flinging you around like a puppy shredding its new stuffed toy then chewing on the spilled cotton. So this is… new.

“Why are you acting like this?” You ask again, trying to pry his arms off your torso but to no avail.

“Sweetness…” He mutters unintelligibly, and you shudder as his teeth grazes your ear, an involuntarily sensual tingle following.

“H-Hoseok…” Your breath hitches, his proximity growing more and more unignorable. So you grab his face, cheeks cupped in one hand, and shake him for good measure. His closing lids flash open like gradually awakening from slumber, yet still not recovered from his daze. “What happened to you?”

“Werewolves.”

An icy cold settles in your bones. Werewolves. There are such things as werewolves as well. Vampires, witches and werewolves. What other creatures of horror are plaguing your world that you don’t know of? That explains that muttish stench he carries. The blood he’s soaked in… Is it his or theirs? You think you feel slightly sick.

Brushing his hair out of his face, you point his drooping head at you again. “Tell me what happened.”

“Those stupid mutts… picking a fight… Taehyung, Jungkook and I had to put them in their place.” Hoseok begins peeling himself off you, and finally your body is no longer crushed under his. Your hands around him fall to your side idly as you watch him stumble off the bed and head towards the door, though he doesn’t make it two steps before tumbling onto his knees. You hurry after him to catch his upper body before he falls completely onto the ground.

His shoulders in your grip, you try to examine him for any wounds, and though there are some tears in his clothes, the skin underneath has been healed clean. So why? “Hoseok, look at me.” Your voice is urgent, authoritative, it almost has the life it once had to it. His eyes lock onto yours, this time permanently without closing. They’re blank, the amber green murky with an unreadable shroud. “What’s wrong with you? You need to tell me.”

So with obvious effort, he grunts out, “Werewolf blood makes us… It’s like… wine to us. Too much and our mind is” hiccup “inebriated.”

Oh. You let out a sigh of relief.

Hoseok is drunk on werewolf blood.

Though, you’re not sure why you’re relieved that he’s alright. Surely you should be wishing for the opposite.

With tremendous endeavour, you drag him up onto his feet and walk him to the ensuite bathroom, huffing as you sit him down on the edge of the lavish bathtub that every Feed bathroom contains but you have yet to use. Hoseok is uncooperative, trying for detours on the bed, attempting to hop onto the sink. With the knowledge of his intoxicated state now, he appears like a little child, an innocently fascinated smile constantly plastered on his face, too easily impressed by even his own reflection in the mirror. For you, it’s a contrasting sight. Though he has always possessed a child-like temperament in his playfulness and love to goof at silly things, his usual underlying insanity is nowhere to be found right now.

It makes his company more soothing knowing that his mind absolves of any ulterior motive.

You don’t know why you’ve taken it upon you to do so, but you rummage around to find a clean towel. Glancing at the mirror as you twist the faucet to dampen the towel, you try not to notice how you scarcely recognise yourself anymore.

Hoseok groans at the wet coldness you press onto his chin, the dried crusted blood once again watering into a river of rusty brown-red. His fingers fly up to catch yours, trying to pry the scrubbing towel off his face. “Mmmm.” He whines in protest, shut eyes frowning. You ignore his brewing tantrum, towel travelling down to absorb the red stains of his neck, though you clean with more gentleness now.

He isn’t so bad like this, you guess.

Still, the more you try to understand him, the more you lose yourself in the maze that is his psyche. The more you think you can predict him, the more he comes out with an unexpected complexity that adds another layer to his mask. Who is Hoseok? The entertainer, the mood maker, always seeking to please his guests? The little boy who wishes not to be tamed? The spoilt brat whose greed grows with the more he has? Who is he really?

You straighten and regard his state. Head drooping sluggishly, fingers fidgeting at anything in his reach, you realise a cold towel isn’t going to help him. You’re all too familiar from the nights your uncle stumbled back, the reek of alcohol finding you before he enters the room, to know that this state of inebriation needs to be conquered before he falls asleep, lest you wish to face an ill-tempered brute the next day.

“Hoseok.” You tap his jaw lightly, rousing him, and he looks at you with surprising focus that makes you cower a little. “You should shower.”

He blinks sleepily, and you think he doesn’t comprehend at first, but then he takes your hand in his and stands up. As he does, his face zooms dangerously close to yours, pointy tip of his nose a hair’s breadth away from brushing your lips. Your heart jumps. There’s a lag in your brain before you know to step back.

“Come with me, then.”

It’s evident that his whole demeanour has shifted. Gone is the childish giddiness he had. In its place: a solemn gravity, seemingly out of nowhere, his lips pressed into a taut line, jaw tense, a pinning glare possessing you unwaveringly. Even his voice has dropped deeper, forgoing its tangy cheer.

It takes more than a second for what he means to sink in. He wants you to join his shower.

“W-What? No!” You yank your hand from his, heat blooming across your cheeks.

At this point, you’re no prude, intimacy has been breached with several if not most of these vampires you share a roof with. Yet your dynamic and circumstance with each of them differs greatly. With Yoongi, it is a release of mutual resentment; Taehyung, it’s a seductive dance to pleasure you both; Namjoon, a reluctant magnetisation that you wish not to dwell on; Seokjin, a confusion of emotions and desperation; Jimin, a soft gentle healing. There has always been a sexual implication hinting at the back of your mind with these five, and with some, you’ve acted upon it. But never with Hoseok.

Because Hoseok has been too much of an enigma. Never once showing that type of attraction towards you, only a fascination that sits on the borderline of lunacy. Always just - ogling at you like you’re a show pony, marveling at the taste of your blood as if it’s a drug. And the confusion he inoculates when he acts as your friend, like he genuinely enjoys your company. Too baffling.

But right now, this very evening, something stirs in your stomach. A new sensation as another layer of him is peeled back to reveal yet another persona. A man desiring affection?

He looks at you for a while, as if he wants to say something. The absence of the smile that usually stalks his lips every moment of the day is throwing you off. You think he’s going to push further but he doesn’t, he simply tilts his head and says, “Suit yourself, sweetheart.”

Legs still rather wobbly, he makes his way, hand on the gold marble of the sink to balance his wavering weight, towards the shower. Standing there, stupefied at his sudden change, you don’t realise that he does not intend on waiting for you to leave before striping until he tears his blood-drenched shirt off crudely. Buttons fly towards the wall, scattering about in little clinks.

Faint scar-like marks dart across his back like a violent painting.

You’re transfixed. The light lines are not ridged, merely running smoothly on the surface of his skin. Some look like claw marks, some bite marks seemingly from an animal. Those werewolves he mentioned? Some look fresh, while others older.

But that doesn’t make sense. Why does he, a vampire with supernatural healing, have scars?

“So do you want to join or not?” He slurs, face half turned towards you, yet eyes trained low. His profile is striking.

“I- No. Um. I’m going to bed. Bye.” Your eyes immediately fall to the ground. Still incredibly flustered, you spin around and head back to your room, mentally trying to shake off the image of his scar-inflicted back.

At the door, you pause, back still facing him, and ask, “Will you be fine alone?”

You hear the whirl of his belt being pulled out, blood continuing to roar in your ears.

“I’ve been alone all these centuries - I think I’ll be fine.”

That’s not what you meant, but when you hear his zipper, you hurry to shut the door behind you, pondering the sourness of his reply.

.

His shower is quick, the water sounds stop not too long after you climb into bed. Though, Hoseok stays in the bathroom for a period of time before coming out. You debated going in to check in on him incase he has fallen unconscious or something of that sort, whatever werewolf blood does to vampires. But you weren’t sure if he would be dressed, so you stay tucked under the covers in a small huddle, quietly trying to dissect his character in your head.

The door eventually opens, though it doesn’t swing open as Hoseok normally does to announce his entry. He’s still in that odd sombre mood.

Lying on your side, curled up into a small lump, your back is facing him. Eyes shut yet wide awake, you hear a drop of water hit the floor every few seconds. You can’t resist the urge to look up, to see whether he has washed away the blood and intoxication.

But at the sight of his naked body, manhood only covered by the towel hanging loosely around his waist, you nearly roll off. Though his skin is mostly dry, there is still a lustre glossed over his unearthly sculpted body. The room is dark, his silhouette cast by the bathroom lights behind him. Despite the poor vision, you are mesmerised by the ridges of his abdomen, chiseled so perfectly that you wonder how they feel like beneath your touch. A defined V is carved on his pelvis, pointing down to a devilish place you’re glad the darkness doesn’t allow you to see.

You catch sight of his hand that is bunching up the towel loosen, just in time for you to swing back down into your foetal position away from him before you hear the cloth drop carelessly.

Is he purposely trying to tizzy you?

Your eyes close firmly as he paces to the dresser, and they stay that firmly closed while you hear him dress, hear the bathroom lights click off.

You jolt when you feel the pressure on the other side of that mattress, your knees curling up tighter, inconspicuously inching further away. To your relief, as he climbs into bed, he keeps his distance, doesn’t reach for you like you were scared he would.

The silence hums loudly, rhythmed by his shallow breaths. Is he finally sober?

No sound. Not a word. For Hoseok, that’s worrying.

Damn yourself, why do you care? “Are you feeling better?” You almost bite your tongue as you ask, cursing your inability to keep to yourself. At least you don’t turn to face him.

Silence, still. Steady breaths.

You begin to wonder if he fell asleep the second his back sunk onto the mattress. It wouldn’t be a surprise.

But then you hear the lightest sigh. “Feeling less drunk, but head still pounding. Dizzy.”

You’re unaccustomed to the deepness of his voice, wondering where its usual loud annoying cheeriness has strayed off to. You don’t want to say you miss it, you certainly don’t. You just… grew so used to it.

This version of Hoseok is too human. It’s uncanny.

Despite laying there in silence, it doesn’t feel silent at all. The tension is blaringly loud in the air, almost a physical pressure pushing up against you, goading you to do something. Turn around and face him. Let him feed on you to replenish. But no, he’s fed a lot today already. Your collar still feels sore. Find another vampire and ask them to cure him. But at this time of day, where the sun is already almost completely uncovered, they should all be asleep. Then at least talk to him, something, before he resumes back to his normal self that you have to cower from.

“What are those scars on your back?”

Your voice startles him. Though you can’t see well, you notice him jolt. Was that too much to ask? Too personal? And honestly, do you actually want to know the truth to your question or would you sleep much sounder without it?

He doesn’t answer.

Instant regret. You count your breaths, shut your eyes and try not to be hyper-aware of short the distance of an arm’s length actually is between your back and his side.

You shouldn’t have asked that. Of course it would be a sensitive topic. What else could explain the literal scars on his back that have failed to heal even with his supernatural abilities?

There is a line drawn between you and Hoseok. There are boundaries, though some particularly vague and hazy, between you and each vampire, but the line is especially distinct with him. You have to remember, you can’t act the same as you do with Seokjin or Taehyung with someone like Hoseok or Yoongi. He’s not your friend. None of them are your friends, really. Hoseok, one of the least of all.

Who knows what psychological trigger you’ve switched on by asking such question? Curiosity did kill the cat afterall.

“They…” It’s your turn to jounce, his response unexpected. “I don’t know, I guess there’s a limit to what my abilities can heal, and to be honest, I like the look of them anyway. I think there’s a word for it, but my mind isn’t working properly… M-something. Ma- You know, the opposite of sadism.”

You know.

“Masochism…?”

“Yeah, that. Masochism.”

The room goes quiet after he mutters the last syllable of a word you would never anticipate to be his answer. Hoseok is a masochist? He enjoys pain inflicted onto him? If it were even possible for your blood to go colder, you feel a chill spear through your veins.

Fuck, these vampires are dark. And you thought you were morbid…

“Why…?” So Hoseok is at the opposite of the spectrum from Yoongi. You vaguely understand Yoongi, how he lashes out due to self hatred. It’s a cycle of pushing people away due to fear of intimacy from his loneliness, and as a result feeling more alone. He likes to inflict pain because that way, he can convince himself that he’s an unlovable monster, and pretend that he is choosing to be alone. But with Hoseok, you cannot fathom how or why he enjoys pain. How could anyone? “If you don’t mind me asking…”

You’re tempted to turn, eye contact is human nature, but you don’t think you can stomach it. There is an inexplicable weight, an intensity bestowed. You feel as though you’re sinking in quicksand, a slow agonising submergence, swallowed up by the burden you’re seeking to know about but can’t resist.

“It’s so boring, living like this.” He mumbles. You hear him rustle around to get comfortable, or maybe to inch closer to you. “We’ve been alive for more than two thousand years. Life begins to get rather insipid, nothing really... stimulates me anymore. Yeah, fight with demons, get wasted on werewolf blood, sure, pretty fun.” Hiccup. “But after so many years, you start to not really feel anything anymore.”

Truthfully, you think you get it. You get his inertia, the lack of anything exciting him about life.

“Like yeah, I know how you see me. I’m this over-the-top, dramatic class clown caricature, so you probably won’t believe me when I tell you about how bored I actually am. But I am.” hiccup

“So pain is your remedy?”

“I guess, yeah, pain is my remedy. You know that feeling when your skin gets cut, that rush of cold that infiltrates you?” Unfortunately, all too well. “It’s pretty exciting. There’s no feeling like it.” hiccup “It’s just so refreshing, to be able to feel somewhat mortal. Get torn apart a little, because I know I’ll stitch back up together anyway. It’s the only thing that brings me thrill nowadays. Before we found you.”

“What if you don’t?” Vampires are immortal, but not invincible afterall.

“Then I guess I don’t.”

Hoseok says it with a finality, as if death is no big ordeal to him. If it happens, it happens. He’s not self-destructive perse, you know he isn’t actively looking to die. He just wants to feel something. Like you.

Yeah, you think you get it…

Despite the difference in the sufferings you’ve been exposed to, monotony breeds insensitivity to most stimulants of life. Food tastes blander, colours duller, sense of self starts to ebb away. Hoseok had been a cheerful man before becoming a vampire, one requiring extravaganza in his life, flamboyance, because his life was a show, the embodiment of entertainment. How long did that take to crumble? For him to grow out of parties and parades because he realised that they could no longer fill that void?

The fall from a life of exhilaration to one where you were only passing time is tragic. He puts on a show to convince himself that he’s having fun, imposes it on everyone around him.

You’re beginning to dissect the animus of Hoseok, what truly underlies his insanity.

It’s disconcerting, how much he’s opening up when he isn’t sober. He has kept this in for a while, you can guess.

“Hey…” He slurs sleepily, though you hear his purpose, a sort of determination to stay away and say one last thing. And finally, you turn.

In this darkness, you hardly see a thing more than the shadows cast around him. You can’t see his facial expression, and you think it’s perhaps a good thing; you don’t wish for it to confuse you more. What throws you off is the heat emitted from his body. Vampires are cold creatures, warmth absent in their touch. You try not to think about the werewolf blood still coursing through his veins to keep him warm, how it makes it feel as though a human lays beside you rather than the monster in actuality.

“Yes?”

Your reply falls flat. As your vision adjusts to the pitch black, you are hyper aware of the stillness of the night that encases you.

“I…”

He.

It’s silent. So silent you can hear the thrumming of your chest.

“Yes?” You repeat, egging him on. His hesitancy has a depressive tone to it, it is somehow so genuine, rather than for dramatic effect like one would expect from him.

“I’m sorry.”

Those two words shoot into you like bullets of chaos and disarray, their shells ricocheting. Your ear rings as if deafened by an explosion. Maybe this is a dream. You can’t tell these days anymore.

“I’m sorry for everything.” He sounds throaty, still dragging his words as he tries to grapple at sobriety but fails. He also sounds like he means what he’s saying, like he feels terribly guilty.

You don’t understand.

“What do you mean… Why…?” Your eyes drop to the distance between you, fixing on the shadow of a crease you can barely make out.

“I’m just-” Hoseok tosses onto his side to look at you. You stare at that shadow harder. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“But wh-”

“Every time I look at you, I just want to, I don’t know, shake you. No, not you. Shake myself, or my brothers. I want to shatter some glass, sprint at a wall, I don’t know. I don’t fucking know what I’m saying. But yeah, every time I look at you, I just feel so fucking bad, man. I’ve- I guess I’ve been pretty good at keeping the guilt at bay all these centuries - we kind of have to, or we wouldn’t have survived two thousand years. But like, when I look at you, I can’t forget how much you’ve suffered. That kind of damage scars you forever. I can fucking see that you’re a shell of a person.”

Your throat constricts. You hate this feeling. Not that people have ever pitied you before, seeing as there was no witness of your uncle’s abuse, there was no one to feel sorry for you. But right now, you get it. That wash of humiliation from the small satisfaction you gain from someone pitying you, someone acknowledging how bad you have it, all the shit you’ve been through. It makes you sick.

Yes, you’re damaged. Good that he knows. Good that it tears apart his conscience. You’re glad that it makes him feel horrible.

Then why? You want to ask him. But you know he’s not finished with his piece.

“I see that you try to hide how fucking empty you are when you’re with me, try to act like you’re enjoying my company and actually find my jokes funny. I guess that’s why I keep trying to make you laugh. I know I’m annoying as fuck. Hell, I would hate me if I were anyone but me. But, I don’t know, I just want to stir some reaction from you, make you feel less hollow. I know it fucking sucks for you here, and I want to make it suck less, you know?”

A shiver fires down your spine. You have never thought about it like that.

Drunk words, sober thoughts. Or so the saying goes.

All this time, you thought that Hoseok views you as some sort of dancing monkey, forcing you to perform tricks for him, smiling, laughing, stroking his ego.

But the truth is, he wants to spark some life back into you. His jokes, his stories, his antics. They have been for you, not him.

Your throat trembles.

“All that shit with your uncle, God, it was brutal, even for me. It was the fact that you couldn’t escape from it. You were living through hell for how many years? All because of us. And now you’re stuck here with us, have to continue to endure. It just doesn’t stop for you, does it? And I know it makes no sense coming from me. Especially from me, I guess. You know, I really wish I could control myself. But that sensation that overtakes our minds, I wish I could describe it to you, it’s fucking insane. Your blood tastes like a drug to me, I don’t know, heroin or something. Except it doesn’t kill me, it kills you.” His voice is drifting, quieter, duller, slower. Like he’s mumbling without knowing he’s speaking out loud. The words just keep tumbling out.

Glancing up, you see that his eyes are shut, chest rising heavily, on the brink of sleep. You want him to fall asleep. You don’t want to keep listening. Because it sickens you knowing that buried under all those masks is an emotionally empathetic person, hardly the maniac you thought him to be. Because it would be so much easier if he was that, so much easier to hate your tormentor and see him as a monster.

But actually, he isn’t. He senses your pain, holds remorse for his actions.

You hate it. You hate it.

Just let me believe that you’re pyschopathic.

“Anyway... what I was saying is that…” His head droops to the other side. Sleep will siege him soon, you’re glad to know. “I know I’m a hypocrite. Namjoon would give me hell if he heard me sympathising with the Feed, but I truly mean no malicious intent towards you... This is just the way things are for us…” His breathing slows, deepens. Words only just more than a slur of syllables. You lay there, clutching your fists, waiting for it to be over, but only for you to lie awake and ponder this revelation for hours. “I wish… I wish it didn’t have to be you... after all that you went through. But I guess you only went through that because of what you are… Hurting you was the only way to protect you...”

You don’t even hear it at first, silently contemplating his words. But then the last bit sinks in.

“Wait, wait, what?” You break your silence. Hoseok has stopped making sense, you shouldn’t expect more from a drunken vampire, but he had been making sense before. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean what?” He mumbles and rolls away, but you grab his sleeve and prevent him from turning and entering a realm of dreams.

“What you said in the end. About how… I don’t know... I went through that shit because of what I am. What do you mean? And hurting me was the only way to protect me.” Your blood has gone icy. You don’t want to be left with nothing but those words and your endless imagination of what they could possibly mean for the next few hours.

“You know, the spell…”

Spell.

“What spell?” But his eyes are completely closed, hardly a stir at your question to indicate he heard you at all. His sleeve bunches up under your fist, you gently rattle his face. “Hoseok, what spell? What are you talking about?”

He tries to shake you off, frowning in annoyance at your disturbance. “You know. That spell, the one to keep you safe.”

“Keep talking about the spell, Hoseok. Please. Safe from what?” You continue to shake him, stomach tying into knots. What spell?

“Safe from us, whatever Creatures of the Night your blood attracts.” Vexed, he grabs your wrist, eyes half opening, and shoves them away. “The spell the angels put, remember?”

“I don’t remember. Tell me about the spell, what was it?” You hear the urgency, the degrading desperation in your voice, but you need to know. You need to. What fucking spell to keep you safe?

“It’s complicated. Some twisted magic? You know that car accident with your parents? That was some Hell’s magic, when the demons started to find you... Angel blood isn’t just valued by vampires. They would’ve taken you if the angels hadn’t been watching closely and intervened. Then they, the angels I mean, decided to shield your aura, you know, your angel aura. The thing that lets the supernatural know that you have angel blood? It’s a distinctive scent for us, and I’m guessing other creatures too. It attracts demons and whatnots and helps them hunt you. It’s like a beacon of light. So they had to suppress your aura. And the only way to suppress angel aura is to suppress the angel themselves. Make them suffer, endure tremendous pain, dull their virtues, make them lose the will to live, et cetera. That way you don’t ‘shine’ anymore, and we won’t be able to find you. So I guess they did some sort of spell, or whatever heavenly magic, on your uncle so that his mind was warped and unconsciously fixated on hurting you... It’s fucking dark and twisted, especially for angels... To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. That’s what irks me... Don’t know why but it just makes me feel so fucking bad…”

Something churns violently in your stomach. And you would have thrown up if you had eaten much previously.

None of it makes sense. Or maybe it’s starting to make too much sense.

You can’t believe it. You fucking can’t believe it.

You let Hoseok drift off to sleep, the weight of his body falling limp. You let go of his face.

You just can’t. Fucking. Believe it.

There’s no way this is true. He’s drunk. He has made up some story in his head. There’s no way.

Because there’s simply no way that the past few years of your endless torture has been a gift from the angels, a path paved for you to endure. To shield you. To save you.

In what sick universe…

You scramble off the bed and rush into the bathroom, ignoring the loud pads of your feet against the cold wooden floor. Your fingers tremble as you turn the light switch on and slam the door behind you with your back. For a moment, all you hear is the ocean of your roaring blood.

That’s why that night your parent died had felt so strange, so off, your disagreement with your parents so out of the blue. That’s why there was a storm. That’s why a car drove into you and killed your parents. That’s why your grandmother died so shortly after despite normally having great health. That’s why there was a sudden change in your uncle’s demeanour, as if a switch had been flipped in him. That’s why he had locked you in the basement, broke your legs routinely to stop you from escaping, beat you and your sister without reason.

It was demons and Creatures of the Night and a so-called “protection” ploy from angels.

You want to scream. As your back slides down the door, you want to scream at the top of your lungs. The amalgamation of emotions is tearing you apart, piece by piece.

This is it, the tipping point, the loss of your sanity.

His words play over and over again in your head, a drunken confession that he probably did not realise the meaning of in his state.

To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it.

Like a prayer.

Panting hysterically, you feel your mind shattering into a million shards. You can’t comprehend it. You don’t want to. You don’t want to know that the pain you felt, day after day, for what felt like an eternity had been a plot. A fucking spell. You don’t want to know. You don’t want to. You don’t want. You don’t. You.

You. Can’t. Do. This.

01:01. The crash. The beatings. The death of your sister.

It’s possible that you are crying, shaking, but you’re not aware.

And after crumbling on the bathroom floor, for minutes, maybe hours, you make your decision.

You run.

.

The sun is still out.

That means they can’t come out yet. They can’t come after you. They’re probably still asleep, unbeknownst of your escape.

The house had been eerily quiet as you snuck out. And as soon as you stepped foot outside the front door, you had felt it.

The incredible weight holding you down. Like the manor itself was shackled to your ankles. Walking away felt like trudging through mud, dragging this boggling heaviness with you. Every sire bond that has formed was shrieking in your head, wailing, begging for you to stop leaving.

It was purely your willpower and determination that gave you the strength to overcome the supernatural ties that tethered you to those vampires. You had to ignore how much your limbs were aching, how much your heart was straining. You just had to run away. Keep going and don’t look back. It was melting your brain into a puddle, but your mind had been in ruins anyway.

You didn’t know where you were going, the forest faced every side of the house, but you just kept going, as far from them as possible. If you ran down one direction, you were bound to meet an end at some point, find civilisation.

There is no plan. No plan as you fled the walls of those wretched vampires. You just knew you couldn’t stay, couldn’t continue living like that with the knowledge that was spilled onto you. There’s no way you could have pretend not to know and face those vampires, let them drain your blood when they had been part of the reason behind all your suffering.

Fuck the Heavens and the Hells. Fuck the angels, the demons, the vampires, werewolves, witches, all the damnable fucking supernatural.

Angel blood in your veins. A fucking curse.

Every bone in your body is starting to hurt, lungs growing weaker every gasping breath. You keep running, ignoring the overbearing ache and faint voices in your head chanting sorrysorrysorry.

Sorry, child, we’re sorry.

.

The sun has set. It is dark. And you are still running through the forest, no inkling at all of how far you’ve gone and how far is left until you find your rescuer.

The night is eerie, enveloping you in a fog of oblivion, no perception of anything beyond this forest. Howling can be heard from a distance, or what you hope to be a distance. You’re hanging on by a thread, but only just. You don’t know how much longer you will last, you just know that you’ve passed the point of no return now. They would have been searching for you since the daylight began to dwindle. They are on their way.

There had been so many instances where you had just stopped, panting, and stared at your own two feet, wondering what the fuck you’re doing. Because where are you running to? Who is going to believe you when you tell them about the fucking vampires looking for you? Who is going to care about some crazy girl?

What is the point in running? Living, even?

But an instinct within you, the one sparked by this revelation, didn’t allow your legs to stop. The whole world is against you. The whole fucking world. Creatures of the Night are hunting you, the angels have abandoned you to a cruel spell, your family is rotting six feet under. No one is going to fight for you, except yourself.

You are a survivor.

Energy waning from the lack of food and the sparing gulps of water you had salvaged from a brooke, the only thing fuelling you is your adrenaline. At this time of night, your vision is no more than dark silhouettes of trees and rocks. Your limbs are numb. The only thing telling you that you haven’t stopped moving is the constant crunch of leaves beneath your feet, crisply ringing. Keep going. Just keep running.

Where are you?

You hear a voice, his voice. No, you don’t hear it, you sense it. You feel his worry, his fear.

Where did you go? Please.

They can’t possibly be near. Even with vampire speed, there’s no way that can catch up with you so quickly when you’ve been gone for hours.

Please.

The pleading makes your heart lurch. You stop, heaving over your knees.

Guilt. It’s the guilt. Why do you feel guilty for leaving? No, you don’t feel guilty, the bond is making you feel it. It’s trying to manipulate you.

I can’t lose you…

But that’s definitely his voice, his inner thoughts. Seokjin is afraid, panicked, in a frenzy to look for you. Genuine concern.

Maybe you should go back. What are you even doing anyway? Where are you going? There’s no purpose.

It also dawns on you that they will pick up on your scent right away. Even if they don’t find you tonight, everywhere you go, they will find you eventually. They had found you even though your aura had been muffled by your uncle’s abuse. They somehow found you. They are always going to find you.

Maybe you should give up. Just submit to them for the rest of your eternity. Either way, you would be suffering, the angels will see to that. Just give up.

Your fists tighten on your knees. It’s freezing cold; your clothes shredded by sharp grappling branches, the midnight breeze percolates pass the futile material and assails your skin. Thoughts racing at an uninterpretable speed, your lost purpose becomes blaringly apparent.

It’s not so bad in there.

Please be okay. Please come back. Don’t go.

They kind of care about you, in their own warped sense of what caring is. Right? They almost love you, some of them. Right? Right? Right? Right? Right?

I miss you. I’m coming for you. I love you.

Right?

Please be okay.

“SHUT UP!” You sob out loud. In the distance, your outburst scare away a flock of sleeping birds, their wings flapping in synchrony to your heartbeat. “Please just shut up.” As tears erupt like a dam, your slam your hands to your ears to shield you from the sound. But of course, it doesn’t stop. It isn’t a sound. It’s a feeling. It’s the sire bond telling your mind his emotions. “Shut up. Stop making this harder for me. Shut up.”

Falling onto your knees, you simply break. Every fibre of your mind is peeling away, your entity flaking into dust. The cold stings your damp cheeks, trickling down to your neck where you remember so vividly the feeling of their fangs.

They almost love you, some of them.

That’s good enough, right?

That’s better than… nothing.

More birds shriek into the silence of the night, so loud that you hear them clearly despite your covered ears.

Are they here? Already?

You keep crying, soil eating your crumpled frame.

And because of your sobs, your firmly shut eyes, your covered ears, you don’t hear the footsteps approach you until you sense a looming presence behind.

Here.

Which one is it?

Slowly, every inch of you trembling, you turn.

A shocked man stares at you in wide eyes. Some sort of camper or hiker judging by his attire.

Not here.

“Oh my god. Please help me. Please help me.” You crawl over to his feet, ignoring the protest of your exhaustion and your pitiful position. “Sir, please help.” Your luck has turned. Finally. You’re going to be okay. Finally. The tears fall harder.

“W-what happened? Are you hurt? Lost?” Gradually processing the dirt covered girl collapsed and crying at his feet, the man bends down and examines you in concern.

“Yes, please, just take me somewhere safe. Please, they’re going to find me.” The wash of relief almost overwhelms you to unconsciousness.

“You need to tell me what happened, little girl. You’re in shock. Who’s going to find you?”

In the dark, you can’t see well, but something in his eyes makes you trusting of him. It’s the genuine worry and care. What a normal man is supposed to look like. You’re saved. You’re finally saved.

“We have no time, just take me… take me to the police.” Your shaking hand grips at his fleece in desperation. You don’t know what you can tell him or the police, you don’t know anything more powerful than vampires than can protect you from them, but you can think about that later. You just need to go now.

“Okay, okay. Let me carry you.”

No. Child, no.

This time, it isn’t Seokjin’s voice. Someone else, like that faint chanting you occasionally hear.

“Thank you.” You shift into a position that better enables the man to reach under your legs. Behind him, you see a pack of black dogs, creeping warily towards you, sniffing. “Are those your dogs?”

“Yes, don’t worry, they are clever boys.”

When his palm touches the underside of your thigh, ice pierces into your skin.

No. Not him. Not safe.

You know that ice. You know that inhuman lack of body heat.

As he hoists you up, you nudge him away and roll back onto the ground. “Wait.” Moonlight illuminating part of his face, you survey his pale skin, his devilishly good looks. His brows pinch in confusion, but there’s a twinkle in his eye.

Not human.

You glance over at the dogs again. Sleek black coat, long sharp ears, crimson eyes. Where their legs should meet the ground are misty shadows, like ghosts.

Not dogs.

The man’s lips quirk up. His camper’s attire dissipates like dust to reveal a black suit underneath.

You run.

Twigs snap beneath your feet as you sprint as fast as your calves allow, away from whatever they are. Your chest aches from fatigue, ankles screaming for you to stop. As you run, you ignore the branches reaching out to scratch your cheek, your arms. You hardly even feel the cuts against the twisting feeling of dread in your gut.

Angel blood isn’t just valued by vampires.

Looking back, you see the man stood rooted where he is. He isn’t coming after you, but the smirk he wears is enough to tell you not to stop. But not long later, you realise why he isn’t chasing.

Growls, howls of excitement, absolute beastly noises erupt from left and right. The hounds are running at an astounding speed beside you, their pelts pitch black despite the moonlight that they should reflect. Jaws open, they pant at you wildly as they hunt you. Zigzagging between the trees to create a misleading path, you try to create as much distance from them as possible. But they’re quick things. Clever boys.

Soon, they are narrowing in on you, until the pack is an arrowhead surrounding you. The closest hound snaps his jaw at your ankle, barely missing you. The loud crunch from the collision of its canines as he shuts his jaw, you know your foot would have been gone if you had been one second slower. You don’t have time to yelp. You focus on running ahead, slipping between boulders and following your instinct for directions.

Where are you? You hear Seokjin once again.

I’m here! You try to scream down the bond. Save me.

You don’t know why. You don’t know why you are asking for help from the very ones you had been running from in the first place. But you just know that, whatever is hunting you, your fate would be much worse with them.

I’m coming. His utter distraught is gone, replaced by a calm composed determination instilled by the awaited reply from you at last. And you know at this moment that it was a mistake to flee. Seokjin at the very least, regardless of everyone else, would never harm you, would always look after you. Why did you leave? Why had you acted upon your deranged irrationality? We’re looking for you. Don’t worry.

Relief. Because that is a promise. And you trust him.

But now the guilt of fleeing from them kicks in. What the bond had made you feel every step you took, that ripping sensation as if you’re tearing apart something substantial, you can imagine being a mammoth’s weight worse for them with their heightened senses.

Something is chasing me. Please help me. I’m sorry.

His fear returns, this time a formidable wave wiping his away short-lived relief. What is chasing you?

Dogs, big black dogs. There was also this man.

Bloody hellhounds and a Drude demon. Shit.

You have no idea what those creatures are but you can tell by the explosion of terror in Seokjin that it’s some of the worse you could encounter.

Distracted by his disclosure, you misplace your foot on an uneven log and topple down, the bark you crash onto scraping fire against your skin. Pain explodes at the back of your skull where it hits something severe. You don’t see beyond a sea of pulsing black.

Then something rips into your leg. You don’t know if you are screaming.

.

You drift in and out of consciousness.

Tiny stars dance around the deep blue sky. They look pretty.

You think you hear something growling, whimpering maybe.

What is that leaking from you so briskly? Blood? Hmm.

Darkness.

.

You hear voices? Yes, voices. Unintelligibly arguing. But if you shut your eyes again and stop shifting on the ground, they could pass off as background music.

Then the volume grows. Fighting. Grunting. More Growling. More whimpering.

But you feel safe. You don’t know why but you feel safe. That’s how you know you’ve lost your mind for good. There are virtual flames burning around you, warmth licking at your broken body. Nothing can get past the flames. Nothing can hurt you. This phantom fire is shielding you.

You heart is burning too, fighting. Someone’s sireship is fuelling you, feeding you, forcing life back into you.

When you open your eyes, when a vaguely familiar face appears, hovering over you, obstructing your view of the towering treetops and wavering constellations. You can’t quite put of your finger on his name, but you know you’re safe.

His eyes are big, full of concern and trouble, his hair long, black, wavy but tucked behind his ears. A black liquid is splattered across him, some on his beautiful face that is taut in vexation.

You don’t protest when he carries you in strong sturdy arms, lifelessly flopping against his chest.

He is warm. Fire. Safe.

And then he is zooming past the trees, so fast the wind tickles at you violently, your limp body jostling. Though half unconscious, your eyes don’t leave him, studying his angular jaw, the round crook of his nose.

J…

A droplet of black liquid rolls off his chin and splats onto your arm. It tingles like weak acid, faintly sour, an unearthly sensation.

Your heavy lids seal you back into the darkness.

.

The first thing you notice when you wake is the softness around and under you. Arms from beneath you draw away, leaving your weight to sink into the bed. Your eyes stay shut.

Warmth is pressed onto your lips, gently, careful as if one hard prod would shatter you. Your throat knows to swallow the stream flowing into your mouth, its taste unfamiliar, but safe.

Warm. And safe.

Almost immediately, you feel its effects catapult into your system. Skin everywhere begins to sew back together, bones like toppled buildings building brick by brick, the chaos in your mind whispered to sleep. That protective fire around you blazing.

Still, you don’t open your eyes. You don’t want to. You can’t face them.

“Troublesome little shit.” He pushes the hair out of your face, touch possessing a surprising delicacy that contradicts his insult and completely entangles your preconceived conception of him. But his voice… So soothing like honey. Not what you expected.

You train your breath to be steadily slow, eyes to be unmoving under your closed lids, hoping to pass off as asleep. The silence creaks, followed by a rustle of bedding. Then you feel the heat of his breath stroke the tiny hairs on your forehead. You suppress a flinch. But he presses his lips onto your skin, so tenderly you almost open your eyes to see if it’s really Jungkook.

“Please don’t leave again.”

And then he’s gone.

❦

@taexxxiiaa @serendipity-secrets @killcomet @askingtheimportantthingshere@blackpanther4550 @comingjimin @unatempesta-dipensieri @dapppphhhhh  @unatempesta-dipensieri @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @queerloser17 @linyi-lovbts @somewhereinthestarss @xxqueenwxtchxx @whitefeatheredwyvern @embrace-themagic @brokencrownqueen @i-dont-even-know-fck @bangtandimples @kalkeegan @beetaeass @confessionsofascientist @chimycthulhu @hisunshiine @shooklier @livetay84 @runlikeabuffalo @nanna022 @berryjam17 @thelouhvre @bluemooncnblue @enigmaticlove-03 @lanu-la @bangtanfancamp @brbkpop @jiminisnotavirginrecs @samariakeeper @goodnightbug @dont-touch-me-fwit @tastelessfoolsbts  @queensavage1245 @laced-brds @ultraanonymousey @ashchats @godzillagirl-14 @lustremyg @animeshins @it-is-dana @itsavakent @strawberrym0chii @namchimtae @smoljams@brightenn @btsxdoll @d-noona @show-respect-to-your-queen @fyeebangtan@for-hobi @lx-leeta​ @thesoftuglies

❦

19/01/2020

© Copyright 2020

[feirceangel]

Imagine | Skinwalker pt. 1 (Lost Boys)

Pt. 2

Imagine being a skin-walker (an immortal who can transform into an animal, in this case a large wolf like dog) and being taken in by the guys.

Word Count: 1609

~

You've been living alone for quite some time now, always on the move. Never staying still for too long in case someone discovers your secret.

Skin-walkers are rare; only a few have ever come into existence since the beginning of time. You're one of them, wise and ancient beyond your appearance.

Anyone who saw you in your human form would assume your age to be around the twenties, and they would be terribly wrong.

Being immortal can be lonely, though, especially for a skin-walker of your kind. Dogs are loyal and loving, craving affection just as they crave food.

That's why it's hard when you find someone to love, and they are taken from you in only a few decades.

Fed up with the pain, you've been living solo for years, out in the wilderness where no one can find you.

You've missed civilization, though, so one day you decide to go back.

~

Nighttime on the boardwalk in Santa Carla. The perfect time to be out and about, discovering awesome things to do.

People, each individual as different as the sands of the earth, wander around, listening to the live concert, and enjoying the sights and activities available.

The Lost Boys, as they are called by the locals, arrive at the boardwalk on their motorbikes. Paul and Marko laugh and jostle each other as David smokes and Dwayne observes the crowd with a smile.

The vampires are accustomed to the night scene of the city. People dancing and yelling and doing everything else imaginable as the boys look on, sometime joining in.

Tonight, something feels different. The air sparks with more electricity and the stars shine a bit brighter, although no one except Dwayne really pays attention.

A loud howl cuts through the air, trying its best to break through the many noises of Santa Carla. It succeeds in gaining the attention of the four vampires.

"You hear that?" Marko asks excitedly. He was sometimes easily entertained with the seemingly smallest things.

Paul grins, "Yeah, dude. It sounded like a wolf or something."

"A wolf around Santa Carla? That's never happened before."

"It's probably just a mutt," David drawls, taking a drag from his cigarette. "But let's go check it out anyways."

He drops the cig and crushes it under his heel before mounting his bike. The others follow suit and soon they are racing towards the forest where the howl came from.

Another howl sounds, more sorrowful than the last. They slow as they approach the source, looking around warily with excited grins plastered on some of their faces.

In the centre of a small foggy clearing, sits a marvellous creature. As large as a wolf, although some of its features varied from the traditional wolf, sits a dog, whose h/c coat gleams in the starlight.

Its e/c eyes stare soulfully at them as they come to stand in front of it.

"See, told you it was a mutt," David states, clearing unimpressed. The dog flattens it's ears at the remark before shaking its head pointedly.

"Look, it's tied up!" Marko says, noticing the heavy chain wrapped around its neck.

"C'mon dude, help," Paul moves closer towards the animal, who doesn't move a muscle, it's eyes trained on Dwayne.

The curly blond cautiously approaches alongside Paul, helping him take the chain from around its neck.

"Shh, it's alright," he pauses. He doesn't know the sex of the creature, so he glances down. "Girl," he adds, nodding to himself.

Marko tosses the chain aside before petting the dog, grinning wide at the soft feeling of her fur in his fingers. Paul joins and pets the dog as well.

The dog's foot thumps rapidly as they ruffle her fur in a loving manner, getting that sweet spot on her neck.

"Can we keep her, David? Please?" Paul begs, looking up with a large grin.

David rolls his eyes, "Seriously? We don't need a stray."

"Max has one," Marko argues, making puppy eyes at the group's secondary leader.

"Max has a hellhound, not some runaway mongrel," David shoots back.

"I say we vote on it," Paul declares, scratching the dog's chin before standing with his arms crossed.

Marko nods but sits down beside the dog with a happy smile as the dog licks his cheek affectionately.

"I vote we keep her!" Marko chirps.

Paul states his agreement.

They turn to Dwayne pointedly and so does the dog, her head tilted questioningly.

He sighs and smiles, "Let's keep her."

David scoffs, but shrugs in defeat, "Fine, but I ain't dealing with it."

Marko and Paul let out yips of joy as the dog lets out a happy howl. The dog leaps up and goes to Dwayne, pressing her head against his hand. He pats her with a soft smile.

~

Back at the cave, David is seated on his old wheelchair, Paul on the broken fountain, Dwayne by his stereo, and Marko on the floor next to you.

You had followed the boys to their home, instantly liking it. There was a couch and a bed, and other things that you haven't seen for a long time. A bond had formed instantly between you and three of the boys, although David was more opposed to your presence.

"I guess we better name you, huh?" Marko says happily.

You whine and nod as David rolls his eyes. "It can't understand you, Mark. It's an animal."

Shaking your head, you paw at Marko as he stops rubbing circles through your fur. He continues the motion, making you smile in appreciation.

You know they're vampires. How could you not notice the otherworldly scent coming from them. You've met vampires before, although none as nice as these.

Vampires can read minds, or, at least, most minds. Yours is impenetrable when you so desire. And, right now, you want your mind all to yourself.

The whole chained-up-in-the-forest act was precisely that: an act. You put yourself in that position and cried out for help, determined to find someone worthy to befriend.

And, these four vamps heard your pleas and helped you.

"How about 'Girly'?" Marko suggests.

You growl and shake your head, baring your teeth.

He laughs, "Okay, something more badass then."

"What about 'Princess'?" Paul offers before inhaling some suspicious smoke from his joint.

Another loud disapproving growl sounds from your throat.

He chuckles.

David sneers, "How about 'Bitch'?"

You turn your e/c orbs towards him, glaring at him. He's unfazed, so you stand, ignoring Marko's protests, and stalk towards the platinum blond.

He raises his eyebrows and stares you down. You sit directly in front of him, staring right back at him.

A moment of silence.

"This dog is freaky."

Nods from all of the boys.

"That's why she's perfect for us!" Paul exclaims.

You look back to Marko, silently telling him to continue searching for a name.

He seems to get it as he hums thoughtfully. "'Biscuit'?"

Nope.

He sighs, "I'm out of ideas."

Dwayne speaks up, the first time in awhile that he has done so, "Venus."

He says it like he knows it fits and that you'd like it.

You yip with approval, wagging your tail.

He smiles knowingly.

"Aww, why'd she like your suggestion?" Marko complains, tossing a pillow at the dark haired boy. He snatches it from the air with a smirk.

You get up and stretch before heading onto the bed behind the curtain. They each watch you, curious as to what you're gonna do.

Scratching at the covers, you bury yourself in them, away from prying eyes. A cracking noise fills the cave as your bones rearrange and your body shifts.

It's been a long time since you've been in your human form, but you love the fresh feeling. Carefully wrapping the blanket around your naked form, you peek out from behind the curtains.

Everyone looks at you, slack jawed. Paul then glances at the joint in his hand in disbelief. "Are you guys seeing it too?"

"Yeah, dude," Marko breathes out in awe. "Venus is a woman. A hot woman."

Dwayne smiles, "Skin-walker."

"What's that?" Marko asks, confused.

"It's a being who can change form," David says, grinning. Apparently, he likes this fascinating turn of events.

"Woah."

You step out completely, still covered by the blanket, "If you're quite done talking about me like I'm not here, would one of you be so kind as to lend me some clothes?"

Marko leaps up, ready to fetch one of his crop-tops. He knows you'd look stunning in his clothes.

Before he has the chance, Dwayne tosses you a large loose shirt. He doesn't really wear his shirts anyways, so he won't miss it.

Marko pouts, but watches dumbly as you drop the blanket without thinking and tug the shirt over your head, letting it slip onto your body.

Paul whistles and David keeps smirking.

"What is your true name?" Dwayne questions, eyes boring into yours.

"I was called Y/n L/n on the day of my birth, although I've had many since. The newest being Venus."

David addresses you, "Why are you here?"

You smile shyly, "I was lonely, so I found a family."

"Family?" David echoes.

"I like her," Paul announces, "I like you."

The smile on your face grows wide as he hugs you.

"Hey! I like her too!" Marko exclaims, not about to be outdone.

You open your arms, inviting him into the hug. He eagerly accepts, and you embrace the two blonds.

Dwayne smiles again and, surprisingly, joins in. David watches from his seat, a grin on his face.

"Welcome to the family."

[horrorslashergirl]

Hunter meeting Hunter

A Xaviera Lah-Mo and Andrei Kulokova Story Chapter 4

Authors Note: God, I love writing for these two so so much. It’s like writing the scrpt of a woman for the big screen. So many things going on in this chapter; pasts are reavealed little by little, feelings get stronger and things get angstier as we read the journey of a wolf and snow leopard.

Xaviera Lah-Mo belongs to me

Andrei Kulokova belongs to @the-slasher-files​

Warning: 18+ because there is murder, death and gore, plus some teasing between our animals. Just a heads up. 

Words: 5.2k (Seriously, it was supposed to be shorter, but oh well....Time sure flies when you write)

Chapter 1 HERE

Chapter 2 HERE

Chapter 3 HERE

Xaviera was hugging the pillow to her chest, her usual ice-cold eyes always calculating everything, now a calm warm blue, gazing at the Russian, millions of thoughts crossing her mind after what happened between them; the strong smell of sweat and sex still persisting in the room.

She nibbled on her bottom lip nervously, feeling so small next to the behemoth of a man next to her in bed; that surge of protection overcoming her from his part. A soft sigh left her lips as one of Andrei's hands ran down her soft naked shoulder, his other hand lightening a cigarette. His gaze was forward, blowing a cloud of smoke, then his eyes drifted back over to her.

"So...How was your first time?" he asked, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Everything you wanted it to be?" he pressed on, a drop of smug masculinity evident in his rough voice.

Xaviera didn't fantasize about what her first time would be like; she was always so erupted into her researches, hunting, and studies that the prospect of sharing such a deep and intimate act never crossed her mind, and if she did try to picture her first time, there was always a blank spot, just a shadow, because she had never met someone to reach her standards.

Call her vain, because she was a picky individual, but that's how it goes into the animal mating process too. Females don't just mate with any desperate male in a rut; some have to prove themselves worthy in brutal fights that lead to one male dying.

She remembers one time while in Himalaya how the yaks were fighting for the right to mate. It was like two tanks were smashing against each other, one which ended up with an almost fatal wound, and when he tried to get close to the female she turned her back to him. Not worthy.

Getting back to where she was, she hummed at the Russian's question, enjoying his touch on her sweat-covered skin.

"Mhmmm....Always pictured that my first time would be with a wolf. I guess I am more fond of feral beasts." she replied with a cheeky glint in her eyes.

Andrei gave a little huff of laughter at the cheeky side of her personality.

"Well, aren't you lucky." he commented with a smirk.

Her eyes drifted from his eyes to his cigarette. It's been so long since she smoked. The white-haired woman remembers how she used to smoke one pack of them during her time in college when she had tons of exams and finals.

After the small pause of silence between them, she noticed that he noticed that she was gazing at his cigarette. He took a drag and blow the smoke close to her face, the strong smell of tobacco filling her lungs, reminding her of the years in college, days and nights studying the creatures that she now lived close by, not close enough to kill her, but close enough to shot the poachers and for the predators to finish the job.

"Would you like one?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, making her ears perk up at his question and she nodded, taking one and lighting it up, taking a deep drag, her eyes closing as she exhaled smoke, her muscles relaxing more.

She sighed contently.

"Haven't smoked since college. Sleepless nights full of studying." she spoke, her eyes looking up at him, licking her lips nervously, feeling like a little school girl who got in bed with one of the last year's ones.

It was like a fresh breath of air like she was in the highest place of the mountains.

"Y'know you look hot with a cigarette hanging out of those soft lips..." he whispered, leaning in close to her face, blowing smoke directly at her and capturing it in a kiss, moaning into her mouth. She blushed at his comment and closed her eyes, savoring the foreign feeling, but it didn't last long for he pulled away, taking the cigarette from her hand and putting his down in the ashtray, only to finish hers.

"You shouldn't smoke...it's bad for you." he told her with a smile.

Her heart fluttered at his concern for her health. He was getting under her skin. She smiled in return and rubbed her nose on his own as animals do in affection.

"I know...That's why I gave up smoking after college." she told Andrei, looking up at him from under her eyelashes.

"You must have a good strong will then myshka." he spoke, putting down the cigarette in the ashtray.

One of his large hands rubbed her side while the other interlocked with her small hand, watching her with intensity. He pressed his lips to her forehead and closing his eyes.

Xaviera's lips twitched into a smile at his gentle side, something that really surprised her in such a good way, considering how much he had infuriated her.

"When you lived most of your life among creatures that could kill you in a matter of seconds, you have to be always careful. Never underestimate someone by appearance. That's what my father used to tell me..." she found herself telling him.

A vulnerable side was peaking from under the long hair locks, one of a little girl that was as vulnerable as thin ice; a little girl that the death of her parents was forever imprinted in the darkest corners of her mind; one of them which was devoured by hyenas.

Xaviera felt the Russian's grip on her tighten, holding her close and telling her it was alright. He was tense too.

He hummed, listening to her.

"A wise man." he whispered into her hair, and she felt the need to continue, the ice slowly cracking and she was afraid she would sink into the freezing water underneath.

Xaviera bite her lower lip, a bitter feeling forming in the back of her throat, but nodded at his words.

"Yes, he was. He always knew what to say and how to solve any problem...If it wasn't for him...I wouldn't have been here today." she tells Andrei, curling her body against his much bigger one, seeking protection and comfort in a silent way.

"My.....uh, my dad was killed when I was young boy, just leaving me, my uncle, sister and..." he begins to tell her, his breath hitching slightly.

"My mother.....but um...she was murdered when I was 12." he finishes, shifting a little, probably uncomfortable with being so open to her, but she couldn't blame him, she knew how hard it was to speak of the deceased loved ones.

He pulled her closer and she guessed he needed comfort as much as she needed it too.

The small woman had listened to each of his words and she noticed the anxiety dripping from his voice; no wonder he was like this, the things he must have gone through. Her hand rested on his chest, where his heart was. She felt something inside her crawl; maybe the feminine empathy?

She always had a soft spot for scarred beasts.

"She must have been a wonderful and beautiful woman......My mother....S-She was killed too....A-Along with my father." she began to tell him, voice cracking little by little along with the ice; she swallowed down and continued.

"My father was killed by poachers in a trip to Africa....Me and my mother run...B-But....She saved me....Giving her life. T-They killed her too.....She hid me into the hallow of a tree....A-And after they left her body.....T-The hyneas....T-They devoured her....They ripped her face apart." at this point she couldn't hold back the tears, the bitter taste too strong and the ice shattered underneath her, the cold water enveloping her body.

She clung to Andrei's form, letting the tears fall.

"I had to watch until she was a mess of flesh and bones." she choked on a sob, her face buried into his chest.

"I-I was so weak." she breathed out.

She felt his strong arms wrap around her, holding her in an instinctive form of protection.

"Sssssshh....little one...." he cooed, pulling back a little to look into her red eyes from crying, cupping her jaw, and wiping the tears away.

"It was never your fault...Beasts take and take from this world with greed, no mercy...and it is no one's fault." he tried to assure her and slowly she relaxed her, little by little she could feel her sobbing stop, all thanks to Andrei's soothing voice, something she would have never guessed she would love to hear, considering how the first day with him was.

Her gaze moved up to his face.

"That's why I hate most humans so much....Humans call animals beasts but they are the ones." she whispered, letting the last tears fall down her cheeks.

"Animals aren't greedy, vain... They do it to survive.... Humans are conducted by their avarice." she spoke, taking one of his big hands in both her tiny ones, bringing his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles, then her eyes drifted to the big scars on her thigh.

"I got this one from a mother Grizzly. Me and my dad encountered the cubs first and because I was young and foolish... She attacked me..... My dad saved me, but the Grizzly left a souvenir." she spoke, looking from the claw marks to Andrei.

"I learned not to be afraid of the wild animals... But also respect them. Respect what can kill you." she whispered, nuzzling his hand as a cat would do to its owner.

She noticed his eyes widen at her story; probably a little shocked that a Grizzly got so close to her, but she guessed anyone would have the same reaction. The shocked look quickly disappeared from the Russian, taking his free large hand and bringing it to the scars, tracing the claw patterns like it was a canvas, a picture worth a thousand words, a story that could have had a tragic and brutal end.

She shivered at his touch, the gesture going to such a spiritual intimacy. He really was getting under her skin. His lips pressed again on her forehead.

"Well, thank you for respecting me." he laughed lightly, all the tension in the room vanished at his attempt at making a joke.

She snorted and rolled her blue eyes at his smug joke; again all high and mighty.

"Yes, yes. I respect you, all high and mighty Alpha Wolf." she cheekily told him, one of her fingers scratching under his chin playfully, as one would do to a dog. He was amused by her playful demenour.

"Just don't step on my tail, or I am gonna bite your precious jewels off." she whispered against his lips, her blue eyes glinting in a feline-like amusement.

His eyes went sharp again at this, smashing his lips on hers in a deep kiss, grinning at her surprised self.

"Go ahead and try it, precious kitten." he challenged her, rolling her small body on top of his, making Xaviera squeak, her legs tensing when she felt his hands on her hips until he brought them to her neck, her most sensitive part. She let out a soft mewl, the skin still sensitive from all the bite marks he left.

He took a deep breath and pulled her into another kiss. She felt herself blush at his actions and words, despite the fact that they fucked just a few minutes ago. He just managed to bring out the fire in her.

She kissed him back as he did, her small hands moving to touch his bigger ones that were rested on her neck.

"I love it when you touch my neck." she whispered into the kiss, her thumbs stroking his knuckles.

She saw his jaw tense and internally she smirked, knowing that he was affected by her as much as she was by him. His grip on her neck tightened, not enough to choke her, but enough for her pulse to pick up in anticipation and her breath to hitch.

"Be careful with those sweet words baby girl." he whispered back.

This was a reminder that this wasn't a company dog.... He was a feral wolf. An apex predator, who could easily crush her tiny neck under rough, large hands.

"You know... You are the only one who has ever touched my neck and survived." she warned, looking down at him, cheeks dusted by a furious blush from their position.

He raised an eyebrow at her word, his signature smirk coming back on his face, canines on display.

"There is still time, darling." he laughed, appreciating her wild side and also amused by it.

Before she knew it, she was underneath the beast of a man, kissing her again only to leave her a breathless mess as he pulled away.

"Well, thank you for letting me live.... for now." he gave her a smug smirk, getting up from the bed and marching downstairs.

After he left, she didn't realized she was holding her breath, touching her neck and feeling the bitemarks, something inside her purring.... Like a Snow Leopard who just got mated.

Xaviera groaned at that thought. The Russian was going to be her weakness, although sometimes she really wanted to kick his ass in the snow for being such a knucklehead..... A very handsome and wild and passionate and big....

She huffed, burring her face into the pillow.

God, she was turning into a sappy mess.

She was pulled from her lovestruck thoughts by the rough voice, a tint of softness there.

"Everything alright?" Andrei asked, coming back to the bedroom with two mugs of hot tea, putting her mug down, and getting into bed with his own mug, his free hand running down her shoulder.

The Snow Leopard tensed at his touch and the feline felt an uncontrollable blush creeping up her neck and cheeks, looking at him. She felt like a little girl with a crush.

"Y-Yes.... E-Everything is alright... Just....Thinking." she replied, trying to avoid his gaze at the end, bitting on her lower lip.

The Russian just sipped on his tea, watching the snowfall out the windows, then he smirked.

Xaviera took the cup of tea, sipping on the delicious aroma and the warmness, then she almost choked on his following words.

"Thinking.... about me?" he asked, looking at her amused.

"Don't be shy...I'm beginning to know that beautiful blush well, baby girl."

He was reading her like an open book. Coughing, she looked at him, not able to control her blush.

"I-It's not like that! I mean... You were amazing and I loved every second of it... it's just.... I never shared.... a moment like this." she spoke, looking down at the cup of tea in her lap.

She saw from the corner of her eyes, him smiling.

"I'm just teasing, myshka, it was a joke..." he spoke, hooking two large fingers under her chin, her eyes on his.

"But I was right." he huffed, only for her to glare at him, the blush still present.

"Still a knucklehead... Don't make me throw your ass in the snow." she told him, taking a sip of her own tea to hide her smile.

Andrei put his tea down on the nightstand, his fingers moving along her jaw sweetly.

"And still a fierce kitten." his fingers moved up her jaw, only to lace within her white hair and kiss her again.

She closed her eyes as he kissed her, her tongue running along his bottom lip only to shyly start sucking on it. Her eyes opened, looking into his own, challenging him slightly. His sharp eyes looked into her.

"Well, you learn fast." he grinned, licking his canines, the hand in her hair tightening into a fist, making her gasp, only for the wolf to take the opportunity and show his tongue inside in a sloppy kiss, making her moan. Her heart fluttered at his words. She felt his hand take the cup of tea from her hand, setting in on the nightstand on her side and she found her back flush against the mattress with him on top of her.

She jumped a little when he bites her lip, hard enough to draw a little blood, then he pulled away, moving down to kiss her jaw and neck.  She moved her head back, exposing more of her neck in submission.

"T-That's not fair.... Y-You know my sensitive spots... A-And I don't know yours." she breathed out in a shuttering voice.

She felt him grin against her neck, his k9's brushing against her bruises that he created.

"A predator never just tells you their weak spot..." with that he pulled away and she felt herself sink in the mattress at the way he was gazing down at her.

"You of all people should know that, darling."

Xaviera's breath hitched and she blushed at the Russian's words, feeling embarrassed. She let her guard down in front of the big bad wolf and now he had her in his jaws.

"I-I...." she was at a loss of words, something that very rarely happened to the white-haired female.

He moved his large hand through her long white hair, resting his forehead against her, just like animals show affection, something she was used from the furry feral beasts, but not from humans.

"Sssshh...little mouse... I will not hurt you." he softly spoke.

God, she felt herself melt at his touch and the way he spoke, her eyes looking up at him like a deer caught in by the big bad wolf. One of her hands moved to stroke his knuckles gently.

"I-It's alright... You know... When I was in Africa I watched as Leopards mate. The males always bite the nape of the females. Not to kill her, but to assert dominance. I suppose that goes for humans too?" she told him in a quiet voice, biting on her lower lip.

He grinned down at her, humming at her words.

"You are mine." placing his hand on the side of her neck, he kissed her deeply, a gasp leaving her when he started grinding against her, but only for a short time, because he rolled off, pulling her closer to him.

"All yours, Wolfy. All yours.... Considering half my neck is blue and purple." she said with a smile, blue eyes shining in pride as her hand touched the bitemarks.

"What a cute little thing." he kissed her forehead.

Xaviera's eyes moved along his chest, where the big scar was and she wondered how he got it, but she knew, he was just like her, not wanting to be pressured in telling.

"Little with enough venom to kill 100 men." she replied with a devilish glint in her eyes, her lips pressing against his big scar, feeling him tense.

"It's time for sleep myshka...." he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers.

"Unless you want to go again?" he grinned, licking his canines.

Xaviera chuckled quietly at his impressive stamina, her lips brushing his canines.

"As much as I would love to get frisky with the big bad wolf.... I have to rest. The blizzard will stop tomorrow morning and I will have to go...hunting." she whispered, her hand brushing against his chest up and down, only for him to roughly grab her wrist.

"You might want to stop doing that then... or else I'm not taking your excuses." he warned her, his other hand moving to her scar on her thigh, just resting it there.

Xaviera knew he was like a bomb ready to combust any moment so she let him win this time.

"Got it, knucklehead." she huffed, rolling her eyes, and she couldn't stop smiling.

She pressed a kiss under his chin.

"Good night, Wolfy." she whispered, leaning her head against his chest, her eyes closing as he continued to brush his hand across her scar.

"Good night, kitten." he whispered, sleep enveloping her.

========================================

It was like she had an internal clock, because as soon as it was early morning and the snowing stopped, her eyes slowly opened looking out the window. Her eyes drifted from the outside scenario to the man in bed with her. It was the first time she saw him sleep and he looked so peaceful.

Slowly, with feline-like stealth, she moved from the bed and out of the bedroom, her eyes on him the entire time, until she was out of the room and downstairs, starting to dress up, putting on her white and cream winter coat, the white fur on the hood so soft, it always kept her warm.

Getting all her weapons; the venomous small arrows, the sniper rifle and her mountain backpack on she moved towards the exit. She knew it was probably bad to leave, but she preferred to go on huntings solo.

Exiting the cottage, she stalked towards the path, her gaze moving to her map in hand, already starting to calculate distance, route. It took her two hours to reach the destination. The poachers were going to arrive in half an hour if she calculated everything right, which she always did. Setting her backpack down, she opened it, getting out a wire of spikes, similar to the ones cops use to stop vehicles.

She planted it right in front of the path that the poachers will drive by, masking it in snow, then moving into an isolated spot, basking herself in the whiteness of nature, sniper rifle in hand, and just waiting, exactly like a predator.

Her ears instantly perked up as she heard the sound of the engine in the distance, muscles tightening in anticipation as she was the truck get closer, knowing what was inside. She licked her lips as they approached.

20 seconds....

Her finger hovered over the trigger of her sniper rifle, waiting.

10 seconds....

She knew that she had to be quick in her moves; no hesitation.

5 seconds....

Her pupils dilated like that of a snow leopard, ready for the kill.

The sounds of tires exploding meet her ears, looking through the lens of the sniper; eyes on the passager door as it opened, one man exiting the vehicle, only to fall down as the bullet hit him right in the neck, blood starting to coat the white snow underneath him.

First one dead. Two more to go. Another man exited the vehicle with a shotgun in hand, looking for her. She smirked, knowing he will never be able to spot her; it was like searching for a crystal sugar in the snow. She pressed the trigger, aiming for his heart, his body falling next to the other dead poacher.

Now the driver. She was itching to kill the last one, but he was hesitant to get out.

'Come on, little shit. Come to mama.'

He did peek his head out the window. Big mistake; it was enough for Xaviera to shot him straight in the middle of his forehead. She grinned, then moved from her hiding spot, marching towards the back of the vehicle, a big door with a locker. Setting her backpack down, she got the bolt cutter, getting the lock on the metal door off.

Her hands tugged on the handle, the sound of metal against metal echoing in the forest as the small woman opened the door; a set of four white paws meeting the snow.

It was a snow leopard, shaking his white and grey thick fur, happy to be free. Xaviera smiled as the animal runoff, disappearing into the covered snow forest like a ghost.

The moment of calmness and pride was quickly taken away when Xaviera felt immense pain shooting through her scalp as someone yanked her head back, her eyes widening as the person behind her smashed her head against the side of the truck, only to throw her on the ground.

"So, you are the Mountain Ghost I've been hearing about. I thought it was going to be someone...bigger." the voice was unfamiliar and her vision was blurry.

She tried to get up, only to feel a kick at her ribs, making her stumble, choking on her breath. How could there be another one? She had stalked and observed them for such a long time, calculating everything by numbers and seconds.

"You think you can just go around and steal our prizes?" the man spat, his foot coming to press harshly against her ankle, making her scream.

She was ready to get her venomous darts from her small bag inside her winter jacket, only to have her face pressed in the snow.

"Keep your venom to yourself." the man spoke in her ear, then turned her around, snatching the darts and throwing them so she couldn't reach the weapons.

This was bad, so bad. She wasn't built for close contact combat, especially when it came to life or death. Like a cheetah, she was fast but sadly lacked the strength.

Xaviera could feel blood dripping down from her temple, her hands trying to scratch him, pierce his eyes, anything so she could get away from under him and run. A fist to her eye was all that the man needed to make the fierce feline, drop her hands.

"Keep your claws to yourself, bitch!" the man yelled, looking over her, then smirked.

"You made me lose that Snow Leopard. Someone paid huge cash for its fur." he spoke, making Xaviera glare at him despite the position she was in.

"But....I know what you might be useful for." the way he said that made Xaviera's stomach twist in such an unpleasant way that she wanted to throw up and when she felt his hands on her thighs, she felt tears form at the corner of her eyes.

She was ready to scream, but the weight on top of her disappeared, the sound of fighting meeting her ears. Her blue eyes opened, looking up at the sky. Her gaze moved to the ground and she felt her breath hitch at the scenario before her.

It was Andrei. He saved her. That made the horrible feeling she had before disappear, relieved that he was here. It was obvious that the Russian had the upper hand, much bigger than the poacher and certainly more experienced by the combat skills he put on a demonstration on the other male.

A sickening crunch meets the woman's ears as Andrei delivered a straight punch on the man's nose, blood coating half of his face. It was like watching two male animals fighting for territory, and Xaviera saw plenty of brutal fights between males for territory, food, and the right to mate. She knew that these types of fights ended up with someone dead.

In one swift movement, the Russian grabbing the handle of his knife, taking the blade out of its holster, and stabbing the poacher right in his tight, twisting the blade inside. The scream echoed through the forest and all Xaviera could do was to watch as Andrei took the knife out, blood splashing on the snow as the man dropped down, not dead yet.

Big large hands wrapped around the wounded man's neck, as tight as possible, and the woman watched as the Russian strangled the poacher, his arms trying to inflict pain on Andrei, but it was all useless, the winner already decided the moment the knife impaled in his thigh.

The poachers' arms dropped down, breathing stopped and he was dead. Xaviera sighed relieved, only for her to freeze as his gaze slowly moved to her form.

His eyes, the usual icy blue were almost black, pupils blown wide and lips pulled into a snarl, canines on display, exactly like a very dangerous wolf. Xaviera had encountered this look many times in her life on animals, but never on humans. She swallowed down, knowing not to make harsh or fast moves, it might trigger him and God knows what will happen.

Running would be the most foolish thing to do, so she just sat there in the snow, making herself as invisible as possible.

After what seemed like forever, he turned his predatory gaze from her to the dead poacher and Xaviera watched as he dragged the corpse into the forest, disappearing.

She couldn't believe what she just saw. Slowly, she got up, groaning a little as she stumbled, catching herself on the side of the truck. Her ankle wasn't broken, but it stung a bit. With a sigh, she began to walk towards her cottage, getting her sniper rifle, arrows and backpack first.

At the time she reached the cottage, it was close darkening. She left her weapons down, then quickly started the fire; it was freezing inside. She watched as the flames took form, rubbing her cold hands in front of the fireplace.

Getting her jacket off after it was warm inside, the rest of her clothes followed to get clean and warm ones. She pulled on a big black shirt and she groaned as she felt blood drip down the side of her face.

She got her first aid-kit, starting to treat her wounds. They were nothing serious, but it sure wasn't good to leave them like this. She hissed as she cleaned the wound on her temple, glad that she wouldn't need to be stitched. Looking in the mirror, she noticed how under her felt eye blue and purple color started to form.

She was glad that the poacher hadn't broken her ribs, that's the last thing she needed in times like this.

She cursed under her breath, feeling so stupid that she was so reckless. It almost costed her life, but she was glad that the snow leopard was free; at last, she achieved the goal of the mission. She wondered where Andrei was. He still hadn't come and it was almost midnight.

Xaviera knew he was a hard knucklehead and could take care of himself, but not with wild animals with 5 inches of canines and jaws that can crush bones.

The white-haired woman closed her eyes as she felt the heat of the flames lick her naked legs, wrapping her arms around herself only to smell a faint tint of tobacco. Blue eyes looked down at herself and she blushed.

She must have gotten one of the Russian's shirts in her dizzy haste to change clothes. Getting up from the couch, she was ready to pull it off, only for the loud bang on the front entrance door to meet her ears.

The woman looked in said direction, feeling a gust of very cold wind brush her bare legs, making her shiver slightly.

"Andrei?" Xaviera asked, ready to take a step forward, only to freeze like a deer in the headlights at the man in the doorway.

Scarlet blood dripped down his arms and hands, eyes looking like that of a primal beast ready to tear flesh and muscles with his canines. A deep and scary growl meet her ears and she swallowed down, feeling her heartbeat in her throat.

She had seen something like this before, only......It was an animal, a big black wolf. It was during a trip in the forest at night and she saw the scene. The black animals' jaws around the deer's neck, ripping the artery and throat off.

Xaviera couldn't help, but the first time she truly felt like prey; the one that is being hunted down.

CLIFFHANGER.......