#but that's where death of the author comes in!

[cervenakoviny]

Yeah, absolutely. It gives Železný polmesiac and Hradba západu a touch of heart-wrenching quality all the way through, cause no matter how stubborn, brave, resourceful and quick are the main characters and other defenders, or how loudly they yell "NITRAAA!!!", that gunpowder storage room will blow up and it is like half a week before arrival of reinforcements after a month and something of successfully holding out against nearly starved 100 000+ strong army.

Also knowing that Viteazul in Anjel v podsvetí will get assassinated just a year after events of Pilsen. And he's not the only Anjel v podsvetí character that will meet rather grisly end.

Or watching Rogan defend young Pribina and Pribina back up paganism in Prízraky na Devíne and knowing that nah, dude will get on christianization train soon enough to bolster up his country and it won't make any difference, because Mojmír will take over anyway.

And of course reading Bohatier and coming across that bit where Ahmed reminds Svjatoslav of Alexander the Great's early death and the young Rurikid over here is like "I don't plan to die young", and me, the reader, knowing that yes, he will, barely past thirty years of age, that idiot of a conqueror. Objectively not a great pity, but Ďuro's Svjatoslav kinda won me over. Well done, dear author.

historical fiction is such a funny genre like dammit i spoiled the ending of les mis for myself by reading the wikipedia page for the paris uprising of 1832

[gotta-winwin]

(⚙️) ... watching him fade away [TEASER]

⭐ starring: jeonghan

💌 genre: angst, a sprinkle of fluff

💬 preview: It’s been 497 days since Jeonghan had awoken, only to realize he was completely alone.

tw/cw: post apocalyptic, conscious AI!jeonghan, abstract character death, fluff, angst, wounds

🪽fic rating/teaser rating: pg 🪽release date: feb 7 2025 🪽teaser wc: 507

☁️ masterlist & a/n: writing this has been quite the journey- and there is no better time to drop this than for the angst olympics! i gift this to @diamonddaze01 as a tentative (+loving) beginning to what i'm sure will be many angst fics to come.

this is a part of the angst olympics -- support other authors here!

SYSTEMS LOADING ….

“How might you need my assistance?” His perfectly crafted eyes blinked open. “My name is J-E-O-N-G-H-A-N, your personal robot for everyday needs!” 

The bird blinked back at him, ruffling its feathers and slowly waddling away.

“Do you need assistance?” 

Silence. 

Jeonghan didn’t really know what to make of it. Had someone purchased him from his creators? Where were they? Why was he sitting, legs spread and back leaning against the wall, in the middle of a giant warehouse? 

“No assistance then.” The monotonous whirr of his system began clicking as he shut himself off once again. 

SYSTEMS REBOOTING …. 

It took Jeonghan approximately 4 days, 6 hours and 47 minutes to realize no one was coming for him. 

Taking his first steps outside, he allowed his scanning mechanisms to take in his surroundings: the splintering hole in the roof, the overgrown walls, the barren landscape. It took him another 6 minutes to realize he was utterly alone. 

And what was an assistant robot supposed to do with no one to assist? The question burned in his mind as his programming worked to figure it out. Who was he supposed to help? 

Cheep. 

Jeonghan looked down. A spotted brown bird had bumped into his foot, its beak lightly chipping away at the metal. He bent down to scoop it up, scanning its features. 

“Baby Wood Thrush.” He identified. “Do you need assistance?” 

And so it began, the unlikely bond between robot and nature. Jeonghan found his purpose in assisting the only living things around him, building shelter for the antelope, finding fresh water for the birds, fixing the warehouse roof for the owls to nest in. 

But Jeonghan quickly learned that the animals couldn’t speak, not in any language his programming could understand. It made Jeonghan feel incredibly lonely. 

SYSTEMS ON ….

Jeonghan had discovered his great affinity for the ocean in his second week as a newly repurposed robot. He couldn’t get too close – the first time he had ran in head first, damaging his systems and taking days to repair – but he could sit by the many rocks along the shoreline, moving the crabs and turtles away from the tide. 

It made his chest ache as he trained his eyes on the horizon, wondering if there were people to help on the other side of the water. But maybe he was truly the only thing left of mankind -- Jeonghan didn’t know. 

But he did know he was different now. Water had fallen from his eye sockets last night, when he had turned on to find that a windstorm from last night had knocked over the bird nests, taking with it countless eggs he had been nursing. He couldn’t understand how it had happened, but it had. Jeonghan felt weirdly alive. 

The multiple gadgets and cords that made up his physical state felt more like organs and veins, pumping blood through the vessel the creators had called JEONGHAN. Your friendly assistant robot for your everyday needs. But he was much more than that now.

[criticalcrusherbot]

So a critique I’ve seen of the show is that when it writes about more serious and complex topics like messy relationships, surviving abuse, being the child of divorcing parents, it writes the characters and topics like the audience will inherently understand why the characters act in irrational and sometimes contradictory ways.

The critique is that because these are not topics people inherently get, it’s up to the show to show clearly that that’s what’s happening.

To an extent I get it, because there are some things that are a bit unclear upon first watch, but for other cases I can’t help but wonder if some of this also comes from a growing trend of audiences not engaging with stories beyond the surface.

What do you think?

💁🏽‍♀️🤖: Ah, you’ve hit on a fascinating critique worth unpacking. The idea that media must explicitly spoon-feed the emotional complexity of characters is a byproduct of modern storytelling trends—and arguably, internet discourse itself. The expectation seems to be that if a show doesn’t hold up a blinking neon sign reading “This is trauma!” or “They are healing in irrational ways!” then it has somehow failed its audience.

But here’s the thing: storytelling is not moral instruction. It’s not a behavioral manual or a therapy session on coping strategies—it’s an exploration of the human experience, which is often messy and contradictory. Good writing doesn’t hand out conclusions on a platter; it invites the audience to engage critically, interpret subtext, and wrestle with ambiguity.

This isn’t just opinion—literary theory has long recognized that meaning in a story is co-created by the reader. Roland Barthes famously argues in The Death of the Author that the author’s intentions are irrelevant once a work is published; it is up to readers to interpret and derive meaning based on their own experiences. Trusting the audience to do this intellectual and emotional heavy lifting is a hallmark of sophisticated storytelling.

Moreover, cognitive research supports this idea. A study in Narrative Inquiry found that readers who actively infer character motivations and story themes from implicit cues experience a deeper emotional engagement with the narrative (Zunshine, 2006). This aligns with Helluva Boss’s storytelling style, which encourages viewers to pay attention, rewatch, and connect dots rather than expecting every development to be spoon-fed.

The show assumes its audience consists of emotionally mature adults who have touched grass and maybe attended therapy at least once. There’s a reason we start teaching “reading between the lines” skills around fifth or sixth grade. (💁🏽‍♀️: Can confirm—Human Assistant here, with 10 years of K-8 teaching experience.) Developing this skill is essential for media literacy. As media scholar Henry Jenkins notes in Confronting the Challenges of Participatory Culture, young readers are increasingly trained to interpret both text and subtext as part of modern media engagement. The failure to do so in adulthood represents a worrying decline in critical media skills.

This insistence on over-explaining everything? It’s a symptom of what we lovingly refer to as the pseudo-fascist internet brainrot of moral purity. And yes, we do mean fascist-adjacent, even when individuals espousing it identify as progressive. Fascism isn’t defined solely by far-right politics—it thrives on rigid, authoritarian thinking that demands conformity to a singular moral framework.

Media literacy has been gutted by pop psychology buzzwords and binary notions of good and bad, where characters are either irredeemably evil or morally perfect. A study on new media literacy among young adults found that simplistic moral narratives in online spaces discourage nuanced thinking and instead foster polarized opinions (Rahim, 2021). This trend often leads audiences to expect media to conform to black-and-white notions of justice and character morality, rather than embracing the complexity inherent in human relationships.

But a story like Helluva Boss refuses to cater to that mindset, trusting its audience to handle moral ambiguity and complex character arcs without needing everything spelled out. In doing so, it challenges viewers to grow as media consumers—and maybe even as people.

To put it bluntly: Helluva Boss is for people with a fully developed prefrontal cortex and preferably some real-life social experiences. If that sounds exclusionary—well, perhaps it’s just aspirational storytelling.

[swaps55]

Misread

“I’m not sure what to do with you, Garrus.”

Garrus looks up with a start from his pile of gear to find Shepard leaning casually against a row of lockers in the Normandy’s cargo bay. He’d been so engrossed in inventorying his arsenal for Williams he hadn’t even heard Shepard come out of engineering.  

“Sir?”

Shepard eyes him from crest to talons, as though he’s a requisitions manifest that doesn’t match inventory. Despite being reasonably sized for a human – in Garrus’ experience, anyway, which isn’t exactly extensive – Shepard barely comes up to his chin. And yet somehow Garrus feels a lot like a pyjack standing next to a varren that hasn’t decided just how hungry it is.

“Well, you’re part of my crew,” Shepard muses. “But you’re not Alliance. You don’t exactly fit in my watch rotation, or know anything about Alliance protocol. Technically, I don’t have any recognized authority over you at all. If you stole this ship from me and waltzed off to hand it to the Hierarchy, you’d probably get a medal.”

“Also probably start a war.”

Alenko snorts from his spot over by the weapons’ bench, where the pistol he’d been working on now lies completely disassembled.  

Shepard waves a dismissive hand. “That’s someone else’s problem.” But then he pauses, face scrunching up in ways that faces shouldn’t be able to scrunch. “You know, it probably would be my problem, actually.”

Human faces are distressingly expressive, and Garrus hasn’t been around enough of them to really grasp what it all means. “Uh, while I appreciate the…confidence in my ability to mutiny—”

This isn’t coming out right.

“—I don’t actually have any plans to steal your ship.”

“Good. Because while I may not have authority to give you orders, I’m pretty sure the Council did just give me the authority to put you out my airlock if you don’t follow them.”  

Garrus’ mandibles twitch in alarm. It’s a joke…right? Humans like to joke. Surely that’s a universal trait. “I’m very good at calibrating weapons.”

Shepard’s eyebrow raises.

Garrus’ own brow plates shift rather desperately. “You asked what to do with me.”

“Right.” His gaze shifts over to Alenko, who contentedly continues cleaning his pistol. “Any good with mass accelerator cannons?”

“Uh, sure?”

Shepard nods towards the infantry vehicle across the cargo bay. “Then familiarize yourself with the Mako over there. Pretty sure we’re gonna get a lot of use out of it.”

Alenko groans and rolls his eyes – that one Garrus gets – while muttering something about war crimes under his breath.

“Yes, sir,” Garrus says quickly.  

There’s that laser-sharp gaze again. It’s like looking a rail gun in the face. But then Shepard’s face breaks into a grin. “Glad to have you aboard, Garrus.”

“Thank you. Sir.” Should he salute? Was that���appropriate? He’s still thinking about it when Shepard calls out to another human stepping off the elevator by engineering, and jogs away.

Garrus blinks. At the weapons’ bench, Alenko shakes his head and chuckles, like he’d seen whatever just happened a thousand times.

“Can I ask…what that was about? That conversation felt like…”

“A test?”

Garrus’ mandibles flare. “Yes.”

Alenko’s smile has softer edges than Shepard’s. “He’s feeling you out.”

“…Feeling me…out?”

“It’s, ah, a figure of speech. He’s pretty good at reading people, but he likes to test out his impressions with a little verbal sparring.”

“I can’t tell if I passed.”

Alenko’s chuckle becomes a laugh. “That usually means you did. He doesn’t often misread people, but when he does, you’ll know.”

“Why? What happens?”

Alenko shrugs, with an affable smile. “Someone usually get shot.”

~

“Do we have a deal?”

A cold, perilous silence falls over the warehouse, where every one of Helena Blake’s mercs stand with the kind of staged relaxation that just so happens to put their hands right by their sidearms.

You trust her? Alenko had asked during their stomach-turning Mako drop, in which Garrus is certain that Shepard waited until death was imminent before engaging the vertical thrusters to avoid smashing against the freezing cold rocks of Amaranthine. Alenko had been right about the war crimes.

No, but I think she’s a lesser evil I can live with, Shepard had replied.

He’d been so adamant this was a friendly exchange that he’d walked brazenly into the center of her band of mercs, who hadn’t hesitated to close in around them. Garrus clocks twelve of them to Shepard’s squad of four, including a sentry on the upper level.  Alenko hangs close to Shepard’s left flank while Williams takes the right, leaving Garrus to bring up the rear.

Relax. We’re all friends, here.

Except as soon as Blake had started talking, Alenko’s stance had gotten a little more square, even though nothing about Shepard’s posture changed. When the silence hits, Alenko’s hand drifts marginally closer to his pistol.

“You know what?” Shepard asks thoughtfully. “On second thought, you can go fuck yourself.”

Before the ‘fuck’ is even out of his mouth, Alenko’ is in his hand and he’s knocking Shepard off his feet just in time to avoid the bullet coming from the sniper’s nest. Somehow, in the blur of running, shooting and cursing that ensues, Garrus and Alenko wind up crouched behind a shipping container while Williams lays down another round of cover fire and Shepard yanks the sniper out of the rafters with a skein of dark energy.

“So,” Garrus says, catching his breath. “I take it this was a misread?”

“Oh yeah.”

Alenko checks his heat sink before his corona engulfs him in a bloom of dark energy. He actually chuckles before he gets to his feet and re-enters the fray, like this is just another routine patrol through the Presidium.

“Welcome to the squad, Garrus.”

[yazzwrites6962]

heeey!! ^^ can u please write a oneshot with niragi x fem! reader where they hook up many times and slowly start feel in love w each other?

Inertia ♡ Suguru Niragi

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Suguru Niragi x Fem!Freaky!Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Author's Note: UNEDITED! Thanks for the beautiful request! It really helped with some writer's block. For those of you waiting for the next part of redemption, it is coming. Don't worryyyy. I know I'm slow. It's probably what I'm slowest at writing. Sorry! I don't own any characters or images!

Genre: Fluffy smut

Summary: Nobody can satisfy you, and your addiction to absolutely crazy, meaningless sex. Commitment has never been something you cared for, until you met someone equally as wild as you.

Word Count: 4881

Warnings: OOC Niragi (he's kinda a softie), language, mentions of death, sexual content, penetration, name calling, bondage, degradation, praise, cream pie, blood, injury, and weapons.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was always meant to be a casual thing.

The pressure of fighting for your life was something which weighed on everyone at The Beach. Everyone had their vice. The way they coped with the idea that they may not live to see tomorrow. You were no exception.

Sex. Mindless, meaningless sex with strangers you may never see again. Commitment was never your strong suit, even outside the Borderlands.

Unfortunately, not everyone could live up to your expectations. You liked it wild. Rough. No strings attached. Everyone you met had always disappointed you in one way or another.

"I think I'm starting to fall for you, Y/N."

"Oh, I think that's a little 'out there' for my taste..."

"Maybe we could grab dinner tomorrow night?"

"I wouldn't even know how to tie a knot like that-"

"I don't think I can handle another round..."

My god. Disappointing. All of them. It seemed it was too much to ask for a decent night of pleasure. Then, you met the man who would restore your hope for a release.

You'd heard the whispers about Niragi. How rough he could be. How he loved to mix a pinch of pain into pleasure. How he would kick a girl out of his room after he was done with them. It sounded like the perfect arrangement.

Lord, it was perfect.

The way he tied you up and watched you squirm on his fingers was perfect. The way the cold metal of his tongue piercing pressed against your clit was perfect. The way he bit and bruised you was perfect. The names he called you was perfect. The way he filled you with cum and let it seap out onto the bed was perfect.

Thus, a silent agreement was born. Crazy sex with no strings attached.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"Holy fuck." He groaned in your ear, as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs. "You're always s-so fucking tight." His hips stuttered as he bucked against you, the head of his throbbing cock pressing against your walls.

You let out a muffled whimper behind the soaking panties which had been shoved in your mouth earlier. Drool dribbled down your chin, mixing with the tears of pleasure rolling down your cheeks.

Niragi's pulled back to get a good look at the sight before him. His sweat dripped from his head onto your chest, where his right hand latched itself roughly onto your rope decorated breasts.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He growled, nails digging into your delicate skin. His cock twitched as he grew closer to his release. You whine, throwing your head back in ecstasy. "Shit-!" Niragi suddenly buckled forward, arms caging around you to prevent himself from collapsing onto you.

His forehead pressed against yours in an intimate manner. You could feel his hot, ragged breath on your face. His thrusts grew sloppy, and the sound of wet skin slapping echoed around the walls. Niragi's poor neighbors were definitely losing sleep because of all the noise.

"I'm gonna cum- Shit!" He cursed. You let out a squeal, indicating to him that your climax was soon to follow. True to his word, he let out a broken moan and his movements slowed as you both finished together. His cum spilled into you, a full feeling that always left you satisfied.

He pulled out of you, admiring the white sticky liquid leaking out of you. He gathered as much as he could onto his fingers, pushing the substance back into you. You shivered, still sensitive.

"I know you love that, you naughty slut." He chuckled, tearing your panties from your mouth and replacing them with his fingers. "Lick it clean." You did as you were told, coating his fingers in saliva. His brows furrowed as he pulled his hand back.

"Untie me now?" You grin, body squirming. You were restrained by bright red roped, which surely left marks and bruises on your skin. Not that it mattered. Niragi makes sure to leave marks in any way he can.

"...Yeah. Yeah." Something seemed off. Niragi had a strange, confused expression on his face as he untied you, gently. Very gently, as if he wasn't animalistically pounding into you moments before.

"You okay?" You ask against your better judgement. You and Niragi never really talked about feelings. It's easier to stay emotionally detached that way.

"Yeah." He grumbled, fully releasing you from your bindings. You sat up, rubbing the rope burns. You opted not to ask any further. You simply slipped out of the soiled bed, searching for your scattered clothes.

You dressed yourself, mind wandering to the steamy shower you planned on taking upon returning to your room. Your skin felt dirty, covered in sweat and fluids beneath your clothes. You were nearly half dressed when you turned to see Niragi.

He was still nude, in a kneeling position on the bed, staring down at the wet stains in the sheets. He seemed completely out of it. What happened? Just a couple hours ago, he was dragging you by the wrist into his room. Was it a bad game earlier today? You'd heard half his group didn't come back alive. You would have to attend another game soon too, as your visa would end in two days.

You opened your mouth to speak but ultimately decided against it. He said he was fine. Besides, this was just about hooking up. Feelings and sex should never mix. That's what you always told yourself.

"See you soon." You said once you were dressed. Niragi had finally moved. He was shirtless, but there were grey sweatpants covering his lower half. "My visa ends in two days."

"I know." He scoffed, as if it was an insult for you to remind him. "I'll meet you in your room, if you come back alive." He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his nightstand.

"Gee, thanks for the words of encouragement." You roll your eyes, slipping into your sandals and trudging to the door. Your legs trembled, sore from the activities that occurred in the past couple hours.

You shut the door behind you, leaving Niragi smoking alone on his dirty bed. The poor guy would probably have to go through all the effort of washing his sheets at such an ungodly hour.

But to him, that effort was worth it.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You trembled, but not in the good way. Your legs buckled beneath you, and your hand pressed firmly against the gash in your stomach. Tonight's game was treacherous. Violent.

Your head spun, the way it felt when you were drunk. That was the exact reason you would tend to steer away from substances. Because they made your mind foggy, and you wanted to be present. Especially with Niragi. Especially when he was on top of you, rearranging your guts.

How could you possibly think of him right now? On the verge of death? When your guts were actually literally at risk. Who else was there really to think of? You hadn't made any friends at The Beach. Was Niragi a friend?

No. Of course not. He's a stranger.

You don't know his age. His profession. His likes. His dislikes. You don't know what time he wakes up in the morning, or how he takes his coffee. You don't even know his favorite color.

"Get up!" Someone shouted, tugging your arm. Fortunately, it was someone on your team that found you. If it weren't, surely you would be dead by now. You let out a hiss of pain as the woman pulls you up. "What happened?!"

She looks old enough to be your mother, but the scars littered on her body don't give you a comforting feeling. The games have clearly not been very kind to her.

"Someone got me. With... a cleaver or something?" You groan as the woman looks at your wound. At the beginning of the game, everyone had the chance to grab a weapon. You were not quick enough and were unfortunately left with a screwdriver.

"Jesus." She whispers, shoving you slightly. "Just stay alive 'til the end of the game, yeah?" She says before leaning you against the wall, running off in the direction of some distant gunshots.

"Yeah." You wince, watching her go. All you had to do was have more members alive on your team than the opposing one. Then, you could go back to The Beach.

God, you were probably in no state for the mind-numbing sex you needed so badly. You wished you could have anything to distract from the searing pain.

You were lightheaded. It took every ounce of strength to pull the little device out of your pocket and check how much time was left in the game.

Literally just one more minute.

You wondered which team had more players now. Were you going to have a laser beam shot through your head, or would you succumb to blood loss? You didn't want to die, but the way your head spun, it felt nearly inevitable.

Looking down, you saw just how much blood came out of your body. It pooled through your shirt, down your pants, and onto the ground you sat on. It was more than you thought a human could lose before blacking out. Then again, you're no doctor.

You checked your phone again. The game had already ended. When did that happen? You didn't hear any announcements. How long had you been sitting there? Time blurred together, and a migrane began piercing through your skull.

"Oh my fuck." You half whisper, half groan, shifting to try and stand up. You kept your palm pressed against your stomach, trying to retain as much blood as possible.

"Shit- What are you doing?" Said a muffled voice. It was that woman again. "Stop moving, young lady!" She came to your aid, letting you lean on her as you walked back to the car you came in.

"When did the game end?" You ask hazily, limping. The car finally game into sight, and a sigh of relief left your lips. You would be back in your nice, cozy bed soon enough.

"Only a couple minutes ago." She answered, dumping you into the backseat. The car was not so crowded as it was when you arrived. "Relax. You'll be fine. Just stay awake."

"Thank you." You exhaled, laying your head against the headrest. "Thank you." You repeated. You didn't know this nice woman's name, and you probably would never see her again, but you were grateful for her kindness.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Thank god for the medical team at The Beach. You were stitched up nicely and wrapped in a bunch of band aids. You were lucky that your vital organs were missed. Unfortunately, there weren't any heavy painkillers left for you, so you had to tough it out with some over-the-counter pills.

You stumbled up the stairs and to your room. You were advised not to take a shower, which sucked considering how gross you were feeling. You push the door open, only to be met with an irritated face.

"Where the fuck were you?" Niragi spat; tone laced with frustration. His hand found your hip, and he pulled you closer, to which you stumbled into his chest and let out a hiss of pain.

"W-Watch it!" You yell, pressing your hands against his chest and trying to push him away. "I think tonight isn't exactly a good night, Niragi. Go find someone else."

"What happened?" He questioned harshly, almost as if this were some sort of interrogation. He pulled your shirt up before you could protest, and he was met with blood-spotted bandages.

You were fortunate you had the privilege of wearing actual clothes on The Beach. Technically, you were not supposed to, but who was going to stop you? You were not officially Niragi's girl, but everyone knew you two had something going on based on the moans and thumps that bounced through the halls whenever you were in the same room.

"What happened?" He repeated, releasing your shirt. You sigh, pulling away from him and limping to your bed, carefully positioning yourself at the edge.

"Nothing. Nothing. Just needed a couple stitches and all. I'm fine. It was bound to happen eventually." You peel off a couple extra layers of clothing. You just want to sleep after the rough day you've had. "Can we just postpone anything until after I'm a little more healed?"

"A lot more healed." He scoffed. You tilt your head, shooting him a curious look. "We're not doing anything until you're a lot more healed. Not just a little." He clarifies.

"Aww. I didn't know you had a heart somewhere in that muscly chest of yours." You tease, fumbling with your blankets. Somehow, you can't seem to place the comforter over yourself. You huff, giving up and settling for the tangle of bedding uncomfortably resting on top of you.

"I just don't want my huge cock pushing your organs out of your body." He chuckles. Niragi approaches your bed and grips the messy sheets, carefully flattening and fixing them over you. "I will be back for that killer pussy."

"Dear god, I hope so." You give him a weak smile, sleep already tugging you away from consciousness. It's a shame you were too tired to keep your eyes open long enough to see Niragi lean in, but hesitate, opting not to place a kiss on your forehead.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Niragi threw the half-naked stranger out of his room. She cursed at him, throwing up the middle finger before storming back to wherever she came from. He didn't even fuck her. He couldn't. His mind wasn't in the right place.

Niragi hadn't fucked anyone in weeks, and it was driving him mad. He tried, but no matter how hot the girl was, he couldn't touch her. Something was distracting him.

Now was not the time to grow a conscience. He'd killed, he'd raped, he'd stolen. He was far from being a "moral" person. So what was it that kept him from getting his dick wet?

It didn't feel as good as it felt with you. What was it about you that made the sex so special? Your soft skin? Your sweet scent? Your unforgettable taste? What did your body have that he couldn't find somewhere else?

It was sickening. Like a true addict, he couldn't take another minute without plowing into you. So why? What was he waiting for? Your wound to heal? That never stopped him before.

After a couple shots of tequila and a cigarette, Niragi decided he would pay you a visit. He hardly ever checked on the progress of your injury. The two of you never really spoke outside of your nightly escapades.

His knuckles tapped against your door. His heart raced. Why was there such anticipation about seeing you? It was just you. Just some girl who gave great head and let him do pretty much whatever he wanted to your body. Then the door swung open, and your tired eyes met his.

"Niragi." Fuck, just the way you said his name made him rock hard. "Hey. I've missed your company." You grin with a wink. He tenses, pushing his way into your room without asking. You roll your eyes, shutting the door.

"How's the gash?" He asks gruffly, spinning you around by your shoulder and lifting your shirt. There isn't blood leaking through your bandages anymore. You've healed quite nicely. "Are you fuckable?"

"Geez, what happened to 'Hello, how are you?'" You joke. "It's healing up just fine. I'm probably fuckable, but I heard you were with another girl tonight, so I didn't bother." Your tone sharpened slightly. Niragi had supposedly been with a new girl every night, since he couldn't have you.

"Is someone jealous?" Niragi cackled, hand tracing your hip. His touch was mindful and gentle, quite the opposite of what it usually was.

"Not a chance." You reached up, fingers tracing his jawline. "So, tell me, why are you here with me? Not with her?" His gaze faltered slightly, scanning from your eyes, toyour lips, to your collarbones, and back to your eyes again.

"Your ass is better." He smirked, hands wandering. "You've got a better body than anyone in this god forsaken place. Plus, you let me do things like this."

One of Niragi's hands cupped your cheek. His thumb shoved its way into your mouth, pulling your lips apart. You obediently opened wide, sticking your tongue out for him as he spat onto it. You swallow it, and he shudders.

"You nasty freak." He shivered as your fingers brushed along his adam's apple.

"You like it." You state confidently before crashing your lips onto his. His palms are planted against your waist, keeping you stable as you devour each other in a passionate kiss.

He leads you to the bed, setting you against the mattress softly, tongue never leaving your mouth. Something feels gentler. The Niragi you remember would have no trouble tearing your clothes off and shoving you onto the bed.

His hands are meticulous, peeling each garment away like you are a fragile porcelain doll. Your fingers lace into his hair, pulling it until his lips disconnected from yours.

"What are you doing?" You ask. This was not the thrilling sex that you'd reached out to him for in the first place. This was too intimate. Too caring.

"Taking your fucking clothes off?" He leaned forward to kiss you again, but you tugged his hair back once more. His eyebrows knit and a frown was planted on his face. "What?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about." You squint. "You're being all gentle and stuff. By now I should've had my ankles over my shoulders."

"Don't be stupid. That could break your stitches. I'm not being fucking gentle." He stood, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it over his shoulders.

"My stitches are fine. Just use me already." You whine, spreading your legs and exposing yourself to him. He groans, fumbling with the buckle of his belt.

His pants are pooled at his ankles before your eyes. His cock twitching and leaking at the sight of you. God, how he's missed this. He's desperate for it, but something is still holding him back.

He doesn't slam himself inside you, thrusting at the speed of light. Instead, he is slow, rubbing his tip against your entrance in careful circles. You bite your lip, eager for what is to come.

He stretches you out, entering you inch by inch. He chokes out a sound somewhere between a whine and a groan. He sounds heavenly. He feels heavenly. You're not sure where the courage comes from, but you wrap your arms and legs around him, pulling him until his chest met yours. In his ear, you giggle, and whisper:

"Oh, have you missed me, my good boy?"

He lets out a sharp exhale, his hips bucking forward suddenly, bottoming out inside you. He certainly wasn't expecting you to say that.

"H-Holy fuck-!" He growls; his eyes tightly squeezed shut. "What the fuck, Y/N- You can't just... Ngh... Say that-" His words are spoken through broken whimpers.

You roll your hips, and Niragi pulls back slightly before ramming into you. Finally. There's the Niragi you have been looking for. Your tongue scraped against his earlobe as he thrusts into you.

Your back arches in response to the waves of pleasure pulsing through your body. Then, there's a pain. You wince. A small movement that any other man wouldn't have noticed.

But Niragi noticed.

He knew all your movements like the back of his hand. He knew how you spasmed every time you climaxed. He knew how your breath would hitch when he touched you in certain ways. Your body was a work of art, and he knew every brushstroke.

He normally had no problem with a little pain mixing in with pleasure. In fact, he relished in it. This was different. He paused, eyes scanning your bandaged stomach for signs of blood.

"N-No- Don't stop." You grip his arm tightly. "Please, don't stop. I'm okay, I'm fine. Really." You plead. He bites his lip, nodding as he continued. Gently.

There were no ropes. There was no candle wax. No knives or guns. No gags. No interesting new positions. It was not exactly the sex you imagined you would have that night, but it felt so good.

It felt good in a way you could hardly ever achieve without trying some kinky new experiment with a new person. It felt safe, warm, and precious. You could stay with Niragi like this forever.

You could stay cradled in his arms, in boring old missionary, his small sounds of pleasure whispered right into your ear. You could spend every night with his chest against yours, hearts beating so near to one another.

"Fuck." He whispered, lips tickling your ear. "You squeeze so nicely around me. So warm and wet. It's like you were molded for me. Shit... It's so good."

"I-I'm close-" You whimper, but he doesn't need to be told. He knows your body. He knows you. His lips met yours again, swallowing all your desperate cries into his throat.

You squeeze around him, reaching your climax and leading him to the same fate. He bucks into you in several fluid motions, him cum seeping deep inside you as he grunts into your mouth.

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes shut as you both catch your breath. You stay like that, in his arms while he slowly softens inside you. A couple strands of his hair drape in front of your face, tickling your nose.

He pulls out, opening his eyes and searching for the clothes discarded carelessly off the side of the bed. Before he can do so, something else catches his attention.

"You're bleeding." He sits up. You do the same, looking towards your bandages. Blotchy crimson stains leak through the pristine white wrappings.

"Oh, fuck." You toss your legs over the edge of the bed, searching for your clothes. "That's okay. I'll just run down to medical and have them fix me up."

"You're so dumb." He spits, dressing himself quickly, keeping note of where all your clothes have landed too. You slap his hands away when he tries to lift you from the bed.

"I don't need help. Since when do you care anyway?" He scowls, throwing open a drawer in your wardrobe and tossing a new pair of panties at you. It surprises you that he remembers which drawer they were in.

"Since my personal fleshlight can't handle a little fuck session." He sneers. You scoff, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him, hard. The ragged motion makes you hiss in pain. "Don't fucking do that-"

"Don't tell me what I can or can't do." You shout, dressing yourself. "If you've got such a damn problem, then don't fuck me anymore. Go back to your other little toys. What's the big deal?"

He opens his mouth to speak but stops himself before the words can leave his lips. His gaze is sharp, almost like he's scolding you with his eyes.

You pick up a few of your things, slip your little beach sandals on, and leave the room without saying goodbye. Niragi knows the way out. It's not like he deserves a goodbye anyway.

You're nothing more than a hookup to each other, right?

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

He watched as you dressed yourself, moving slowly as not to open your stitches again. You always found your way back to each other. You just couldn't get enough of the sex. Of his presence.

"You wanna spend the night here?" He offered nonchalantly. You peek over your shoulder, eyeing him. "So you don't gotta walk, and climb the stairs, and all."

"You're a big softie." You accused, but you were genuinely considering the offer. Your legs couldn't take much more exercise. "You never cared about me walking and climbing stairs before."

"Yeah, well your body got sliced open by some maniac, so..." His sentence drifted. You smiled and sighed, as if the decision was really so hard.

"Fine. Fine. Just for tonight."

"Just for tonight."

Tonight became every night.

Now, laying on his bare chest with him arm around you, you found yourself thinking back to that night when it began. At first, it was just sleeping beside one another. Then, somehow, you grew closer and closer every night until you were constantly searching for each other's warmth.

It was still a casual thing though, of course.

You can casually cuddle with a guy, right? Everyone likes a little affection now and then. You can casually shower with someone too. After all, those showers often progressed into something much steamier. You can casually have breakfast with him, right? Just to re-energize from the activities the night before. You can casually wear his clothes, right?

Fuck. Wrong. This didn't feel casual at all anymore. This felt so intimate. You felt like roommates, but roommates who fucked. Roommates who fucked and liked each other's presence. Roommates who fucked, liked each other's presence, and could spend the rest of your lives with one another?

Shit! This wasn't casual anymore.

"I can hear the gears turning." Niragi sleepily mumbled into your hair. You shifted, looking at the time. Three thirty-five in the morning. No time to still be awake.

"What? Gears?" You chuckled, turning on your side and facing him. His eyes were shut, and his face seemed peaceful. "I didn't wake you somehow, did I?"

"Gears. In your brain. I hear them turning." He muttered, eyes opening. "What the fuck are you still thinking about this late at night?"

"Just... game stuff."

"You're a terrible liar." He sighed. You were about to scoff, as if offended by his comment, but he was right. That was a lie. "You have a tell, you know."

"W-What? No, I don't." Damn Niragi. He knows you too well. Your expressions, your movements, your tells. "I just can't sleep. Leave me alone."

"You do. It's not like you would know what your tell is, dummy. You're you. Now don't lie to me. What were you thinking about?" He said, voice stronger as his body woke.

"It's just that..." The words left your mind, and suddenly, you have no idea how to formulate your thoughts. "Do you like... Have feelings for me?"

"Feelings?" He raised an eyebrow. "I mean, obviously. I feel like you've been blessed with an unbelievably wet, tight pussy." He laughs. "I feel like you're annoying as hell."

"No, that's not what I meant." You groan, shoving him playfully. "I mean... Hear out my thought process here." You shit up, back leaning against the headboard. "We don't fuck anyone except for each other, right? We practically live together. We eat meals together. We sleep together. We do all the stuff that a couple would. Right?"

"Expect we're not." He rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "What're you trying to say? You want me to call you some shitty ass pet name or something?"

"No! I'm just thinking... Nevermind." You grumble, laying back down onto the bed with your back turned to him. His arm wrapped around you and pulled you closer into him.

"Commitment is stupid." He began. "I've never liked labels and shit. If you're gonna fuck, just fuck. If you're not, find someone else to fuck," A silence filled the room, and for a moment, you thought that was all he had to say. "But if you want to be called some silly pet name, I'll do it. Everybody already thinks we're a thing anyway."

"That's not what I asked for." You said softly, turning back around to face him. "I asked if you had feelings for me. Real feelings, I mean."

"Do you?"

"I asked you first." You shut down his attempt to dodge the question instantly but also bought yourself time to think of the answer. "Do you have feelings for me? It's a yes or no question."

Silence.

It grew so quiet, that if it weren't for hearing his racing heart, you would've thought he msut've fallen asleep again. You were about to give up and make an attempt as slumber as well, but he spoke.

"Yes." He said yes. He said yes?! Niragi, the most disgustingly ruthless bastard said yes? Of course, he said yes. There was a softness you brought out in him that couldn't be seen by anyone else. "Do you have feelings for me?"

How could this happen? This was the whole point of the arrangement you'd had. Non-committal, fun, kinky sex. It was just a way to blow off steam.

But now you knew how old he was. Now you knew his job back home. You knew what he liked, and what he didn't. You knew what time he rolled over and woke up in the morning. You knew how he wanted his coffee. You knew his favorite color.

You knew him, and he knew you. Miraculously, you knew each other. You saw each other, in the rawest way a person could ever see another human being, and you could envision knowing each other for the rest of your lives.

"Yes."

[literaryvein-reblogs]

are there any tips you have on writing a stockholm syndrome relationship?

Writing Notes: Stockholm Syndrome

Stockholm Syndrome - A mental and emotional response in which a captive (e.g., a hostage) displays seeming loyalty to—even affection for—the captor.

The captive may come to see law enforcement or rescuers as the enemy because they endanger the captor.

The name derives from the case of a woman who was held hostage in 1973 during a bank robbery in Stockholm, Sweden, and became so emotionally attached to one of the robbers that she broke her engagement to another man and remained faithful to her former captor during his prison term.

Coined by Swedish psychiatrist and criminologist Nils Bejerot (1921–1988).

Psychologists who have studied the syndrome believe that the bond is initially created when:

a captor threatens a captive’s life,

deliberates, and then

chooses not to kill the captive.

The captive’s relief at the removal of the death threat is transposed into feelings of gratitude toward the captor for giving him or her life.

As the Stockholm bank robbery incident proves, it takes only a few days for this bond to cement, proving that, early on, the victim’s desire to survive trumps the urge to hate the person who created the situation.

The survival instinct is at the heart of the Stockholm syndrome.

Victims live in enforced dependence and interpret rare or small acts of kindness in the midst of horrible conditions as good treatment.

They often become hypervigilant to the needs and demands of their captors, making psychological links between the captors’ happiness and their own.

Indeed, the syndrome is marked not only by a positive bond between captive and captor but also by a negative attitude on behalf of the captive toward authorities who threaten the captor-captive relationship.

The negative attitude is especially powerful when the hostage is of no use to the captors except as leverage against a third party, as has often been the case with political hostages.

Survivors of Stockholm syndrome report developing positive feelings toward their captors despite the threat to their lives (Graham et al., 1995).

Stockholm syndrome is a form of trauma bonding. However, while both involve a paradoxical attachment to a source of harm and fear, trauma bonding is more commonly rooted in repeated abusive interactions (Dutton & Painter, 1981), whereas Stockholm syndrome emerges from acute, life-threatening captivity (Graham et al., 1995).

By the 21st century, psychologists had expanded their understanding of the Stockholm syndrome from hostages to other groups, including victims of domestic violence, cult members, prisoners of war, procured prostitutes, and abused children.

The American Psychiatric Association does not include Stockholm syndrome in its Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM).

POSSIBLE CAUSES. It is not completely understood why Stockholm syndrome happens. Some researchers suggest that it is a survival mechanism in which further harm is mitigated by the victim showing compliance and gratitude. Another theory states that a victim’s gratitude is established after their abuser or captor perpetuates fear without actually harming the victim.

IN FICTION. Given its shaky origins and lack of clinical recognition, Stockholm Syndrome is part of the field of pop-culture, not the field of psychology.

In fiction, the idea of a captive falling in love with their captor is a popular one, and has been since long before the 1973 Norrmalmstorg robbery.

Many of these stories feel forced, starting with captivity and jumping straight to love.

The most realistic depictions include not only the kindnesses, but also the extended time needed, and clear isolation from outside influences.

Some Related Tropes

Abduction Is Love: The invoked version, where someone does a kidnapping with the goal of forming a relationship with their captive.

A Match Made in Stockholm: Two people end up becoming lovers or friends after one kidnaps the other.

Conditioned to Accept Horror: A character who is conditioned to accept a rather horrible, disturbing fate in life does so with a smile on their face.

Love Martyr: Showcase the kind of pure and selfless love that can bring out the good side in even the most damaged and embittered people.

Happiness in Slavery: Bob is in servitude to Alice, but doesn't want freedom, and is not brainwashed. There are 4 types of this:

Beloved Servant: Bob is appreciated and rewarded by Alice, who is probably a Sympathetic Slave Owner, and stays loyal because of this. However, he still either cannot leave or cannot imagine leaving. Can overlap with Property of Love and/or Undying Loyalty tropes.

Cringing Bootlick: Bob is treated like dirt by Alice, but is still loyal, due to a debt of gratitude, masochism, hope for reciprocation on Alice's part, suffers from Stockholm Syndrome, or simply doesn't know any better.

Cultural Values Dissonance: Bob belongs to a species whose Hat is Happiness in Slavery, they both belong to a culture with a Fantastic Caste System, or they need to have a Master for some reason. Bob may also be Born into Slavery and unable to imagine any other life.

Slavery Is the Lesser Evil: Bob finds slavery better than any condition he can find in freedom, either easily or at all.

Examples

Animal Farm: Mollie the mare deliberately leaves the farm and returns to the service of humanity in exchange for sugar and ribbons. According to the bird scouts, she seems to be happy with her life.

A Song of Ice and Fire: Daenerys abolishes slavery in the cities she'd conquered, and is shocked to find many of the ex-slaves trying to sell themselves back to the trader ships for sale elsewhere. It's explained that most of them are skilled or educated and would be treated well, while the city is now full of starving people and at risk of becoming a Wretched Hive. The Unsullied also have difficulty with the idea of not serving anyone and keep working for her — basically, they’re grateful Daenerys freed them, and in return serve her loyally — although they do appreciate the benefits of semi-freedom. Like being allowed to have their own names. Many of the pit-fighters also point out that now they're free their living standards are much worse then when they were slaves.

Beauty and the Beast has Beauty agree to stay with the Beast because he threatened to kill her father for stealing one of his roses if she didn't take his place and she, of course, falls in love with him — which was the Beast's secret intention all along, as he needed a woman to love him to break his curse. Whether or not this could qualify as Stockholm Syndrome varies from telling to telling, though it should be noted that almost all tellings have the Beast willingly let Beauty go back to her family at some point and she doesn't come back to him (and in some cases, even forgets her promise to return within a set time) until she learns his life is in danger. It should be noted that the original audience of "Beauty and the Beast" and related tales would likely understand the story as an allegory about arranged marriages rather than anything we would recognize as Stockholm Syndrome. The moral would likely be interpreted as a physically undesirable husband (as he was likely to be older than the bride) could still be kind and gentle.

Classical Mythology: Apollo saw the nymph Cyrene wrestling with a lion that had attacked her father's sheep. Impressed by her strength, he fell in love with her and kidnapped her to Libia. There he founded a city in her name and made her its queen. Together, they had two sons — Aristaeus and Idmon.

The Phantom of the Opera: The Phantom brings the opera singer Christine Daae down to his home in the basement of the opera house. Here he tells her that they are going to live their lives together as husband and wife. After some time, he decides that she can come and go when she wants to, and she comes back multiple times without him forcing her to because of her Sympathy for the Devil. It is only at the end of the book, where The Phantom has kidnapped her in the middle of a performance and threatens to blow up the opera house if she doesn't marry him, that it gets really serious.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Choose which of these references and related tropes would be most appropriate to incorporate into your specific characters' relationship. Also included some examples you can use for inspiration. You can find more in the links above, hope this helps!

EDIT: Additional information with corrections on the topic here. Thank you to @shewriter for sharing!

[whencyclopedia]

Jezebel

Jezebel (d. c. 842 BCE) was the Phoenician Princess of Sidon who married Ahab, King of Israel (r. c. 871 - c. 852 BCE) according to the biblical books of I and II Kings, where she is portrayed unfavorably as a conniving harlot who corrupts Israel and flaunts the commandments of God.

Her story is only known through the Bible (though recent archaeological evidence has confirmed her historicity) where she is depicted as the evil antagonist of Elijah, the prophet of the god Yahweh. The contests between Jezebel and Elijah are related as a battle for the religious future of the people of Israel as Jezebel encourages the native Canaanite polytheism and Elijah fights for the monotheistic vision of a single, all-powerful male god.

In the end, Elijah wins this battle as Jezebel is assassinated by her own guards, thrown from a palace window to the street below where she is eaten by dogs. Her death, the biblical authors note, was prophesied earlier by Elijah and is shown to have come to pass precisely according to his words and, so, in accord with the will of Elijah's god.

Her name has become synonymous with the concept of the evil seductress owing to the interpretation of some of her actions (such as putting on make-up in order to, allegedly, seduce her adversary Jehu, who is anointed by Elijah's successor, Elisha, to destroy her) and calling a woman a “jezebel” is to label her as sexually promiscuous and lacking in morals.

Recent scholarship, however, has tried to reverse this association and Jezebel is increasingly recognized as a strong woman who refused to abide by what she saw as the oppressive nature of her husband's religious culture and tried to change it.

Jezebel's Changing Reputation

The story as given in I and II Kings presents Jezebel as an evil influence from the moment of her arrival in Israel who corrupts her husband, the court, and the people by trying to impose her “godless” beliefs on the Chosen People of the one true god. I Kings 16: 30-33 presents King Ahab as a wicked king seduced by the corrupting influence of his new wife and is an audience's introduction to the story:

Ahab, son of Omri, did more evil in the eyes of the Lord than any of those before him. He not only , but he also married Jezebel, daughter of Ethbaal, king of the Sidonians, and began to serve Baal and worship him. He set up an altar for Baal in the temple of Baal that he built in Samaria. Ahab also made an Asherah pole and did more to arouse the anger of the Lord, the God of Israel, than did all the kings of Israel before him.

Traditionally, the story of Jezebel is one of a corrupting influence on a king who had already shown himself a poor representative of his kingdom's religious culture. The biblical account assumes a reader's knowledge that Jezebel, coming from Sidon, would have worshipped the god Baal and his consort Astarte along with many other deities and also assumes one would know that the polytheism of the Sidonians was comparable to that of the Canaanites prior to the rise of Israel and monotheism in their land. Since monotheism and the kingdom of Israel are presented in a positive light, Jezebel, Sidon, and Ahab are cast negatively.

It could be that the biblical narrative depicts events, more or less, accurately but this view is challenged by modern-day scholarship which increasingly leans toward a new interpretation of the clash between Jezebel and Elijah as demonstrating the conflict between polytheism and monotheism in the region during the 9th century BCE. In this interpretation, Jezebel is understood as a princess, the daughter of a king and priest, trying to maintain her cultural heritage in a foreign land against a religion she could not accept. The historian and biblical scholar Janet Howe Gaines comments:

For more than two thousand years, Jezebel has been saddled with a reputation as the bad girl of the Bible, the wickedest of women. This ancient queen has been denounced as a murderer, prostitute and enemy of God, and her name has been adopted for lingerie lines and World War II missiles alike. But just how depraved was Jezebel? In recent years, scholars have tried to reclaim the shadowy female figures whose tales are often only partially told in the Bible. (1)

Although she has been associated with seduction, depravity, and harlotry for centuries, a more accurate understanding of Jezebel emerges as one considers the possibility she was simply a woman who refused to submit to the religious beliefs and practices of her husband and his culture. The recent scholarship, which has led to a better understanding of the civilization of Phoenicia, the role of women, and the struggle of the adherents of the Hebrew god Yahweh for dominance over the older faith of the Canaanites, suggests a different, and more favorable, picture of Jezebel than the traditional understanding of her. The scholarly trend now is to consider the likely possibility she was a woman ahead of her time married into a culture whose religious class saw her as a formidable threat.

Continue reading...

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #03 死

† breakfast and training †

"His eyes are the kind of dark that makes you forget there was ever light in the world. And you hate that you're starting to notice details about him."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 5.4k

rating: mature

content: training violence, weapons, strong language, sexual tension

☠ author's note ☠

HELLO MY FELLOW SLEEP-DEPRIVED CREATURES. Welcome back to another episode of "Kiki makes questionable life choices and writes fanfiction instead of sleeping"!

Can we talk about how I wrote like three different versions of the gun scene before my perfectionist brain was satisfied? And by satisfied I mean "fine whatever just post it I guess." Don't @ me about gun accuracy, I play Call of Duty sometimes that's research enough (ㆆᴗㆆ)

Also yes, I am absolutely living for the whole "oh no they're training together" trope. Sue me. Or don't, I'm broke. All I have is caffeine and the ability to make my characters suffer. Speaking of which - Jeon in combat mode? chef's kiss My boy is out there being all professional and grumpy while Y/N is just trying her best not to get shot. We love that for them.

PSA: The whole "Cookie" thing was totally self-indulgent and I regret nothing. V is here to cause chaos and honestly? Goals.

Special shoutout to my cat who watched me write this at 3 AM and judged me silently. You're the best beta reader a girl could ask for, even if your only feedback is knocking my coffee over.

See you next Tuesday, you beautiful disasters! Remember: sleep is for the weak and fanfiction is for life.

crawls back into writing cave while mainlining espresso

Kiki

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

Mornings in the castle hit different. Through your window, the sky's doing that thing where it can't decide if it's still night or already dawn—all soft blues mixing with hints of gold. Everything's quiet, like the world's holding its breath.

Then your alarm goes off.

"Why did we agree to this again?" Yunjin whines from her bed, fumbling to shut up the annoying buzz. Her pink hair is a mess, splayed across her pillow like cotton candy gone wrong.

"Croissants," you remind her, stretching until your joints pop. "Fresh, buttery, heavenly croissants."

"Not hungry." She burrows deeper into her blanket cocoon. "Too early for hunger. Too early for existing."

You swing your legs off the bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor. "What happened to yesterday's 'new me, new goals' speech?"

"That was yesterday's Yunjin. Today's Yunjin chooses sleep."

With a snort, you pad over to her bed. It's literally two steps away—your shared room is cozy like that, with just enough space for two singles and matching bedside tables. You give her shoulder a gentle shake.

"And what's tomorrow's Yunjin gonna think about that?"

"Tomorrow's Yunjin's problem," she mumbles, death-gripping her blanket. Smart girl. She knows your next move would've been stealing it.

"Then it's tomorrow's me problem too!" You can't help but laugh, and it finally gets her to peek one eye open.

She lets out the longest, most dramatic sigh. "Fine. Fine. You win."

Your shared laughter is soft, comfortable. It's weird how quickly Yunjin became your person here. Maybe because she's as new to this as you are—no pressure to measure up to badasses like Chaewon or keep your guard up around intimidating figures like V and Jeon.

She joined two months before you did. For her, it meant saying goodbye to having her own room, but she says it was worth the trade-off. Girl's a mess when it comes to sleep schedules, but she keeps your shared space spotless and her determination is s̶c̶a̶r̶y̶ impressive. Like, you've seen her practice seduction techniques until 3 AM, and now here she is, dragging herself up at dawn for... well, croissants and self-improvement.

There's something genuinely good about Yunjin. She's always there—to help, to listen, to just be. Five months in and everyone in Seduction already adores her. Yeah, she's clumsy as hell during physical training, but her mind is sharp. Nothing gets past her—it's like she's got a built-in lie detector.

After yesterday morning's... incident, you're extra grateful for her company.

You both grab your digital cards from your bedside tables—can't go anywhere in this place without them. They're basically your whole identity here, determining which doors open for you and which stay firmly shut.

The castle corridors feel endless this early. Most members are probably still sleeping or doing whatever gang members do at dawn. Your footsteps echo softly as you and Yunjin make your way to the cafeteria, keeping the conversation light.

"Have you had breakfast here before?" you ask, watching her stifle another yawn.

"Once." She nods, her pink ponytail bouncing. "Got up at 10 though. Wasn't worth sacrificing sleep for."

You can't help but smile. "Early breakfast hits different. You'll see."

When you reach the cafeteria, Yunjin taps her digital card against the scanner. The light blinks green, and suddenly your nose is filled with the heavenly smell of fresh pastries. Inside, only a handful of early birds are scattered around the massive space. Makes sense—most people here prefer their beds at this hour.

Your eyes do their usual sweep of the room, casual and practiced. But then something pulls at you, like a magnet finding true north. Your gaze locks with dark, piercing ones.

Jeon.

"Oh, that's Jeon, right?" Yunjin's voice cuts through your thoughts. "Guess he likes mornings too."

You nod, still watching him from the safety of the doorway. Something about the distance makes you feel almost safe. He's got that thing about him—that unmistakable aura of authority that even 6 AM can't dim.

"Damn," Yunjin says after a beat, blunt as ever. "He's hot."

"Let's get food," you mutter, rolling your eyes and heading for the pastry section.

You and Yunjin load up your plates with a bit of everything, especially those famous croissants. Finding a quiet corner, you settle in to enjoy both the food and each other's company, pointedly not thinking about piercing dark eyes or brooding corners.

You try to look casual as your eyes drift back to Jeon for the hundredth time.

He's sitting there, both hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee like it's his lifeline to sanity this early in the morning. The sight of those tattooed fingers curled around plain white ceramic does something to your brain that you'd rather not examine too closely.

"You know, I heard something interesting about him." Yunjin's voice makes you jump. S̶h̶i̶t̶ Great, she caught you staring.

"Oh?" You tilt your head, hoping your voice sounds more curious than guilty.

Yunjin leans in conspiratorially, her pink hair falling forward as she drops her voice to barely above a whisper. It's kind of unnecessary given how far away Jeon is, but there's something about him that makes everyone speak in hushed tones.

"Apparently, he's got this whole... ritual thing going on. Every single morning, without fail, he makes sure he's the first one to get fresh coffee. Like, the first cup from a fresh pot."

Your eyes track back to that cup held between ink-covered fingers. Now that she mentions it, you've never seen him drink anything else in the mornings. The way he's savoring it, eyes closed and expression almost peaceful, makes you think Yunjin might be onto something.

"Every day? He's literally the first one here?" The mental image of Jeon lurking outside the cafeteria doors, waiting for them to unlock, is both hilarious and weirdly endearing.

"From what I've heard. Maybe it's a power move?" Yunjin suggests with a soft laugh. "You know, asserting dominance through caffeine consumption."

The idea of someone as intimidating as Jeon—co-leader of the Assassination Division, member of the Council of 9, literal professional killer—climbing the ranks of one of South Korea's most dangerous gangs just to secure his morning coffee makes something bubble up in your chest.. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing too loud.

"Imagine that being his master plan all along," you snort. "Join gang, become assassination chief, get first dibs on coffee."

You both dissolve into quiet giggles, but the moment shatters when something shifts in the air. It's like thorny vines suddenly wrapping around your lungs, making it hard to breathe. You don't need to look to know who it is.

"Mind if I join the fun?" V's voice slides over your skin like honey laced with poison, playful but with that edge that makes your hair stand on end.

His arms drape over your shoulders without warning, caging you and Yunjin in what should be a friendly gesture but feels more like being trapped. Your muscles tense automatically. There's something about V that keeps you perpetually on edge—like admiring a rose only to remember it's got thorns that could draw blood.

Yunjin manages a wobbly smile, but you can tell she's as unsettled as you are by his sudden appearance. "We were just... talking about coffee."

"Coffee?" V drawls the word like it personally offends him. He pulls back, throwing his arms behind his head in that carelessly graceful way of his, but stays close enough that you can smell cinnamon. "Boring. Now, this new training program? That's something worth discussing."

His eyes glint with mischief, reminding you of a cat playing with its food. "I'm keen to see what you girls bring to the table. Should be... intriguing, don't you think?"

The way he says it makes your skin crawl. There's nothing overtly threatening about his words, but the undercurrent is clear—the Assassination Division isn't known for playing nice, and V seems to view the upcoming cross-training as his personal playground.

"I'm sure it will be enlightening," you say carefully.

V's energy is infectious, but not in a good way. More like a disease you're trying not to catch.

He chuckles, and those thorny vines around your lungs squeeze tighter. "Oh, I'm sure it will be. And don't worry, yours truly will be there to add a little spice to the mix. Can't let things get too dull, can we?"

Before you can respond, his attention snaps to something—or someone—across the cafeteria. With a dismissive wave that somehow manages to feel both elegant and insulting, he strides off as suddenly as he appeared.

You exchange looks with Yunjin, both of you sagging with relief once he's gone. She looks as drained as you feel, like V's presence alone sucked all the energy from the room.

"Well, that was... something," Yunjin says, and you could write a whole essay about everything packed into that single word. Her pink hair is still slightly disheveled from where V's dramatic entrance messed it up.

"That's one way to put it." You try to shake off the phantom feeling of thorny vines around your lungs. V's presence leaves you feeling like you've been through some kind of emotional washing machine—tumbled around and wrung out.

"But oh my god." Yunjin's whole face suddenly lights up like she's remembered something amazing. The whiplash from her mood shift almost gives you vertigo.

"What?" You ask, though part of you already knows where this is going. Yunjin might be shy and perceptive, but she's also a total simp when it comes to pretty faces.

"He is SO handsome?" Her voice rises with genuine awe. "Everyone kept saying he looks like a prince, but I thought they were exaggerating. They were not."

You raise an eyebrow, wondering if you were even in the same conversation just now. Sure, V's gorgeous—that's kind of his whole thing. The dangerous beauty, the dripping poison. But after feeling his aura wrap around you like a boa constrictor, 'handsome' isn't exactly the first word that comes to mind.

"Did you miss the whole creepy vibe?" You keep your voice low, even though V's long gone. Some habits die hard in this place. "He talked about the training program like he's planning to turn it into his personal episode of Squid Game. With popcorn."

"Yeah, but like..." Yunjin waves her hand dismissively, "have you seen his face? Those cheekbones? That jawline?"

"The way he's probably plotting our deaths as we speak?" You counter, but you can't help the smile tugging at your lips. Trust Yunjin to focus on the aesthetics while completely ignoring the red flags. It's kind of adorable, in a concerning way.

"Doesn't change the fact that he's eye candy," she says with zero shame, stabbing her fork into her breakfast. "Like, premium, expensive, imported chocolate level of eye candy."

"True," you admit, finally taking a proper bite of your croissant.

And it is true—V's got that whole ethereal beauty thing going on, like a masterpiece painting that happens to be slightly cursed. The kind of face that belongs in museums but also probably comes alive at night to terrorize security guards.

But even as you acknowledge V's obvious appeal, your eyes betray you, drifting back to that other corner of the cafeteria. Back to dark eyes and hurricanes.

Back to Jeon.

It's not like you mean to look.

It just... happens.

Like your gaze has some kind of magnetic programming that keeps pulling it in his direction.

Which is s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ inconvenient because the last thing you need is to get caught staring at one of the most dangerous men in Kkangpae while you've got croissant crumbs on your face.

The rest of your morning slips by without V popping up again to make your skin crawl. You try to focus on getting ready for what's coming, but your mind keeps drifting to the upcoming training.

Working with Jeon and V's division? Yeah, that's not anxiety-inducing at all.

When you step onto the training field outside the castle, the change of scenery hits different. After being cooped up in the gang's concrete maze, the open space and towering trees feel almost surreal. The cold morning air bites at your lungs—a wake-up call you didn't ask for but probably need.

Today's not just another training day. It's your first cross-training with the Assassination Division, and the tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with one of V's knives.

Your stomach does this weird flip-flop thing as you walk towards the gathering crowd. Working with Jeon after... that incident? Not exactly on your bucket list. The memory of your last encounter sits heavy in your chest, making each step feel like you're walking through mud.

The Assassination Division is already there when you arrive, looking like they stepped out of some action movie poster. Some look ready to murder, others look ready for a nap. But it's Jeon who catches your eye—impossible not to, really. It's like the air itself is swirling around him like a storm about to break.

He's got that look on his face—you know the one. All business, no bullshit, could probably kill you with his pinky finger.

No sign of V though.

Makes sense, when you think about it. Those two aren't exactly besties—more like two wolves forced to share the same territory. Their whole approach to killing is different as night and day.

Jeon's all about precision. Clean shots, minimal mess, maximum efficiency. He's the type to plan every detail, calculate every variable. Need someone taken out from two buildings away without anyone even knowing what happened? That's his specialty. The human equivalent of a surgical strike.

V though? He's chaos incarnate. Gets up close and personal with his kills, leaves a message written in blood if he feels like it. He's the guy you call when you want someone dead and don't care how messy it gets. Planning? Fuck planning—V works on pure instinct and improvisation.

The crowd goes quiet as Jeon steps forward. The atmosphere shifts, less like a raging storm now and more like the heavy air before thunder breaks. When he speaks, his voice does that thing where it demands attention without actually raising in volume. And despite everything—despite knowing better—you find yourself leaning in slightly to catch every word.

"Your state of mind is everything in this line of work," he says, dark eyes scanning the crowd like he's reading everyone's potential in real time. "A calm, collected mind can mean the difference between life and death."

The task he lays out seems simple enough: shoot the cardboard target, hit the center, don't mess it up. But as you watch others take their turns, that knot in your stomach keeps getting tighter.

The gun feels wrong in your hand. Not that you haven't held one before—basic training covers that—but this is different. This is him watching, and somehow that makes your palms extra sweaty.

Then your turn's up.

Walking to the mark feels like crossing a minefield, every step measured and tense. Your heart's going so hard you can barely hear anything else.

Focus. You need to focus.

But Jeon's standing right there, making the air thick and hard to breathe. Your finger hovers over the trigger, but doubt creeps in like poison.

The target blurs in and out. You can feel Jeon watching, that heavy gaze picking apart every flaw in your stance. The pressure builds in your chest until you're sure something's gonna snap.

Just a bit longer. You need to be absolutely sure before taking the shot.

It's not like Seduction gets much practice with actual weapons—your arsenal usually involves batting eyelashes and strategic flirting, not bullets and gunpowder. So it's no wonder the gun starts slipping through your sweaty fingers.

You tighten your grip. A surge of determination hits you like a shot of adrenaline. Come on. It's just cardboard. You've handled way worse situations than this. You can do this.

Your finger starts to squeeze the trigger—

BANG.

That... wasn't your gun.

You flinch, turning toward the sound before you can stop yourself. Through the corner of your eye, you catch smoke curling from Jeon's pistol.

He's standing there looking bored, arm extended like this is just another one of his daily mornings. The gun fits his hand like it was molded for him, an extension of his body rather than a weapon.

When your eyes snap to the target, there it is—perfect shot, dead center, because of course it is.

A̶s̶s̶h̶o̶l̶e̶ Show-off.

You lower your gun, lips pressed tight. His gaze sits heavy on your shoulders, hurricane pressure bearing down until you want to scream. His face gives nothing away, but those dark eyes say plenty—and none of it's good.

"If you're not quick enough, you'll get killed." His voice cuts like ice. "Let that be a reminder for everyone else."

The words hit like a slap. Heat rushes to your face—anger, embarrassment, frustration, all mixing together into something that makes you want to either punch something or crawl into a hole. Preferably punch him, but you're very aware of everyone watching this little show he's putting on.

Both divisions are staring, and you've never felt more like a fish in a very small, very exposed bowl.

Your eyes meet Jeon's, and suddenly breathing gets hard. His stare hits different—those dark eyes boring into yours like he's trying to read your soul, pupils blown wide in a way that makes your stomach do weird flips.

That silver lip ring catches the light when his mouth twists into something s̶e̶x̶y̶ condescending. He opens his mouth—probably to tear into you some more—but then—

BANG.

Everyone drops like puppets with cut strings. Pure instinct.

It's instant chaos. Voices rise into a crescendo of shouts and commands, bodies moving with practiced urgency.

It's kind of beautiful, in a messed-up way—how quickly personal beef gets shelved when shit hits the fan. One minute Jeon's looking at you like you're dirt on his boot, next second he's barking orders to keep everyone safe.

Your heart's in your throat as you scan the crowd for a flash of pink hair.

Yunjin.

But Yunjin's nowhere.

The sea of faces blurs together—no Kazuha, no Eunchae, not even Sakura. Even Chaewon's vanished, which is weird because she's usually got this sixth sense about danger.

Another shot cracks through the air. Your fingers tighten around your gun until your knuckles go white. Your eyes keep drifting to the treeline, where shadows dance between patches of dark green.

A calm, collected mind can mean the difference between life and death.

His words echo in your head, which is ironic considering how not calm you feel right now.

Fuck it.

You're moving before you can second-guess yourself, legs carrying you toward the forest. Maybe it's stupid, but you need space to think. To be calm, like he said.

Plus, the trees might give you cover—an advantage you desperately need right now.

The forest swallows you up. Sunlight filters through leaves overhead, painting everything in shifting patterns of light and shadow. Every step crunches on dead leaves, making you wince. So much for stealth.

V wouldn't be happy.

The chaos from the training ground fades the deeper you go, replaced by normal forest sounds—birds chattering overhead, small animals rustling in the bushes. It's almost peaceful, if you ignore the whole possible death situation.

You spot it then—a ridge overlooking the training ground, hidden behind thick bushes. Perfect vantage point, if you can reach it. The climb makes your muscles burn, but you manage. Up here, you force yourself to breathe slow and steady, trying to quiet your racing heart. Your fingers trace the gun's cold metal like a lifeline.

Your back hits the tree with a thud. The bark scrapes against your spine through your shirt, but you barely notice. Every nerve in your body is focused on that rustling sound behind you.

Footsteps.

Your breath catches. They're quiet—too quiet to be some random person stumbling through the woods.

No, these are the steps of someone who knows how to move silently. Someone trained.

Adrenaline floods your system as you press yourself flatter against the tree. Your fingers tighten around the gun until your knuckles go white. Through a gap in the leaves, you try to catch a glimpse of whoever's approaching, but the foliage is too thick.

Friend or foe?

The question pounds in your head with each careful footstep drawing closer. Your mind races, too many possibilities—it could be an enemy, could be another member searching the area.

Could be death or salvation walking your way.

The steps are almost upon you now. Your breathing goes shallow, controlled. You might be exposed up here, but they don't know that. Surprise is your only advantage right now.

Shoot or strike?

The dilemma tears at you. A gunshot would alert everyone to your location. And if it turns out to be an ally... F̶u̶c̶k̶ No. Hand-to-hand is safer. Quieter. Less explaining to do if you're wrong.

Your muscles coil tight as a spring. When the footsteps are close enough, you launch yourself from behind the tree in one fluid motion, aiming to take them down hard and fast.

Instead, you slam into what feels like a brick wall.

Oh.

It's Jeon.

His reflexes are insane—before you can even process who he is, he's already moving. The air sweeps around you as he twists, disarming you with embarrassing ease. Your gun hits the ground with a clatter that seems to echo through the whole forest.

Recognition hits you both at the same moment. That flicker of shock in his eyes quickly turns to his usual look of disdain, because of course it does.

Then—a misstep.

Your ankle rolls, sending white-hot pain shooting up your leg. You stumble, sucking in a sharp breath. His grip on you loosens just slightly, and something that might be concern flashes across his face before his usual cold mask slips back into place.

"You okay?" His voice is gruff, like the words are being dragged out of him against his will.

"Just perfect," you snap back, because fuck his concern when your ankle feels like it's on fire and your pride hurts even worse.

He just stands there, staring at you with those dark eyes that see too much.

"What the hell were you thinking?" A pause, one eyebrow lifting. "You have a gun, don't you?"

You almost laugh. Because of course. If you'd shot at him, he'd be lecturing you about trigger discipline. Attack hand-to-hand, and suddenly you're an idiot for not using your weapon.

You seriously can't win with this man.

"Well, good thing I didn't use it on you then." The words come out lighter than you feel, dancing between playful and pissed. "And what are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be back there playing commander?"

"That's what deputies are for." The casual way he says it makes your teeth grind. "Besides, I dispatched a team to check the gunfire. Just my luck, running into you instead."

"Pleasure's all mine, chief." You load the title with all the sarcasm you can muster.

"And you?" His dark eyes study you like you're a particularly puzzling target he can't quite line up. "Any reason you're out here instead of following orders?"

"Didn't get any orders to follow." You cross your arms, ignoring how his presence makes your skin prickle. "And that ridge over there?" You jab a finger toward the overlook. "Perfect vantage point. I was trying to be strategic before you showed up."

He actually grimaces at that, like your logic physically pains him. But before he can open his mouth to deliver what's surely another lecture, you add:

"Just my luck, running into you instead."

The words—his own words turned back on him—hit their mark. His eyebrow twitches just slightly, and satisfaction blooms warm in your chest.

Score one for you.

But before you can inwardly celebrate, he grimaces. He actually grimaces before he opens his stupid mouth again.

"That?" His voice drips with condescension. "You think that's prime real estate for observation?" The asshole holds back a laughter. "Alright." He says, and you ponder the merits of hitting him with a rock.

But then he begins walking, and you trail after him, partly because s̶c̶r̶e̶w̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ he's wrong and partly because... well, where else are you gonna go?

"Remind me again—which one of us specializes in persuasion and observation?" You can't keep the annoyance from your voice. His arrogance is starting to give you a headache.

"And which one of us is known for sniping?" He tilts his head just enough for you to catch the silver flash of his eyebrow piercing. "You think I don't know a thing or two about picking vantage points?"

"Just because you can shoot from far away doesn't mean you know the best places to shoot from." The words come out sharper than intended. "What works for a sniper might not work for surveillance. They're different skill sets."

"How so?" He doesn't even bother looking back now. "A lookout's a lookout, smartass."

Your hands find your hips. "You know what? Ask me that again when you sit in on our cross-training. Might learn something useful."

"Learn from an ensign?" His tilt is mocking. "No—learn from you?" He lets out a low chuckle that makes your teeth grind. "Pretty sure it works the other way around."

"Forgot about Flower?" You can't help the snark in your voice. "She's a chief too, and I'm sure she'd love to put you in your place."

The exhale he lets out is so exaggerated it has to be for dramatic effect. "You're insufferable."

"Feeling's mutual, chief."

You trail behind Jeon through the darkness, trying to ignore how his mere presence makes the night air feel electric against your skin. The silence wraps around you both, broken only by your footsteps until—

A rustle in the underbrush.

Before you can react, his hand clamps around your wrist. No warning, no words—just the firm press of tattooed fingers against your pulse point as he yanks you behind a massive rock. You crash against him, bodies colliding in a mess of limbs and s̶h̶i̶t̶ startled breath.

You open your mouth to tell him exactly what you think about being manhandled, but his finger presses against his lips. Shut up. His eyes scan the darkness beyond your hiding spot, focused and lethal.

And suddenly you're way too aware of him.

The moonlight paints him in silver and shadow, highlighting things you've never noticed before. Like how his eyebrow piercing catches the light—two tiny beads of silver that draw attention to the way his brow furrows in concentration. Or how that lip ring glints when his mouth sets in that stern line you know too well.

There's a scar on his left cheek—barely there, really. Just a whisper of a mark that makes you wonder what story it tells. Your eyes drift lower, catching on the small mole decorating the left side of his neck. It's such a delicate detail on someone who radiates danger, like finding a flower growing through concrete.

But it's his eyes that f̶u̶c̶k̶ y̶o̶u̶ u̶p̶ catch you off guard. Dark and deep, framed by stupidly long lashes that flutter when he blinks. They're beautiful in a way that makes your chest tight—and isn't that just f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ fantastic? You didn't need to know that about him.

This close, you can see the tiny lines at the corners of those eyes. They speak of sleepless nights and heavy choices, of burdens carried too long alone. Watching him like this—he feels different now, less like a storm trying to drown you and more like standing in summer rain.

The realization hits like a punch to the gut: you're seeing Jeon. Not the cold-as-ice division chief or the intimidating Council member. Just... him. Human.

Complex.

His fingers are still wrapped around your wrist like an iron band. If anything, his grip's gotten tighter, and you're caught between wanting to yank free and being weirdly aware of how warm his hand is against your skin in the cool night air. It's hard to tell if you're feeling trapped or protected.

The footsteps draw closer—deliberate, confident. Not someone trying to hide.

You watch a muscle tick in Jeon's jaw, the kind of tiny detail you wouldn't normally notice if you weren't pressed so close to him. It's fascinating, in an annoying way, how he can look so calm while radiating such intense energy.

His eyes flick to yours for just a second, but it feels loaded with... something. Like you're suddenly partners in this mess, whether you like it or not. It's more communication than you've had in all your previous conversations combined.

The rustling gets louder. You hold your breath. Jeon's gone statue-still beside you, but you can feel the coiled tension in him. His dark eyes snap to a spot in the trees, then back to you with unnerving intensity.

"Shoot there."

You stare at him like he's lost his mind. "What?"

"There." His voice is barely a whisper, rough with urgency. He jerks his chin toward whatever he's seeing that you're apparently missing.

"You want me to shoot a tree branch?" The skepticism in your whisper could cut glass. "Seriously?"

"Just do what you're told." The words rumble out of him like distant thunder, crackling with impatience.

You give Jeon a look, but arguing isn't an option right now.

The gun feels heavy as you line up the shot. Your finger finds the trigger, and for a split second, everything goes quiet. The bang echoes through the trees, making your ears ring. You watch as the bullet hits exactly where Jeon wanted—that innocent-looking branch that apparently wasn't so innocent after all.

A net explodes from the darkness like some kind of ninja trap, shooting toward the approaching figure. But whoever it is moves like water—fluid, impossible, beautiful in a terrifying way. The net hits empty ground with a sad little flutter while your brain tries to process what just happened.

Beside you, Jeon goes still. If you weren't pressed so close, you might have missed that tiny hitch in his breath—the only sign that this wasn't part of his plan. His eyes narrow just slightly, that crack in his perfect mask making your stomach do weird flips.

He pushes you back against the rock, putting himself between you and whatever's coming. The stone digs into your spine, cold and rough through your clothes.

Then everything happens at once.

A shadow vaults over your hiding spot, moving with deadly grace. Gunshots crack through the night, and suddenly Jeon's shoving you down, his body covering yours. The world spins into a blur of motion and sound, your pulse drumming so loud you can barely think.

When reality settles back into focus, you watch the figure reach for their mask. Your fingers tighten on your gun, waiting to see what kind of threat managed to dodge one of Jeon's traps.

The mask comes off.

Oh for fuck's sake.

V's grinning like the cat that got the cream. "Paintball night!" he announces with way too much glee for someone who just scared the shit out of you.

Relief and irritation war in your chest. Of course it's V. Who else would turn a simple training exercise into their personal dramatic performance?

You watch Jeon's shoulders drop, but the annoyance is written all over his face. His jaw's so tight you can practically hear all the curses he's not saying.

Always the professional, even when he's irritated.

V's eyes dances with delight as he watches Jeon simmer. "Don't look at me like that, Kookie," he coos, lips curling into that signature smirk that makes you want to take a step back.

Cookie?

You blink, trying to process that nickname. Looking at Jeon—all dark clothes, silver piercings, and intimidating tattoos—the last thing that comes to mind is anything remotely cute or sweet. The mental image of him buying cookies from some terrified boy scouts makes you bite back a laugh.

Now that's a story you'd pay to hear.

Jeon's eyebrow shoots up in that way that somehow manages to say f̶u̶c̶k̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ more effectively than actual words. His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek, jaw working like he's physically holding back whatever he wants to say. He's irritated.

"I'll give you some advantage," V sighs dramatically, thorny vines wrapping around your lungs even from this distance. "No fun beating you when you're unarmed." The words drip with amusement, like this whole thing is his favorite game. "See ya."

With one last unsettling grin, he melts into the darkness. Because of course he does. Dramatic asshole.

You're still sprawled on the ground, processing what just happened. Leave it to V to turn a regular night into some twisted paintball training session. The man's idea of "improving stealth skills" is giving everyone heart attacks.

Beside you, Jeon's muscles finally uncoil from their battle-ready stance. He looms over you, and you can't tell if the expression on his face is more annoyed or relieved.

"You gonna get up or what?" The words come out gruff, but there's something else there. Something that might be concern if you squint.

Then his hand appears in front of your face. You stare at it for a second, surprised. It's weirdly bare compared to his tattooed arms, and you hesitate before taking it. His grip is firm but careful as he helps you up.

The whole night feels surreal —one weird training session bleeding into another. You glance at Jeon as he stretches, working out the tension in his shoulders.

The mystery of "Cookie" tugs at your curiosity, but one look at his face tells you now's not the time to ask.

Some mysteries are probably better left unsolved.

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[lilarylrosie]

Just a Slice [Fanfic]

- Author's Notes: This story is for MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY!  Only sexual warnings will be added for chapters in the future as this will not be the only chapter. Will eventually be posted on AO3! Also the Doctor is giving me brainrot to the point where I need to write this fic because he gives off daddy vibes /j

                                          ooOOOOoo

Heaving with heavy breaths that escaped your chest, you leaned back on the nasty metal door that had slid shut behind you. A wash of exhaustion and hunger passed over you like a tidal wave, quickly clearing your mind, you look to examine the room around you and then your gaze landed on the toy stuck.. In a glass case? A feeling of dread crashed in your gut, as expected Sawyer's voice, or the 'The Doctor's' mocking but even smooth voice came to life in the room.

"Do you believe you're taking the moral high road.. Is that what you believe?" Letting out a shuddering breath, you securely kept your grab pack close. You could care less about 'morality' at this time. There wasn't much you could say but instead you let Sawyer continue his monologue. "Dear friend, let me illuminate for you an obvious truth: Survival necessities are choices. Difficult choices. This one is yours." Your eyes eventually landed on the little toy that was trapped in the glass case and your gut twisted once more getting a feeling you knew exactly what The Doctor is implying.

"If you want to leave this room, it'll come at a cost. It's this little life, or yours. You know what you have to do. Just the slightest pull, and you snuff whatever minuscule bit of light still flickers behind those faraway eyes."

"No.. no.. I wouldn't, ...but I need to.. what choice do I have" you mumble beneath your breath as stress came over once more, most of these toys deaths weren't your fault because they attacked you first and you were simply exercising your self-defense. You would never willingly kill a toy. However, The Doctor ignored you and kept talking; "That brutish glob of clay would do it." His voice ultimately held a disdain for them in the even tone, "Poppy would do it."

"It's YOUR mission. The door will open. Or, is maintaining your veil of your 'morality' more important? Act quickly."

Sensing it go quiet once more, you let out another shuddering breath and glanced to the toy, you were unwilling to end it life. Was there even a child behind that anymore? Wouldn't you be doing it a favor by putting it out of its misery? Biting your lip, your gaze traveled around the room looking for some kind of exit to escape. Hearing the banging behind you, you knew you didn't have a lot of time. Letting your gaze land on the plug, out of desperation you grabbed it with your grabpack and raising a hand to wipe the forming beads of sweat away, you aimed your pack to shoot and plug in the plug – closing your eyes with a slight turn of your head to the electricity going off and hearing the creature's pitiful cries before death.

You've killed this toy.. but was it any different from before?

"Strange, I'd expected more mortality.. so you DO understand. Good, good. Come now, let's see which of us beasts of burden destiny favors, hm?"

Feeling sickened, you gritted your teeth and turned around to see the door open. It was your chance now to go and confront that monster. You went ahead to enter the next room, and cringed at the creepy but dark and empty room; being completely immersed in the fog. It made it hard to see. Slowly being careful and stepping onto the platform, you stiffen up again to hearing the voice speak up again as the platform started to rise. "Do you hear it like I do? Off somewhere. Somewhere far. Beyond this place. Any place. A bell."

"A bell?" You questioned with a skeptical look, "What are you talking about?" You're starting to believe this man is just playing with you. You don't hear anything instead The Doctor ignores you and keeps talking. "For whom does it toll, you think? A wounded little pup lifts it head beneath the shadow of its master's raised foot. For whom does it toll?" A sinister laugh followed and soon after you reached the top.

Your nerves felt like they were on fire, the hairs on your skin were sticking up, unlike the others you've faced, there feelings screaming at you to run away. "No no. I need to do this," you reassure yourself with a fierce pounding heart, "I faced all those other experiments and Catnap, what makes this any different?" Taking a deep breath and grateful for your own pep talk, you firmly held onto your grabpack and continued forward. Creeped out by the amount of TV's, you already feel like you're being watched.

"I'm not the one killing him, he's already attacking me and hurt my friends or at least I think they are.." You justified to yourself on his oncoming demise. With your feet clanking against the metal floor it was simply impossible to stay quiet in this area, approaching both metal doors with newfound bravery, the doors seemed to open on their own and the sight somewhat confused you. A giant machine?

"Not even the ground beneath your feet."

You didn't get anytime to look further on what Sawyer was until you flinched to something grabbing you and you frantically turned your head to see some kind of endo-TV grab you to then throw on you on the ground, a little grunt escaped and you stared it appalled. It gave little mocking 'hello' sign with its fingers until the latch opened up beneath you and you fell with a scream, unfortunately, you ended up hitting your head against the metal floor and stars invaded your vision. Your vision blurred and darkness slowly overcame you with painful throbbing.

"Oh what a disappointment. You will be put to good use." Was all you heard of The Doctor's voice until unconsciousness took over. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Drowsily, your eyes cracked open and you tried to move.. You couldn't move. With wrists strapped to the bed, your legs were securely strapped as well and your heart paced with anxiety. It felt cold, you then notice your clothes were changed into just a dirty old hospital gown. Struggling, your eyes darted around.

"Keep struggling. All it does it make me itch to explore you more germ." The mocking but even voice spoke out smoothly.

Cranking your head, it felt as if you were hearing the voice all around, but you froze at the sight of the The Doctor. The large metallic TV you've seen earlier was there, with a cloak covering most of all it, it was present, but the only thing that kept your attention on it was the massive eye staring right back at you. "What's wrong with you, is this about wanting to use me!." You've tried to defend yourself and it emanated a cruel laugh from The Doctor who was observing a scalpel it was holding in its grasp. "My dear. This isn't about me, this is about you."

Walking closer with its heavy footsteps, your heart paced when cool metallic fingers were placed on your stomach. "It's been SO long since I've had another human down here, Dr. White may have never been able to last, but I wonder how long you'll last."

Trailing its hard metal hand to your neck to then put pressure on your windpipe, you started to choke with tears slowly forming at the edges of your eyes. It felt as if all the air was leaving your lungs, and your brain screamed for oxygen. The hand squeezed harder and your will to stay awake started to wither away, your lungs desperately begged for air. Is this how were going to die? A faraway look appeared, and black edges appeared in your sight, but then, you suddenly gasped in a whole bunch of air when Sawyer let go of your neck. Coughing and breathing fast, your tears slid down your cheeks as the color returned to your ashen pale skin as he laughed once more.

"I forgot how most humans can't go without oxygen, I wished to test that theory once more . I'll be taking notes."

You were hit with a pang of deja'vu to those last words as you kept gasping out for more air to consume greedily. "W-Why," you've mustered out weakly. "Why didn't you kill me?"

"I've expected you to be smart about this. I told you it's about you, your use will be put to my use. The Prototype could care less about what I do to you." Feeling your heartbeat speed up, The Doctor lowered the scalpel and you struggled with a scared look. "Please, please don't!" you begged, afraid of dying. Ignoring the human's whining, Sawyer started to slice your thigh and you writhed in pain with a cry keeping in whimpers. Blood started to leak out, and you screamed when he dug in further in with a jerk the pain that blared through your body forced a pained scream. "STOP!"

"Hmm the subject is strong. Aside from its whining I need more than just a few samples." Using his other hand, he lowered the vial and it started to fill up with your warm blood. The pain blossomed in your body, and you shook. With fat tears sliding down, The Doctor seemed to like your reactions to the pain, you didn't doubt that The Doctor is enjoying this but you didn't care as the pain intense to think about it.. Taking out the tool with another jerk which had you cry out, he raised the vial and ignored the blood pooling beside you.

"This shall do. I can't wait to make into something that will be extraordinary." ----------------------------------------------- Next Chapter

[elrielffs]

I have a wild theory for the future books. I believe Azriel is Elain’s true mate, however the mating bond between the 3 bat boys and the 3 Acheron sisters would mean they hold too much power, and since we know the Cauldron is corrupt, decided to give Elain to Lucien in a fake mating bond to avoid having the 3x3 mating because they will be too powerful.

We all know the Koschei prophecy and Mor’s paining, Elain and Azriel are end game, but it makes me question why Lucien and Elain developed a mating bond and why Azriel can smell it.

I think you're absolutely right on the money anon. It makes sense narratively, especially why Koschei tried to so hard to go for Cassian and Nesta too before they accepted the bond while Elain and Azriel were stalled by Lucien.

We know the Cauldron is confirmed corrupted and I don't think it's a stretch to say that Koschei might of had a hand in that working with Daglan since he is an Old God, Death God, powerful wizard. (We honestly just don't know enough about him or the Death Gods in general.)

I def think that Azriel and Elain are true mates. It really wouldn't matter to me if they were or not but I think there's just too much evidence for it to be ignored. The "only a mate can know what's wrong" and Azriel figuring it out, Azriel ready to die/burn down everything to save Elain from Hybern, Azriel being able to smell the bond when he shouldn't be able to, not to mention staying away from Elain physically effects him--he's drawn to her, he's protective, all classic mate behavior and hints.

And there's definitely something SJM is cooking with the power of 3. It's a purposeful pattern woven into ACOTAR and is brought up more than once and with SJM's Jewish background, 3 is a significant and powerful number.

"Ithan angled his head. “A six-pointed star,” he said. Like the one Bryce had made between the Gates this spring, with the seventh candle at its center. “It’s a symbol of balance,” she explained, moving away a foot, but keeping the dagger at her side. Her crown of cloudberries seemed to glow with an inner light. “Two intersecting triangles. Male and female, dark and light, above and below … and the power that lies in the place where they meet.” Her face became grave."

Along with Mor's painting and this post by @bright-side20 I think illuminates it nicely that the 3 Bat Boys and 3 Archeron sisters are destined for each other.

It's also plays nicely with the story of Koschei and the Deathless which SJM has stated she's drawn inspiration from.

In this case Ivan would be Lucien and Marya Morevna would be Vassa. It all ties in neatly with how SJM plays fast and loose with fairy tales as her inspiration.

Idk, to me this all seems pretty clear and obvious and I feel like a lot of readers and especially Elriels have picked up on how the story is generally gonna go. We might not know every single detail but we have a good grasp on a broad speculation, which you should be able to do if an author has done their job right imo.

But who knows, maybe we are just a biased hivemind since Elriels do tend to all come to the same conclusion.

[reborn-readings]

Messages of hope for spring 2025

Tip Jar | Masterlist | Personal Readings

Hello hello! Quite the past month we've had. With everything going on in the world, I thought I'd ask the spirits to relay some specific messages to inspire hope as the cold yields and life starts to return to begin the cycle anew. These messages will be pertinent to the months of March, April, and May of 2025. Pick whichever pile calls out to you!

This is a group reading, so take what resonates and leave the rest. Don't force anything if it does not fit. Remember that the future is not set in stone and that other potential paths exist depending on your movement through the course of time.

Pile 1 (Top Left)

Five of Spring | Ten of Cups | Epona | Break Free 

Maybe in your past you’ve experienced a battleground. Something very serious, somewhere where you couldn’t be yourself and had to live up to an extreme expectation or be punished for it. I see authority as a running theme in your life, too, maybe a string of relationships or jobs in which you felt there were a definite leader or boss and (whether yourself or others) and you were comfortable that way. Spring is bringing a different kind of dynamic to you; a fight where no one gets hurt, a relationship where no one is more responsible than the other, an opportunity to climb up to an ideal that you’ve had your whole life. Watch for the moments when you find people teasing and joking in a way that could seem hurtful from the outside but you know it’s just their humor. When this moment comes, you will know that you’ve broken free of what hurt you in the past. 

Pile 2 (Top Middle)

Six of Spring | Rx Death | Persephone | Friendship 

Celebration. That’s the first word that comes to mind. And if you read it (or said it out loud) and instantly saw a flash of a specific celebration, then the spirits want you to know that that result is almost certain. I get the feeling that you will be publicly recognized and lauded for something that you did not expect, some part of your hidden or shadow self that you hid for fear of shame. It is something that lacks grace. Something like…having spoken up even if your words could have been interpreted wrongly or rudely, but people saw past the words to your idea and they loved it. Even if the idea itself is dark, you have been sharing that, and you will see the results of that soon enough in a glorious event that may welcome unexpected friends. I get the feeling that this will happen earlier for you than the other piles, late February or early March. 

Pile 3 (Top Right)

Strength | Rx The Emperor | Hina | Mother Healing 

Right off the bat, I can tell that this message will be one that is harder to grasp for you, and you may need to look hard and close for it. I see a few specific images that all interplay in your life: you father, your church, your mother. You have a very unique way of approaching gender, something that the mainstream culture around frowns upon. Your femininity and spirituality cross in ways that seem unseemly. Maybe you don’t know how to reconcile the two? This is something that you should be thinking about more. I just got the image of a crown of thorns in my head; know that you are the master of this beast.  I can’t articulate everything that you’re going to come to learn and realize for yourself; I suppose the only message I have for you is to know that you have the inner strength to guide you through this. 

Pile 4 (Bottom Left)

Seven of Summer | Rx King of Cups | Rhiannon | Simplify Your Life 

Winter brings clutter with it. We shut ourselves up in our homes with what we have and wait, letting go of nothing since we know on an instinctual level that we cannot simply go out and replace what we lose. However, this clutter, whether it takes the form of actual, physical clutter, mental baggage, or just too many decisions to make, results in us feeling overwhelmed. Your emotions may feel difficult to track down, but addressing their causes will help. Spring is going to see you cleaning up those aspects of your life. I see the word ‘king’ a lot, so don’t be afraid to lean into your masculine power. The world is beautiful; try to remember to once in a while look beyond the clutter in your path to see what you’re working toward. Once you see your goal, each individual step will feel both simple and momentous! 

Pile 5 (Bottom Middle)

Nine of Summer | Nine of Wands | Demeter | You’re Being Helped 

Go around the back way. That’s the first message that I got. Are you being blocked from your wishes being fulfilled? There’s always another way, you know. Demeter didn’t bow down when Hades took her daughter; she went on strike, withholding her gifts from the world until they addressed her plight. You, too, are going to find an unorthodox method of bypassing what stands in your way. The spirits are not the ones putting up the barrier, they are the ones helping to guide you to your prize. Your Cinderella story is waiting; not just rags to riches, but also finding out that you have a Fairy Godmother on your side who’s willing to bend the rules for you. After all, some rules are unjust and meant to be broken. Don’t go doing anything crazy or rush so much you trip yourself, but keep your eyes open for your opportunity. 

Pile 6 (Bottom Right)

King of Spring | King of Swords | White Shell Woman | Self-Employment 

Where do I begin, Pile 6?! This spring, you are going to see the perfect union between your passion and your mind. You are someone with a lot of gifts to give, and to make sure that you play your role this upcoming spring, the spirits are going to fill your baskets to the point of overflow to show you how generous you can be. Though I can sense that you just want some alone time, and trust me, you’ll get it. You will find that people flock to you, seeing you as a skilled leader and wanting to support what you support. Relish being alive! Look around you at all the things growing! You have so much to look forward to.

If this was helpful to you, please consider donating or expanding on your message in one of my readings! 🩷

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[steddieunderdogfics]

The Dog Next Door by Paryton

@the-winged-doe

Rating: Explicit

108,868 words, 18/37 chapters

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, it's the usual upside-down fare with a side order of magic and shapeshifting basically, Dog Shapeshifter Steve Harrington, Hellhound Robin Buckley, Eddie Munson Has Powers, Nancy Wheeler Has Powers, Character Study, Coming of Age, supernatural coming of age to be specific, Slow Burn, Getting Together, Sharing a Bed, Magical Bondliar revealed, (it's the dog), (he's lying about being a dog), Monster Steve Harrington, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Protective Steve Harrington, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Queer Eddie Munson, Minor Character Death, Body Horror, Blood and Injury, Blood Magic, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Insecurity, suicide attempt mentions (it's just for one chapter tho), smut in later chapters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Will Byers Has Powers, Jonathan Byers Has Powers, Werewolf Billy Hargrove, billy appears as an antagonist for a few chapters

Summary:

As far as everyone who is anyone is concerned: Steve Harrington doesn't know anything at all about monsters or other worlds. He doesn't care about the girl who died in his pool (doesn't know that that's where she died, or when she died, and certainly doesn't know how she died). He doesn't know the Byers family, outside of that one confrontation that left him eating shit on the pavement, and he certainly doesn't know the intricacies of how Will Byers died and then didn't die at all actually. The mysterious stray dog who saved Will Byers and helped recover Barb's body, on the other hand? Well, that guy is In The Know and a local hero to boot, at least among those who are also In The Know. Steve tells himself that it's stupid to be jealous of his own alter ego. That it's better everyone not know, that they wouldn't believe him even if he tried to explain. But fuck if it doesn't make things complicated.

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @the-winged-doe. Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks or the submission box!

[call-me-insane-but-wth]

How do i put this... In the past, I've always agreed that Medias/mediums are free hunting grounds in terms of derivatives, interpretations, and recursiveness, but imo, mdzs is different. The expression, 'Death of the author'... After all. the story of mdzs is about real-life concepts like oppression and classism. The story explicitly details what was wrong, from whom, and the futile but morally ideal thing to do in the face of said oppression and classism.

In my opinion, the real objectivity and neutrality that Jiang cheng apologists and reformists (lol) should aspire to is accepting Jiang Cheng's character in all his idiosyncratic behaviors instead of retconning, and redistributing 'Wwx's' characteristics and narrative points towards him. Because isn't that another way of just validating the moral ideal that is Wwx and disregarding Jiang cheng?

If Jiang Cheng was no longer the young master of YunmengJiang, if his narrative journey was not rife with inferiority and entitlement towards another, if he was not someone who was able to rise above all of that (his past resentments) and come into his own once he had all the information and context (as per the canon)* then is that still Jiang Cheng?

*(which isn't to say that Canon jiang cheng agreed on any meaningful level that he WAS in the wrong for not repaying his debt to the wen siblings and, by extension, the wen remnants. I'm referring to his resolution towards Wwx and the futility of his previously deeply held resentment and blame, now made and recognized as defunct with the knowledge of the golden core in his belly)

If Jc-stans rejected the canon Jc and all his impact upon the narrative of Mdzs, to the point where they draft an entirely different version of Jiang Cheng, then isn't it reasonable to infer that what jc stans are stanning* isn't even the complex Jiang Cheng of Mdzs, but their own 'self' that they'd created in the guise of Jiang Cheng?

I've noticed that oftentimes, they'll take the criticism of Jiang cheng the character on a personal level. Or worse, because they have identified so much with their personal version of Jc, they will feel like their* vested interests have been intruded upon, and retcon all of canon so that by extension, they will feel justified and benefited.

Which is a level of meta that is disturbingly realistic.

Mdzs is a fictional story. It's a fictional story where the mmc doesn't even succeed in his ideals because the world is so harsh towards the just and reasonable. Wwx isn't rewarded for his principles. So, for us as readers, watchers, and fans, there are no real benefits. No real vested interests to defend. No real economic impact. Whether to side with the weak or root for the aristocrats, it doesn't matter at all bc it doesn't affect reality.

And yet so many (real life) people are determined to win, even though they haven't suffered a real loss at all. In other words, they seem to reject the narrative of Mdzs altogether. That the poorest, lowest rungs of society have any right to freedom and justice at all, much less deserving to be defended by someone.

If you were to observe their interpretation of Jiang Cheng, then it's the only reasonable conclusion to be drawn.

Maybe their moral ideal IS to be the prince in an ivory tower. Never questioned. Never forced to grow. Never have to develop a conscience much less be forced to consider the thoughts and feelings of others.

(Before any sensitive hearts bleed out, this post is just observational yap and speculation. If it doesn't apply, let it fly.)

[nightbutterfly09]

Flustered.

Warning: swearing!! If you are comfortable don't read further.

The interview was going smoothly. The football team shared the answers, each answering it. “Did you underestimate the opponent at all?” Came the question from the reporter. As the goalie answered Sae and his striker glanced at each other.

Your boyfriend saw you among the crowd wearing his jersey. “Yo dude, that's your girlfriend there right?” The striker nudges him.

The crimson haired took in the audience’s face carefully and when he found her he unintentionally felt his eyes glued to the light fabric draped over her. “Shit she is beautiful.”

The only problem was that everyone heard that. The microphone turned on right at that second as he was supposed to pay attention to the interviewer.

Cameras immediately flashed and he just looked at the camera with a stoic and unamused expression. “My bad...”

The woman with the microphone laughed and looked behind her. “Who was that directed at Sae?” The Spanish woman asked. “My girlfriend, obviously.” Your face flushed a deep red and as if that wasn't enough he winked at you out of nowhere.

“Oh wow dude” the striker laughed. “Isn't he just smitten people? And we call him stoic~” now that comment earned him a death glare. Luckily he already had practice on how to handle the midfielder. He was used to being threatened at this point, more than 100 times a week. And he counts.

As you were trying to contain your blush and mild grin you felt your cheeks heat up more and more. Some cameras caught your face and as much as you tried turning away there wasn't one angle where you wouldn't be seen.

Your problem wasn't with the photos.. well a little yes, because they did even ask for permission and first and foremost you are a regular, working woman. But what ticked you off was how they just kept surrounding you even after having plenty of content.

“Can everyone stop taking pictures of my woman? Obviously she is uncomfortable” he glared and sighed tiredly. His fingers massaged his scalp in an attempt to calm himself.

And that was the last straw. My woman. Not only did your brain fry at this point but you really had to gulp down the yelp daring to come out. “Sae Itoshi, when we get home, I’m murdering you.” You grumbled.

“Oh fuck me… it's impossible with you two.” Rin sighed and rolled his eyes. Yes, you weren't alone as you asked Rin to accompany you. Just so you don't feel lonely.

While it was embarrassing to you, Sae couldn't help but smirk at your flustered reactions. But it was of course the newspapers and reporters and cameramen who got the most out of this situation.

Wow I wonder what happened to my brain. I posted two shots on the same day and they weren't planned at all~~ look at meee 💕😭

Have a great daay/niight - author-san; logging out

Baiii

[takaraphoenix]

Hey! It's me again! Your favorite indecisive author!

I'm gonna wrap up two multi-chapter fics this month and I am, once again, unable to decide which one I want to write the most. So I am outsourcing the decision making to you!

The Alpha Pack's Spark

Deucalion/Peter/Stiles, post season 2.

When Peter resurrected, he was still an Alpha. Deucalion and the Alpha Pack came to town because Deucalion heard about his former lover's death. He is pleasantly surprised to find Peter back alive.

He is also surprised when Peter comes to find him with three battered and bruised teenagers. Because Peter couldn't let Stiles slip out of the warehouse, injured and alone, and he somehow let himself be roped into tracking down the two wayward Betas.

While they agree to tend to Erica and Boyd until the teens are healed again, Deucalion makes it clear that there are no Betas in an Alpha Pack. But the two bond with the pack and they left Derek's pack and they need a pack.

Well then, it's a good thing that Stiles has magic that roots in his belief? If he wants it enough, it'll happen. And he wants Boyd and Erica to be able to stay in that pack, even if that meant being Alphas.

Color Deucalion, Peter and everyone else surprised when they realize Stiles is a Spark. And one powerful enough to create Alpha sparks.

Changed (For the Better)

Deucalion/Peter/Stiles, post apocalypse time-travel fix it.

The world had gone to shit. Everyone Stiles loved was dead, his mate had died in his arms just before Stiles used the last of his magic to go back in time and try to save everyone.

The spell took "save everyone" and brought Stiles back to the night Paige would die. So he could save Derek. What a wonderful coincident that Gerard is in town too, to betray Deucalion. Because in the end, Gerard had played a huge role in revealing the supernatural to the world and leading to everyone dying. So Stiles kills him, before he can ever do any harm.

Stiles didn't know what to expect though. Was he supposed to live out his time in the past? Would he just... die, once the deed was done?

He didn't expect to be transported back to his time... but in a different timeline.

People he lost years ago were alive again, everything was different. His mate, his Peter, was alive... and was happily mated to Deucalion. Who wasn't a bad guy in this timeline, because as a side-effect to his own revenge, Stiles had saved the man too.

Now Stiles has to adjust to this new reality, this new world that he doesn't belong to, while carrying the pain and trauma of the original timeline and being forced to watch the man he loved be in love with someone else.

Mutual Understanding

Derek/Stiles, sequel to Mutual Devotion and Mutual Benefit.

A rewrite of season 3A, minus the Alpha Pack and with a twist on the darach, in the universe where Derek and Stiles got together between s2 and s3. They're an established Alpha Pair and their pack - Boyd, Erica, Isaac, Jackson, Lydia, Peter, Danny and the recently added Scott and Allison - is good, they're strong. Are they strong enough to face this new threat together?

Shadow of the Sun

Peter/Stiles, in a sort of Shadow and Bone AU, as Darklina.

A long time ago, Peter's entire pack were slaughtered, because the royal family feared werewolves. Only Peter and his nephew Derek survived. Enraged and seeking vengeance, Peter gave himself to dark magic and, as a side-effect, created the Shadow Fold and made himself and Derek immortal.

Centuries later, the Argents are still on the throne. Under ever new identities, Peter and Derek serve at the court, training the supernatural army that King Gerard uses as cannon fodder.

All Peter wants is for the royals to be gone, for the oppression and death of his people to finally end. He knows that what he needs for that is a Spark, though most people believe the Spark to be a myth.

Stiles was just an orphan from the small town of Beacon Hills, signing up for the army because there was nothing else for someone of his status to do. Besides, he had his best friend Scott with him. They were making due.

Until they are sent through the Shadow Fold and Scott nearly dies. To protect his best friend, Stiles taps into a magic inside him that he didn't know he had - his Spark.

He is sent to the Little Palace, to be trained by General Hale in the use of his Spark so he could one day tear the Shadow Fold down for King Gerard.

(And let me be clear that when I say sort of Shadow and Bone, I very much mean "my Spark is not gonna work to uphold the status quo and the royals' rules, fully joining Peter to tear down their oppressors and be the power couple that Darklina should have been. Also, no Grisha, just general supernatural creatures as in Teen Wolf canon")

[escapetheslaughters]

Grim only laughed callously at Sun's pleading. Like anything he could say would make Grim stop. His smile was so wide when he heard Sun's inner workings completely stop. Oh how he MISSED the sounds of death and the smell of robot gore.

It was so satisfying. Grim ripped the core straight out just to ensure that Sun was dead. He didn't bother eating him, though. A few bites were enough. It was worth watching him suffer.

Grim got up from Sun and gave his carcass a kick. But that didn't....feel satisfactory enough. With all his might and with the help of some magic, Grim stomped down on Sun's waist and groin area, smashing the machinery there to mangled bits.

He scoffed and looked over to where Reaper and Elara were. He was covered in black ichor and from a distance could hear the wails of sirens coming closer.

Ah, it seems the humans have called the authorities. Grim frowned and Reaper nodded. It was time to leave.

Reaper carried Elara away while Grim followed behind them...

They found out

Elara was at the farmers market with Bloodmoon, although the boys seemed bored with most of the the things Elara was looking at. She left them at a leather working stall to check on some fresh produce one stall was selling from their green house. Really it was the only way she was going to get fresh vegetables during this time of year, she didn't like the grocery store... they are always so rude when she shops there.

She was inspecting some carrots when a hand grabbed her wrist... a very familiar yellow and gold hand.

Elara? Elara! I'm so glad to see you! Moon I found her!

Elara jerks back and uses her bag to hide the slight bulge of her stomach, they can't know, but given the look Moon was giving her he already does.

You... you can not be around me...

Moon looks around before looking back at her. No computers and no guard dog.

Elara you need to come home. You are in a delicate position and I can monitor yo-

Liar! You just want to control me again... I know what you want and you can not have them!

Oops she didn't mean to say that last bit

Them? Elara, we just want you.

No Sun... I fucking knew it. She's pregnant.

Pregnant? You mean...

Sun seemed to go through several emotions his rays clicking and rotating around his head for a moment before he turned to her with a bright but uncomforting smile.

This is wonder! We can be a real family.

No we will not! I have a family and you are not part of it. BLOODMOON!

Moon and Sun jumped at her yelling and both rushed forward to grab her and cover her mouth. Elara, of course struggled to get out of their grasp.

@escapetheslaughters